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This novel of alternate history and dark romance, outlined by excerpts from the Book of the Gospel According to Judas Iscariot, follows the journey of Mary Magdalen, fallen angel, cursed as vampire, as she follows a trail of desperate hope and love beyond measure.
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This novel is about re-affirmation of faith, and the inconsistencies of faith, mankind, and history. I hope it opens hearts and minds.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Prologue: Prologue: I suppose that I still love him, but not as I did. He fell from grace, burning and beautiful -- defiant, but that falling chained his spirit. He chose to rail against the heavens, gnashing his teeth in futile anger at his imprisonment.
My own dreams, which may be empty, are of being free.
Lucifer would see it too, if he would but look. It has been promised to all of God's creatures, great and small. I am one such creature, and I burn to claim my birthright.
When the kingdom men named Hell was born, many of us followed him there to lick our wounds and recover from the war. Whatever the religious leaders might tell you, whatever you might believe, it was war. The angel of light did not depart as an ember, but as a brilliant star, a power to singe even the hands of God.
It has been eons since I walked that tortured road, but it is there that my story begins. Perhaps, when the day of reconciliation arrives, it shall end there as well. That is not for me to judge. I know only this; it was through a man, and through Christ in the guise of a man, that I found hope. For this hope, if for nothing else, I inscribe this history.
It is possible that nothing shall ever be the same when my soul is bared, that I will be consumed in fire for my impudence. It does not matter. The weight of this story is too much to bear, and the only other who shares it has chosen silence.
We have drifted apart. Most of his time is spent in solitude, but he has left his mark. It is no wonder; he is half-crazed with boredom and lost to despair. His road and mine are not the same. He is born of man, of the earth, I of the heavens. Though we share a curse, we cannot long abide one another's company.
I dream for him as well, for I was created to greater strength. His own dreams too often fall to despair.
The apostles who told this tale before me had their own interests in mind when they recorded certain events. Much was left to the winds and drifting sands, forgotten. Only one among them ever penned the truth; only one among them had a great enough heart and the enduring love to care. That was Judas, named the betrayer.
He paid an awful price for a truer faith than most men will ever know. The Book of The Gospel, According to Judas, was burned on the second day after Jesus rose from his grave. There was only a single, hand-scribed copy, and he had failed to conceal it well. He never bothered to recreate it.
The others were jealous and afraid. They never trusted their own faith, knowing from the example of their master's death how men would see them, and fearing how it would mark them in the eyes of God.
It was Peter, possessed of Lucifer himself, who set the blame for their Lord's death on Judas' shoulders. He felt it necessary to discredit Judas, and to remove his testimony.
Such is the pride of men. Perhaps they are more like the fallen angel of light than they have let themselves believe. It has always amazed me how the glaring holes in the life of their savior, and in the teachings of His disciples, have been so carelessly and pointedly overlooked. Nothing is harder to believe than that which is not desired.
At the time of Christ's death, I was unable to explain why Lucifer did not seize the chance to have the truth recorded. Now, after watching the product of his intellect unfold, it has become obvious. He may be bitter, but he is brilliant.
Man might have reacted differently, had they known the truth. This senseless bending of truths and flailing of spiritual arms has brought centuries of amusement to those below. Entire lifetimes have been spent twisting ancient wisdom to serve the desires of mortals.
Though I see the weakness that is inherent in man, I am less vindictive than my former lord. I do not hate men for their gift of salvation, no matter how they might scorn or waste it. I do not hate the All-Father for my exile. In any case, few enough will listen to my story that it will not disrupt the general flow of humanity. As I have said, the thing least easy to believe is that which is not desired.
A great deal happened between the fall of light and the events of the gospel. The game of creation by one and corruption by the other began almost immediately, and Creation itself was batted about some, in the early stages. That fact alone has caused its own levels of chaos.
In some cases, the details of these conflicts were as minute and fragile as sub-atomic structures that developed flaws, or micro-organisms that evolved in directions far from those originally planned. Lucifer was banned from Heaven, but his proximity to the Earthly works of his enemy gave him great freedom to annoy and antagonize.
While this was never directed at mankind, it has hewn a trail of pain which has led to the very brink of destruction. Games are not restricted to those of lower thought patterns, neither are the emotions of envy or greed.
Lucifer watched the arrival of the Christ upon the Earth with deep interest, and some concern. Well aware that he could not prevent it, and unwilling to forego the amusement, he set about sowing the seeds of jealousy, fear, and distrust that would later lead to the crucifixion.
A small mountain of dead children grew on Christ's birthday, sacrificed by those who feared the birth of a King. Satisfied with his handiwork, Lucifer sat back and watched.
Men seem given to strange excesses. The dead children were a tragic example of this. I saw it as a shame. Lucifer saw the destruction not at all. His eyes were turned Heavenward, searching for a sign of the anger he knew his actions would spark. I walked the Earth in his shadow.
I will not apologize, for I am not responsible. I will also try not to dwell on the years prior to my tale, though certain events will require explanation. To avoid personal prejudice, to which I freely admit, I will use passages of The Book of Judas, which I hold embedded in my memory. I have walked the roads of both Heaven and Hell, seeing much. My memory will suffice.
In the Christ, Lucifer saw another part of his enemy, another work to corrupt. I saw beauty, a piece of that forever lost to me. Perhaps even then, before his light had opened to me, I saw salvation.
Lucifer saw none of that; his hate had become too great. I saw, and I loved. The Christ, too, was very beautiful.
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Book Description Terminal Fright Press, Black River, NY, 1999. Hard Cover. Condition: New. Dust Jacket Condition: New. Lissanne Lake (illustrator). First Edition. First edition/first printing. Number 233 of 1000 copies signed by the author and dust jacket artist. Book is in fine (unread) condition with a fine unclipped dustjacket protected in a Brodart wrapper. An Attractive Copy! Please feel free to ask me for pictures or more information, Thanks. Signed. Seller Inventory # 003365
Book Description Terminal Fright Pubns, Black River, NY, 1999. Hardcover. Condition: New. Dust Jacket Condition: New. Lissanne Lake (illustrator). 1st Edition. NEW HARDBACK. SIGNED by DAVID NIALL WILSON & LISSANNE LAKE [NO Inscription]. LIMITED Ed. #645/1000. DJ in Clear, ARCHIVAL MYLAR WRAP. NO remainder mark. | SHIPS AIRMAIL INTERNATIONALLY!. Signed by Author(s). Seller Inventory # 002423
Book Description Terminal Fright Pubns, 1999. Hardcover. Condition: New. 1. Seller Inventory # DADAX0965813533
Book Description Terminal Fright Pubns, 1999. Condition: New. book. Seller Inventory # M0965813533
Book Description Condition: New. New. Seller Inventory # STR-0965813533