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THE FINAL PROPHET

Book One of the Messiah Chronicles

This book is only available through Amazon.com

by Theodore J. Nottingham

Excerpt

CHAPTER TWO

Somewhere in the Southwest - October 2012

It had all started on a frost-bitten night in the middle of nowhere, some three and a
half years before. A light was on in the library of the old gothic seminary building.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Hardly another light could be seen for a
hundred miles in the barren plains of Oklahoma. The library was on the top floor
of the cathedral-like building and overlooked the small town of Enid like a
misplaced monument from another age. Perched above the roof, surrounded by
gargoyles and statues of forgotten saints, was a narrow tower.

It was from here that the solitary light shimmered in the icy darkness. Inside the
tower were kept old books that no one had studied for half a century or more.
Decaying covers lined the walls like abandoned sacorphegi guarding
unimaginable treasures. The wisdom of mystics and scholars across two millenia
was gathered there, mute legacies crying out from their hopeless confinement.
Neither professors nor students came to visit these orphans of the most illumined
minds of the past. Dismissed as irrelevant and even ignorant, these books from the
loftiest souls of the race were rejected in favor of the latest academic best-seller
gracing the book review pages of important journals and assuring tenure and pay
raises for their authors.

One man still visited the tower and its disdained treasures. An old professor, soon
to reach his eightieth birthday and kept on the faculty out of charity and because
his services were so inexpensive, spent his evenings here. Dr. Anton W.
Hogrogian, once beloved by generations of students, was now long past his prime
as a scholar. He had published several books in his time, but had committed more
time to teaching than to advancing his fame among his peers. During his forty-
five years at the seminary, he had outlived the entire faculty several times, had
watched his wife slowly die of cancer, and was now utterly alone in the world. No
one took him seriously anymore, not even freshman students who considered the
slow talking, slumped over old man little more than an easy course to get through.
The latest president had tried several times to force him into retirement, but
always found himself unable to pronounce the words when gazing into those
large, dark and melancholic eyes that saw through to the core of his soul.
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Dr. Hogrogian was considered an eccentric and patronizingly called a "mystic,"

without any understanding of what the word meant. But the few who came to
know him were clear that he was indeed a mystic, one whose powers of mind
blended with keen intuition and certain innate psychic capabilities. The aged
professor was, however, a striking example of humility, the kind that can only be
forged in a lifetime of inner spiritual effort. He never put forth his unusual talents
and brilliant learning unless they could benefit another person, and even then it
was with an unassuming aura that often veiled his profound contributions. Despite
a serious heart condition and a laundry list of physical ailments, the professor was
in the tower again on this night. Sitting at the small wooden table in the corner of
a room jammed with books, he was leaning over yellow, water-stained pages
attempting to decipher the fading print.

Something was different on this cold winter night. Never before had the professor
remained in the tower at such a late hour. Never before had his shriveled skeleton
of a body been wracked with an intensity that bordered on frenzy. Before him lay
writings dating back to the first century A.D. The words were in Hebrew. Dr.
Hogrogian slowly, relentlessly moved his finger across the page from right to left.
In an excited whisper, he translated the ancient words to himself.

"And there shall be two..."

The trembling finger stopped and remained on the end of the sentence, shaking
like a reed in a howling wind. The aged professor turned to his battered briefcase
that sat open on the desk next to him. With his other hand, he rummaged through
the mess of papers and books and pulled out a shiny, brand new paperback which
seemed oddly out of place in this mortuary of whithered works. He fumbled
through it, searching for a passage he had marked in ink the day before. The top
of his balding head turned a scarlet red. His worn and wrinkled face suddenly
began to beam with a youthful energy, a momentary Indian summer peering
through the late autumn of his life. The book was the latest publication on the
findings of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Lost for centuries and accidently found in caves
near the sight of the mysterious Essene sect, these treasures were only now being
published for the general public.

He read from a chapter on one of the most intriguing scrolls to be pieced together,
the "Manual of Discipline." It contained both the way of life and the teachings of
the esoteric community at Qumran in the heart of the Judean desert, not far from
the wilderness where John the Baptist had called his people to spiritual renewal.

"Another Messiah..." the old man murmured in awe. "There is to be another

Messiah for our time..."

He threw the book down and pulled from his pocket the morning edition of the
local paper. Spreading the newspaper out before him, he turned to the back page
of the second section. His finger once again undertook its scanning efforts, this
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time rushing down through the columns of print. He came across a small,
insignificant article hidden away in the lower third of the page. The headline read:
The Tale of the McCormick boy: Some say it's a miracle. The professor came to
sentences he had underlined with a shaky pen: "The part-time pastor, a student at
the local seminary, was unavailable for comment." Dr. Anton Hogrogian, Ph.D.
from Oxford, Professor Emeritus and life-long student of things sacred, sat back
in his little wooden chair. He closed his tired eyes and breathed deeply. A tear
appeared in the thick crow's feet at the corner of his eye and slowly wound its
way down his cheek.

"Could it be?" he sighed. "Holy God, could it be?"

After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked toward the window. Pale
moonlight streamed into the room, peaceful and serene. "Am I just an old fool?"
he wondered out loud. The stars shimmered in the winter night. They seemed to
answer the old philosopher with their awesome light journeying down to him
from unimaginable distances. Their stability comforted him. They mirrored the
changelessness of some eternal truth shining down on a world gone mad. After all
his years of study, Dr. Hogrogian was certain of one thing: history had reached an
impasse, religion was nearly dead, and civilization was wandering aimlessly
without direction. It was time for a new revelation.