B. James Wilson's Blog

“Independence Square,” Matin Cruz-Smith’s tenth in the Arkady Renko Russian crime series, is no less a masterful work than the first in the series, “Gorky Park.” It continues to baffle me, following the success of “Gorky Park,” in both print and film, that more of Cruz-Smiths work has not been adapted for T.V. or a sequence of films, in the way of Hieronymus Bosch, or James Bond. Of course, Arkady Renko is more an anti-Bond character, having survived the Soviet era and living through the chaos of Putin’s iron-fisted rule of Russia, he’s more a vodka man than a vodka martini.

Nonetheless, the series is a master-class in noir storytelling, with Renko’s moral compass and melancholy grit anchoring the narrative. I’ve read them all, with the exception of “Polar Star,” 1989, and “Hotel Ukraine,” 2025, which I presume will end the series, considering Martin Cruz-Smith’s untimely death from Parkinson’s earlier this year. SPOILER ALERT: In an interesting twist, Arkady is diagnosed with the same disease in this novel. It makes me wonder what more of Arkady’s character is a reflection of the author himself.

Martin Cruz-Smith began his writing career as a journalist for the Press Association, but soon switched to fiction. He wrote several novels under various pen names, none of which I have read. He is something of a benchmark for me, so it would be an interesting exercise to read a couple of his early works, just to see the arc of his development as a writer.

Cruz-Smith also wrote several departure novels, some of which I have read. “Rose,” (a Victorian mystery in a grim, English mining town.) Also, one of my all-time favorites, “December 6th,” (a noir thriller set in pre-Pearl Harbor Tokyo.) “The Girl From Venice,” (A WWII story of love between a Venetian fisherman and a Jewish woman on the run.) The others, “The Indians Won,” “Nightwing,” and “Stallion Gate” are waiting on my seemingly endless reading list.

In this tenth novel of the series, Arkady travels to Kyiv, Ukraine, (the location of Independence Square,) as part of a missing persons investigation; a favor he is doing for a Russian mob boss with whom he has a symbiotic relationship. In Ukraine, Arkady finds himself investigating three murders. Two are obvious political assassinations. The third, seemingly unrelated, takes place in Gorky Park as an interesting reprise to the first Renko novel.

His travel companion, Elena, a Crimean Tatar, and daughter of one of the murder victims, is an activist in an anti-Putin political movement called Forum. She is best friends with the missing person, Karina Abakova, daughter of the mob boss, fellow activist and roommate. Karina, as it happens, is also closely associated with the first murdered politician, Forum leader, Leonid Lebedev.

As with all the Arkady Renko novels, the plot of “Independence Square” begins as a single thread, (find Karina Abakova,) but quickly develops into a snowballing tangle of dangerous intrigue. The crescendo comes in that moment when the careening snowball smashes into a wall of immutable bureaucratic intrigue, and the truth of Karina’s disappearance, her connection to Forum, and the solution of the murders, comes tumbling out of the splatter like the prize in a box of Cracker-Jacks.

I enjoyed this novel very much, as I have each one of the Arkady Renko series. I recommend it, and all the others, to anyone who enjoys the upmarket-crime, suspense/thriller genre.

Unfortunately, Martin Cruz-Smith’s voice has now gone silent. He will be greatly missed, but there is one more of his Arkady Renko novels left for me to read. “Ukraine Hotel” was released this year, and in it, I hope to find out how Arkady Renko’s crime fighting career will come to its inevitable end. Rest in peace, Martin, may God the Father of all creation receive you to Himself.

 

I just finished reading Tosca Lee’s “Demon: A Memoir” and I am blown away, again. This is a great story that grabs you from the very beginning and holds on to you until the very surprising end.

Unfortunately I was not familiar with Tosca Lee’s work at the time of the books original release back in January of 2007. I discovered her work later, while she was collaborating with Tedd Dekker on the “Books of Mortals” series. I next read her novel, “Progeny,” then “Hava,” then “The Line Between” followed by “The Long March home” and finally, “Demon: A Memoir.”

With each reading I have become more and more a fan of her work; and more than a fan, an admirer of her artistry. From what I’ve learned, the original release was very different. In fact it was much like the recent movie, “Nefarious,” which I am convinced was influenced by Tosca Lee’s writing. If you read the original, I urge you to read this latest release. I guarantee you will be as blown away as I am.

In this latest release, Clay, his name is an interesting allusion to his ilk, is struggling with a life that is falling apart around him. In the midst of his woes, he is contacted by a mysterious individual named Lucian, who lures Clay, an acquisitions editor for a small press, into a clandestine meeting in a small Boston café. Lucian, there, informs Clay, “I’m going to tell you my story …And you’re going to write it down and publish it.”

From that first proposition, Clay finds himself consumed in the writing of a demon’s memoir, related to him, piecemeal, over the months to come; months during which Clay begins to recede deeper and deeper into himself, wrapping himself in a dark blanket of depression and loss. All the while, the demon is relating truths that are not commonly known to mortals. Truths that keep Clay hooked on completing the work to the neglect of all else.

A light dawns for Clay, as the demon’s story approaches completion. Clay finds that there is a strong potential for his work on this memoir to succeed in the market, even to redeem his life and situation. But there are many lights in our world, greater lights and lesser. Clay must discern whether the light he sees at the end of his tunnel is a new opportunity, or an oncoming train. So must we all.

Tosca Lee is a literary genius who presents an underlying truth about life and purpose in this novel. It is a story that will interest readers of every kind. Anyone who reads for the purpose of being swept away into other worlds where the lives of literary characters can be either familiar, or exotic, will enjoy this read.

As a bonus I found that the Kindle version includes her novel, “Hava: The Story of Eve,” also a great read from Tosca Lee. 

Two things have resurfaced this week as a glaring dichotomy in science. Neither are new. Of course time, or our perception of it, is relative, so I will say they are relatively new. Newer, say, than Darwin’s “The Origin of Species,” but for one of them, no less foolish. The first comes out of quantum theory and is called “The Holographic Principle.” It theorizes, based on a mathematical model constructed from the results of experiments in particle physics, that we are living in a highly detailed hologram. The second is much more than a theory. It is the evidence gleaned from observations of actual life through electron microscopes and is titled, “ATP Synthesis And Storage.” It is the result of decades of work in micro and molecular biology that has revealed the amazing story of proteins and their work in our bodies and at the cellular level of all life on Earth.A huge breakthrough came in 2006 when it was discovered that the flagellum of certain bacteria are propelled by nano-sized electric motors made up of assembled proteins. Yes, that’s right, electric motors. That discovery led to the further discovery that within our mitochondria, similar, tiny electric protein motors are, minute by minute, churning out Adenosine triphosphate (ATP), a prebiotic essential to life as it exists on Earth.Of course, this is all highly complex science, so, what’s the point? My point is this, the idea that life on Earth is some sort of play of light, a hologram, is utterly ridiculous to the level of the Flat Earth Society. It is an insult to mankind’s collective intelligence. I understand that it is just a mathematical hypothesis, but it is not developed enough to be called science. If it were true we would all be just three dimensional cutouts of light. If you opened me up, if you could open me up, there would be nothing inside. If you shot me a hundred times you couldn’t kill me because I don’t really exist. There would be no wound, or evidence of your attempted murder. If you cut me I would not bleed because there is nothing beneath my surface of refracted light. There would be no life, and no soul possible in such a world. For a vast number of people on Earth who suffer and struggle each day to survive, this ivory tower hypothetical is a brutal insult.But the greatest insult of all is the implication that the sufferings of Jesus Christ were some sort of digital illusion, that the blood He shed to save you from sin was only a digital creation, like a Hollywood movie playing out on a theater screen. I assure you by the proven synthesis of ATP and the design of the nano-machines that churn it out every day in every cell of our bodies, that Jesus suffered, bled and died on that cross. And His blood cries out from the ground to His Father in Heaven even now, as we speak.

The City of Ekbatana, in the Kingdom of Persia, AUC 747, (The Year 7 BC)

It had become difficult for Larvandad to climb to the high rocks above the longstanding inscriptions of Xerxes and Darius. Age was catching up to him, but this lofty position remained his favorite place for observing the stars. He was one of only a few remaining Median Maji in the land of Persia. On this occasion he had spent several nights mapping the sky as it appeared above him, taking special note of a bright, new star that his colleague, Hornisdas of *Arbela, had brought to his attention.

According to the message he’d received from his friend Hornisdas, the star had appeared suddenly, in the sign of Varak, the goat. It was so brilliant that, even tonight, it shone clearly through the bright aura of a full moon. Earlier in the month, before the moon was full, when the star was more clearly visible, Larvandad forwarded the message he’d received from Hornisdas to his friend and colleague, Gudapharasa, (Guda to his friends), who lived in the distant city of Alexandria-Buscephalus. He was expecting a couriered response from Guda any day now, but, while he waited, he continued his observations alone. He’d waited a long time, more than long enough for a messenger to make the journey, and it troubled him that he hadn’t yet heard from Guda. He was still waiting when the sign of Varak, and the new star with it, had long passed from the night sky.

On a warm night in the month of Tammuz, the peace and quiet of Larvandad’s rural estate was disrupted by barking dogs, the braying of beasts of burden, and the loud voices of strangers. Larvandad was forced to get up from his bed and investigate the moil that, as it turned out, accompanied the pre-dawn arrival of his friend, Guda, and with him, an entourage well-appointed for travel.

~

The City of Arbela, in Adiabene, Persia

Inside Queen Tsadan’s palace, Hornisdas, her majesty’s long-lived chief adviser, felt vindicated by the summons he’d received, ordering him to appear before her. He had been her closest adviser from the time she was a child, but since her conversion to Judaism, he had been called upon less frequently to share his wisdom. By way of her conversion, the queen had adopted new advisers, men who regarded the Jewish prophets more authoritative than Zarathustra. Such conversions had become common among the literate of Adiabene. There were many enclaves of Jews remaining in the Persian Empire, leftovers from the days of their enslavement under King Cyrus.

In Arbela, the enclave of the Jews was led by one Rabbi, Yehudi ben Hannan. It was he who had taken the queen aside and taught her the ways of the Hebrew God and of Jewish law. It was he who convinced her to convert from the superior teachings of Zarathustra. Yehudi ben Hannan taught her to worship the “One True God” whom the rabbi referred to as, “The Great I Am, The Living God”. Hornisdas was hurt by the queen’s conversion. He felt betrayed, as though he and the old ways had been overthrown by a young upstart who’d come to her with a new god. Hornisdas felt that, for Tsadan, this new god was like finding a bright and shiny new coin nestled among a purse full of old and dull ones.

This morning he was anxious to explain to the queen what he’d learned about the new star. He was certain it must be the occasion for his summons. At the time of his discovery, months ago, he’d sent a message to her, informing her of the star’s sudden appearance. At the same time, he dispatched a currier to his friend, and colleague, Larvandad of Ekbatana. He’d waited all this time for a response and was still awaiting a response from Larvandad. In the intervening months, Hornisdas had determined, both by divination and by the star’s place among the greater signs of the heavens, that its appearance was announcing the birth of a king. And not just any king, but a great king, one to rule all Heaven and Earth. He hoped this stunning news might outshine the revelations brought to her by her new advisors. In an odd coincidence with the queen’s religious conversion, all the heavenly indications pointed to this new king being born among the Hebrew people. Hornisdas knew this because, all through the month of Nisan, the brilliant star stood in the sign of the goat, Varak. Varak had long been recognized among the Maji as being the sign of the Hebrew people.

While Hornisdas was still in an audience with the queen, explaining all that he had learned of the new star, her young son, Izates, hurried into the queen’s chamber, interrupting them to whisper excitedly in her ear. When he’d gone, the queen smiled at Hornisdas, stood up, bringing an end to their meeting, and said, “Your friends from the East have arrived.”

~

Later that day, gathered at the queen’s table, when the meal was over, Hornisdas was surprised to find that Larvandad and Guda were more anxious to discuss the meaning of his discovery than to take rest. Concerned for their well-being, he asked, “But are you not exhausted from your journey?”
Guda answered, “I will speak only for myself, but it is I who have traveled farthest. I would like to hear what you have to say about this new star, tonight, right now. I can rest tomorrow.”

Hornisdas gave a nod, and the queen’s servants poured hot tea. When that was done, he opened the discussion by describing the sudden appearance of the star in the month of Nisan.

“It was dim at first, but as the month progressed, the star grew brighter and brighter.”

Larvandad responded, “I thought that also. I detected a growing brilliance, though the moonlight made it less noticeable for me.”

Guda nodded his agreement. He asked, “Because it stood in Varak for the entire month of Nisan, you believe it foretells the birth of a king among the Hebrew people?”

“Not just any king,” Hornisdas explained, “The growing brilliance of the star, the whisperings of the gods, and the fact that it stood in Varak until the goat vanished below the horizon for another year. It all speaks of greatness.”

Larvandad added, “Certainly if the star remains when Varak reappears, what you say will be confirmed.”

Guda said, “If we are correct that the star portends the birth of a king, then, its standing so long in Varak must mean he will have a long reign.”
Hornisdas nodded his agreement and added, “Perhaps a lifetime, or longer. Perhaps the sign speaks of an eternal king.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Larvandad argued. “No kingdom lasts forever. In fact, a king who has sons is fortunate to live much beyond the age of their consent.”

He was quickly embarrassed by his impudence. Hornisdas turned to Queen Tsadan and her sons, who were in attendance, bowing low and apologizing for his guest, “He meant no offense, Your Highness.”
The queen only smiled and said, “None Taken, Old One.”

Her euphemism was an affectionate throwback to her youth when she called him by that name. It was her playful way of needling him.

Larvandad went on, “I simply mean that dynasties come and go, but there has never been a king that rules beyond a lifetime.”
“Still,” Hornisdas argued, “the star remains. It came in a manner like no other in memory, its brightness outshining even the Morning Star, surely the birth it portends is something extraordinary, a king more potent than any before him. It suggests, at the least, that the child will be a King of kings.”
Guda nodded in agreement and added, “If, as we agree, the sign portends the birth of a king then he will surely be a king like no other.”
Larvandad, having no argument, nodded quietly and sipped his tea.

In that pause, Queen Tsadan spoke.

“Am I right then in assuming that you men are in agreement that a great king has been born?”
The three wise men nodded in unison and Hornisdas said, “We do agree on that much, My Queen.”
Tsadan looked at each of them separately, then said, “But we must know where.”
There was no suggestion from Guda or Larvandad, but Hornisdas insisted again, “My reading is that this great king has been born among the Hebrew people, I am certain of it.”
“Then we must go to him bearing gifts,” the queen insisted.

“We must pay homage, but where? Do the signs tell us where this new king is born?”
The three wise men looked at one another questioningly. After a moment, Hornisdas again responded, “We must go to the land of the Hebrew people among whom the birth is foretold. We must travel to Jerusalem.”
The queen lit up, smiling. She had long wanted an excuse to travel to Jerusalem. She consented immediately, saying, “This bright new star has given us every reason to go there.”

She was excited by the idea and began to bubble over.

“How long will the journey take? We must begin preparing right away. We must plan to arrive in time to see this star rise again in the east, on the next occurrence of Nisan.”

~

They were many weeks into their thousand-mile journey when they took rest in Palmyra. A soft breeze bearing the sweet scent of date palms wafted over them like a gentle spirit in the night. Queen Tsadan interrupted the discussion of the Maji to ask, “Why do you speak of the stars as if they live?”
Hornisdas was quick to answer, recognizing the question as Tsadan’s familiar denial of the traditional Persian gods. He said, in a subtle call for respect, “My Queen, we speak of the gods our fathers worshiped, the gods revealed to us by Zarathustra. The stars are their representatives.”
The queen responded, “But the stars you observe are no more living beings than your idols.”
Her comment was met with silence. Not because they were confused by her meaning, but out of respect for her station as queen. In the ensuing silence, she added, “There is only one God, Hornisdas, and He made all of this,” she indicated the heavens above them.
Hornisdas sat silent, frustrated. He was, again, being asked to defend the very gods he had taught Tsadan to respect as a child. After a moment he said, “I’m not saying that they live in the stars, My Queen, but that they use the stars to communicate with us.”
“Not with us, Old One,” she indicated herself and her sons, Izates and Monobazus.

“They only communicate with you and your friends. They don’t speak to mere mortals. That is why we must have magi, like you, to tell us what the gods are saying.”
Hornisdas was not deaf to the accusation. It was a question of trust. At the risk of affirming the elitism of the priesthood, he said, “I suppose that’s true.”
“Would you worship the gods of Rome?” She asked in a sudden turn of logic.
None of the elders held any love for Rome or the Romans. It was Guda who answered definitively. “Certainly not!” The others nodded their agreement.
Queen Tsadan responded saying, “And yet, you do.”
After his initial shock, insulted by the accusation, Larvandad asked, “In what way do I worship the gods of Rome?”
The queen answered, “The stars you depend on for word from your gods have other names given them by the Romans, the Greeks, and even certain of the Hebrews. The same stars are also representative of their gods, so, in a sense, you worship the gods of Rome and Greece.”
Hornisdas had no response for her. He was far from being ignorant of such thinking. In fact, the same logic had troubled him much of his life, but in all his study of the stars and of the writings of the Avesta, he had no answer to give her. He rose in insult and brushed off his robes, intending to go to his tent. Queen Tsadan asked, “Where are you going, Old One?”

He stopped but gave no response.

“Sit,” she commanded, patting the ground next to her.

“I have much more to say. You have not yet heard my own interpretation of this new star you’ve seen.”
Hornisdas hesitated but thought better of open defiance. He sat down next to her, and she smiled at him, squeezing his arm in a sign of affection, and saying, “I have no desire to hurt you, Old One. I only wish to share the truth with you, but sometimes the two are indivisible.”
He gave her a weak smile and Tsadan launched into her ‘truth’ without delay.

“There is only one living God,” she said, speaking what she had learned from the Hebrew Rabbi and his scrolls.

“He is the God who created all things both before and since the beginning of time. You know Him as Ahura Mazda, but that is not His name. The gods you worship in stone and stars are not gods at all, but fallen angels, demons, and evil spirits. They hate you, Hornisdas, as they hate the God who created you, for He created you in His own image. They seek nothing less than your utter destruction. They do not answer our prayers, as you well know. Instead, they send merciless curses upon us, then entertain themselves in watching us struggle against their power, only giving occasional relief when one bows to their will. The signs that you see in the stars do not come from fallen angels. The signs come from the One and Only God who created both the stars and the angels. He is the One who speaks to you saying thus:

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.”

Queen Tsadan swept her hand across the sky, indicating the multitude of stars that filled the darkness above them. She paused there, staring up at the sky, then concluded, “The Prophet Isaiah long ago foretold the event that you have witnessed in the stars. He wrote, “For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of His government and peace, There will be no end, Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom, To order it and establish it with judgment and justice, From that time forward, even forever more.””

Her words were met with a protracted silence, but after time had been adequate for thought, she said, “This same God has promised, through His prophets, to raise up a Savior among the Hebrew people. He promises that this ‘Son of David’ will be the Savior of the world.”

She paused and looked up, then said, “The star we seek is nothing less than a sign of God’s fulfillment of that long-standing promise.”
The three men sat silent, staring up at the stars above them. Queen Tsadan nodded to Izates who rose to his feet then turned to assist her. As she got up, the three Maji rose with her, and bowed in unison.
“I bid you good night, gentlemen,” she said, then her sons escorted her to her tent.
She had given them a great deal to ponder, but Larvandad and Guda retired to their separate tents, too worn to pursue the matter. Hornisdas sat down again, and, looking up at the stars, he implored his traditional gods, including Ahura Mazda, to bring clarity of mind to the night’s discussion.

~

Damascus, Syria, AUC 748, (The Year 6 BC)

Winter had already come by the time they reached the village of Jobar, outside of the gates of Damascus. Their caravan was seen on the road, advancing from Palmyra and the news was announced long before they arrived at the gate of Jobar. They were met there by Moses ben-Hamadi, Rabbi and ruler over the ancient synagogue known as Eliyahu Hanavi. He’d made arrangements for them per the letters he’d received from his friend, Rabbi Yehudi ben Hannan of Arbela, and all was in readiness when her entourage entered the village. The larger portion of their caravan, her military escort with merchants and tradesmen they had picked up along the way, not to mention hundreds of wandering families and young men, went on the short distance to the gate of Damascus called, Bab Sharqi, (the East Gate or, Gate of the Sun).

That evening, her breath became visible in the frosty air, and the fading sun turned the sky first to gold, then bright pink, and finally to a deep royal purple. Tsadan and her entourage took rest in the warmth of the synagogue’s guest quarters, where, over tea, Rabbi Moses ben-Hamadi explained, with clear frustration, “Caesar Augustus has ordered a census be taken. The edict requires that every man in the empire be counted in the place of his birth. The census is creating chaos in the streets, but Quirinius doesn’t care. He’s gone to his villa in Rome to escape the madness.”
Hornisdas responded, “That explains the many families and carts filled with household possessions on the road from Palmyra.”
Queen Tsadan said, “No doubt, the people must be counted so they can be further taxed.”

She paused, then said, “At this moment, however, I am more concerned over the matter I wrote you about.”
Moses snapped his fingers and a servant hurried to his side. He whispered in the man’s ear and the servant hurried off. Moses turned to Tsadan and said, “The matter is well in hand My Queen. King Herod has offered his invitation for you and your party to join him in Jerusalem to celebrate the Festival of Lights. I gave him no other explanation for your visit. I thought it wise to withhold news of the star.”
The servant returned a moment later with several small, scrolled documents. He bowed and handed them to Queen Tsadan. Moses said, “These are copies of the letters exchanged between myself and Nicolas of Damascus. Nicolas is King Herod’s personal scribe in Jerusalem. As you requested, I identified you by your Greek name, Queen Helena of Adiabene.”

Tsadan, now to be known in Jerusalem as “Helena”, handed the letters to her son, Monobazus. She said, “I thank you, Rabbi, for all you have done. It was wise of you not to mention the star. I would prefer to give that news myself after we arrive safely in Jerusalem. If it’s acceptable to you, however, we would like to take our ease here, in Damascus, for the winter.”
“You are certainly welcome to remain as long as you like, My Queen,” Moses offered, bowing to her wishes.
For the very generous contribution she was making to the synagogue’s coffers, Moses was happy to accommodate her and her entourage, for as long as she liked. By way of conversation, he asked, “What do you know of King Herod, My Queen?”
She answered, “Very little really, other than he is a Roman client, appointed King of Judea by his friend, Caesar Augustus. I’ve also heard of his many building projects. Some say he is an architectural genius.”
Moses responded, “Genius though he may be, there is a darker side that you should be aware of, My Queen, but perhaps the time has come for the children to retire.”
At his suggestion, Helena nodded to her sons, then to her maids. The boys stood up, excused themselves politely, and left the room. Then, turning to Hornisdas, Moses said, “My apologies, gentlemen, might the queen and I have a private moment?”
At his request, Hornisdas, Larvandad, and Guda got to their feet and bowed politely. Hornisdas said, “Rest well My Queen,” and the three retired from the room.
With only Moses’ servants remaining, the rabbi took on a very serious tone and said, “To be perfectly honest, My Queen, there are many recent reports of King Herod’s great cruelties among the people of Judea. And not just among the people, but within his own family.”
Helena gave Moses her full attention as he related the details of his concerns.

“It would seem that Herod has lost his mind, overcome by an unreasonable fear that his family and others are plotting to overthrow him.”

Moses sipped from his tea as he gathered his thoughts, then continued, saying, “He recently accused his two eldest sons of conspiring against him. The truth is, he had them tried and put to death simply because they had come of age.”
Helena was shocked by the news. Her eyes grew wide, and remembering Hornisdas’ troubling words, “A king who has sons is fortunate to live much beyond their age of consent,” she refrained from making comment. It was true that there could be no greater threat to one’s longevity than to be named a royal successor, or worse, to be named king. She well understood that as soon as one receives a royal moniker, one’s closest friends often become conspiratorial enemies.

~

Jerusalem – AUC 749, (The Year 5 BC)

When the month of Adar was nearly gone, and the winter with it, Helena and her entourage left Damascus behind and began their trek to Jerusalem. Though the Roman Kings Highway, as it was called, was better maintained than the roads in Adiabene, the land of Judea was rugged, with steep inclines and frequent switchbacks. In addition, the cobbled roads and rutted cart paths of the Decapolis were covered each morning with thick frost that caused the animals to slip and slide, slowing the pace of their journey. They came down from the high plains of the Decapolis, into the Jordan Valley, at Jericho, with only a few days remaining before the first day of Nisan. After two days’ rest in Jericho, they began the final, arduous climb to the city of Jerusalem.

The arrival of such a large, armed caravan outside the East Gate caused quite a stir. So much so, that the captain of the guard sent a contingent of Roman soldiers to escort Queen Tsadan, (Helena), into the city. Helena was awed by King Herod’s palace as she was awed by the city of Damascus for the first time, she’d seen it as a child. The palace was a massive complex, enclosed within thick walls that separated it from the rest of the city. Being Herod’s own design, it consisted of two great, matching buildings, mirrored across a vast courtyard that was enclosed on each side by long colonnades. The grandeur spoke well to the rumors of his architectural genius. One side of the palace was Herod’s private residence, the other was reserved for his guests. The guest palace also contained his throne room and a great hall for entertainment. Queen Helena, her sons, and her three wise men were taken to the guest house, where they were welcomed and given rest by Herod’s servants.
In the evening, Herod hosted a great gala, celebrating their arrival with feasting and entertainment. He invited Helena and her sons to sit at the head table with him and with his latest wife, Cleopatra of Jerusalem. He was anxious to know the purpose of their visit, and though Queen Helena assured him that it was a matter of great importance, she excused herself from discussing it until she had rested from her long journey. Herod was most gracious in his understanding and, though he, himself, would be traveling the next day, he allowed that they could meet and discuss the matter upon his return. Helena was grateful for his understanding, thanking him, then excusing herself from the banquet, to return early to her quarters in the guest palace.

~

The following morning, in Herod’s absence, Helena took time to visit the Temple he had built in honor of the God of the Jews. She had never seen such grandeur in all her life, not even in Damascus, which was a larger, richer city. The stairs she climbed to enter the temple arched over the city’s narrow streets as a bridge, another testimony to Herod’s genius. Entering beneath the high, vaulted ceilings of a colonnade that bordered the southern end of a vast, open courtyard, the beauty and elegance took her breath away. As she walked between the towering columns, the temple was revealed in full view, rising above all other structures, gleaming white and trimmed with gold. Helena fell to her knees in awe. She felt surrounded there by the presence of the Living God, and, as she prayed aloud, a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder.

Looking up, Helena found a bent, old woman hovering over her. The woman was ancient in appearance, with speckled skin like weathered parchment, but her eyes were bright with youthful energy. She spoke in Aramaic, with a voice sounding like a carpenter’s rasp. Though Helena recognized the language, she neither spoke nor understood it. She responded in Greek, the international language of all educated people. The old woman gave her a toothless grin and asked, speaking in Greek, “You are new to the Temple. Is this your first time? I’ve not seen you here before.”

Helena was slow to come out of the fog of her prayers, but she smiled and bowed humbly to the old woman, then said, “I am Helena, Queen of Adiabene, in the east.”

The bent old woman began to grovel before her, but Helena took her arm and lifted her. The woman introduced herself then, with the same, raspy voice, “I am Anna, a devotee of God and servant of the Temple.”

Helena knew nothing of Anna, of her eighty years of Nazarite devotion to God, or that she was a well-known prophetess, but she sensed her gentle soul, and she befriended her on the spot.

She spent much of that day with the old woman, who gave her a royal tour, explaining the functions of the temple and the rules regarding the various areas set aside for special purposes. Anna explained, with apologies, that Helena would be required to remain in the outer court because, queen though she may be, she was also a Gentile. Helena smiled at her and explained proudly, “I am not a Gentile, but a Jew by conversion.”

~
Herod did not return that day, nor the next. In the evenings, Helena, along with her sons, dined with Herod’s wife, Cleopatra, and her son, Phillip. The boys got along famously and, as a result, the two women drew closer to one another. With full knowledge that Herod had his second wife and her sons executed, Helena was sensitive to the terror that underlined every careful word that Cleopatra spoke. As the evening wore on, however, too much wine loosened the woman’s tongue and a deeper picture of the man she had married began to emerge. When Helena, trying to keep the conversation on track, commented on the impressive beauty of King Herod’s Temple restoration, she added the words, “He must be deeply devoted to God.”
In response, Cleopatra laughed into her goblet. The wine splashed out, onto her face, her robe, and onto the fine, white linen cloth that covered the table. Then, thinking better of her display of disrespect, she pretended to be choking. She dismissed the boys then and waited for them to leave before commenting further. When they were gone, Cleopatra said, in a conspiratorial tone, “Obviously, you know nothing of his pagan cruelties.”
Helena declined to comment in return, but her brow posed the question she would have otherwise asked. Cleopatra gave no hesitation in answering Helena’s silence.

She explained, “Herod is a Jew by tradition only. He has no faith in the God of the Jews. His father was Idumean, a Moabite, forced at the point of a sword to convert to Judaism. Herod only pretends, in the same way his father did. He pretends to be a Jew in order to grasp the tenuous power Rome has entrusted to him. He builds temples to gain the trust of the Jewish leaders because he fears the influence they have in Rome.”

She took another long slug of wine from her goblet then went on. “He does the same for the Roman emperor, building cities, and Colosseums with great edifices, thinking himself to be Roman. In truth, he is neither Roman, nor Jew, but a pretender to both.”

She paused and took another drink, then said, “The more pathetic truth is that, in the eyes of both the Romans and the Jews, he is nothing more than a dog.”
She lifted her goblet, as if offering a toast, swallowed the last of her wine, then laughed again, indicating to her servant that she wanted a refill.

“He doesn’t see it,” she went on to say, adding, “To his Roman masters, he’s a good dog, at least for the moment. To the Jews,” her face screwed up as if she’d swallowed bitter herbs. She complained, “Oh those fickle, treacherous Jews. To them, he has never been anything more than a bastard mongrel.”

She took down another slug of wine, then concluded with a metaphor, “He lives in the fear that one day he will unintentionally pee on the precious carpet of the Roman empire, and, in that moment, be branded a bad dog in the emperor’s eyes. Her words became slurred, “You see, Herod is a stubborn, arrogant man, a dog who can’t be housebroken, one who never learns his place.”
Again, Helena wisely chose not to comment. Instead, she changed the subject, telling Cleopatra about her visit to the Temple that morning. Afterward, in what turned out to be a grave error, she, also under the influence of too much wine, spoke briefly of the star that led her to Jerusalem in search of a newborn king. When the meal was finished, she returned to her quarters to rest, and to contemplate the disturbing things she had learned of her host.

~
When Herod returned, on the fourth day of Nisan, he called for Helena and her three Maji to appear before him in the throne room. She was surprised and a little disturbed that the summons was official and not an invitation. The commander of Herod’s personal guard delivered it, and Helena, with her party, was escorted to the throne room that morning by Herod’s soldiers. She was again surprised to find a full council assembled there. The audience was formally attended by Herod’s own wise men, the leaders of the Sanhedrin, their advisers, and a multitude of scribes.
As Helena stood before him, Herod inquired, “The time has come for you to reveal to me the purpose of your visit.”

It was clear, by the tone of his question and the formality of the meeting, that he already knew the answer. She recalled, then, her foolish remark to Cleopatra. She hadn’t given enough thought to the woman’s fear and paranoia. Obviously, fearing that Helena might speak to Herod about her drunken remarks, Cleopatra struck a defensive blow. Helena realized, now, that Herod must be feeling deceived. For that reason, she deferred her answer to Hornisdas with apologies. Not intending to throw him to the wolves, as Cleopatra had done her, but because he was not considered the deceiver, and he was the most knowledgeable among them of the announcing star.
Hornisdas stood before Herod, bowed humbly, introduced himself, including his credentials, then said to Herod and his council, “My King, in the month of Nisan, last, I discovered a new star that appeared in the sign of Varak, that is, according to Jewish tradition, “tleh”, the ram, or Aries. This new star very quickly grew to be the brightest in the heavens. Not a wandering star, My King, but one that stood for the entire month of Nisan, in the sign of the Hebrew people.”

Hornisdas indicated Larvandad and Guda, saying, “My colleagues and I, after long observance, have determined that the star portends the birth of a king. As a result, we have come to inquire of him and to pay homage, with your permission, of course, Sire.”

He bowed again and stepped back. Herod could not hide his concern. He was obviously stunned by the news. Helena observed perspiration on his brow and spasms of twitching under his left eye, a clear sign of his suppressed rage. For a long moment, he was speechless. Then, finally, he turned, angrily, on his royal advisers and asked, “Why have I not been told of this star?”
His advisers stood dumb, looking at one another, and whispering in consultation. After a moment, the eldest among them, a Sadducee named Jannaeus, after long, apologetic groveling before King Herod, took his feet and said, “We have made no such observation, My King.” Then, casting an angry glare at Hornisdas, he said, “We have our doubts about the authenticity of this man’s testimony.”
Herod turned back to Hornisdas and, in a gruff charge, asked, “Did you hear that? My wise men have doubts about your claim. They say that you’re lying. What have you to say to them?”
Having no personal knowledge of Herod’s madness or his cruelties, Hornisdas rose confidently to his feet. Bowing humbly to Herod first, then to his wise men, he said, “With apologies, My King, we are certain of what we saw, and of our interpretation. We planned our journey to arrive in Jerusalem in time to see the star rise again in the east, as it did Nisan, last.”
Herod stiffened and said, “That being true, I too should also be able to observe this star, on this very night, should I not?”
Hornisdas consulted in whispers with Larvandad, who checked his calculations and nervously nodded the affirmative. He turned back to the king, and bowing again said, “Yes, My King. Aries should rise in the east near dawn. We are certain that the new star will rise with it.”

In his heart of hearts, he hoped it would be true, that the star would reappear. It was obvious by the tone of the meeting that lives were on the line and Hornisdas did not want those lives to be his or his colleagues.

~
Early the next morning, before dawn, Queen Helena, along with Hornisdas and the other Maji, sat nervously on the roof of the guest palace, with Herod, his wisemen, and a large group of observers. The night was cool, and the sky was clear. Scents of sweet jasmine wafted around them on a gentle breeze. Above them, the stars covered the heavens like a sparkling blanket. As they waited, they were entertained by the periodic bright streaks of falling stars. Herod’s advisers sat in deathly silence, seeing in the falling stars a harbinger of their own demise.
The minutes passed like hours as they waited for the arrival of Aries, the ram. Herod’s advisers had confirmed that Aries would rise before dawn, but they assured him the constellation would rise with no new star. Now, they sat nervously, doubtful of their own words.

When at last Aries showed itself on the eastern horizon, just more than an hour before sunrise, the new star stood there, as before, but bigger, and brighter than ever. Hornisdas pointed it out to Herod as soon as it was clearly visible, but knowing that his fate was already sealed, Jannaeus tried to argue that it was the Morning Star they were seeing.

“There’s nothing new in that,” he stated flatly, though he knew better.

Shortly after he’d said it, Venus also appeared, and his foolish argument was vanquished.

Jannaeus and the others of Herod’s advisors stood silent, trembling for more than an hour until the brightness of the rising sun overcame all but the wondrous new star. Stewing in his anger, Herod suddenly rose from his place. The twitching under his left eye was more pronounced than ever. To Queen Helena, he politely excused himself. Then, turning to his wise men he said, in icy command, “Meet with me in chambers, gentlemen.”
On their way down from the roof, Helena, with Hornisdas, Larvandad, and Guda, heard Herod’s raging. His angry voice echoed through the vast, empty halls of the southern palace. Helena, knowing of Herod’s brutal nature, was grieved by the pleading tones of his advisers, especially the elder, Jannaeus, whose fate she thought was certain. As they passed on down the long hallway, Herod demanded that Jannaeus tell him who this king, born to the Jews, could be. With their voices fading behind her, she could not quite hear the softer tones of Jannaeus’ answer, but she clearly heard Herod’s enraged response, “…and where is the Messiah to be born?”

~
Following a restless night, Helena rose late the next morning. She dressed hurriedly and returned to the temple to pray. Not long after her arrival, Anna found her on her knees in the Court of Gentiles. This time the old prophetess was accompanied by a man who seemed equal to her in age, if not older. She introduced him as a seer named Simeon. The man was barely able to walk. His hands were frail and knotted with crippling rheumatism. He spoke in a raspy whisper, but when Helena explained about the star and inquired as to where the Messiah was to be born, Simeon became animated. His voice grew strong as he declared, “I have seen Him.”
Anna added, “We have both seen Him, on the day of His dedication, here, in the Temple.”
Simeon nodded then said, retrospectively, “I have awaited His birth for most of my life and now, the Lord has graciously allowed me to see my Redeemer before I die.”
Helena could feel her heart, thumping with excitement. She asked, “When was it that you saw this child?”
Simeon gave thought, then answered, “It was in this very month, Nisan, just two seasons past,” he paused in thought then added, “I believe. My memory is not what it used to be.”
Helena asked, “And where might the child be found?”
It was Anna who gave answer this time.

“His young mother gave birth in Bethlehem, of David. You might find him there still.”

She paused. Her expression changed to one of grave concern, then she added, with a note of caution, “I saw in a vision that the child is in great danger.”
Danger?” Helena inquired.
Anna closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky. Her mouth worked as if she were speaking to someone unseen. After a moment she said, “There is a great stirring in the darkness.”

She took a deep breath, eyes closed, her face to the heavens. After a moment’s pause, she announced, “The Prince of This World is preparing a wicked plan to murder the child. There is little time for Him to be rescued.”

A tear trickled down the old woman’s wrinkled cheek as she said, “I hear a great wailing of grief coming from Bethlehem.”
At that, the old woman’s eyes sprung wide and locked with Helena’s. She spoke with alarm in her voice, pointing her gnarled finger and saying, “It is you! You are the instrument of the child’s demise. You must pray! You must beg God to lift this burden from you!”
The old woman’s words left Helena shaken. She realized that, indeed, she had been an instrument of evil by revealing the birth of the heavenly king to a man who is insane with jealousy for his throne. In response, Helena fell to her knees praying fervently. Though they remained standing, bent and frail, Anna and Simeon prayed with her.

~

That evening Helena and her Maji were summoned once more to appear before Harod in an official forum. When they entered the room, he sat scowling upon his throne of judgment, surrounded by his advisers, though the elder, Jannaeus, was ominously missing. Helena and her entourage bowed respectfully then stood before Herod awaiting his word.

“We,” he began, feigning calm, “myself and my advisers, have had some long discussions regarding the birthplace of the Jewish Messiah, whom we believe must be the king you seek. We conclude that His birth was foretold, by the prophet Hosea, to take place in a small hamlet just south of Jerusalem, a place called Bethlehem.”

Herod indicated one of his scribes and the man stepped forward to read from an ornate scroll.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
Though you are little among the thousands of Judah,
Yet out of you shall come forth to Me,
The One to be Ruler in Israel,
Whose goings forth are from of old,
From everlasting.”

Helena’s heart lept at hearing the place of his birth named, ‘Bethlehem,’ just as Anna had said. The hairs raised up on the back of her neck. She thought of how Anna had cried out at the mention of the place. There was great anguish in the old woman’s eyes as she remembered the words of her own prophecy. She’d said, “I warned her, that young girl, the child’s mother. I gave her the prophecy just as it is written in scripture, ‘Thus says Jehovah, A voice in Ramah is heard, wailing, weeping most bitter, Rachel is weeping for her sons, She hath refused to be comforted for her sons because they are no more’.”

With Anna’s words still reverberating in her mind, Helena barely heard King Herod saying that he too would like to pay homage to this new king. At that same moment, Hornisdas felt himself drifting into one of the trances he sometimes experienced. They always began in the same way. A strange tightening of his scalp, as if it were shrinking around his head, distorting his sight. Then a bright, rotating mandala consumed his vision, a carousel of tiny, colored bars of light, all assembled in an intricate, rotating wheel that stood somewhere between him and his view of King Herod. As the mandala grew in size, a vision formed in Hornisdas’ mind, a terrifying vision of the visible demonic entities who possessed Herod’s soul. Hornisdas briefly returned to awareness, hearing Harod’s words, “…I would ask that you return to Jerusalem for more of my hospitality before continuing on to your homeland. That way, you can inform me where the child may be found so that I too might pay tribute to him.”

At hearing those words, everything went black, and the next thing Hornisdas knew, he was lying on the marble floor of King Herod’s throne room. Queen Helena was hovering over him, softly slapping his cheek, and saying, “Old One, wake up. You’ve had another of your spells.”

All that night, Helena tossed and turned, unable to sleep, concerned about Hornisdas’ warning of the demons who possessed King Herod’s soul, of the king’s lies, and of his evil obsession to murder the child, the Heavenly King. Hornisdas’ vision was aligned perfectly with Anna’s prophecy. Hornisdas suggested that they should avoid Bethlehem altogether and return to Arbela, but Helena was clear in her response.

“We speak of the Messiah King, sent to us from Holy God Himself. How can we not pay tribute?” She locked eyes with Hornisdas then and said, “What can evil do to us to prevent us from honoring The Living God?”

~

In the morning, as the servants prepared her entourage for their departure from Jerusalem, a worn and winded messenger arrived from Damascus. He was charged with delivering his message into Queen Helena’s hand and to no one else. The small scroll was sealed with the signet of Moses ben-Hamadi. Hornisdas watched as the queen’s eyes grew wide. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and she collapsed to the ground, weeping. She handed the scroll to Hornisdas without words. On it, he read the tragic news of King Monobaz’s death. His thoughts went immediately to the queen’s question of the previous night, “What can evil do to us…”

Helena’s thoughts went to Anna’s decree and her prayer, that God would lift the burden of her guilt, of her complicity in the evil that was poised and ready to murder the Messiah-King.

In her grief, Helena revised her plans. The following morning, when all was in readiness, Queen Helena’s caravan set off north, on the Damascus Road, to return to Arbela where she would install her eldest son, Monobazus, on the throne of Adiabene. Her younger son, Izates, would remain in Jerusalem, to be schooled among the rabbis and the temple scribes, as prearranged. She insisted that Hornisdas, Larvandad, and Guda travel on to Bethlehem, to find the Messiah King and pay tribute to him. She commanded that they not return to Jerusalem, as Harod commanded, but they should find another way home to Arbela.

~

Bethlehem, AUC 749, (5 BC)

Joseph saw nothing extraordinary in the boy-child that Mary delivered on that cold night in Nisan, two years hence. He accepted the boy as his own, by faith in the vision he had received from angels. But in all that transpired on the night of Jesus’ birth, including the testimony of the shepherds, there had been nothing to cause Joseph to anticipate the arrival of nobility from the east, three Wisemen, not kings, as he’d been told, coming to pay homage to the boy. In fact, their coming worried him. In his latest vision, an angel warned him to leave Bethlehem, to take Mary and the child, and flee to Egypt. He intended to obey, but he had no resources to “flee,” as the angel commanded, so he remained in Bethlehem, praying for God’s provision, praying for a way to comply with God’s command.

Joseph firmly believed all along that God would provide for the journey and, today, these men, these important Maji from the east, with a great procession accompanying them, have come to bow before the child, Jesus, calling him King, and offering lavish gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The gifts alone were worth more than enough to pay for the journey to Egypt and to start a new life there. But the one called Hornisdas of Arbela brought much more than gifts of gold. He brought an explanation of the star which, on this night, still shone brightly overhead. The aged Magi told Joseph, “Along with this tribute of gold from Queen Helena, ruler of Adiabene in the Persian Empire, I bring you a dire warning. You are in great danger from King Herod. In his madness, he seeks the life of this child. For the sake of the child and, more, for the kingdoms over which He will one day rule, you must leave this place before Herod finds you.”

The Maji’s words were nothing less than confirmation of the angel’s warning. And the gifts were nothing less than God’s provision for the journey. Joseph could see in all of it, the overflow of God’s generosity.

If treasures were not enough, Hornisdas offered further, “You must come with us, this very night. We will give you protection as we travel.”

There was no hesitation in Joseph’s acceptance of the offer. He and Mary departed Bethlehem, with the child, Jesus, that very night, leaving behind their hovel and what little furnishings they possessed.

They traveled south, under the protection provided through the generosity of the queen of a distant land, whom they never met. They traveled under a star whose brilliance outshone even the moon, and by its light, they made their way to Hebron, where they stopped and rested before going on to Egypt.

~

In Arbela, in Adiabene, Helena received a communique from Izates, her youngest son who remained in Jerusalem. Among other things, it bore news of a great tragedy that followed her departure. Izates spoke of Herod’s growing madness and his murder of the male children in Bethlehem. As the prophet Hosea foretold, and as Anna had seen in her vision, the village of Bethlehem could do nothing but weep and wail for its sons.

There was an unfamiliar bitterness in the tone of the letter. It indicated a terrible change in her young son’s heart, a sense of loss, the loss of innocence, the loss of hope. There was a sense that his gentle spirit had become poisoned by Herod’s cruelties, by the vileness of human nature it revealed to him. His words told her also that he had been radicalized by the iron fist of Roman power. But Queen Tsadan knew, by Hornisdas’ return to Arbela, from Egypt, that the Massiah King still lives. She would be sure to tell Izates in her response. In the meantime, she would pray fervently for her son’s redemption, and for the child, the Messiah who would one day save the world.

~

Notes:

In the fall of 2010, archaeologists in Israel, digging beneath a parking lot in Jerusalem, discovered the remains of a large palace. Inside was the well-preserved tomb of a person of obvious wealth and influence. The tomb contained a sarcophagus clearly marked with the name, Queen Tsadan. The palace and sarcophagus were archaeological proof of what was already written by Flavius Josephus, the first-century historian. In his work entitled “The Antiquities of The Jews,” he wrote extensively about her, calling her by her Greek name, Queen Helena of Adiabene. (Ref. BAR)

*That is Arbela of Adiabene, of the Parthian Empire in the East, not the Arbela found in ancient Israel.

** All Biblical quotes, shown in italics, are from the New King James Version, Thomas Nelson, Harper Collins publishers.

As disappointing as this may be to friends, family, and the few fans I may have, I am forced to make some changes to my priorities. Believe me, no one could be more disappointed than I am, but the reality is that my dreams of earning a living as a novelist are just that, pipe dreams. In all the years and thousands of hours I’ve put into my writing, the money that has returned from my efforts has not been enough to cover even the minimal expenses that have been required to self-publish. So, like any business that continually operates in the red, eventually, you just have to cut your losses and let it go. That’s the difficult decision I’ve been forced to come to here, at the end of 2023.

Looking back over the year, I’m six months behind schedule in completing Patriarch and nearly that much for The Rift. In addition, the entire Gray Empire series must be revamped. The Practician has to be broken down into two books and I’m still not happy with the quality of The Oubliette. Looking ahead, I couldn’t tell you how many months of work remain to be done on these novels, or on the series they are each a part of.  In the meantime, life is calling for more of my time. I’m tired of the pressure I put on myself to meet deadlines, and I’m also tired of the frustration that ensues when I fail to meet those deadlines. That said, and considering the monetary losses, I have decided that I will no longer self-publish my books. If my work is not good enough for traditional publishing, then it’s not good enough for self-publishing either.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not quitting. Writing is an art, as much as any other and it requires practice. I’m not going to quit writing. I love the art, but I am going to change my focus. For the foreseeable future, I will be honing my skills as a writer, trying to become the very best writer I can be, and, if I succeed, that will be enough for me. My benchmark author is John Galsworthy and when I can pen a novel as beautifully as he, then I might consider the traditional publishing route. I might even reconsider self-publishing if that’s the Lord’s plan, but for now, I’m releasing myself from that commitment, and from the pressure and frustration that attends it. I apologize to one and all for any disappointment this may bring. I think that 2024 is going to be challenging enough for all of us without making the mistake of adding challenges that bring no rewards. That said, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and the very best in the New Year.

September already. Hard to believe. By the middle of this month, on the day of the equinox, I am supposed to have two new novels in publication. At this point, I laugh at what I suppose is my delusion. Although I’m working hard, neither book is finished and I’m months away from being ready to publish either one of them. “Patriarch”, book two of the Bible Book Club Series, is in Beta Read, which I have poorly managed. The Beta debrief should have happened months ago but when I saw my schedule slipping away, I changed my focus to “The Rift”, book two of the Gray Empire Series. That manuscript stands at 78,340 words today and, quite frankly, I’m struggling with a plot that is beginning to overwhelm me. Just getting old I guess, but the characters have wrested the story from me and run off in five different directions. That’s not unusual for a writer, but as I fight to get it back under my control, I feel like I’m weak and losing the battle.

Anyway, enough about the difficulties of the writing life. There were a few very interesting rabbit trails in the month of August. One of them regards the Stone of Destiny, also known as the Stone of Scone, which resides beneath the seat of the Coronation Throne of the British Royalty. The throne was most recently used in the coronation of Prince Charles, as King of England and has been used in the coronations of kings and queens in England for the past seven hundred years.

The legend of the stone is that it was brought to Scotland during the time of the Crusades, from Bethel, in what is Israel today. It was purported to be the very stone upon which Jacob slept when he had his vision of a ladder between Heaven and Earth. That would mean that it is the same stone that Abraham earlier used to construct an altar to the Lord between Bethel and Ai. In the minds of crusaders and kings, the stone has supernatural powers, as a portal or gateway to the heavens where one can receive higher wisdom and powers via the Almighty. Indeed, Isaiah 33:6 seems to imply the same. Thus, in the hope that the stone is the source of the supernatural “Ladder” to heaven, it has been jealously possessed by nations and kings for a thousand years. I don’t happen to agree with a thousand years of royal superstition. I mean, just look at Charles and tell me if you see any supernatural wisdom.

I believe, as does Rick Townsend, the main character in the Gray Empire series, that the supernatural portal represented by the Stone of Destiny, lies in the place where Abraham chose to build his altar to God, and where the pagan people of Canaan, before him, chose to worship their gods. The Gateway to Heaven is in the place, not the stone. That theory leads us to the phenomenon known as the “Templar Grail”, a mysterious energy vortex that exists in certain locations on the earth’s surface and can be made visible by esoteric means on the four solar events of each year, the “Gaels”, or pagan holidays. On those days, an adept can conjure an energy form that appears as, “…a conical vortex surrounded at the top by a doughnut-like torus, all spinning energetically and glowing bright, looking like a golden chalice.”

What’s more interesting is that wherever these gateways have been found, early pagan cultures erected their henges, altars, and temples. Later, the Crusaders built a chapel on the site at Bethel where the stone was found and, from that central point, the Templars branched out, locating other sites as far away as Scotland. At each of the sites where they were able to conjure the Templar Grail, they built chapels, cathedrals, and castles on top of ancient pagan structures already located at those sites. Many of those structures, both pagan and Templar, stand today. If you’ve been watching Skinwalker Ranch on the History Channel, you saw the proof of such a gateway, (portal), last season.

So the search goes on for the True Grail. Rick and his team must first overcome their opposition, both in this dimension and in those which are thinly veiled to either side of our own, before they can locate and retrieve the prize that the world and prophecy both anticipate.

In September of 2002, Simon and Schuster published Martin Cruz-Smith’s novel, “December Sixth”. It is a fictional tale of the preparations made by the Imperial Japanese state to attack Pearl Harbor. We all know, from our annual memorial, what happened on December seventh, 1941. What few of us know, or remember, is the horror that began on December 8th of that year, for the people of the Philippines and the thousands of U.S. troops stationed there.

After the air assault on Pearl Harbor, the Imperial Japanese military invaded the Philippine Islands with the full force of their mighty war machine. The air assault, naval bombardment, and full-scale invasion of the island of Luzon was just the beginning of years of grinding torture and oppression inflicted on all the inhabitants of the Philippines. The ensuing surrender of the vastly outnumbered and outgunned U.S. and Philippine forces was the start of “The Long March Home”, a novel written by Marcus Brotherton and Tosca Lee.

At the time of the surprise attack, there were just over 16,000 U.S. troops on the Islands of the Philippines. They were ill-equipped to hold off the 120,000 war-hardened Imperial Japanese troops who soon surrounded them and drove them to the sea on the southern tip of the Bataan peninsula. In spite of the overwhelming odds, of hunger, disease, and dwindling supplies, the Allied forces held out until April of 1942, when the Allied defense of the Philippines collapsed. From there, following the surrender, the torturous test for three young friends from Alabama would begin.

The Long March Home is a sweeping tale of unrequited love for the main character and narrator, Jimmy Propfield, for his first and life-long love, Clair Crockett, as well as for their mutual, life-long friend, Hank Wright. It is also the story of a test of strength, of loyalty, of endurance, and determination, for each of them, including Billy Crockett, Clair’s younger brother who has long been like a brother to both Jimmy and Hank.

Marcus Brotherton and Tosca Lee have written a compelling tale of the lives of four, small-town kids from Mobile Alabama. In it they have woven together a story of innocence being thrust into the crucible of war. They do an excellent job of blending the horrors of a sweeping epoch of combat and the cruelties of Japanese prisoner-of-war camps while diving deep into an examination of the complexities of the relationships between four kids who grew up together as brothers and sister.

Jimmy, the preacher’s son, who can’t seem to break the chains of his father’s expectations. He has known Clair, his next-door neighbor, since they bathed together, naked, as toddlers. He has loved her since they were preteens. And there is Billy, Clair’s baby brother, a brother to Jimmy as well. In high school, they met Hank Wright, a year older, bigger, stronger, and from the wrong side of the tracks. The four of them became inseparable friends for all the years leading up to war, but the friendship was not without its stress points. Hank also comes to love Clair, but he is hesitant and highly respectful of what he sees as Jimmy’s claim on her. Clair loves Jimmy, but her love for him is somewhat cooled by Jimmy’s indecisiveness, and by the brother-sister aspect that permeates their relationship. In that regard, Clair is attracted to Hank. She loves him too but in a different, more visceral way than her love for Jimmy. And they all three love Billy in the protective way of older brothers and sister.

Following graduation from high school, on an impulse, Jimmy and Hank sign up for military service, anticipating the adventure of war. Though he hasn’t yet graduated, not wanting to be left behind, Billy signs up too, lying about his age, and all three of them leave Mobile, and Clair behind. For Jimmy, it is a way to escape his father’s tyranny and the pressure he feels to commit himself to Clair, who has, by this time, given up on him. What will happen to these three friends? Will they survive the war? What will become of Clair? Will she find true love? Will Jimmy? The answers to these questions make a riveting tale of life, love, the complexities of relationships, and the horrors of war. I truly enjoyed this read. The human story is compelling and the history of the war in the Philippines was both interesting and exciting. The Long March Home is a rollercoaster of action, adventure, and human emotion that I can highly recommend.

Another week has gone by as work continues and the days seem to be speeding up. Indeed, they are subtly growing shorter, as summer presses on toward the fall, even the earth’s rotation is speeding up, as Jesus said it would, though imperceptibly. All that to say, it’s been another busy week in the Melbourne Tunnel.

I’ve been doing a lot of research for chapters 19 and 20. Of course, that leads to rabbit trails on which I have to be careful not to fall down the hole. Sometimes I do, and what I find there is often astounding. Do you know what a Carnyx is? I do, and I’ve been wondering all week if it could be used to conjure the Templar Grail, a mysterious vortex of energy. That curiosity somehow led to Ubaid lizard people and the Brotherhood of The Snake. (Ooo, creepy). And then there’s Tom Tobin, the first professional bounty hunter in the Old West, and his pursuit of the Bloody Espinoza Brothers. (How in the world did I get here?) In between all this comes the daily dose of life, and, oh yeah, I’ve been listening to an interesting lecture on the validity of the scriptures given by Dr. Daniel Wallace. Did you know that those who criticize the Bible, often citing ancient, classical Greek texts, do so from a poverty of source material, usually one manuscript written hundreds of years after the original? Sometimes they might have two, or three older, partial manuscripts to use as reference. But the New Testament Bible comes to you from a wealth of source material, more than 5600 ancient, NT Greek manuscripts. That’s a thousand times more source material than any other ancient document. You can be confident in the scriptures you hold in your hand today based on these ancient texts.

As the week comes to an end, I’ve finished reading Tosca Lee’s “The Line Between“. If you’re not familiar with this author, I highly recommend her, and this work of fiction. Tosca Lee is one of my benchmark authors, and I’ve already started her latest work, a collaboration with Marcus Brotherton entitled, “The Long March Home“, which I also highly recommend. in spite of all the diversions, The Rift manuscript stands at 68,504 words as I work through chapter 20. So, I’m making slow progress against the tide of life. Until next time, Press on regardless, and do good work.

Tosca Lee never ceases to amaze, and “The Line Between” is certainly no exception. The book is well written, to Tosca Lee’s high standards, and there are many quotable lines, but I picked this one because it reflects the prophetic nature of her story. In this scene, the main character, a young woman named Wynter, is expressing her feelings about the book’s antagonist, a man whose ego and hubris are so great that he thinks himself above God. She says of him:

“How many was he willing to let die? And for what? To hold the health of a nation hostage? To force the hand of God? A monster, Ashley called him. But he is something worse.”

– Tosca Lee – The Line Between

If anything about a pandemic being released on the world by men who think they can “force the hand of God”, sounds familiar to you, you should know that this book was published in January of 2019, many months before COVID-19 became a reality for most of us, and before the entire world was subjugated under the rule of a single, unelected bureaucrat whom we since find,  may have had a hand in developing the virus.

Did Ms. Lee foresee the pandemic? I don’t know, but what I do know is that the story she has to tell is powerful, timely, and brave in many ways.

I have always admired Ms. Lee’s work, but in this novel, she goes beyond the benchmark she has always held in my view. The novel opens with the main character, Wynter, as a child being brought to a safe place by and with her mother and her sister. Wynter learns, as she grows, that this place is a “Christian” commune called, New Earth. The founder and leader of the commune is the story’s antagonist, a man named Magnus. Over the course of Wynter’s growing up, she learns the many familiar evils of life in an autocratic, communal system, but she knows nothing else, so the perversity of the horrific rules of the commune just seems normal to her. Then, one day, as a young adult, Wynter discovers that an unspeakable evil has been perpetrated by Magnus. That knowledge completely changes the trajectory of Wynter’s life and thrusts her into great danger as she finds herself becoming the only hope for a world on the brink of annihilation.

There are so many remarkable things I could say about this book, and about Ms. Lee’s approach to this horrific tale, but I think the most significant thing is the way in which she methodically reveals the truths about cult living. She develops the negative aspects of such a life in a way that allows the reader to grow up in that environment right along with the story’s protagonist. It is so well crafted that you feel as though you’re living through Wynter’s shock, disappointments, and grief.

I am always impressed by Tosca Lee’s work and “The Line Between” is certainly no exception, except in the way that it has raised the bar once again. I give this book my highest recommendation and guarantee that you will not be disappointed. This one is a full five stars and leads me to my next read, Tosca Lee’s collaboration with Marcus Brotherton in, The Long March Home.