Trilogy of the One GOD

By T.D. McKinnon

RETITLED AND UPDATED. Originally released in 2011 under the title 'Heather Skye Wilson Is The Psychic Warrior' .
In a world gone mad, seemingly, hurtling towards its own inevitable doom - I'm not describing some futuristic science fiction nightmare but, from our point of view, the here and now - it seemed we had little choice but to accept our fate; 'God's will' some were saying. There was an existential alternative to man's downwardly spiraling destiny: one in which we needed to take control; however, that meant taking responsibility, complete responsibility; enter 'World Unity'.

A little later in this century, after global warming had resulted in radical weather patterns, rising sea levels, changing land masses; where depletion of the ozone layer, a limited nuclear war, and the life force of the Earth itself hitting back had all contributed to the shifting of the Earth's axis.

In this world, where the main three, separate ideals of 'the one God' - Islam, Christianity and Judaism - had almost entirely wiped each other out; taking control involved altering or rearranging mankind's basic belief structures about the nature of reality: accepting that we, individually and collectively, create and are responsible for our own reality.

This is a world where equality is not just an ideal, or a pipe dream; it is a world where mankind begins to recognise that objective reality is an outcome and the direct result of the way we deal with subjective, inner realities. In this world, reincarnation is not a loosely hinted at, largely laughed at concept, but is an accepted, complex, intricate part of mankind's spiritual development. There is also a serious attempt made to understand the 'Ego', its distortions - particularly in the male of the species - and its real purpose. During this period of the opening of man’s psyche, physical and psychic discoveries leave us in no doubt that we have been around, and in advanced civilisations, for many millions of years.

2087: Seen through the eyes of Heather Skye Wilson, our protagonist, daughter of two of the worlds leading diplomats for 'World Unity', the story begins with her abduction by terrorists when she is twelve years old. The traumatic experience brings Heather into her ‘Control Point’, a phase of psychic development that helps to save her life. Destined by her abilities, genetic heritage and inclinations Heather is drawn more and more into the 'World Unity' cause.

With the rebirth of the one God religions, a Messiah is born, and there is a very real danger that the planet will plunge, once more, into religious turmoil. A lot of the action is centred around a newly settled land; a land that, until recent times, had been covered in massive ice fields since before Atlantis' final rise and fall: Antarctica.

‘Heather Skye Wilson Is the Psychic Warrior’ is a fast paced multidimensional, speculative, action thriller; and two survival stories rolled into one: Heather's and planet Earth's. Both are inexorably linked; they both survive or nobody does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.D. McKinnon
• Release date: Dec 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466119406

T.D. McKinnon

Born in Scotland in 1950 and raised in the coalmining communities of Scotland and England, T.D. McKinnon joined the British Parachute Regiment when he was just fifteen years old. After spending five years in the British army he worked at a number of occupations including bus driver, furnace-man, builder's labourer, roofer, bouncer, storeman, car salesman, life guard, aquatics manager, private investigator and for many years he was in high risk security: event and venue security, close personal protection, cash and gem escort and armed, rapid response for a national bank group. Training in the martial arts for most of his life and becoming a master in several forms he represented at national level, both in Scotland and Australia, and became a national referee. As well as teaching and instructing in the private sector, he taught at government and private schools; also in the corporate sector (security industry). T.D. McKinnon has a daughter, Amanda, living in England, sons, Stuart and Steven McKinnon, living in Syney Australia. Whilst at school T.D. McKinnon displayed a natural talent for writing, but it wasn't until the 1980s, after moving to Australia, that he began writing again. Initially writing for his own enjoyment, after having publications in the 'Letters to the Editor' columns of several Sydney newspapers, the inevitable, delayed budding of his writing career began. Following articles published in 'Impact, Blitz and 'Combat', martial arts magazines, and 'The Green Earth', an environmental newspaper, he began submitting short stories to various magazines e.g. 'Cosmopolitan' etc. T.D. McKinnon writes in several genres including action/thriller, speculative fiction, memoir and historical fiction. Thomas is now writing full time and has completed 'Surviving the Battleground of Childhood', 'I Was a Teenage Devil - But I'm Alright Now!', 'John Farrell Is Utrinque Paratus', 'Heather Skye Wilson Is the Psychic Warrior', and 'Terra Nullius'. T.D. presently lives in Tasmania, Australia with his wife Zoë, a professional actor, singer and dancer. Zoë is the editor of T.D.'s works; additionally she designs and creates the book covers.

Book preview

Trilogy of the One God

by T.D. McKinnon

Originally released in 2011 under the title

‘Heather Skye Wilson Is the Psychic Warrior’

Re-edited, revised and renamed edition April 2015

*

McKinnon has written a ripping yarn. I recommend it. And when you get to the last few pages of the book and go, whoa! let me know what genre you think it aught to go into.

Lynne Cantwell, Author of the ‘Pipe Woman Chronicles’: http://hearth-myth-rursday-reads.blogspot.com.au/2013/07/heather-skye-wilson-is-psychic-warrior.html?spref=fb

*

Copyright T.D.McKinnon 2011

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. 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 recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Editing and cover design by Zoë Lake

Thank you, Zoë, for your continuing support, inspiration and constructive criticism. I am, as always, forever in your debt.

*

Other books by T.D.McKinnon:

*Surviving the Battleground of Childhood

*I Was a Teenage Devil - But I’m Alright Now!

*John Farrell Is Utrinque Paratus

*Terra Nullius

Zoessential Management

PO Box 147 Pyrmont, NSW, Australia 2009

http://www.tdmckinnon.com

[e-mail]

Editing–cover–logo–artwork–photographs

by Zoë Lake

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Awakening

Chapter 2: Survival Instincts

Chapter 3: Satan’s Pawn

Chapter 4: Taking Control

Chapter 5: Keeping the Faith

Chapter 6: What’s in a Name

Chapter 7: Not Always What They Seem

Chapter 8: Legends Are Made of Such

Chapter 9: Sanctuary

Chapter 10: Charlie is my Darling

Chapter 11: Psychic Footprints

Chapter 12: What is Valour?

Chapter 13: To Catch a Spider

Chapter 14: Illumination

Chapter 15: Moving On

Chapter 16: A Painful Focus

Chapter 17: Loss of Innocence

Chapter 18: Just Another Life

Chapter 19: Trilogy of The One God

Chapter 20: The Messiah

Chapter 21: Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter 22: Pre-emptive Strike

Chapter 23: Always Your Best Friend

Chapter 24: Ensnare

Chapter 25: Revelation

Chapter 26: A Brave Face

Chapter 27: The Sermon

Chapter 28: Success At Any Cost

Chapter 29: Loose Ends

Epilogue

End Notes

*

Introduction (TOC)

Following the limited nuclear war in the Middle East and Southern Europe in 2022, when the most ardent followers of the One God blew each other out of existence – after two thousand years of wars, murder and mayhem, in His name – the general view was that there ‘might be’ a God; although the verdict was still out on that particular theory. Oh yes… Him. Female gods, for the most part, had been thrown out a couple of thousand years previously. Prior to World Unity, ego focus was considered the only way to view reality; no other state of consciousness was trusted, or indeed recognised, and the general populace did not believe that they had any real control over the circumstances of their lives or the events in which they found themselves. Thinking that sleeping was merely for resting, they had wasted one third of their entire lives; most of them not even permitting memory of their altered states to register in their totally ego focused reality; they remembered little or nothing of their dreams.

When World Unity came to power; a hangover from the previous, mainly patriarchal society was an inordinate number of physical and sexual assaults on females; as well as abductions for the international slave trade. The male of the species still possessed far superior size and strength, and because of his ego problems the ‘Sting’, as it quickly became known, was considered a giant step forward in the balance of order within that society. Karla, my grandmother, was a pioneer with World Unity for the Sting, leading the campaign that eventually swayed the voters in the world ballot of 2030. The first Sting was implanted in 2030, and by 2040 The Sting was available to most females on the planet.

Implanted in early childhood, the microchip can activate a stunning charge through the nerve endings. For those who don’t know; the experience for the female is not unlike a static electricity discharge, while for the male it is like receiving a shot from a stun gun.

After the Sting campaign, World Unity focused a major amount of its resources to the study of the ego, and so a debt of gratitude is owed to those pioneers for our current, evolutionary psychic stance within All That Is.

Mainly concerned with the survival of the species through the evolution of the human psyche, World Unity also made practical changes to speed up conversion to the use of a hundred percent renewable energy. Its most notable, radical contribution to reducing man’s ecological footprint came through its research and development into a gravity repulsion mechanism. Professor Xiong Xing led the team, ultimately lending his name to a revolutionary, virtually pollution free, mode of aerial transportation. 2nd July 2052 the first ‘Xiong Aerial Anti Gravity (XAAG) flyer (the Xaag flyer) came into service.

*

I am a third generation ‘awareness child’, I was born on the 10/01/2075, at Sanctuary Forest, WA, Australia, in a refurbished 19th century colonial house that my mother and grandmother were born in, and in which now four generations of my family have lived. My name is Heather Skye Wilson, and this is my story.

Chapter 1: Awakening (TOC)

Halt!... We have a stinger missile trained on you… resistance is futile! boomed the disembodied voice over a loud hailing system. You are being monitored… if any outgoing signal is detected you will be blown out of the sky. You are ordered to land in the clearing just ahead of you… Now!

As we faced the ancient, helicopter gunship across the heat shimmering, blue sky, the very serious nature of the situation failed to dawn on me. In fact, I wondered, almost absently, who would want to attack us? It all seemed a bit surreal. This was 2087 after all; the World Unity Special Forces Unit (now known exclusively by the acronym: WUSFU, or Wusfu) had mopped up most of the terrorist cells around the globe, and there were so few causes left to fight for. However, obviously, isolated pockets still survived.

We were forced down. Surrounded and hopelessly out numbered my personal security, Gerard, dropped his weapon. Do not be afraid, little one, they will ransom you very quickly, he said, and then smiling, grimly he added, You won’t be harmed: you are extremely valuable merchandise.

At twelve, I wasn’t exactly small for my age - tall and gangly I would have described myself - but I suppose, compared to an adult, Gerard’s habit of calling me ‘little one’ was not too misplaced; although, 5’ 5" already, I was not going to be small. I was still shaped like a boy, almost; sometimes embarrassed because I was beginning to look like a girl, and at other times because I didn’t look more like one.

By the time we landed the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on me; as they ushered us impatiently from our craft I was so terrified I couldn’t stop shaking and I desperately needed to relieve myself. One of the dour faced terrorists blindfolded me, bound my hands, and as he started binding my ankles, suddenly, there were two successive gun shots! Jumping with fright I nearly wet myself.

Stand still! ordered my captor harshly, in Spanish.

Please sir, I need to pee? I said. There was a moment’s silence, and then I heard my request repeated in Spanish. I could both understand and speak Spanish but, instinctively, I thought it best they didn’t know.

Close by, in heavily accented English, someone said, Go ahead and pee little girl, and when I hesitated he added, Please yourself… but once your ankles are tied you’ll be hung from a pole, and you’ll have to pee your pants.

Blindfolded and hands bound, shaking with fear and embarrassment, I awkwardly pushed my pants down just enough as I squatted. I could hear sniggering as I started to relieve myself, and then someone said, in Spanish, Look the other way, you perverts! She’s only a little girl… and anyway she’s far too valuable.

Carried like the carcass of a hunt kill, lashed to a pole; my wrists and ankles hurt so badly at first that I could think of nothing else, but eventually they numbed to a dull, bearable ache. However, with the absence of agonizing pain, I became aware of the ordinary, mundane discomforts: the unbearable heat and humidity of the jungle and the multitude of insects that came to gorge on my blood.

Several hours later when we stopped for a break and the blood was allowed to flow freely, my hands and feet hurt so much I cried. When we set off again, wrists and ankles already bruised, I thought at first I would die with the pain, but again after a while the numbness. When we stopped for the night, of course, I experienced the same excruciating ordeal. Later, after smelling something cooking, someone hand fed me; it was spicy and unrecognisable.

On that first night, during the lucid periods – when I wasn’t slipping, fitfully, into nightmare ridden sleep – I couldn’t help but reflect that this situation was of my own making. From my earliest memories I was taught: we each create our own reality.

*

Revelation

Heather!… Heather Wilson!… Will you pay attention? Re-entering my body like a gunshot, I almost fell off my chair.

It was a Friday afternoon in late August of 2080; I had been attending awareness education for a whole week and it was becoming harder and harder not to trip off into less boring realities. I was five years old and Ms Fabian was attempting to instruct me in ‘The Magickal Way’.

You were at it again… weren’t you?! she accused before droning on and on about the pitfalls of drifting pointlessly into other realities, or altered states as she called them. And it could be downright dangerous, without solid, ground training–

Excuse me, Ms Fabian! I interrupted. There was no way I was going to let her think I was accepting that as fact. I have tried to tell you on several occasions… I’ve already had more than basic training, not only in The Magickal Way; which is nothing more than creating your own reality through believable projections of your desired experience, in line with the proper intent. I also alter states of consciousness at will and can already project or astral travel, depending on which term you prefer. And I would thank you not to feed me your negative beliefs concerning what you regard as dangerous.

Before she had a chance to respond the end of day buzzer sounded and, leaving Ms Fabian open mouthed, I allowed myself to be carried out of the classroom on the tide of noisy, cheering first formers.

Alright… alright, Heather!… It was just a trial run… to see if, perhaps, interacting with children of your own age would be of any benefit to you, said my mother.

Looking straight into her soft, brown eyes I felt a twinge of nausea: I’ve always intuitively known if someone is not being honest with me; the more intimate the relationship the more intense the nausea.

Alright… alright! she said again, throwing up her hands in submission. I should have known better than to keep anything from you. Pulling up a chair she sat down, and with her best ‘caught in the act’ expression she continued. I thought, if you liked school, it just might give me some free time. The nausea abated. Your father is working really hard on the merger of The Movement with World Unity, and I wanted to be of more help.

She always, eventually told me the whole truth. I didn’t always understand the full import of what she said, but that didn’t matter as long as there was no accompanying nausea.

Alright, Mummy… I’ll go back to school and give Ms Fabian another chance, I said looking into her, now very moist, loving eyes. Then she smiled; she was very beautiful when she smiled.

You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful child in the whole world, she said, the tears making her eyes sparkle. I loved to see her happy and I rushed into her arms. I can still remember, vividly, the salty taste of the tears on her cheek, as she cuddled me close, and the heady scent of her perfume, like forest flowers on a warm summer breeze.

Eventually, holding me at arm’s length and frowning, she said, But… we won’t send you back to school, and then, her face transformed by another beautiful smile, she added, We’ll make arrangements that will suit us both.

And so it was that I travelled the world with my parents for the next seven years, personal tutor in tow.

August 2087, halfway through my thirteenth year, we were staying in Peru with the President of the United States of the South American Republic, more commonly referred to as USSAR. My parents were taking part in a multinational summit to cement plans for the re-cultivation of, what had become a semi-arid waist land, the Amazon Basin.

Deciding to go on a sightseeing trip, I had been on route to the Andes in the small Xaag flyer when the old Dragonfly gunship had suddenly appeared. Quite obviously, a collection of my own choices had brought me to this juncture.

*

From the terrorist’s arrival, fear, pain and discomfort had prevented me from making psychic contact with my mother. However, although I could give no clue as to where I was, sometime before morning I managed to send out psychic confirmation that I was still alive, and immediately received knowledge that Wusfu was searching for me.

At the end of another agonizing day, hanging limply from a pole, in the insufferable humidity of the jungle, whilst mosquitoes dined on every exposed millimetre of my flesh, we eventually reached our destination. Unbound and blindfold removed, I was locked in a hut.

Alone for extended periods, I was able to project above the area on small reconnaissance excursions, and then send visual references to my mother. The hut was one of several in an encampment, in a valley, in the middle of the jungle, twenty miles from a distinctive mountain formation. A single, steep, narrow track wound its way out of the valley heading towards the mountains.

The knowing I received back from my mother was that the bandits had already been in touch and were demanding a ridiculous amount of unhampered credits, plus the release of ten captive terrorists; the relevant department was negotiating with them. My parents had told them to trade, and or pay, whatever it took to get me back, but I could read her fear loud and clear: the relevant department did not make deals with terrorists.

During the next few interminably long and stiflingly hot days, to help calm my fears and frustrations, I occupied some of my time with my martial arts training. I was aware of course, half-grown as I was, my skills would be fairly ineffectual against these combat, hardened guerrillas. I simply had to trust that Wusfu would find and free me.

On the evening of the third day at the hut, frustrated by the waiting and seeking an alternative solution, I went into deep meditation. I can’t say how long it took – time has no meaning in that state – but I began to experience the kind of vertigo associated with rapid acceleration, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, I was lost. I mean really lost. I didn’t know where, who, or indeed what I was, and it seemed to last an eternity.

First Contact

Out of the blue, I know who I am. I am me, but another me. A male me; a fully adult male me, thinking in a language I’ve never heard but understand completely. As I look around, a bracing wind sweeps the wild landscape of hills and mountains, and a damp, purple foliage caresses my partially bare legs as I walk.

Stepping out with the natural grace of a hill walker, I feel the flush of blood through my veins and the reliable power in my legs as they carry me over the rough terrain: across hills, through glens and leaping from stone to stone over swift moving burns. As the gap between me and the distant wooded mountainside steadily diminishes, I also feel the ridged comfort of the claymore¹ strapped to my back, and the warmth of the sun on my face; and the sensual feel of unmistakable maleness swinging beneath my swirling kilt. I am Ewan MacGreggor, born the year of our Lord 890. I am first born son of Gregor MacGreggor: the original MacGreggor. His father, Gregor, was sired by Kenneth ‘The Great’ MacAlpin, first king of Scots and Picts²; my great-great-grandsire was Alpin, king of the Scots.

Twenty summers old, I have a bonny young wife and baby daughter. Tall, lean and strong I am in the prime of my life and have already proven myself in battle – I fear no man – and I am to be the next Clan MacGreggor Chief. Striding confidently, purposefully through my native environment I know and feel all of this, and much more.

As suddenly as it had begun it ends. Hurtling back through eternity, images relentlessly assail me, and I become totally aware of my whole life-experience as Ewan MacGreggor, including my eventual death in battle defending the lands of Clan MacGreggor.

*

Abruptly, I found myself back in the hut. I was hot and sweating, my head ached and my stomach was cramping with pain. I thought to splash my face with water; there was a jug and a bowl in the corner for my ablutions. Rising from the bed trembling, head spinning, I almost passed out as, inexplicably, I felt a flood of warmth running between my thighs. In the next instant I understood; I’d taken the first steps to both psychic and physical maturity: I had reached my Control Point, and I was having my first menstruation period.

The following morning when the guard brought my breakfast he at first thought I had sustained an injury. I’d done my best, but I had nothing to clean myself with; though it didn’t take long to get the message across, and soon they brought me fresh water and clean rags.

During the course of that day I received more attention than I’d had, in total, since arriving at the camp. Previously, when bringing my meals they’d been courteous, but curt. Suddenly they were attentive, making a variety of excuses to linger.

Extremely embarrassed by my sudden leap from childhood, and feeling unwell anyway, I wasn’t sure what to make of the peaks of nausea I experienced whenever they were around. Attempting to contact my mother, I was interrupted on several occasions, and by the end of the day I was beginning to imagine all sorts of terrible things.

After nightfall, usually left to my own devices, I was beginning to relax. Almost ready to start my psychic transmission, I suddenly became aware of whispering just outside my hut. Putting my ear against the wall, I held my breath, and listened to the hushed Spanish discourse.

I don’t think it is a good idea, one man said.

Why not? She has become a woman, now, said the other in answer. I was definitely now feeling nauseous.

I meant that you are supposed to be watching the encampment, while I am supposed to be guarding the girl’s hut, said the first man, tersely. However… she is still a little girl… the only difference now is that she bleeds.

You know what they say?… said the other, derisively, Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher, hey! and to my horror they both chuckled with cynical glee.

Anyway, you are a fool; you have obviously never felt The Sting?

She may not have it… not all do, answered the other, and perhaps I can seduce her without scaring her too much.

That is true my friend, after all… and he laughed before adding, That is why you are fond of the young ones: you have nothing much there to be afraid of!

I shrank away from the wall in abject terror, while their muffled voices bantered back and forth, interspersed with ominous laughter.

*

Chapter 2: Survival Instincts (TOC)

The door to the hut slowly opened inward, quietly admitting a shadowy figure. Moving silently to the bed, the spectre like shape bent to lift the blanket from my sleeping form.

Senorita… whispered the shadow.

In the blink of an eye, before he discovered the pillow and basin under the blanket, moving silently from the dark corner I smashed the jug over his head and he collapsed on the bed, unconscious. In an instant I had the pistol from his belt.

Practicing the martial arts since I could walk, I had also been trained in most small arms, but it needed more than training to give a twelve year old girl enough courage to move with that kind of composure. It required the self-possession of a mature highland warrior, who feared no man.

Miguel?... whispered the guard from outside. Cual era ese ruido?... Espero que usted no el este lastimando, demasiado. (What was that noise?... I hope you’re not hurting her, too much.)

Moving silently to the door I held my breath and waited; my mind was racing but I felt surprisingly calm.

Miguel?... he whispered again. Esta el muchacha bien? (Is the girl alright?)

Si. Venga y obtenga algunos. (Yes. Come and get some.) I whispered as hoarsely as I could. After a moment the latch lifted, the door swung slowly open, and the guard’s head appeared.

Miguel?... he whispered again, peering intently through the gloom.

Venga adentro lentamente y sierra la puerta. (Come in slowly and close the door.) I whispered as I pressed the automatic pistol against the back of his head. Soy un poco nervios, así que cualquier movimiento repentino haría ciertamente que exprimo el disparador! (I’m a little nervous, so any sudden moves would certainly make me squeeze the trigger!). Seemingly in shock, he promptly complied as I ordered him to strip his associate, tie and gag him securely with his apparel, take off his own clothes and sit on the bed.

From behind, swinging the gun with both arms, in a wide arc, as though I were swinging a claymore, I crashed the heel of the pistol grip onto his temple and he collapsed on top of his comrade. After securing him with his own clothing and equipment, a pistol in each hand, I crept out of the hut.

There were two automatic rifles leaning against the wall outside; after a moment’s consideration – the weight would be too much of a burden – I threw them both into the undergrowth: better they didn’t know exactly how much firepower I had.

Skirting the camp I made my way quickly up the track. In fact so hard did I push myself, with a skinny twelve year old girl’s version of a hill walker’s stride, that by the time I’d climbed out of the valley, three hours later, I was drenched in sweat and totally exhausted. Turning at right angles into the jungle, I stepped out one hundred paces and sat down, cross-legged, facing the track.

Closing my eyes, I went through some deep breathing exercises; eventually I relaxed enough to go into psychic contact mode.

After finding Gerard