Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys.

ATTRITION OF THE GODS

I P

Innovative Publishing

‘It’s time you learnt the truth. I only hope you can forgive me........’

Behind the pages of history and the rhetoric of world leaders, a game is being played for dominion over the human race by a species we have evolved to forget: those that lie in the shadows and whisper to us when we are at our most vulnerable.

It’s been running since the time of King Solomon and has influenced everything we hold dear and central to our humanity: from our major religions, through to the Holocaust, and even into the financial crisis of the early 21st Century.

Everything has been at their hands and now a winner is in sight. But it’s not only humans that are open to corruption. The rules have been broken and the simple game has turned into a battle for survival. Who are they? Why are they here? And where does this leave the human race?

We need a champion of our own, someone to win this game for us, but a game of chess, isn’t won in a single move. What you need is a strategy.

“Everything you think you know is challenged and changed.”

“A conspiracy theorists’ dream-come-true, PG Burns takes you on a triumphant roller-coaster through the pages of history.”

David Hughes, Innovative Publishing

“Intelligent fantasy wrapped up in a seriously thrilling tour de force of action spanning the ages”

Kelly Townley, Author

Prologue

“Illusion is the first of all pleasures.”

– Voltaire

Reuben Lupas looked a tall, gaunt spectre of a man as he strode through the dingy prison block. With dark eyes that contradicted his shockingly bright blond hair, he scanned the filthy corridor and lifted the hem of his monk’s robes to step over the gullies that carried blood and excrement from the overcrowded cells.

He was accompanied by a man wearing a hooded robe, his face hidden from view. The two men trod carefully, wary of slipping on the wet stone steps covered in a slimy moss. Reuben was uncomfortable in these surroundings; he preferred a more palatial environment. He held his robe with one hand and a cloth to his face with the other. The stench of the cells threatened to overpower him, yet his companion seemed unaffected by the rancid environment.

Abel, the duty guard, ran over to greet the important-looking visitors. Reuben heard the screams of an inmate and his pulse raced. A smile invaded his face as the sound of the whip lashed time and time again. However, his mood changed when he realised the screams came from the cell holding the inmate he had come to see, the man who was a vital cog in his intricate plan. He turned to the guard.

“I assume the prisoner will survive the night?” The question was tinged with sarcasm.

“Yes,” replied Abel. “Shay is just putting some manners on him.”

Reuben shook his head in disbelief as the snap of the whip and another scream rang out. He turned to Abel once more but this time he was not so polite.

“Run ahead and tell this Shay that I will be wielding that whip on his back if the prisoner dies.”

Eventually, after negotiating their way through a maze of declining stairways and thin stone corridors, they arrived at the door of the last cell in the damp squalor. Outside the cell was Abel and the gaoler, Shay, a thickset, extremely hairy mute with an unfortunate face, which now had the look of a child who had been relieved of his favourite toy.

Reuben addressed him, his voice low and sinister. “I expect this man to be capable of speaking. If he is not fit to speak to me then we will be executing two more in the morning!”

Both men looked at each other and peered into the cell, studying the prisoner.

“He is fine. Shay hardly touched him. See for yourself,” said Abel. He then shouted into the cell, “A visitor for the King!”

Shay chuckled, amused by this remark.

Reuben pushed the guards aside and entered the cell. The two guards tried to follow.

“Leave us. I wish to speak with the prisoner alone,” demanded Reuben.

Abel and Shay headed back up, leaving Reuben’s companion waiting outside.

The prisoner stood naked in the cell, his body battered, bruised and torn and his face swollen. His hair and beard were matted with blood. Still he held his head up high and looked Reuben in the eye.

“My name is Reuben Lupas. We have met before, do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Good, then you know what I am capable of. I have come here today to discuss the possibility of your release.”

He waited for a response, but none came.

“I am presuming you do want to avoid execution?” Still there was no response. Reuben impatiently raised his voice. “DO you want to live?”

There was a long silent moment before the prisoner finally responded in a gentle voice, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Everyone wants to live, yet I fear the price for my life will be too high a price to pay.”

Reuben sat on the stone bench that furnished the cell and addressed the sorry-looking wretch. “Don’t mistake me for one of those fools outside, baying for your blood. I do not ask for you to renounce your claims. On the contrary, I wish to help you confirm your status and cement it in history.”

Once again the prisoner did not respond, barely making eye contact through hooded eyelids. Reuben accepted this as an indication to continue.

“I have travelled here with one of your loyal followers. A man similar in height, size and weight to yourself. He has agreed…no, he has insisted that he takes your place tomorrow. Now, I am pretty sure that, as you stand before me, battered and bruised and your face swollen, your own mother would struggle to recognise you. Our plan is for our friend, Shay, to give this man similar treatment. I do not anticipate anyone will notice. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand what you’re saying but not why you would want to do this. Which of my loyal followers has agreed to such a thing?”

“He waits outside. Apparently guilt for something he has done to you is his motive. You can speak to him yourself. As for me, let’s just say I’m a believer.”

“And what would be expected of me once I am free? I am sure you are not a doing this out of kindness.”

Reuben nodded. “First you will hide out in my villa. We will wait for the throngs of people who have come to town for the festival to leave and then we move you. You will have time to speak to your friends and family and to direct your followers and then you will say goodbye. I will arrange for you to sail far away across the sea. All I ask is that you never return.”

“Why would I speak to my followers? What do I say when they see me alive days after witnessing my execution? Do they know of this deceit?”

“No. Only we three and the mute will ever know the truth. As for what you say to them, we will think of something. Now, I ask again. Do you want to live, Yeshua Ben Yosef, King of the Jews?”

The man history would depict as the Son of God, Jesus Christ, the Messiah, looked up to the ceiling with his hands apart as if asking for divine inspiration before answering, “Yes.”

On hearing his master agree, the man outside stepped into the cell and kissed Jesus on the cheek.

Reuben laughed as he announced, “Behold, Judas, son of Simon, who will be known as Iscariot ‘the false one’.” His cackling laughter unnerved the two Jews.

June 1st 2146 AD

“Education is not preparation for life; Education is life itself.”

John Dewey

The large auditorium buzzes with excitement as the new student’s mill around. Ember Jones, a petite girl with flawless skin, long, blonde curly hair and stunning big, blue eyes, epitomises the Aryan race to which she belongs. Today she becomes a freshman here at the Reuben Lupas Temple of Learning – known as the RLT for short. She sits at her allocated seat amongst the throngs of first-day students and looks up to the domed ceiling that is decorated with the beautiful artwork of the great Angelo Abela. His paintings depict historical events such as the Verdi uprising, the Rapture and the return of the Messiah. As she scans the ceiling she sees scenes depicting the millions of deaths caused by the revolution in the twenty-first century and the terrible carnage that followed. Letting her eyes move further along she sees the events known as the Great Tribulation and the Rapture.

Ember has seen photos of the ceiling in books but she is not prepared for the sheer scale of the work. She knows its dimensions are the same as a historical work known as the Sistine Chapel but she imagines that even that painting could not match this for artistic genius. Between each of the thirteen pendentives that support the Dome is a depiction of one of the thirteen Djinn. Even the one known as “the traitor” is represented. Ember’s heart beats faster and she can feel a tingling sensation all over as she realises that as of today she will be studying these events at this bedrock of academia.

Her eyes are drawn to the painting that is probably the most evocative of all the depictions: a beautiful young woman draped in a sheer veil that does little to hide her naked body. This is Amitiel, Ember’s favourite Arc Hon. Ember was always drawn to her image when she studied this painting in books and, although fascinated by all four Arc Hon, she felt strongest towards Amitiel. Maybe because she was incarnated as a young girl not dissimilar to Ember in appearance and age or perhaps because of the tales she heard of this young warrior. Ember needs to take a deep breath as she looks at Amitiel’s image, the feeling of awe overwhelming her.

“Wow,” she exhales, her hand resting on her chest.

At sixteen Ember is the youngest student to ever attend the RLT and she has achieved this honour by studying religiously every day. The fact her father is the Procurator of the Jinn City and Dean of the RLT has not in any way aided her achievement of gaining acceptance two years early, although many doubt this. This remarkable achievement would usually be major gossip but not today. Today she is overshadowed by an even more extraordinary student in attendance. Adam Costello is the first ever non-Aryan to graduate to the RLT. His recent acceptance into this, the highest of academic institutes has caused outrage amongst the Aryan Council and many of the inhabitants of Higher Jinn. Parents threatened to make their children boycott the classes he attended and, had it not been for Procurator Jones’ intervention, the Aryan Council would have excluded the boy before he even arrived.