The Sword of Michael - eARC by Marcus Wynne Read Free Book Online Page B

the story.
    “You know about Atlantis?” I said.
    “I read the comic book.”
    “There’s an Atlantis comic book?”
    “Lots of ’em. Get on with the story.”
    “Here’s the comic book version, then,” I said. “Before Atlantis fell, there was a war. A revolution. It was led by the Followers of the Law of One, the Sons and Daughters of Light, against the Followers of Belial. It was a war between the Power of Light and the Power of Darkness. It was a war like any war: battles, heroic stands, bitter betrayal, horrifying defeats……and magic. Atlantis’s spiritual leadership communed directly with the Creator’s Light. There was a giant crystal in the central Temple of Light that channeled the Light of the Creator directly to those who spoke with the Creator, the Priests and Priestesses, and the Light powered everything—airships, homes, moved stones and parted the water—at the direction of the Light Keepers. The Sons of Belial tried to turn the power of the Great Crystal against the Sons of Light, and that conflict shattered the island’s foundation and changed the energetic grid of the Earth itself. The survivors of the Sons of Light escaped from the harbors; behind them, in the Temple of Light, the Priestesses of Light who had the closest connection with Mother Earth drew on all their power to hold back the tide—but their power couldn’t hold it. The wave fell, and shattered the land, and scattered the escaping boats of the Few far and wide.”
    I saw that great wave shattering the towers, the brave few who’d returned to rescue the Priestesses crushed in the wave, the boats propelled away by the power of magic and the wind, just ahead of the huge wave of destruction.
    “What happened, as a result of the Fall, was that certain Powers were released and set loose in the world,” I said. “Key players from the Other Realms, here in the Middle World, some of them energetic, some of them in the flesh. And the Battle continues. There was never any resolution. It’s the Dark against the Light. If you’re a Warrior of the Light, a Light Worker, if you go that way, you’re a magnet for your counterparts, the Dark Workers…”
    “So that’s you. I get that. But how does the zombie thing play?” Dillon said.
    “Someone who knew me before, someone with a grudge, has come through. Or is coming through. They’re working through proxies. They may be ready to cross into the flesh…or they might be here already.”
    “Can you journey on it? Find out who they are? Give us a target?”
    I grinned at my friend, leaning forward in his chair, the fire and love of battle in his eyes.
    “I intend to,” I said.
    Dillon drained the last of his coffee. “Sucks to be you, dude. Just saying.”
    “There’s always an upside, Dillon.”
    Sometimes it’s best not to burden your friends with unpleasant truths.

Chapter 7
    Hawks don’t flock. Neither do shaman.
    In the indigenous shamanic tradition, there may be more than one shaman in a community. Each one would be known for a specialty. Often there was competition, but shamanism is measured by actual results, not advertising, despite the best attempt of the new generation shamanic practitioners, often products of expensive training programs, to run their Spiritual practices like modern day businesses complete with ads like “Shamanic healing done here! Soul retrievals done! One-Month Shaman Course, with Certificate!”
    Native American medicine culture, especially the outspoken Lakota with whom I felt affinity, condemned the modern practices and coined the term “plastic shaman” or “plastic medicine man.”
    The old rules still apply. You shall know a shaman by his work, not by his words. It’s up to the community to evaluate his work and measure the results; shamanic practice is as pragmatic and practical as a plumber’s—and should be evaluated the same way.
    There is a very loose flung network of practitioners, both in Spirit and through the modern