The Magaram Legends 1: Into the Unknown

By G. J. Winters

From the Publisher that brought you popular short story series Witching Call, Hostile Hearts, Earthbound Angels, The January Morrison Files Psychic Series, Ralph's Gift, Song of Teeth, Children of Time, Chains of Darkness, Tropical Storms and Friend Zone...

WHEN INTO THE UNKNOWN IS WHERE YOU WILL FIND WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR
FOLLOW YOUR HEART, AND DISCOVER THE MAGARAM

One sleepy summer afternoon, in an equally sleepy remote town, an old man sits under a tree. With him are children who have made a habit of visiting him on late afternoons to listen to his stories... stories of magical things, of adventure, and of great love.

Every afternoon, he tells them the story of a young man who has reached the marrying age but cannot seem to find a suitable maiden to marry in his small town. As he reaches the deep well where the entire town gets their water on summers, Julio spies a curious sight – a young woman. Beautiful, enchanting, and someone he has never met. In those few precious seconds, time stopped for him. Like all villagers of Julio’s town, she is there to fetch water. She does not, however, live in Julio’s town, nor did she look like any villager.

When you have just seen the most mesmerizing of the people in your world walk away, what do you do? But strange things begin to happen to Julio the moment he followed her.

We all love to listen to the stories our elderly tell us, yet few of us questions the tales. Are they just stories made up to pass the time? Or are the stories rooted on true events?

In this first book in a series of five, join Julio as he goes on a journey to find the woman that has captured his imagination. Follow the epic tale as our character journeys Into the Unknown.

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EXCERPT
Like an automaton with only one focus, he approached. Though no more than a few steps apart, he felt like he had been walking for a long time.

His eyes settled on her face. Everything blotted out around them, and all that was left was color of the leaves and the light of the sun through the canopy above.

“You are kind,” she spoke again, but this time with a shy, lovely smile on her face. “Gratitude.”

What he had known about the town of which he had never set foot outside in all his 21 years heavily contradicted the woman. There was the peculiar way she phrased her words. Her unique physical features were an absolute mystery.

He wracked his brain to discern where she might be living. But he knew of no place where people look or talk like her. He was so lost in his ruminations that he did not even notice the weight of the bucket that he was slowly lowering unto her shoulders.

She rocked a little as she balanced the weight of the bucket. He half expected her shoulders to give. He knew how heavy that bucket was. He could not last ten minutes without taking it off and placing it on the other side.

But she surprised him.

Although the middle part of the bucket’s bottom was extending outside her right shoulder, her left hand stretched out and held the rim from that side.

Her right hand was underneath for support. Very little water spilled out. Then, without saying a word, she started walking towards the narrow path opposite where he had come from, and disappeared among the tall grass.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Ross
• Release date: Aug 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301063482

G. J. Winters

G.J. Winters “fell into” writing when a well-meaning teacher of his submitted his Creative Writing assignment for publication in the school paper. The local paper picked up the article and asked G.J. for publishing rights, to which the young G.J. agreed with some hesitation, as he felt “that wasn’t one of my best writings at the time.” The reality was that this article was written when G.J. was a junior in high school.The article, which was a fictionalized version of a local myth surrounding a famous abandoned house near a swamp, was an assignment turned in as part of a mid-term exam. The teacher, Miss Mendez, thought G.J.’s writing was “exemplary” and showed “natural, raw writing talent for a person his age." The assignment called for “providing details to a local urban myth – provide background, using a local resident’s POV, and close with a vague hint of authenticity and realism."The story, entitled “The Old Mansion by the Swamp,” appeared in the high school paper as a short story, but was later serialized in the local paper in 6 parts. G.J. added more characters and even a sub-story (which later became a story of its own, “I Was Shirley Massey” – a story which centered on a member of the fictional family who resided in the Massey Mansion in the late 70s and disappeared without a trace).With the success of both of his original series, G.J. thought to venture into writing longer stories, this time with futuristic themes, as he has always been fascinated with travelling through time, future crimes, apocalyptic themes, and stories set in civilizations from the future.G.J. identifies with sci-fi writers such as Isaac Asimov (“Kept me awake through most evenings in college.”) and Margaret Peterson Haddix (“My girlfriend at the time had fits of jealousy over my fanatical tendencies towards this author.”).G.J. holds a degree in Chemistry, is an intern at the R&D division of a pharmaceutical manufacturing company, and lives with girlfriend Deidre, a magazine editor.

Book preview

Into The Unknown

By GJ Winters

Published by Publications Circulations LLC.

SmashWords Edition

All contents copyright (C) 2013 by Publications Circulations LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

The following story is for entertainment purposes only. This book contains sexually graphic scenes depicting consenting adults above the age of 18 engaging in passionate sexual acts. This story is intended only for persons over the legal adult age. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. Mature readers only. Reader discretion is advised.

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The publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided as is. Publications Circulations LLC makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter One

PRESENT -- 2000'S

He put his right hand up, sticking out his thumb which blocked the sun's rays. After closing his left eye, he proceeded to measure the sun's lowest point against the mountain's highest peak.

He nodded to himself. It was close to five in the afternoon by his estimation. He had learned this measure many years before, almost eight decades to be exact. He smiled as he gazed upon the terrain that lay before him.

Rice paddies stretched out to both sides of his view, the rice stalks dancing to the tune of the late afternoon breeze. With close to five score years to his name, he was amazed at what little affect time had on this remote barrio.

Barrio San Miguel, a town named after the archangel himself during the Spanish occupation, was a remote town almost inaccessible to modern civilization. As it was then, so it is now. He remembered the layout of the town exactly as it was in the days of his youth. Nothing major had changed. The main road that led out of the barrio was still the center of the small town that boasted one small market, a chapel, a small elementary school beside an even smaller high school, and a 20-foot wide stage used only on special occasions.

Except for a few modern adaptations, the town was just like he remembered it. There were now more houses located near the center of the town, one out of five households already had electricity and the more prominent households boasted the inclusion of televisions sets which, depending on the day of the week, can get up to two grainy broadcast channels. A quarter of the houses now had some manner of concrete, most often just the walls.

The only other noticeable difference that the small barrio had over the span of many decades was the streetlights, and the addition of large rocks to the main road which had leveled off over the years and gave the impression of a stone road.

When evening came, the similarities of the barrio today and the one from his childhood became even more striking.

At night, his memories came alive, when fireflies traveled in all directions along the rice fields, and the sky was dotted with the same set of constellations he had known since childhood. Not even the dim lighting of the electric posts was able to block out the thoughts he held most dear.

At 97 years of age, he had no illusions; he didn't even know why he still existed. Sure he had lived a fruitful life, his six surviving children from a group of eight were now all retired and were scattered across the nation's islands. Three of them lived in the opposite province. To the best of his knowledge, he had 13 grandchildren, most of who were already working, with more than half of them abroad. He could not remember the exact number of great-grandchildren he had.

Ingkong Julio, or Inkong, as all elderly people were respectfully called in this remote town, had already outlived all of his childhood friends.

The next oldest person in the town was young enough to be his child. He lived with a great-grandniece in his old house which his brother had taken once he ventured out of town in his youth.

Although far from being senile, Julio knew his body would not last long. His eyesight, hearing, and thoughts were still intact, but the same could not be said about his body. Considering his age, it was good that he still could manage to move about with a cane, albeit at a much slower pace than the year before, or the year before that.

There was nothing more that he loved than gazing upon the sights that resembled his half-remembered dreams.

This was the reason why he chose to come back to the remote barrio of San Miguel. Located at an equal distance of some fifty kilometers from the two more economically successful towns of Jiabong and Catbalogan, the barrio was considered remote, even by today's technologically proficient standards.

Life was easy here, even for one such as him. The farming community lived simply, their needs were not dictated by the whims of modern economic players, at least not that much.

Most of all, however, this was the place where his life's story began.

Now sitting below the ancient thorn tree, he reminisced, as all old people are wont to do on a daily basis. He thought about how his life would have turned out had he not encountered the series of events that had made him who he was.

He observed the movement of the rice stalks in the fields and looked for the signs that only experience could discern.

He looked up at the boughs and the leaves of the thorn