The Last Eternal Sun

By Merlin Turtle

The realisation that the universe is not 13.8 billion years old, but only 599 million years, brings with it the uncomfortable knowledge that it will all end next Sunday. Ambrose, a Bard living on a Dyson Ring rotating around the last eternal Sun, sets off on a quest to save the universe and remake humanity. But reality is not what it appears, and changes with each new revelation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664100411

Merlin Turtle

Merlin was born in Sydney, Australia in 1960. This was a time when owning a scooter made you a social outcast. He grew up on the edge of the Kuringgai Chase National Park, north of Sydney. He attended a small school in bushland on the edge of Middle Cove. After finishing school in 1977, he attempted to find work in the city. But his heart belonged to the bush. Soon after moving to the country, he attended a rural University as a mature-age student, completing; a Bachelor of Social Science, double major in psychology; Graduate Diploma of Counselling, family counselling; Bachelor of Social Science (Honours), major in forensic psychology; and a Master of Social Science (Honours), major in children’s reading disorders. Previously, he had also been awarded a Doctorate in Divinity (Honorary) by the Order of St. Basil; and an Order of Merlin, first class by OBOD (Aust). While working for the NSW government in 2004, Merlin was diagnosed with PTSD and clinical depression from a workplace injury. To aid in his long-term recovery, he started writing. In the ninth book, he concludes the Trilogy of Nod. A tale of bear with PTSD.

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Copyright © 2020 by Merlin Turtle.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/18/2020

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CONTENTS

Part 1 DRUIDS

Preface

Chapter 1 Anatha

Chapter 2 The Long Walk

Chapter 3 I Am The Pirate King

Chapter 4 Rhoda

Chapter 5 Escape to The City

Chapter 6 Library

Chapter 7 Arthur

Chapter 8 Blood Moon

Chapter 9 The Chosen One

Chapter 10 A Dark Shadow

Chapter 11 A Death of Two Kings

Chapter 12 The Book

Chapter 13 Fly Me to The Moon

Chapter 14 Shangri-La

Chapter 15 Avalon

Chapter 16 The Magic Comb

Chapter 17 Tests Of Light And Dark

Chapter 18 The Spae-Wife of Hoy

Chapter 19 Diary of A Porcine Traveler

Chapter 20 Sunday

Chapter 21 Dogfight

Chapter 22 Memo on A Five-Pointed Cell

Chapter 23 Propaganda

Chapter 24 Bamboozled

Chapter 25 Revolution

Part 2 NEPHILIM

Preface

Chapter 26 Lost Memories

Chapter 27 Home Again

Chapter 28 Astral Mindscape

Chapter 29 First Contact

Chapter 30 A Close Encounter of The Fifth Kind

Part 3 HUMANS

Preface

Chapter 31 The Plan

SUPPLEMENTS

Supplement 1 A Younger Universe

Supplement 2 The Beginning of Our Ring

Supplement 3 Flora

Supplement 4 Common Lore

Supplement 5 Bard, Ovate & Druid

Supplement 6 Beliefs

Supplement 7 The Keeping of Festivals

Supplement 8 The Eight-Fold Wheel

Supplement 9 Forest Tree Meditation

Supplement 10 Ogham

Supplement 11 Measurement

Supplement 12 The Origin of Weekdays

Supplement 13 Songs

Supplement 14 Genetic Analysis Report

Supplement 15 Dragon Villiage Archaeological Discovery

Supplement 16 Astral Projection

Supplement 17 Sample Of Galaxies Between Earth And Iconium Nebular

Supplement 18 You

Supplement 19 Orb

Enoch Chronicles

The realisation that the universe is not 13.8 billion years old, but only 599 million, brings with it the uncomfortable knowledge that it will all end next Sunday. Ambrose, a Bard living on a Dyson Ring rotating around the last eternal Sun, sets off on a quest to save the universe and remake humanity. But reality is not what it appears, and changes with each new revelation.

"Even if you’re going to die in the next quarter, you can

learn something new in this one." Bard Ambrose.

PART ONE

DRUIDS

PREFACE

On a Dyson ring, making a complete rotation of the Sun every 500 hours, night no longer exits. The Sun is always directly above and never setting. The term "Year" has no meaning. There is no north, south, east or west. All that remains from the ancient Earth, are four dimensions of measurement. Time in days; based on a standard hour, length in metres, mass in grams and volume in litres. Each dimension has been commonly shortened to its first letter. For example, a kilod (kilo-day) denotes 1000 days, and a hectom (hecto-metre) denotes 100 metres.

With regard to time, the term and measurement of an hour originated on the ancient Earth. The commonly used day, no longer represents the rotation of that almost forgotten planet, rather it reflects an interval of 50 hours. Each day contains four quarters, with each quarter divided into five half decids. The first and third quarter of everyday are commonly assigned to work, while the second and fourth quarter of every day are assigned to prayer, study, rest and or sleep.

CHAPTER ONE

ANATHA

Anatha removed the sleep hood from her head and sat up. She made a quick visual inspection of the inner grove trees around her; then reached fylfot for her jug of water and poured herself a cup. Next, she reached widdershins for her pocket Time-Keeper. As she drank the water, slowly sipping, she gazed at the face of the Time-Keeper; and discovered more than four centid till the quarter change. "Early to bed and early to rise, she said, is my motto. Or would be if I had a motto." Anatha had been alone on the sky grove for almost a full kilod; she wasn’t quite sure when she had started talking to herself, but now it had become so much of a habit; she was not at all sure if she could stop.

As part of her post waking routine, Anatha customarily walked the outer grove boundary, both ensuring the health of the trees and the correct function of the rotor blades. The direction of her boundary inspection was completely random, but it seemed to her, that she walked widdershins more often than fylfot. As Anatha inspected the rotors, she also collected her breakfast from the trees and bushes. The walk usually took no more than a centid. Routinely on returning to her starting point at the center of the grove, but before breakfast, she would verify the grove’s height at the standard hover of five decam. But as she walked the perimeter, beside the Terminalia tree, Anatha was so stunned by the horizontal view widdershins that she could not help, but drop the fruit she had collected and stare.

Two immense machines, which could only be the very same autonomous robots that had constructed the Ring, were not far distant and obviously repairing the same. Ambrose; Anatha’s teacher, had oft times during lessons, speculated that such autonomous robots might fulfill this role, making repairs to the Ring in the event of meteor strike or other such calamity. But she never thought to witness such an event.

When Anatha had halted the widdershins progress of the sky grove for sleep, during the previous quarter, the view widdershins had been no more than scattered savanna, separated by a multitude of warm shallow lakes. As she watched the great machines at work, a subtle movement caught the corner of her eye. Turning her attention from the wonderous view, she caught the briefest image of the Cider melon she had collected earlier, roll over the edge of the grove and disappear from sight. The tilt of the grove was almost unnoticeable, but as Anatha looked over the edge, intent on knowing where the melon had fallen, she became aware of the grove’s almost imperceptible motion toward the robots. "No doubt an atmosphere breach," Anatha said to herself as she turned to make her way to the grove’s controls.

Unlike other members of the quest, who had no choice but to walk across the surface of the Ring, Anatha had been the chosen one to receive the prototype sky grove. It had been Bard Oswald the Blue, who more than eighty kilod past, who had observed: "That when a tree is removed from the soil and allowed to rotate freely, it will naturally align itself with the bark-wise orientation of its brethren." How the tree did this had remained conjecture, but nevertheless it had become a useful compass, all be it an extremely large one. It was Oswald who also discovered, that when two or more Time-Keepers are placed together, they become linked, so that the operational status of any one linked Time-Keeper can be known by any other. The Bard had always maintained that the unseen network between the Time-Keepers and the orientation of the trees were connected; but no evidence for this theory had since been found.

What was evident for Anatha, however, was that despite the correction she had made to the tilt of the rotor blades, the drift of the grove toward the giant machines had not diminished. The correct protocol, would be to land the sky-grove upon one of the many shallow lakes below, but Anatha, could not help but wonder: "What if?" Letting her indecision take control over her reason.

For Ambrose; the status of Anatha’s Time-Keeper was the last, of the other nine devices linked with his own, to go dark. Ambrose marked the event in his journal by a simple and cryptic footnote under the heading, Sunday 4th 978: "The last light of hope is gone. It now falls upon me alone."

CHAPTER TWO

THE LONG WALK

Ambrose removed the sleep hood from his head and sat up. He interlocked the fingers of both hands, turned his palms outward and extended his arms to stretch. Yawning, before once again placing his hands on the ground beside himself. Looking about the grove, while reaching just widdershins for his pocket Time-Keeper, everything seemed just as it had been when he had placed the hood over his head for sleep. "Just once, he said out loud, more to the trees than to himself, something different might be nice." But nothing was ever different under the Sun above. Lowering his eyes from his surroundings to the face of the Time-Keeper, revealed no more than a centid till the quarter change.

Ambrose stood slowly, placed the Time-Keeper into its usual pocket within his robe, then extended his arms and rotated about his vertical axis; first fylfot then widdershins. Next, he moved his head through the three planes of movement; before endeavouring to bend at his waist and touch his toes. More kilod had passed him by, than he cared to remember since he had been able to touch his toes, but it nevertheless remained as part of his post waking routine. After exercise, his usual habit and his usual state required breakfast. Though he had often debated whether a breakfast meal really was vital or if the aphorism of it being the most important repast, was not just some legacy of ancient dogma.

If at all possible, Ambrose preferred to make camp in a grove. But for the more usual camps among the trees, he always carried a supply of dried food stores and water. Fortunately, he had found a grove just prior to the end of the last quarter. All groves provide an abundant supply of fruits, nuts, and sweet nectars. There were typically also a wide variety of bulbs, tubers, leaves, stems and mushrooms; if a traveller was prepared to partake in a little more exertion. Almost everything in a grove was edible, and if not, then the plant had a medicinal or other useful purpose. This particular grove, however, didn’t have any easily collectable fire wood, so Ambrose collected only that food which required no cooking. Two Ojen fruit, a small Cider melon and an assortment of sweet Soco nuts in different colours.

Before his breakfast Ambrose poured a little water from his bag into his billy. Adding the crushed leaves of a nearby Alphitonia to the water to wash his hands and face, then placed the billy aside. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, absently examining the ancient wood while mindful of what uses it might be put to, Ambrose ate his breakfast in silence. A soft slow breeze rustled the leaves above. But this was the only sound, other than his own breathing and heartbeat. The melon rind, the fruit skins and nut shells, he let fall where they may as he ate. Randomly between mouthfuls of fruit or melon or nuts, he would place the same down on to the trunk of the tree beside himself, and take a swig of water from his bag, before continuing with his meal. Despite the normal absence of lakes and streams within the forest, fresh water was always abundant beneath the bark of the Terminalia trees. A simple vee cut all that was needed to elicit an abundant flow. With breakfast completed, Ambrose rewashed his hands, face and feet, letting them quickly dry under the Sun, before pulling on his boots.

Before repacking his belongings and leaving the grove, Ambrose always liked to leave a gift of thanks for his sustenance. Such gifts were very basic and this gift might have been just the same, if it had not been for the curious glyph carved into the trunk of a Mossend tree, with a conveniently low horizontal limb. Ambrose had been squatting with his back resting against the branch and waiting for his movement to pass, when a random glance at the tree’s trunk revealed a barely visible blaze cut into the wood; with an indistinct glyph carved upon it. By coincidence his expletive precisely matched his movement. After quickly cleaning himself with a handful of fragrant Blue-grass, covering his gift with an ample pile of the same, he pulled up his pants, dropped his robe over them once more, refastened his belt around the robe, washed his hands with the remnants of the billy’s contents and carefully examined the glyph.

The glyph resembled three dwellings in a group. A word formed in his mind, an almost forgotten memory. "Village," said Ambrose, somewhat staggered by the sound of the word and not at all sure that he had pronounced the name correctly. Taking a little more water from his bag, Ambrose carefully wiped the dust and muck from the blaze. Convention dictated that a glyph be followed by a direction and a distance. But he could find no indication of either. Without hesitation Ambrose used his hatchet to make a new blaze in the same trunk above the old, and with his knife carved a glyph to indicate the usual direction. He had made such a blaze after each waking quarter breakfast since leaving his own village almost a kilod previous, his usual direction and standard course-plot being bark-wise.

As Ambrose walked casually through the forest, observing one tree or another and nonchalantly examining each, the sudden absence of the trees before him, came as a complete surprise. Such an event had not occurred to him for almost a thousand days and its significance now, was not lost on him.

Standing on the precipice at the edge of the immense grassland, Ambrose gawked at the sight, as he tried to take in the utter immensity of it all. This was only the second of such prairies he had seen since leaving his village. The first he had encountered just a decad from his home. Though he had heard tales of that prairie all his life and had thought himself prepared for it. Yet the extraordinary sight of an endless flat treeless surface, had left him so dumbfounded, that he discovered himself lost for words; much to the amusement of the other pilgrims about him. When at last he found the power of speech, he had exclaimed: "By Arthur’s beard, where are all the frogging trees!" The same thought now occurred to him, as he planned his way down to the plain, and as with the first prairie he wondered why trees had never grown upon it.

Like the original prairie, this plain appeared to be level to his eye, but Ambrose reasoned that it was not, by the evident broad swells of slowly flowing streams and the faint depressions into which the water flowed. These depressions appeared to contain varying deposits of a rich black soil, which by Ambrose’s admittedly limited experience, he guessed would be perfect for farming. The evident half buried and fallen flag post boundary markers, indicating that it had once been so used; though no sign of crops of any kind were now evident among the sedges, heath and sphagnum. The shimmer of blue not far above the fylfot-wise horizon, indicating, the possibility that the destination of these streams might be a lake or sea.

After climbing down the precipice incline about a hectom, Ambrose was amaze to find that the till plain seemed to be less than a meter thick. The fen before him appeared to be completely covered by a fine moss, over a soil with the texture of a crushed and ground stone. Placing a boot gingerly on the surface of the loam, Ambrose tested its load bearing capacity, by gradually putting his full weight upon it and taking a few steps. However, he hadn’t moved far across the plain, certainly no more than a few dekam, when his boots broke the surface crust and he began to rapidly sink into the wet spongy ground, like a knife into a Cider melon. Ambrose very quickly found his boots were covered with a heavy sticky clay; making it almost impossible to proceed. It was all he could do, to make his way back to the precipice incline, before collapsing with exhaustion.

It had taken Ambrose almost a half decid to reach the precipice from his breakfast camp. A further quarter decid to climb down the incline from the forest to the prairie. He had spent virtually a whole decid in the mud, often up to his knees, and often unable to move more than a few centim with each step. Reclimbing the incline up to the forest, proved twice as hard, as climbing down. Two and a quarter decid of two and a half taken from his travel quarter with little progress to show for it. Retracing his steps counter bark-wise came with no guarantee that he would stumble on the prior supply grove. Nor had he encountered any groves on his walk to the precipice, or for more than a week previous to that camp, he decided to make his new camp above the prairie; relying on the concentrates in his pack stores only, for his sustenance.

With just a centid remaining before the change to the prayer and rest quarter, Ambrose set about collecting the materials necessary to augment his foot-ware with mud-shoes. His village home on the edge of the great lake had afforded him many hectod of mud fossicking, for the sweet yams that grew naturally in the thickest of muds amid the sedge bogs; between the forest and the water’s edge. A mud-shoe naturally enough is footwear for walking over the soft muds that always line the shores of lakes and seas. Mud-shoes work by distributing the weight of a person over a larger area so that the person’s foot does not sink completely into the mud. Such shoes are made with a hardwood frame and vine rope lacings.

Ambrose finished his task easily within the time he had allotted himself, with his practiced hands working as if of their own accord. As well as gathering the hardwood and vines needed for the Mud-shoes; Ambrose had also gathered a respectable pile of Mossend wood, together with a few handfuls of green Arden leaves.

Using some of the hardwood as an awl and bow, he quickly made a fire by drilling into the softer Mossend wood. As the fire began to grow, he removed a small container of ground grass grain from his pack and placed two handfuls into his bowl. He then added a mixed spice and assorted vegetables to the grain, before placing the bowl to one side. Next, he poured two cups of water from his bag into his billy, and placed the billy amid the burning wood. As Ambrose waited for his billy to boil, he watched the mystic patterns of the fire, and let the memories of his distant home print themselves upon his meditating mind. Smoky words of yesterday faint and subtle, penetrating the fire’s perfumed burn, filling his mind with an ancient song.

"Far over, the Mithras Mountains rise. Leave us breathless, our many lives. What was before, we will see once more. Our King awaits, sang Ambrose softly to the silent world around himself. Though the tune seemed to be a familiar friend, as hard as Ambrose tried, he could not recall more of the words. As he hummed the tune, the words seemed to taunt him as if playing an elusive game within his mind. Without another sound Ambrose let the smoke wash over himself and settle on the ground around his new camp. Ambrose had practiced this purification ritual, whenever the right wood was available to do so, at the beginning of each prayer quarter, every day of his life, since coming of age at five kilod. Giving thanks to Arthur for the meditative smoke, Ambrose then took a short stick from his pile of firewood to lift the billy, by its handle from the fire, and placed it on the ground a few metres away. He then retrieved the bowl and the awl, poured the combined dry ingredients in to the billy to steep; then used the awl as a spurtle to stir the mixture widdershins. This particular savory dish had been a favourite for many kilod, but he had long forgotten its true name, and so simply called it; Savory Porridge." Like all the porridges he made, it was served hot, and poured from the billy back into the bowl for consumption.

After the meal and the usual associated cleaning chores, Ambrose prepared for his quarterly prayer rituals. Together with his journal, he had brought just one other book with him on the expedition. Ambrose positioned himself, so that his back could rest for support against a small Terminalia sapling, placed his pack in front of himself, and then took a few nanods to reflect on his day. Leaning forward, he removed both books from his backpack and placed them on the ground, just to his widdershins. He then removed his writing stick, and some ink berries, placed both within his bowl and likewise placed them on the ground, just to his fylfot.

Ambrose reached widdershins for his journal and placed it on his lap. Then turning fylfot, he picked up his writing stick and pierced the skin of an ink berry, so that the tip of the stick was covered with the thick black juice. Typically, he would not need to do this more than once, but todays entry, he knew would require more ink than he routinely used. Turning back to his journal, he flicked through his entries until he reached the first fresh blank page and wrote; "Mercuryday 2nd 991." Under which he recounted his adventures since his last entry. To save space within his journal, he had a habit of writing no more than a few well-chosen words, however, this new entry required several sentences.

Placing his journal once more in to his backpack, Ambrose turned his attention to the second book; a battered copy of Druid Law (excerpts), third edition. The book had been passed down the line of Druids in his family from Druid to Bard for more than a thousand hundred kilod, from the time when there were great cities within the Ring, and books of every variety had been plentiful. Ambrose skipped through the dog-eared pages passing each supplement in turn, until he reached number seven, on the keeping of the festivals.

By his own reckoning, there were just nine and a half days till the end of his quest. He had left his village by the great lake, on the festival of Alban Arthan, in the light of discovery and truth. He had of course expected to find help from other towns and villages along the way, but truth be told, apart from the few villages he had encountered between the great lake and the first prairie, he had found no sign of habitation until now. In nine days, it would be Alban Arthan once more, and perhaps he thought, by the light of the great engineer, tomorrow I will find my first clue.

It would be safe to suppose that breakfast would be in the same camp when he woke. Nevertheless, he remembered well the lessons of vigilance he had been taught as a child and so of course always liked to be prepared. Ambrose repacked his backpack, as he had done before sleep each day from the beginning of his journey. Choosing a comfortable patch of soft moss as his bed, he placed his pack down to act as his usual pillow. Removed his boots and pants, allowing his robe to act as a sleepshirt, and sat down, with his pack a few centim behind him. Ambrose placed his Time-Keeper on the ground, just widdershins of his position as usual. He took a last look at the world around himself, recited the Druids prayer, placed the sleep hood over his head to block the light of the sun above, and lay down to sleep.

Ambrose felt the warm sun first on his chest and heard nothing but a gentle gust, like a sigh over the usual silence. He removed his sleep hood to sit up, then interlocked his fingers together, turned his palms outward and extended his arms to stretch. Breathed deeply in, held his breath a nanod and then let his breath out with a long sigh. Looking out over the precipice across the prairie, nothing had changed. He hadn’t really expected that anything would be different. But his dreams had been so full of discovering a new village and meeting new people; that when he had woken, he had almost expected to see and hear them. Ambrose reached widdershins for his pocket Time-Keeper, and looked down to read the time. Less than a centid to the change, he had clearly overslept.

Ambrose quickly stood, placed the Time-Keeper into its usual pocket, then extended his arms and rotated about his vertical axis; first fylfot then widdershins. Next, he moved his head through the three planes of movement. He was about to bend over at his waist to reach for his toes, when a novel sound came to his ears. A soft sound, like a musical note far away over the prairie. For a few microd he stared out across the grassland, straining to listen; and he had just convinced himself that it was his imagination when he heard it again. A note resounding across the world, a deep tone, like that of a large bell.

Ambrose pulled on his pants and boots. He picked up his pack, quickly fossicked through the pockets to grab a handful of dried fruit pieces and a strip of melon jerky. Stood a nanod, deciding if he absolutely needed to vacate his bowels and determining that he didn’t, placed his pack on his back. Leaning down to pick up his water bag by its strap, he took a mouth full of the liquid; then placed the bag over his shoulder. He had just picked up the mud-shoes and fixed them to his belt, when the distant bell sounded a third time. Removing the Time-Keeper from his pocket, he noted that the third bell had almost matched the quarter change precisely. Replacing the Time-Keeper back into its place, he walked over to the remnant fire, placed the rest of the wood upon it, followed by the green Arden leaves, that he had collected in the previous quarter. Immediately a column of white dense smoke began to rise into the sky above. Ambrose looked at the smoke for a nanod, smiled, took a bite of the melon jerky, moved to the precipice and started to make his way back down to the tilt plain.

At the completion of each half decid his pocket Time-Keeper gave a small tone. In the jostle and commotion of village life, the tone could not be heard by the sharpest ears; but among the silent stillness of the world, the tone was strident and clear. Ambrose stopped his relentless trudge over the mud, shuffled around a little and carefully looked behind himself. The view of the precipice had been almost completely obscured by a thin low mist, but the column of smoke remained like a vertical white scratch on the blue firmament. In the forest, there was always bark to show a constant direction; but on the prairie, he had only the smoke to move