Chronicles of the Pelabruse : Book One: The Trimage Rises

By Paul A. Kriss

Comes a tale of loss and redemption, rich with intriguing characters existing in an unseen realm both upon and below the surface world.
William Berne is a man in search of answers. Answers he does not expect to find, yet is compelled to search for to honor the dying wish of his bride.
With his gathered group of ecclectic comrades , he will move forward in the hope that the pain and tragedy endured by them at a cold destroyers hand may be righted , and spare unsuspecting humanity from his dark and merciless wrath .
This journey challenges him to confront himself as well as his enemies . Come and see the shielded world of " the Enclave " . Experience an adventure different than any you have ever known , in the first book revealed through the "Chronicles Of The Pelabruse " .

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468533163

Paul A. Kriss

Since his youth , Mister Kriss has been both a student of human history , as well as an observer of its often tragic condition . He seeks to " connect " with his readers through his thoughtful writings which present his perspective of the human drama . " I believe the only true hope for the full development of the human race will inevitibly rely on whether or not , it can find the will to cast out violence as a viable form of problem solving or not . Unless and until that occurs , the greatness within each of us , will never be realized . " With this his first novel , he taps into the timeless themes of good versus evil , love lost and high adventure , with its characters coming to life before us on the page . It is an action packed tale and a page turner .

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Contents

BOOK ONE

The Trimage Rises

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

I DEDICATE THIS MY DEBUT NOVEL, to my loving wife Mary who though tired and weary, read, considered, and offered valued input regarding the content of prodigiously emerging manuscript late into the Florida nights. Thanks for helping me stay on track. You steadied me, and helped me stay the course.

I further offer my most sincere and humble thanks, to my great friend Brian McGrath who selflessly and most graciously, provided his editing skills, polishing the gem to a high luster. Your belief in my story, and your commitment to assisting me, has touched me. I am forever in your debt.

A special thank you goes out to his beautiful and most awesome wife Beth, who not only encouraged and supported this undertaking unconditionally, but who also stepped forward in a true spirit of friendship, offering an oasis, and respite for me when I needed it most. Without it, I would not have regained the perspective needed to complete this book. Your support through both this project and your friendship is a special gift indeed. I thank you Beth from the bottom of my heart.

I further dedicate it to my vociferous, always opinionated and pragmatic friend Lee Parent, who’s succinct, straight forward advice and technical expertise was also vital for this project to reach fruition. Thanks for showing me how stuff works!

I humbly offer my heartfelt thanks, and congratulations to you all. I want you to know that I am highly cognizant of the fact that without each one of you, this would not have happened.

Most of all however, and I suppose not altogether surprisingly, to those of us blessed with children, I dedicate it chiefly to my most precious gift, my daughter, Sarah The Sooob Kriss. She had absolutely nothing to do with the writing of this book, yet still inspires me most of all, and every single moment of my life.

You have all in varied ways, smiled upon this dreamers dream and helped coax it into reality.

For that, I shall be forever grateful. With you, I am truly blessed.

BOOK ONE

The Trimage Rises

I was born under a full blood moon in the waking hours of the Winter solstice, on the storm tossed Irish Sea. The year was eighteen ninety six. The Napoleonic age was over, and a new age of scientific enlightenment, was at hand. It was a time of possibility; a time of change.

My infant lungs, filled with a brew of salt air and gun powder, sent cries of defiance against the screaming din imposed upon my mates and I, there upon her majesty’s ship, Dream Catcher . Within that seasoned vessel anchored at her final berth, I entered a cold and pity less world, obscured by the choking fog of war.

By lantern light and moon ray I emerged from my sacred mother’s womb, into the strong, waiting hands of my father, even as the Dragon hawks rose. I did not know it then, for it would have been impossible for me to remember; but the events of that night and indeed the months that followed, were later recounted to me in such great detail, and with such passion, that I have at times, almost convinced myself that I was cognizant of what transpired during those early days of my existence. It set so strongly the course of my life, that it has since been etched in stone. A great period of testing and calamity would be the hallmark of my visible future, and those who dared stand beside me, or claim me as kin, would find no quarter from those forces which sought, from the moment of my birth to tear me asunder.

Death pursued doggedly, as a scent crazed wolf that cursed night, closing in on the life light beacon emitting from my mother’s dimming ice blue eyes. The hawks had taken the bait, believing it to be my own life force, and came now, on the ordered hunt of their master, charged at all costs with quelling the future threat, lest it had time to be weaned and grow strong.

The hounds took form as flying fiends spawned of a violent volcanic cauldron. From the depths of the writhing, ocean floor they rose, bursting from their birthing kilns; rushing up as raging torpedoes through the cold black void beneath. Upon breaking the white capped surface, they screamed a most ungodly sound, climbing high into the starless night while gathering in a circling formation preparing for their attack. The presence of a malevolent intelligence was evidenced in their every movement.

There! Three points to starboard captain! They fly! called the lookout. The commander took his glass in hand and calmly scanned the sea. I see them! I count eight! All hands, action stations! " The ship’s master stood strong and true, yet in his heart he was as frightened as every man aboard. Never in all his twenty two years at sea had he seen the likes of it. He was thankful that his crew had not yet seen them as he had through the telescope, for fear that the sight of the oncoming horror would grip their stalwart hearts, paralyzing them with fear.

Their size was ten times that of the largest eagle. As they winged, they left in their wake, a trail of smoldering embers, falling off into the night. Their beaks were shaped as spearheads and appeared molten and glowing. In the blue black night, their daggered onyx talons, cast an ominous shadow from the brightening rising moon. Just above the choppy ocean surface they began their run, skimming over the unpredictable waters ten miles off Red bay. The form of their body was akin to that of a bird, yet instead of feathers, there were layered, cracked, viscous lava like plates, dripping magma from their flaming edges as they flew. A searing sound could be heard from far off, as the burning liquid rock plummeted into the treacherous sea below, sending jets of steam, rocketing high into the night, as they traversed along their determined flight path. Their eyes in contrast, were as bright yellow, with pupils which projected a bright white piercing light. They were a sight no sailor had ever seen before. They were as demons. They were as death!

Above decks men scrambled, preparing for the onslaught. From the refuge of the cabin, muffled voices could be heard, as crewmen hurriedly set their trap. In the fragile refuge of our quarters my parents bade their last goodbye’s. Leonora. My darling Leonora. my father wept as he knelt beside her, while holding me bundled in his arms. How shall I go on? How can I leave you now? Shhh my love. my mother gently chastised, caressing his tear drenched cheek with an open palm. You know I will never be farther away than in your dreams. Be strong now William. Trust the prophecy. The beasts will not have realized that our son is gone, and I can mimic an infant Fezalonian’s life force sooo very well. At the last I will use the remainder of my strength to shift to an infant’s form, and they will celebrate in the false belief that they have destroyed the house of Pandarin forever. I don’t understand why this has to be my darling. I just don’t understand! my father protested. I know William, but when you do, you will realize that it was preordained. You must trust me my darling. she insisted grasping his hand firmly, All may not be as doom. But for now you must be strong for both of us.

From the deck above, they could hear the order being given; Hoist the shields and cable netting, and position the plates! The clatter of men in titanic effort, permeated below decks. A great repeating clanging sound of metal slamming against English Oak could be heard, as one after another, forged sections of a defensive shell were flipped over the sides attached on mammoth iron hinges. They were as great shutters bracing for a blow, and would serve to slow the dreaded falcons, confounding them in their dastardly intent. The steel wire netting was in fact a special chain mail, particularly formed for just this occasion. It was five times thicker than that of a Knights, and had secured to it, sections of lighter steel plating to serve as protection for the selfless heroes who would face the ire of these soul less minions. It was hoisted high, such that the entire ship was encircled by it. Upon the completion of its deployment, one old salty English swabby was heard to remark; Blimey, we’re like bloody canaries in a cage now!

Against its interior, make shift battlements had been raised and elevated as platforms to fight from, encircling the deck of the ship. Upon them, cannon had been pulled up wooden ramping and loaded with diamond shot, remnants of diamond cuttings which had been gathered for just this cause. It had been sprinkled with holy water upon the insistence of the good father of Wellington Parish prior to loading it aboard the ship. Never underestimate the powers of the blessed waters of the Lord. He had remarked. Although the Christian standards of the seamen were suspect at best, they were still men of good ilk, and hale fellows well met. As most sailors of that age, they were superstitious in nature, and thankfully happy to receive blessings upon their ship, as well as the ordinance which would be used in an attempt to fell the insipid beasts. There too, along the length of the platforms were installed and secured, four giant crossbows; two to starboard, and two to port, blessed, loaded and, tensioned as well, with heavy iron, four pronged bolts which were in truth, more harpoon than arrowhead. They had been designed to pierce and hold, the flying abominations, long enough to sever a piece of flesh if possible, and drain some of its burning accursed blood.

In the center of the deck protruding high up into the night, the crow’s nest had been transformed into a rotating turret. At this, its highest position, and currently the only part of the ship which was purposefully left outside the protected area, there were two twin mounted, high speed, colt browning machine guns. The newly developed weapon, was capable of firing four hundred and fifty rounds per minute. Its barrels were air cooled, with a configuration, such as to allow the operator to move it around freely, three hundred and sixty degrees, fire the weapon a full ninety degrees upward, and allow downward fire to an angle of sixty degrees. It had a penetrating range of six hundred yards. It’s barrels had been specially configured to fire fifty caliber hand bored, hollowed out diamond tipped rounds containing one half ounce of nitroglycerin each. The original crow’s nest had in fact been completely removed before leaving port, where this particularly extensive and technical feat had been undertaken. The basket itself had been replaced by a much wider steel platform who’s one inch side plating, had been cut low enough to allow for the new incarnation. A steel encased operators compartment which surrounded him from one inch off the floor to the top off his shoulders had been added to the mount, in order to allow for the protection lost in allowing for the guns capabilities. This served, not only to protect the gunner on scene, but also provided much needed counter balance, allowing it to move in a smoother and less cumbersome manner. The entire mount and shield compartment had been forged and formed as one, right up to the cradle hinge. This was an innovation, included in order to insure that the shielding would stay with, and protect the operator no matter which angle he chose to fire from. This meant that the soldier manning this position could simply stand behind it, fire at will and walk around the platform, secure in the knowledge that his protective shield was with him. All of these advancements were the brain child of a man who my father simply called the Professor . Some called him mad, and perhaps he was, but there was neither any doubt, that he was a visionary.

While other supposed great minds of the day were discussing things like these on paper, and speaking about what great inventions, and innovations this industrial age might bring, he was out building them. The difference between the Professor and most other scientists was simply this. He was not concerned with protocol or accolades, and he was not afraid to fail. It was this particular form of selflessness and bravery which drew my father to him, and made him proud to call him friend.

The sailors had secured, and set in place, the gruesome implements of War. Now the battle was close at hand. From the deck, the captain called down into the stairway leading to the lower decks. William! They are almost upon us! It is time!! Below, the blinding light of the devil eyed creatures found its way between the spaces of the steel defenses, refracting through the stained glass windows of the birthing place, insulting its sanctity and the occupants therein. My loving parents ensconced within the collapsing safety of what they were sure was their last shared mortal space, exchanged pitiful knowing glances, but seeing that she must release my father, my mother summoned up the fortitude to turn him away. Go now William! Go now!! Save our child!! Teach him what you must! ! My mother plead through flowing eyes. My father’s back stiffened then, and he found himself once again. He stood up, slowly backing away reluctantly from the bed, which was now bathed in light, from searching eyes. I will my wife. I will. he uttered in a cracking somber tone. He turned his back slowly, moving towards the open door as if in a dream. Stepping through, he stopped, turning for one last look. Always and forever my love. he chokingly whispered, forcing a quivering half smile. Shielding her eyes with one hand from the penetrating loathsome light she met the gaze of his loving, heartbroken eyes one last earthly time. Until the end of time my sweet. She answered. He closed the door and carried me away.

In a shocked and grieving trance, my father rose up the stairway towards the outer deck of the ship, moving like a condemned man climbing the gallows. At the top of the stairs the captain waited for his brother with tears running down his cheeks. Arriving at the top, he stopped and met his sibling’s eyes. What now Michael? What now? He searchingly inquired. His brother and Master of the catcher felt deep sympathy for his injured brother, yet realized that mourning would have to wait. Placing his own meaty hands firmly on his shoulders he insisted. Now we do what we came here to do Will. He pointed a sharp finger at the bundle of myself being cradled in his arms and commanded, Now we fight for this lads future! My father stood silently for a very long moment, a moment we did not have to waste. Then suddenly, mightily, he took hold of his emotions. He emerged as a man coming out of a deep, deep sleep. All at once his eyes began to brighten and a stern look of determined indignation, came upon his pained and weathered face. Yes. Yes! he exclaimed, gazing down upon me My son must live! In the space of a heartbeat he called for his lifetime friend and companion. Tagu! Where’s Tagu?! I am here William, as always. Tagu replied. I have been just over here in the shadows waiting. I didn’t see you my friend. I was concerned. William answered. Tagu; always quiet and unassuming, although a giant of a man even by Samoan standards, had been my father’s closest and most trusted friend for well over twenty five years, since surviving a shipwreck together. They had been cast adrift, but had made their way to land, surviving until being rescued from an uncharted island in the South Pacific. Although a Samoan warrior, and a prince among his people, he was humble. He held an unusual aura of Aristocracy about him, yet projected from within his being, a sense of grace and inner peace which William had always respected. " Sometimes it is better for Tagu not to be seen