The first serial novel for Atomic Earth has finally launched.
The Archivist follows the adventures of Bill Johnston as he is thrust from a protected life of study in the heart of Challenger City into a wilderness filled with atomically charged monsters, predatory mutants, and the treachery of human greed.
Chapter One: Mid-day Breakthrough is now online!
I watch as she draws her circle with her sword. She practices the old religion, a dangerous custom today. She lays her cakes on the altar in front of me and pours her wine. She takes from her bag a little hair and a little dirt. Then kneeling, she prays a prayer, drinks some of the wine and eats a bite of cake. Putting the hair, dirt, remaining wine and cake into the bowl on the altar, she set it aflame casting her spell as the smoke rises. I have watched many such rituals in my time. I am the overseer of such things. Both young and old have come to me for such things. I always watch, and they leave contented. But today the weaving of her magic will result in only sorrow. She has told me several times of her love of a knight. However, this knight cannot love her. You see, he is not of the old religion and his new religion does not allow such liaisons. I hope for her sake that her spell takes hold. That way she can have a little joy.
Before the dawn she breaks the circle and cleans the altar. It is important that she does so before she leaves because if she does not, the warriors of the church will hunt her down and burn her. It is strange, this new religion. It preaches of love and justice, yet will not tolerate anyone who worships differently. It appears to contradict itself in many ways, yet its power is very real. Its worshipers love their god to the point of fanaticism and its enemies run in terror of him. I knew this girl’s mother and grandmother before her. Both were dedicated to the old ways and she, like them, remains true. She is here again, drawing her circle with her sword and sprinkling her salts. She calls to me and I sit and wait. She tells me again how she loves this man and that she wishes I would honor her love and give him to her. She knows like I do, that she cannot both worship me and have the man she wants. Soon she will have to decide which one is more important.
I cannot see, but am blinded by the light. I cannot hear, yet I am deafened by the sound. I cannot smell, but the odor saturates me. I cannot taste, yet the texture of my surroundings is plain. My feeling is woken by a wave that reverberates in my core. Again I feel the shock of the impact and the vibrations that follow. I sit here trapped within my self, unable to move, unable to think. But with each blow I awaken a little more. Another and a large part of my body falls away. I cannot tell, am I loosing myself, or am I gaining my freedom? Although my body weakens my spirit strengthens. With every part of me that I loose there is freedom and power gained.Suddenly my ear is filled with the ringing I felt before. Before I could not hear it but knew of its presence. Now the sound has its price. As I am freed from myself there is pain with every release and noise that deafens the ears and deadens the brain. A noise so great, that if I were yet free enough, I would cover them and flee in terror. I hear in my head, it starts at one side and travels across to the other and then down my body to my feet. Yet I still can’t escape it. Then the other side erupts with the din of the impact, so that now both sides ring equally. I can feel the shock and I can hear the sound, it travels from my head to my feet threatening to tear me apart. But somehow I manage to hold together. Be it the skill of my tormentor or the strength of my spirit I don’t know, but I refuse to let the sound and the impact shatter me.
I peer through the ivy that grew up before my eyes. I heard footsteps falling near by. Long have I sat here and waited, forgotten by all. It is lonely all alone. When my father passed on and my people left, I remained steady, stable, unmoving. I hoped they would come back but none did. Soon the ground surrounding my place of honor began to grow. The strength of the forest broke the stone and separated the path. My seat was surrounded by leaves and sticks. I could beat them back, but more would come. I cannot fight off the forest. Nature will take its course as it always has.
I watch as the men move about me. Their hands are callused from the work they do. The women who come to clean my altar have hands worn thin with wear. I consider the work they do. They toil in the field, turning the earth and planting seeds. In the woods the swing their axe against mighty trees. Their boats come together in the river to draw nets filled with fish. The mighty among them face the terror of the beasts and bring them back for food and clothing. In the home the meat is tenderized and cooked, the doe is kneaded and the butter churned, clothing is made and mended and the cleaning never stops. All this they do and give me their thanks.
