Includes color illustrations, Millennium maps, and inspirational quotations
"A pandemic Emotional Virus-Dark Plague, has infected the human race with hatred, unhappiness and heartache-low self-esteem. A champion must rise up to conquer the dark forces who spread the deadly disease."
Octilogy: Eight Great Treasures, Book 1, Time Island, is a philosophical adventure into the World of Self, where intelligent life forms seek the highest truth, to discover who they are. Join Hunter Wainright and Metamorphosis, Sage of the Ages, on a quest for the Eight Great Treasures. Discover the Secrets of the Universe-life and death, heaven and hell, good and evil-the cure for the viral Dark Plague: Curse of the Universe. Hunter's odyssey on the Open Road, the Great Way, challenges his beliefs-his human reality.
Mel Wayne's deluxe color edition of his philosophical adventure novel unites the power of thought with epic fantasy/science fiction, empowering you to begin your own journey of self-discovery-to find out who you truly are.
OCTILOGY Eight Great Treasures - Book I - Time Island
Blinded by the blazing-red sky, his awakened thoughts warned him, I feel strange ... something is wrong . Like a raging wild fire, the crimson atmosphere overwhelmed him. Holding his right hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, he convinced himself that the fiery~red sky had to be a figment of his vivid imagination?a dream. A bad dream.
Directly above him, rays of amber light pierced the purple and yellow clouds. Beyond the clouds, sparkling stars pulsated in the scarlet haze. Lying flat on his back, he cautiously moved his left hand over the smooth, rock-hard surface.
I must be dreaming ... but I feel awake , Hunter thought. Gathering his senses, he listened to the sound of crashing waves.
The waves sound louder than I've ever heard them ... I must have left my bedroom window open last night.
Blurry eyed, he rolled his head to his left side. The radiant-red sky melted into normal blue sky framed by towering white thunderheads. The atmosphere looked divided, split in half by two colors, half red?half blue.
Groggy, he raised his head to gain his bearings. Disappearing beyond the horizon, a blanket of crimson-grey fog surrounded him.
What am I doing on this rock? He touched the damp, black surface.
This feels real ... it looks like rock.
His heartbeat increased as he rationalized, I'm not dreaming ... this is not my home ... this is not my bed.
He propped himself up onto his elbows. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, he made his most startling discovery.
"My clothes!" Hunter shouted. "Where are my clothes?"
The sound of his own voice startled him. Shocked and embarrassed, he climbed to his feet, covered himself with both hands and looked for a blanket, anything to cover himself.
This is crazy ... where's my pajamas ... where am I?
Half angry and half awake, his eyes adjusted to the strange light. Afraid to walk across the slippery rock, he circled in place, staring at the horizon. In the far distance, above the fog, a flat plateau of land surrounded him, a complete circle of vertical cliffs.
Those cliffs look real .
"Father," he yelled, "this is a stupid birthday surprise. You've made your point, now show yourself."
Covered with goose bumps, Hunter listened for a reply while he watched the crawling fog encircle the elevated rock platform.
Dad hired someone to create this fake landscape. Sensing for the first time that his dream could be reality, he rationalized that his wealthy father had rented a movie set with a fog machine.
Dad wants to shock me ... teach me a lesson ... like that movie where the protagonist, the hero, lived in a giant dome and was being secretly filmed .
"But I have no clothes on," Hunter mumbled.
Dad wouldn't film me looking like this ... I went to sleep with my pajamas on ... where are they? "Father, this is not funny, dammit," he yelled.
Red~faced, he waited for a reply. Shivering and covering himself in embarrassment, he took short steps, stopping at the straight edge of the black platform. The slippery rock dropped off at a dangerous forty~five~degree angle.
He knelt on one knee and peered down through the fog.
Rocks ... jagged rocks .
White, foamy waves broke on the rocks below.
He felt a shiny object dangle beneath his chin. He realized he still wore the gold chain and medallion around his neck from the night before.
All Dad talks about is this' stupid medallion ... I shouldn't have taken it.
In an act of defiance, Hunter had worn the gold necklace and medallion to bed.
Stealing the key to Dad's safe deposit boo and taking his medallion was a dumb idea ... what was I thinking? I know he's really pissed off .
Hunter stood, rubbing the gold medallion between his right thumb and index finger.
Stuck on this rock platform on my birthday ... surrounded by water and fog with no clothes on ... wearing Dad's medallion ... hmmm ... what the hell's going on?
"I'm sorry I took your stupid necklace!" he shouted, releasing the medallion. He clenched his trembling hands.
This stone slab feels like a cage without bars.
Calming himself, he stopped circling in place, unclenching his fists. On the opposite corner of the rock platform, he spotted a stone bench and a wooden chest.
I'll bet my present is in that trunk ... a surprise.
With slow, steady steps he headed straight for the only visible objects on the mysterious slab of slippery rock. The black, damp surface felt warm under his bare feet. Approaching the bench and chest, he felt a change in the texture of the rock's surface. He stopped and looked down at his feet.
Engravings, like those seen on monuments and gravestones, had been chiseled into the rock's surface.
The chest can wait ... this has got to be a message from my dad ... his famous words of wisdom ... or one of his dumb quotations .
He looked over both shoulders, squinting from the glare of the bright red sky. He knelt on his right knee to look closer at the engravings.
Names. Four rows of names had been engraved in the rock platform's surface.
Reading the names, he immediately recognized a number of famous people?historical figures.
Halfway through reading the names, Hunter looked up. He detected no movement, only lifeless fog. He felt less vulnerable, less exposed, kneeling down.
He recognized many of the names etched in black stone.
Why would these famous people's names be carved on this rock slab?
At the bottom of the carvings, a name popped out like it had been written in neon lights. MELVIN W. WAINRIGHT
What is Dad's name doing with these other people?
PROFESSOR VAN CAMPBELL
There's the professor's name ... right beside my father's name ... hmmm.
"Nice job, Father," he yelled, rising to his feet, "putting your name with all these famous people.
Smirking, he circled in place, his feet sensitive to the carvings. He stared across the platform at the wooden chest.
I've got to see what's in that old trunk ... it's got to be a surprise ... I'll look at these names later.
He stood, looked for movement in the fog, and walked cautiously to the bench and chest.
The lone bench, a rectangular slab laid on two stone pedestals, had been chiseled from the same rock he stood on. The weathered wooden chest had a metal frame with ornate handles made of tarnished brass.
Hiding behind the chest, he knelt on one knee and grabbed the decorative handle.
He glanced around, his eyes darting in every direction. For the first time he noticed, except for the sound of waves, the absence of any natural noises-no chirping birds, no buzzing insects, no animal cries of any kind.
They've created an enclosed environment ... not natural ... that's why the sky is red ... special lighting effects .
He opened the chest lid. The ornate hinges creaked and popped. The escaping odor of musty air reminded him of his home attic-old trunks stuffed with moldy books and moth-eaten clothes.
A reddish~brown fur coat laid crumpled inside the chest. He rubbed his hand over the fur. It felt velvety soft. Grabbing the fur with both hands, he stood and stared at the bizarre coat with four arm holes, two on each side. Ignoring the extra arm holes, he put on the coat without haste. Lined with satin, the fur felt warm and cozy, but it smelled musty. He looked down. The full~length coat stopped at his knees.
"Thanks for the smelly bear rug!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Hunter cocked his head and listened.
Why doesn't somebody answer? The rustic trunk sat empty.
This coat will do for now ... until I get off this rock. He paced back and forth, trying to make sense of his situation.
Calm down ... remember what your mom tells you ... relax, don't overreact and good things always happen.
Still in shock, his thoughts turned negative.
I'll bet some good-looking girls are going to come by in a boat to laugh at me ... I know I look really stupid in this fur coat ... Dad is trying to embarrass me .
Grabbing the ends of the fur sash, he tied a double knot in the front of the coat and sat on the stone bench to ponder his predicament.
Fidgeting, he pinched his forearm, still questioning the reality of the surreal scenes surrounding him.
The sky sure looks real ... great looking scenery ... all done with special effects ... this whole setup must have cost Dad a lot of money .
The fantastic fogscape looked, felt, smelled and sounded real. The red, blue and black skies drifted into infinity. The atmosphere, with all its pulsating stars, moons and heavenly objects, appeared authentic.
This whole thing doesn't make sense ... Dads going to pay for this stupid prank ... I'll never go to Stanford ... not in a million years ... he'll be sorry he did this to me ... really sorry .
The heavy fur coat allowed Hunter to warm himself. Soon, he stopped shivering.
I'll go look at more of those names carved in the rock.
He stood and immediately spotted it. Coming straight toward him, cutting the primordial fog like a giant knife, a ship's mast emerged from the mist.
* * *
Vulcan the Power Fanatic marched down the winding path carved in the side of a black magma cliff. His chiseled body, bulging with muscles, easily traversed the jagged rock formations and obsidian boulders littering the trail. His beady red eyes peered at the roaring river directly below him. The rising hot air and gases made breathing difficult. The dungeon master sneered, enjoying the cacophony of cries and moans in the distance.
His scarlet-red cape flowed behind him, repeatedly slapping a smaller creature in the head? wwwaaappp?wwwaaappp?wwwaaappp .
The squatty, gopher-faced figure tried desperately to keep pace with the muscular power fanatic.
"Vulcan, ya maniac, slow down or I'm gonna trip ya with me broom handle!" Rodanna shouted.
Vulcan did not respond. Quickening his pace, the dungeon master marched down the serpentine trail of the Lava Caverns.
"I can't believe that I, beautiful me, had to come all the way from Rhadamanthus when I got more important things to do. How's a fine woman like me suppose to look 'er best on such a short notice? Why, I?"
"Silence, ya blabberin' motor mouthI" Vulcan shouted. "When Ex demands our presence, we gotta obey."
Vulcan's scaly komodo boots watched the path ahead, blinking nervously.
"Well, I can't believe the way yer talkin' to me. Me, Queen of the Western Sub-Hemisphere, sovereign ruler' of the?"
"Shut up. Ya stammerin' rodenthead, 'fore I take that witches hat of yers an' stuff it down yer big yapper.
"One more insult an' I'm puttin' a hex on the big bully," Rodanna mumbled under her breath. "I'm gonna turn his helmet into a lovely set a pots n' pans."
She kept her voice low so she would not upset Mr. Helmethead, as she called him behind his back.
Rodanna the Talkaholic looked straight ahead, squinting through her lone eyeglass. She wiped the rodent sweat from her brown, furry forehead.
Crossing the arched Bridge of the Separator, the raging River of Fire flowed under them. The scorching heat felt unbearable. Directly in front of them, the molten lava flowed from a magma cave, poured down the side of the rock cliff and erupted into an explosion of crackling red, orange and yellow sparks.
Ahead of them, beyond the belching smoke and volcanic gases, loomed Vulcan's headquarters, the Dungeon of Fire.
Vulcan, second in command to all Extractors, answered only to Ex, the Master of Disaster.
Still furious that Ex had called a meeting on such short notice, he openly complained.
"How dare that invisible knucklehead put demands on me. Me, the most powerful force in the Underworld of Answers."
He had trouble hearing himself talk over the crackling embers and the constant I~Me~My chatter of Rodanna.
"Blah~blah~blah ... I~me~my ... blah~blah~blah ... I~"I~"I ... blah~blah~blah ... I~me~my ...
The power fanatic could not stop the little witch from talking.
Turning a sharp bend in the subterranean path, they came to an abrupt stop. Before them stood a massive wood and iron door, the ominous entrance to Vulcan's subterranean prison fortress.
The ancient door's lower latch creaked open. Yellow and orange flames danced in the darkness. The moans and pathetic groans?cries of creatures imprisoned in the fiery dungeons?became louder.
Rodanna peered through her eyeglass to watch the power fanatic grab the brass key attached to his cape, jam it into the waiting keyhole, turn the key and push the creaking door oven.
Unexpected visitors had arrived at the Dungeon of Fire. "How in HalluciNation's name did ya get in here?" Vulcan yelled, grabbing his magical Rope to the Sky . His muscles tightened, veins bulging. Vulcan's boots blinked, each eye focusing on the uninvited guests.
There stood five fellow Extractors: Madam Tarantula, in all her disturbing beauty; Rumbul, impatiently swinging his elephant trunk from side to side; Jinx, scowling sarcastically through his mummified eyes; Captain Kraken, defiantly twirling his swashbuckler's sword; and sneering Hocus, leaning on his seaworthy peg leg, conjuring up fantastic stories to begin a full-of-himself, bragging marathon.
No one spoke. They acted as if Vulcan did not exist.
"Settle down, my loyal dungeon master," a low, sinister voice yelled.
From the dungeon door's threshold, Rodanna moved Vulcan's cape with the handle of her Wicca Broom so she could peek between his thick legs. She studied the spot where the bellowing voice came from. She saw no one.
"Yer not the only Extractor who's gotta key," Ex yelled.
"Of course, my Royal Nemesis," Vulcan mumbled with disdain. "I shoulda' known that of all creatures, yer most Regal Rogue would have a key to my dungeon."
Rodanna chuckled to herself how the power fanatic appeared so weak in the presence of Ex.
The invisible voice continued. "Vulcan, lead us to yer private chambers so we don't have to listen to that infernal moanin'. I can't hear myself think evil thoughts. We got important things to discuss"
The dungeon master snatched a burning candle from an iron sconce on the rock wall. "Right this way, yer most Righteous Hierophant "
With Vulcan leading the way, the dysfunctional group marched past the prison cells and up onto a wooden platform, the torture chamber. Vulcan opened a trap door and the Extractors disappeared down a winding stone stairwell.
The talkaholic witch rambled on and on about her terrible trip through the hot Lava Caverns. "Blah~blah~blah ... I~me~my ... blah~blah~blah ... I~I~I ... I~me~my."
Subterranean roaches scurried in and out of the cracks between the stone steps. Dungeon spiders watched the six Extractors follow Vulcan down the ancient underground passageway.
* * *
Like thousands of ivory swans swimming in formation, the white caps rolled across the turquoise ocean in perfect symmetry. Squawking sea gulls and terns dotted the pink and purple sky, diving and soaring to the rhythm of the waves below. The ochre sea cliffs and grottoes eagerly embraced the massive waves that arrived, one by one, in a timeless sequence. The lone daystar peeked over the eastern horizon, spraying rays of sunshine, rays of warmth.
Excerpted from OCTILOGY by Mel Wayne Copyright � 2011 by Freedom Within . Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
|Book:||Octilogy: Eight Great Treasures - Book I - Time Island|
|Number of Pages:||128|
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