Shallee, a PhD social activist in the twenty-first century, has disrupted the harmful social programming instigated by Raymond Mackelvie, a powerful business magnate who has been controlling the masses for decades. Hence, Mackelvie sets out to destroy her. Interestingly, her circumstance parallels a ninth-century past life that has always haunted her. In that life, her royal family, trying to unite Denmark, was overthrown and slaughtered by the Curonian, Droghan. Tumbling through time, Shallee finds herself in that past, two years after she died. She meets up with the warrior, Shokane, who once loved her. Together they plot to restore Denmark, fighting for heart on a perilous adventure into the dark side of light. Black magic abounds and mythical beings arise in this riveting suspense where multi-dimensional realities bleed together to reshape a fate that hinges on a romance transcendent of time and space. Excerpt: I charge toward him, my boots plowing through the snow, kicking up ice crystals. Power gathers in his gold eyes, and I feel the lion in him return. He cries urgently, “Shallee!” I fly against his chest with an iron clad embrace, and his arms snap around me. His heartbeat thunders in my ears, and his heavy breathing pumps his diaphragm against my stomach. He rocks me slightly side to side. Tears stream down my face. His body feels cold, but his heart is burning bright. Mine too. Whatever Loki had of me, I had taken back. Shokane was back too, and now we anchored each other. I feel him again, the way he used to be, strong in resolve, emanating from a place of power deep within himself. And that is what I have loved him for, his individuality. Seeing him sucked into a role, seeing me sucked into a role―just plain sucked. He says in my ear, “We have been magicked Shallee, grotesquely―magicked.”
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Suddenly, my body tingles. I slow my walk, following my psychic senses. Nausea rolls up in my stomach. I stop and close my eyes a moment to let it pass. My limbs weaken; my heart fires beats machine-gun fast, and my elation sours. I am near. I know it. But I didn't think I'd feel so bad when I found the spot, although, then again, why wouldn't I? I must be brave and do what is necessary to avoid the Big Empty.
I open my eyes and walk forward. With each clammy step of my soaked socks and boots, I try to sense the exact spot I died. I am sinking into a trance, looking up at the trees, gnarly branches twisting, parading their shapely leaves. In Celtic mythology the oak is thought to be a tree of doors, a gateway between worlds. Perfect.
I'd heard oaks could live up to fifteen hundred years. The forest has seen so much over the centuries, maybe even my old life and more probable still, the horrid way I died. And now the oaks shall witness me again in a new body. I wonder if they are saying to each other, `She's ba--ack.'
A strange sensation crawls up my legs, as if rooting me into the bowels of time. This is the spot. With closed eyes, I sink deeper inside myself, deeper deeper . . . down down. My breathing slows. My head feels opened like a flower, whirring with energy that deepens my altered state.
I draw my sword across my chest, with one hand on hilt and the other pressing the flat blade against my heart. "I am one with the hunter, the warrior, the predator, the beast. One." My body tingles like sea foam. I touch the periphery of my past, not like the replays in my vision where I feel tossed about inside a memory. But as I align myself with the very taproot of that horrid event, this feels more real than even that.
The energy of a cold ocean wave smacks me, leaving me breathless. Like an elevator with cables cut, I crash to my hands and knees, my sword flat on the ground beneath my head. With one hand on the hilt and the other pressed over the blade, I tremble. I gasp for air as I ride on a current from now to what happened.
I am in the marsh searching for food. Armored men on horse back thunder toward me. I run, laden by the weight of my water-logged gown, tangled in my legs. Dirty water splashes up around me, itching my shins and forearms. I can taste the marsh water on my tongue. Silt spackles my skin as my bare feet flee into the oak forest. Panting horse breath blows at my back. Men dismount and surround me with sadistic smiles.
Dirty blades tear at my already tattered ivory gown, nicking my skin. Blood fills the slices in my flesh. I am on my back, enduring rape. A wide face with yellow hair pants lasciviously over mine: cruel blue eyes, lots of teeth, foul breath.
I look past the man's face and focus on a beloved oak tree above me. The sun glimmers through leaves. So beautiful. I drink in the tree's calm beauty with wind rustling and trees making song. I blot out the men's laughter, making fun that I can look so peaceful while being raped. Their cruelty worms its way into my heart, building like a pressure cooker trying to explode me. And the joy of my oak tree fades from focus leaving me to wallow and writhe in a cesspool of degradation.
A sword is drawn above me. It plunges down, gouging my stomach. The blade is pushed in harder, through my body, into the earth. I'm trapped. Shrill agony.
I feel myself as Shallee for a moment. My hand curls around the blade of my sword, squeezing. Sharp sting. Fingers getting wet. Squeezing harder, eyes bulging wide, staring at a forever knot engraved on my blade. Through clenched teeth, I command, "I am one with the hunter, the warrior, the predator, the beast! One." I'm sucked into a pinpoint where life and death converge. It's violent and pure, a worm hole of perpetual explosion. I feel like I am dissolving. Soon I will be . . . no more. My mouth stretches as far as it can in a silent scream. He-lp me! I evaporate into the energy.
The dirt at my face gives way, and I am in slow motion, falling off the edge of light into a black void, like sinking in water. Escaped hair tendrils move about my face, and my long black pony tail floats up around my eyes. I have no bearing, no sense of up or down, backward or forward. I've traveled into my pain, into the quiet dark. I am gone.About the Author:
Susan D. Kalior has an M.A in Education in Counseling/Human Relations and Behavior, and a B.S.degree in Sociology. Susan has extensive experience in psychological counseling, metaphysical exploration, facilitating self discovery workshops, public speaking, and aiding in the psycho-spiritual healing of many. All manuscripts are filled with social psychological insight, and psycho-spiritual wisdom.
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Book Description Blue Wing Publications, Worksh, 2010. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Never used!. Bookseller Inventory # P110979566363