Predestined

By Paul Fris

Marc Ryan is hunting in the mountains of New Zealand. Suddenly he is confronted by a curious apparition, which appears before him in the middle of a clearing. Drawn towards it by a powerful magnetic force, Marc then finds himself travelling at speed through an interstellar vortex.
One moment he is standing in luxurious native bush and within minutes he finds himself in a vast, hot desert with two suns. Stalked by hideous creatures and near death, he finds his way to what appears to be a backward civilisation. With his weapon, he becomes a leader in the fight for the planet’s survival.
All life on the planet Astoria will live or die, according to the decisions he makes. In the midst of his struggle to help the citizens overthrow a greedy and powerful ruler, genetically modified creatures constantly seek his extermination. Abaddon, the evil King, unleashes the forces of his empire against this new threat to his rule.
On Astoria, Marc finds true love and learns from an ancient prophecy, that he is destined to become King. However, there is a warning attached to the prophecy. Will his bride be at his side when he ascends the throne? Will his desire to preserve the love of his life, cause the demise of Astoria? Does he have what it takes, to lead a band of peasant fugitives, against the might of Abaddon’s empire, with all its advanced electronic surveillance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Fris
• Release date: Nov 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466081956

Paul Fris

Paul Fris is an avid writer with Predestined being his first Science fiction/Fantasy work. He has contributed articles and training programs to varied organisations and written reviews on motorcycle test rides and life experience articles for several websites. The loss of his sixteen year old son from Cystic Fibrosis some years ago and the more recent loss of his much loved wife who finally succumbed after a two year battle with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma Cancer, has given him rare insights into the areas of grief, loss and dealing with some of life's major issues. These deep valleys in his life have also given him a unique ability to discern the moods of others and to understand the intricacies of human nature. A keen hunter, tramper and motorcylist along with a knowledge of electronics, electricity and computer systems enable him to write his material from a position of practical experience evident in his novel "Predestined" and his latest book "Confessions of a Kiwi Motorcyclist." "Predestined" is a work that may echo mankind's future on this planet and "Confessions of a Kiwi Motorcyclist" is a light hearted look into riding in New Zealand.

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PREDESTINED

By:

Paul Fris

PREDESTINED

Published by Paul Fris at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Paul Fris

Cover Art by Miss Mae

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Predestined is a work of fiction. Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Any similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Brief quotations may be embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Dedicated to my son Marc, who courageously fought his own battle for life, finally succumbing to the wasting disease of Cystic Fibrosis, at the age of sixteen.

Introduction

Marc Ryan is hunting in the mountains of New Zealand. Suddenly he is confronted by a curious apparition, which appears before him in the middle of a clearing. Drawn towards it by a powerful magnetic force, Marc then finds himself travelling at speed through an interstellar vortex.

One moment he is standing in luxurious native bush and within minutes he finds himself in a vast, hot desert with two suns. Stalked by hideous creatures and near death, he finds his way to what appears to be a backward civilisation. With his weapon, he becomes a leader in the fight for the planet’s survival.

All life on the planet Astoria will live or die, according to the decisions he makes. In the midst of his struggle to help the citizens overthrow a greedy and powerful ruler, genetically modified creatures constantly seek his extermination. Abaddon, the evil King, unleashes the forces of his empire against this new threat to his rule.

On Astoria, Marc finds true love and learns from an ancient prophecy, that he is destined to become King. However, there is a warning attached to the prophecy. Will his bride be at his side when he ascends the throne? Will his desire to preserve the love of his life, cause the demise of Astoria? Does he have what it takes, to lead a band of peasant fugitives, against the might of Abaddon’s empire, with all its advanced electronic surveillance?

CHAPTER ONE

THE CALLING

The sound of children playing reverberated around the school yard and across the playing field to the place where Marc stood. Although he was relatively close to the other children, the noise had become a background monotone as he stood motionless near the fenced boundary, gazing out across the estuary. The arm of this particular estuary formed the southernmost reach of the Manukau Harbour, South West of Auckland. It was an overcast day; the leaden sky threatened to disgorge its moisture laden contents on the land. Barely imperceptible ripples marred the mirror like surface of the harbour.

Marc stood watching but not seeing, as if day dreaming and yet his mind was very active. He felt strangely detached as if this was not where he was meant to be. A powerful feeling that his life was of cataclysmic importance swept over him; that he was born to fulfil some unknown purpose. Whatever that purpose or feeling was it seemed more real to him in that moment, than the scene stretched out before him. It was the first time that such a feeling had come upon him and the strength of it was overwhelming. For the next fourteen years, that particular experience remained etched firmly upon his mind and served as a continual reminder that his life sometime in the future would change dramatically. A seed of some sort had been planted deep within his sub conscious mind and produced the certainty that when the change came, his life would not and could not be the same again.

Those fourteen years had shaped and formed his life in preparation for that which must be. Now aged twenty eight, his interests had involved him in much physical activity. Weighing eighty-nine kilograms spread over a height of one hundred and ninety-two centimetres, resulted in a muscular physique devoid of fatty tissue. Brown hair and piercing grey blue eyes, touched of a face that was not strikingly handsome and yet not ordinary. For the last ten years he had been involved in rally driving and motocross activities, in order to satisfy an insatiable appetite for speed and exhilaration. These activities had honed reflexes and natural fear mechanisms to the point where they harmonized both mind and body to accomplish any given task. Working as a professional hunter for the Conservation and Forestry Departments had taught him to be self-reliant and adaptable. He was used to being alone for long periods of time and climbing bush-covered mountains with a full pack had developed stamina and determination.

Many of his acquaintances called him stubborn, as once his mind was set on something, he would not give it up. Work colleagues knew him as a no nonsense man with a keen sense of humour, extremely honest, trustworthy and with an almost legalistic sense of right and wrong. He was a great person to get alongside. One characteristic which some would take negatively was a deep sensitivity, unusual in a person such as this. Marc had always been easily hurt by things said and done, but conversely that same sensitivity could read the moods of others like a book and provide the necessary panacea by way of word or action. Marc was also one of the Departments best hunters, renowned for a steady aim which enabled him to humanely remove and cull pests from the National Parks, such as goats and deer. Long distance shots were his specialty and nearly every year the trophies from club shoots would inevitably end up adorning his mantelpiece at home.

It was now mid-April, early autumn and nearly halfway through the Red deer rutting seasons. Marc lay in his sleeping bag in the bunk of the Department of Conservation hut seven hundred metres above sea level, deep in the Urewera National Park. During the day he had shot two stags and three hinds as part of the Departments culling programme. Near nightfall he had reached the hut with some venison, which he had cooked over an open fire in the hearth. With a full belly he had quickly drifted off to sleep.

The dream seemed so real that he lurched in his bunk, instantly awakened by the thud of his head against the hut wall. Perspiration was pouring off his brow and he felt clammy. It was not yet morning, but the sky through the window was already getting lighter in anticipation of the sunrise. Lying back in his bunk with a throbbing head, Marc tried to make sense of the graphics that still filled his mind. The dream was full of vivid images that did not fall into any logical order. There had been an open clearing in the bush next to a fast flowing river, then a group of men standing around an old bearded man; then a large Red deer hind. The picture of a strikingly beautiful, dark haired young woman came into view, a waterfall and then he had been falling. That was when he had hit his head and woken. He smiled as he recalled discussing with friends the feeling of falling when dreaming and then waking with a jump. It seems he was not the only one to experience dreams such as those.

Rising from the bunk Marc pulled on his wool shirt and trousers, then stirred up the embers, got some tree bark and coaxed the fire back into life. Setting a billy of water over the flames, he munched slowly on some dried beef as the water in the billy came to the boil. After a piping hot cup of black coffee, the routine packing process commenced. He prepared to leave the hut for a three-day tramp to the next point of his planned journey. Being a long trip this time around, his pack weighed in at around thirty-three kilograms and contained a small one man hiker tent, spare clothing, sleeping bag, food, plenty of rounds for his trusty .270 calibre rifle and the normal items carried by seasoned hunters in the bush.

The hut was left behind as he was engulfed once more in the thick undergrowth. He chose to head straight up the mountainside into the next river valley. The first climb was a short one as the lone hunter pushed himself through the native bush, down the other side into a low mist pocket where it was several degrees colder. Pulling up the zip on his wool shirt, Marc crossed a fast flowing stream, the water chilling his lower legs. The climb to the next ridge was very steep and looked to be about four hundred and fifty metres high from where he was standing. The sun was now well up as he ascended out of the misty pocket into warmer levels, though plumes of condensation filled the air with each expelled breath. After one hour of pushing through thick bush over uneven ground, the climb was beginning to tell on his legs and now the perspiration was running freely and his breathing became more rapid. In order to regain his breath and allow his legs to recuperate from the fatigue of the climb, he sat on a small fallen log with his pack propped behind him.

The bush was beautiful, quiet except for the odd Bellbird and the muffled sound of the stream below. The sun poured through the top canopy illuminating patches of the undergrowth. Soft green ferns seemed to unfold toward the light and the remaining patches of mist were chased away by the sun. Small droplets of water hung suspended like sparkling crystals from a large spider web. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees above, shaking drops of water down to where they splattered noisily on the bushes around where Marc sat. The air was pure and clean and the smell of earth and composting foliage was rich to the senses. This was what it was to be one with nature. Several wasps interrupted the tranquillity, as they began to drone around his pack in search of the food that was contained therein. They were becoming a nuisance in parts of New Zealand and seemed to be spreading rapidly to even remote areas. Marc chose to ignore them knowing that if he drove them off they would quickly become agitated and attack. Several of his friends had been badly stung after walking too close to a wasp’s nest several months earlier.

Rising from the log, he strapped on his heavy pack and began climbing up the mountainside again, pacing himself in order to conserve energy for the day's shooting and tramping ahead. Progress was slow as the bush was dense. His boots slipped often on the damp ground which rose steeply before him, the weight of the pack often preventing the possibility of a good grip. After two hours of constant exertion, Marc finally reached the ridge and paused once more to rest, sitting heavily on the ground, leaning against his pack in order to take the weight off his shoulders. One thing he had always detested when carrying a pack, was a long uphill slog like the one he had just completed. His leg muscles were tight and he was perspiring profusely. Sometimes he wondered why anyone would do this for a living. Still, it was beneficial to health and getting away from it all to be with nature was sure worth the effort.

Marc drank deeply from the water bottle tied to the side of his pack and munched slowly on a nut and raisin mix. The bush had opened up near the tops with thick green mosses covering the tree roots and the forest floor. The ground dropped steeply away into the next valley, with the bush getting thicker again further down. He proceeded to tramp up the ridge line, to the head of the valley, in order to prevent his scent from carrying to any deer that might be browsing in the area. The reason he climbed up the mountain, was to ensure the katabatic wind prevalent in mountain country, did not carry his scent to where the deer were most likely to be. During the night, once the sun dipped below the horizon and the air began to cool, the air would descend into the hollows and the valleys, creating the mist so often seen at this time of the year. In the morning when the sun rose and warmed the air, the opposite would occur. The air current would move upwards, which meant it was better to hunt from the tops down in the daytime as his scent would be carried away from any animals. This of course held true if there were no stray winds.

After reaching the top of the valley, he began to descend slowly through the trees pausing to listen and watch every few minutes. Eventually the bush began to thicken rapidly as he moved down from the tops. The sound of rushing water became more incessant as he progressed and the bush was now so thick, that passing through it was almost impossible without making a sound, as branches swept across his pack. This would not matter, he thought to himself, as the water nearby should muffle the sounds he was making in the undergrowth.

As Marc stepped forward, shifting his point of balance ahead into the next step, his foot failed to find the ground and he plunged head first into the bush. Ferns and branches whipped his face as he rolled down the steep embankment, frantically trying to regain his balance, while ensuring he did not lose his grip on the rifle. The bush spilled him onto a small river terrace where he lay on top of his pack, which to a certain extent had broken his fall. He gasped for air, winded after having the air thrust from his lungs on impact. He rolled over and got to his knees, mentally checking off his extremities and internals for damage or injury. Everything appeared to be all right and on the return of a normal breathing pattern he climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt and debris from his hair and clothing.

The sound of rushing water crowded in on his senses and he turned to face a white foaming waterfall, which churned the surface of a crystal clear pool. Mist settled on his face as he stood transfixed, gazing upon one of the jewels of nature. The sun was shining directly onto the falls and Marc was again reminded of the sheer beauty and purity of the virgin native bush. An eerie feeling came over him, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and shivers began to run up and down his spine. Though he had never been in this part of the bush before, he knew he had been here in his dream that morning. This was the very same waterfall in every detail! He turned and walked to the edge of the pool where the river continued its course over the rocks, plummeting to a smaller pool below. A movement to the right of his peripheral vision caused him to turn, instinctively bringing his rifle to his shoulder just in time to line up the cross hairs of his scope, on a large hind disappearing into the bush. The earlier tumble and the shock of seeing the waterfall from his dream, had unsettled him, causing him to be careless in his hunting technique.

Now he stood surveying the clearing where the hind had obviously been feeding. The clearing, the hind! What on earth was happening? They too had been in his dream and an exact replica of what he was seeing. Shivers ran up his spine once more. The feeling of detachment he had experienced so many years ago in the school grounds suddenly came upon him. The air seemed icy cold and the portent of something unnatural about to happen, permeated the atmosphere. Dead silence, no birds, no wind, just the rushing water scurrying unperturbed by the events about to occur. There was movement in the clearing below. Marc instantly turned his full attention toward that spot and saw a shimmering glow, which made the bush beyond, appear out of focus. It was hard to describe, nothing tangible, no form, almost like trying to see through a heat haze. He had never seen anything like it before.

Quickly, he began a careful descent around the edge of the rock pool and down the side of the lower waterfall. The rocks were extremely slippery from years of accumulated moss and slime. After several hair-raising minutes, he reached the base of the falls and cautiously moved to the edge of the clearing. The shimmering disturbance was now much bigger and was beginning to emit flashes of rainbow coloured light. Whatever it was, its presence was magnetic and Marc found himself drawn inexplicably towards it. As he approached, his hair crackled and stood on end. Plumes of rainbow coloured light broke away from the shimmering form and enveloped him, increasing a growing sense of expectation. It appeared that this apparition was beckoning him to its core. Whatever it was, it did not seem malicious. A feeling of benevolence was conveyed as the light particles caressed Marc's senses.

As if in a dream, he finally stood in the centre of the shimmering light and it felt more exhilarating than anything he had ever known; his whole being felt supercharged, the hair on his body crackled and his mind was fully alert. Flashes of blue, red and green light emanated from the end of his rifle barrel. Slowly the rainbow flashes began to spin around Marc, increasing their intensity and speed until they became a bright white blur. His head began to feel like it was being pulled from his body, but there was no pain. Without warning, a large boom filled the air like a thunderclap and the pressure wave from that sound concussed his body. He felt a massive force just pick him up and hurl him through the air. Marc felt as if he was falling, not down, but up. Looking above his head, the spinning light had formed a vortex through which he was passing at a phenomenal speed. There was no apprehension, just acquiescence and an intuitive sense that he was where he was meant to be. After what seemed like a considerable length of time, the falling sensation which had abated during his journey through the whirling light began to intensify once more. An ear splitting boom roared in his ears, shaking his body with the release of its force. Marc sprawled on the ground for the second time that day and the light which had transported him ceased to exist.

It was deathly silent. The sand Marc was lying on was hot but bearable. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position in order to survey his current surroundings. It was bright and looking down at where he had been lying, he saw in the golden white sand, two shadows from his head and upper body. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, but the shadows remained as before and everything else appeared sharp. Holding his hands to form minute slits he covered his eyes and looked up. There were two suns! One was slightly dimmer and a little redder than the other, but there were two nevertheless. Marc stood and scanned the land, a feeling of panic arising in the pit of his stomach. His field of sight extended as far as the horizon on every angle, with nothing but golden white sand in view. He was in the midst of an expansive desert, devoid of any living thing except himself. This has got to be a bad dream, he thought, yet he knew that some form of transition had taken place. A curious feeling of abandonment swept over him and the empty hollow sensation of panic steadily increased, making him feel quite ill. Marc knew that in any unusual circumstance, panic had to be suppressed at all costs and by force of will he stifled that sensation. This was the time to take stock of the situation and assess exactly what resources were available to him.

The first thing to do was to get out of the heat of the suns, which were directly above him. Travelling in the day looked out of the question and any tramping would have to be accomplished at night, especially with the weight of his pack and the necessity not to discard anything at this stage. He pitched his one man hiker’s tent, which formed an inner layer with a mesh insect and ventilation screen at either end. Over the inner, was a fully waterproofed fly, which allowed a layer of air between inner and outer layer. This design helped the occupant to stay warmer in winter and cooler in the heat, when the outer fly doors were opened to allow air movement through the tent. Stepping inside with his pack he began an inventory. He knew already what he had in his pack, but it needed re-packing anyway, for a new set of demands. Besides it was necessary to keep his mind active to prevent thoughts which could lead to panic and carelessness.

Even inside the tent it was very hot and the wool shirt and trousers he was wearing were shed along with his boots and socks. Sitting in his underpants, Marc began emptying the contents of his pack and sorting his equipment. On the floor of the tent he placed his compact, down filled sleeping bag along with foam self-inflating sleeping mat and medium sized, high-powered torch. His clothing consisted of the wool shirt and trousers he had just removed plus a spare wool shirt, a set of thermal Long Johns, wool over shirt, a nylon parka, plus several pairs of wool socks and some underpants. His cooler clothing consisted of two cotton tee shirts, one pair of cotton shorts and a canvas hat to keep the rain off his head and protect against glare on bright sunny days. That could get a lot of use in the days to come, he thought. Next he spread out the contents of the small polar fleece day pack he kept stowed in the top of the main pack. The day pack was a waist bag that left his arms free and carried small amounts of food and supplies to allow day hunting, after base camp was set up. Within the day pack was a butane stove with a cylinder, first aid kit containing pain killers, plasters, bandages, needle, nylon thread, water purifying tablets, gauze pads and a small mirror. It also contained a billy, plastic mug, small containers of tea, coffee, sugar, three energy bars, a ceramic knife sharpener, compass, fish hooks, cigarette lighter, waterproof matches, large plastic bags and tightly wound toilet paper along with about ten metres of parachute cord. The day pack was also used as a survival kit in case of unforeseen emergencies when in the bush. Marc also kept a twenty round packet of .270 calibre ammunition and a survival blanket in the bag. To determine game numbers and size, he carried a pair of medium size eight by forty binoculars, which also enabled positive identification from long distances.

Out of the main pack he pulled out his plate, fork, spoon and knife set, travel soap, toothbrush, towel and a larger packed quantity of tea, coffee and sugar. A further three packets of ammunition were stored in the rear pocket of the pack, along with seventeen rounds in his shirt pocket. Those in the day pack and the five rounds in his rifle brought the total to one hundred and two rounds. The belt on Marc's trousers, held his seven inch blade hunting knife and rifle cleaning kit. Food was made up of eight packets of freeze-dried main meals, half a loaf of wholemeal bread, a plastic tub of peanut butter, three small cans of baked beans, a small tub of margarine, a packet of dried apricots, one packet of pancake mix, sufficient for four breakfasts, some porridge premixed with milk powder, cheese, raisin biscuits and the nut and raisin mix for use on the trail. A little dried beef remained from the morning’s breakfast, enough for a nutritious snack, along with seven more energy bars. A spare cylinder of butane gas and one and a half litres of water summed up the total of his possessions at that point.

The water was going to be a major concern and immediate rationing was imperative, in case more could not be found for any length of time. Ironic to think that a little while ago there was so much water it wasn't given a thought and yet now it was more precious than anything else. He decided not to discard any items, especially since he did not know where he was or what lay before him. The wholemeal bread and cheese would be the first to spoil in the heat so they would need to be consumed first. The items spread before him were re-packed carefully in the order they might possibly be required.

Marc checked that the magazine in his rifle was indeed full and that a round was chambered, with the safety catch full on. The uncertainty of what was ahead, gnawed into his stomach and he knew he had to be prepared for any eventuality. The time was showing three thirty on his watch and the suns were heading rapidly for the horizon. The days in this place were definitely shorter and it looked like nightfall would approach quickly. He began putting on his clothes and was startled as the light faded to less than half of its initial intensity. He stepped outside the tent and saw that the brighter sun had dipped below the horizon leaving the redder sun to cast an eerie glow across the landscape. This is what Mars must look like; he mused as he quickly folded up the tent and packed it away.

The sensation of benevolence that he had experienced when he first encountered the light in the clearing, returned as he strapped the tent to the pack. It was quite intense and left as suddenly as it had arrived, yet Marc felt reassured and a strong sense of belonging swept over him. It was totally opposite to the feeling he had experienced in the school ground. What a paradox. Back then, he was where he should have been, but sensed he was not where he was meant to be. Now he was where he should not be naturally and felt that here, he was meant to be.

The air began to cool quickly, a phenomenon common to most desert areas. He had kept his woollen clothes out of the pack expecting that to be the case and was pleased that he was right. He hoisted the pack up onto his shoulders and snapped the belt buckles around his waist, adjusting the shoulder straps so the packs weight would mostly be taken up by the wide hip belt. Picking up his rifle, he set off in the opposite direction from the setting sun and started to eat the cheese and wholemeal bread as he walked. The large eye at the end of the long finger like tendril that pushed through the sand where he had camped, saw a lone figure moving away into the darkness towards the place of the calling.

CHAPTER TWO

TIME OF TESTING

Darkness enveloped Marc as he tramped through the sand in the direction the suns had set. The starlight was bright enough to see slightly ahead of each step and he had taken a reading with his compass to ensure that he did not walk in circles during the night. The suns had set in the North West and he decided to head South East. Considering that the desert appeared to be endless in every direction, it did not really matter which direction he took anyway, so he let the sunrise determine his path.

It was just as well he had put on his woollen clothing and was moving at a fairly quick pace, as the air was intensely cold and would have chilled him to the bone if he had stopped for any length of time. Looking up, Marc was surprised at how bright and abundant the stars were in the night sky and it almost appeared as if they were magnified two or three times above normal. Thankfully, travelling at night would reduce the expenditure of moisture through perspiration, but conversely, sitting in a tent during the heat of the day would cause him to lose more than he would like. Taking a quick drink from the water bottle, he scanned ahead where he could pick out the horizon line against the starlight. It seemed a long way and he steeled his mind to continue towards it regardless of the negative feelings which kept suggesting he was wasting his time moving at all.

Marc estimated that he was travelling at around four kilometres per hour and that the nights and days would be around eight hours each. He could maintain around thirty kilometres a day with a short break in between and could maintain that sort of pace for three nights with the amount of water he had left. Things would become grim if he had not sighted life or the end of the desert by then.

Human vision was a strange thing at night. If you concentrated on something long enough, you would swear that things were moving and the longer you looked, the more certain you would become, that they were indeed moving. A tree would seem to come alive and shadows could become threatening. If looking directly at something in the distance, you would not see it because the centre of vision at night has a blind spot. By using the edges of vision, movement could be picked up more effectively and this technique Marc was using now to scan the horizon.

Suddenly the hair stood up on his neck and a stabbing sensation of fear surged through his stomach. Danger, but where, how? Then he saw it. Far away on the horizon line a shadow moved in his peripheral vision against the starlight. He watched intently, without looking directly at it and saw it again, closer than before. Such speed. Nothing he had seen before could move that fast. The sense of imminent danger became persistent. Then, whatever the creature was, it uttered forth a sound that made his pulse quicken and brought dread to the marrow of his bones. Adrenalin flowed into his system as the high pitched, shrieking scream, reverberated across the desert expanse. Marc dropped his pack and frantically grabbed his powerful torch and threw himself belly down on the sand, with his rifle facing forward and the safety catch