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    Truth: Eden Chronicles, #0
    Truth: Eden Chronicles, #0
    Truth: Eden Chronicles, #0
    Ebook145 pages1 hour

    Truth: Eden Chronicles, #0

    By James Erith

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    About this ebook

    ONE SCROLL. ONE TEST. ONE BITTER TRUTH.

     

    If you go searching for the future, you might not like what you find.

     

    When John de Lowe discovers a parchment with the name "Havilah" on it he sets off on a lifetimes quest to uncover its meaning. John follows a trail into the heart of the Middle East to a chamber in which he will learn the truth... or die.

     

    But maybe the truth is something John would rather not know...

     

    In this prequel of the Eden Chronicles series, trace the strange goings-on in Yorkshire that leads up to THE POWER AND THE FURY; the curious discovery of Mrs. Pye, the dramatic birth of the Heirs of Eden, and John's remarkable adventures.

     

    TRUTH is a novella of 25K words.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJames Erith
    Release dateOct 30, 2018
    ISBN9781386285717
    Truth: Eden Chronicles, #0
    Author

    James Erith

    James moved to North Yorkshire where he lived between the Yorkshire Dales and the North Yorkshire Moors. This beautiful part of Northern England inspired him to use it as the location for his fantasy adventure series EDEN CHRONICLES.There are now six books in this series plus a prequel.New books for 2022Time Stamp *new*It’s 2058 and AI genius, Bert Chalmers, realises that everything he’s worked towards is leading to humankind's extinction. There’s one option left and that’s to go back in time and disrupt history. Using a quantum hypnotist, an outer planetary crystal, and the latest cloning tech — he’s aiming to arrive in the 1990s, but when he lands, it's the postage stamp which is the biggest tech around.The Healing Pond - Xmas 2022The calamitous building of an organic pool, or swimming pond, coincided with a snapped Achilles tendon and a consequential deterioration in health.As the construction of the pond stuttered over unimaginable difficulties, I began to understand how I could heal myself and as the pond began to take shape, so did I.A story for self-healing and natural pond building underlying with a theme of 'A Year in Provence'.Come on over to James' website: www.jameserith.com for more information.

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      Book preview

      Truth - James Erith

      One

      THE CAVE

      30 Years Before The Storm

      The end of a rope hung down between the circular outline of a small hole from which they had descended. High up he saw an orb of bright light, the beams of which offered just enough visibility to see the shapes of the craggy rock they’d passed by.

      Inside the modest, dim chamber, the coolness was a blessed relief for the young archaeologists, John de Lowe. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and on the back of his neck and noted the dirty stain on his folded white handkerchief.

      Next to him stood a dark man in long, faded robes, unflustered and not at all out of breath from the climb down. His white shoulder-length hair bunched out from beneath a turban-like cloth hat. His face had the wizened look of an old man; a deeply lined brow and, on his cheek, was a scar that reminded John of a crescent moon.

      ‘Mr John,’ he said, using his forename as a surname. ‘You say you are from the northern area of England, huh?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right,’ John said, wafting his shirt and dusting his trousers. ‘Halfway between the Yorkshire Dales and the Yorkshire Moors. Have you ever been there, Ahmed?’

      The older man raised an eye. ‘I think so, many moons ago. I do not remember so well.’

      ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, it’s a little cooler over there,’ John said. ‘As I told you, my family have deep roots in Yorkshire, but there’s a thread which seems to trace back to this part of the world. That’s why I started writing to you.’

      Ahmed pulled a flask out from beneath the robes and poured a few drops in his mouth. ‘The letters. So many. You do not give up, right?’

      ‘I’m sorry if I was persistent,’ John said, a hint of a grin in his eyes. ‘When I discovered the scrolls under the brickwork of the old cellar, there were several references to a place called Havilah. When I’d exhausted every angle, the only Havilah that I could find, was here. I became, how should I say, hooked.’

      John de Lowe smiled warmly at the other man. ‘I am most grateful for your help, Ahmed.’

      Ahmed stared into the cave. How much should he reveal to the young Englishman, he thought? There was always a line to draw in the sand. Knowing where was the tricky bit.

      ‘Young man,’ Ahmed began, ‘we have a tradition of storytelling in this land. Many of these tales tell of a new time, a prophecy.’ He inclined his head. ‘The stories go back for many hundreds of years, a good deal longer perhaps, no one really knows. Havilah is a dusty place filled with sand and rock and flies. The wind blows the sand and the flies in one direction and then it blows them back again. It is of no interest to outsiders. All we have left to hold onto are memories, passed down by a small group of men and women who bind these stories to their hearts with chains. So, when your letters arrive, maybe there is a connection? I am happy to be of service.’

      John de Lowe took a sip of water. ‘You mentioned you travelled, Ahmed. How did you end up back here?’

      Ahmed sighed and sat down. ‘A long while ago, during the war, I went into the army, not by choice, you understand. I carried wounded men off the battlefield to the field hospitals and then, many times, I took them to the burial ground.’ The features of the older man grew dark. ‘I did it so often that I vowed that when it was all over, I would return to Havilah. There, I would raise a family and study the stories. I felt there was a great illness among humans. Perhaps the tales they had once told us were right?’

      John sat down opposite, a veil of light filtering down between them.

      Ahmed continued. ‘There was one man, like you, from England. His name was Archie and he was badly injured. I carried him for miles through heavy shooting, explosions crashing around us. He was dying and he knew it. But Archie needed a friend. He wanted someone he could trust.’

      ‘Why did he choose you?’ John asked. ‘Didn’t he get on with his fellow soldiers?’

      ‘I do not know. It intrigued him that I wore this.’

      Ahmed rolled up his sleeve to show a faded, circular tree-like birthmark on the underside of his elbow.

      ‘When he sees it, this fine man wanted very desperately to tell me stories. His tales sounded so similar to the ones I knew. The day before he died, to thank me, I suppose, for giving him a few more precious days, he gave me a cloth pouch. With his dying breath, he begged me to get away, to return at once to Havilah. He insisted that I use the contents to start again. I did not look at it until many weeks later. Inside, were jewels, a little stud, a medallion that had a circular scrolling pattern in gold on it, and a bangle. The medallion is in the same as my mark. I carry them upon my body to this day.’

      ‘Goodness,’ John said. ‘What a coincidence! How did you escape?’

      ‘That same night I decided that I had had enough. I knew they piled bodies high on wagons for burial in the morning. I hid among the dead and later, I crawled away. From that moment on, I was a deserter, and they came looking for me. Every place I went there were informers. When there was nowhere else to turn I headed home, here. I nearly died on the journey, many times.’

      The silence of the cave made the words swim around.

      ‘It may sound strange, Mr John, but much later on, the night before the soldiers arrived, I had a dream. The dream told me to go up into the hills above the village where I would find shelter. When I woke, I packed up all the provisions I could carry, and slipped out in the still of the dark.’

      John swatted at a fly pestering him. ‘What happened?’

      Ahmed put his head in his hands. ‘I walked until I could go no further but I found a shelter which protected me from the burning sun. As you saw, this is a barren, wretched place baked by the sun and only visited by goat-herders. One cannot survive for many days.

      ‘On the second day, I wondered if I should return. But then I heard the distant sounds of machines and guns. Shortly, I caught the smell of burning, drifting on the evening wind. They were on to me. I feared for the worst. If they had found the village, I knew little would remain.’

      The Arab picked a stone off the floor and twisted it in his scrawny fingers. ‘They sent dogs to find me. I heard them, so I ran as high as I could. I hid behind a large rock and lay down, trying to crawl underneath. As I moved the sand away, I found an opening, a hole. I heard the dogs panting nearby, and I let myself fall through. The rock edges tore my body. When I landed, Englishman, the ground moves. A pit of snakes. I prepare myself. But the snakes must have been more interested in the dogs sniffing around. They left and never came back.

      ‘I stay for three days, right here in this spot, where you and I now stand.’ He tossed the stone to the other side of the chamber where it headed through a chasm in the wall and rattled back and forth until there was a distant splash. ‘There is a nice sense of peace here, is there not?’ Ahmed said.

      John stared at the man opposite. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

      ‘I believed in my dream. You in yours,’ Ahmed began slowly. ‘Now, I need to know whether I can trust you.’

      ‘You can definitely do just that,’ the young man said bullishly, a frown stapled to his forehead. ‘Ask anyone. I was a prefect at Upsall School. Captain of the Tennis team

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