When Disparate Voices Rise In Unison

By Dragan (Ed) Balog

Messages sent – truthful and rational, or harmful – can be masked under many veils of values, beliefs, or interests, where the hearts and minds of the receivers can become blinded by false promises and questionable paths. Faith and free will can be a unifying force amongst peoples, yet when mysterious events unfold, a door can open for many questionable elements to enter the arena and offer solutions.
The hidden hands of power can influence every facet of society – visibly, and invisibly – where silk strings and shackles can distort and divide the path of every decision and question many core values and beliefs. All messages received need to be decoded by peeling away at all the masks, so that the true meaning is revealed and understood.
Ambiguity and deceit can sometimes be hidden in plain sight while seeking ways to bend the will of those whose eyes, ears, hearts, and minds are not tuned into the true meaning of a proposal. Those who can wisely decode, interpret, and respond to messages sent with wisdom and solidarity always remain the true victors and restore harmony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398424869

Dragan (Ed) Balog

Writer and author, Dragan (Ed) Balog was born in Pancevo, Serbia. He was educated and grew up in Toronto, Canada, where he still resides with his wife, and children. When Disparate Voices Rise in Union, is his third book. Previously he has published: A Gold Sheaf On a Grey Throne (2017, FriesenPress), Cathartic Windows (2008, Epic Press), and other published writings in Canadian, US and European music magazines. In addition, in the 1990s- early 2000s, he was also a musician, writer, and ran North American operations for music label, Black Mark Productions, and founded his own label, Utopian Vision Music.

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About the Author

Writer and author, Dragan (Ed) Balog was born in Pancevo, Serbia. He was educated and grew up in Toronto, Canada, where he still resides with his wife, and children. When Disparate Voices Rise in Union, is his third book. Previously he has published: A Gold Sheaf On a Grey Throne (2017, FriesenPress), Cathartic Windows (2008, Epic Press), and other published writings in Canadian, US and European music magazines. In addition, in the 1990s- early 2000s, he was also a musician, writer, and ran North American operations for music label, Black Mark Productions, and founded his own label, Utopian Vision Music. 

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my wife, Nedjeljka Deric-Balog, son, Mihajlo Balog and daughter, Maja Balog. I love you.

Copyright Information©

Dragan (Ed) Balog 2022

The right of Dragan (Ed) Balog to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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 permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398424852 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398424869 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

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E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Thank you to my loving wife, Nedjeljka, who has put up with my obsessive, compulsive, and sometimes secluded drive to complete my third book, many times in the early and late hours of darkness and solitude, where inspiration always takes hold. You have given me the strength to continue and listen to that inner guiding path.

Thank you to my beautiful and loving children, Mihajlo, and Maja. When you work hard and believe in yourself, everything is possible. Map out a vision, and then follow it with all your energy, and you will succeed, in anything you do in life. Follow your dreams, and don’t let the voices of negativity detract you from your goals.

To all my family, relatives, and friends, thank you all for your inspiring words to continue, you have all given me courage, strength, and a drive to continue writing.

Knowledge is endless, and so is the human drive. Believe in yourselves and forge a vision, for whatever your passion is, and then laser in on it. Discard all distractions and all the voices of negative energies and tune into your beacon calling, and follow it, no matter what you do. Everything is possible, nothing is impossible.

Dragan (Ed) Balog

Prologue: Post-Mortem

Bagerville Chaos

As the flurry of chaos was erupting throughout Bagerville, Ophidia and all the Soma Confederated Lands, Mikhael Igor Gonsev sat in the window seat of the plane that left Bagerville hours ago, staring at a happier moment in time, with an old photograph of his late wife Svetlana, and daughter Olga, that he emotionally clutched in both of his hands.

He left Bagerville’s airport, before all the chaos began to accelerate, and knew it was the best thing to do. His partner, in GN-MG, Thomar Gunthar became obsessed with greed and power, using everything at his disposal to acquire, consolidate and expand his influence and abilities to control everything and anything that moved. Gonsev began to feel marginalised, used and sensed impending danger.

The turning point with Mikhael Igor Gonsev was when he noticed that there were clandestine moves being made by Gunthar, for malicious reasons, far more than economic, that he decided it was best to get out. During a meeting with Bagerville’s elite, academics, and politicians from Ophidia, Gunthar started rumbling about expanding their operations to the indigenous lands and develop the Epsilon Mountains. At one point he pulled Gonsev aside and stated, Mikhael, the Epsilon Mountains have a fortune that is many times more than what is in Q90. We need to coerce the officials to allow us in there, and then it will be ours.

Gonsev remembered that heated exchange, and the reply he gave him, Thomar, everything in the Dunavian lands and in the Epsilon Mountains is untouchable. The Great Silver Bird is said to rest in the mausoleum of the Temple there. The Elders hold the influence in those lands and hold seats in the governing council in the Soma Confederated Lands. No one can touch those lands or mountains, and whatever is inside of them. Why do you want into Epsilon so bad?

Thomar Gunthar with an arrogant sneer responded, Those mountains contain more than an asteroid, resources or some bird that fell from the skies a long time ago. They contain something more valuable from the time before, something Ophidia, and even the Elders, know about. I think Jason Dallas may know what is in those mountains from a purely geological point of view the most, and from perhaps an academic point of view, but I know something else, that he doesn’t. Let’s just say there is something very strategic, which will give the ruler of those mountains, more than a competitive advantage, and a view from above. I have people in every corner of this planet, and here too, from Ophidia to Elysia, and at my command, they will listen to me, more than any power above them. My hand of power can bring about a focus on that area all at a moment’s notice, and from anywhere, with the snap of my fingers. One day Epsilon will be in the spotlight, and it will draw many voices there, and all will vie for a slice of the pie, and the elders won’t be able to do much but watch the events unfold, you can mark my words.

Gunthar then paused moving closer to Gonsev, before continuing with cold arrogance, Remember my dear Mikhael, that even behind the shadows, I can still make the earth move, and people dance to any tune I spin.

Gonsev abhorred the brute arrogance and lust for power through evil means and knew it was time to leave, as his personal safety was now in jeopardy, and he came to an eye-opening conclusion that staying was not in the cards anymore. At the spur of a moment, he packed his most valuable portrait and a few items, his passports and decided to leave those shores for good, and he vowed never to return.

The seats next to him were very tight, and luckily, he was near the window, where he could turn towards and look in his face, and see the sadness, despair, and scar on his cheek from another time and place. After looking at the old photograph for a few hours into his flight, he finally placed it back inside of his jacket, between his two passports, and took out his mobile phone and texted Boris Vilmajev in Bagerville, it read:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Text Message

To: Boris Vilmajev@ViChi

From: MIG

Message:

The ventures did not work out, and there is great danger for me to stay. ViGnChi was the correct way of doing things, and afterwards, everything fell apart. Higher ambitions, greed, power, I do not know. Everything fell apart afterwards, and then I realised Gunthar had far darker ambitions than pure economics and the pursuit of doing the greater good. The man is pure evil and is dangerous.

I will wait for the winds to blow over and then make a statement, from safer shores back home.

For now, it is best to keep silent, and distant, as Gunthar is powerful, connected and extremely dangerous. Be careful he has eyes and ears in every corner of those lands, and there are many who trust him more than their own leaders.

There was nothing left for me there, and there are only two tombstones to reminisce of a family I once had, back home, so I will stay with my brother and nephew for now.

Until our paths cross again, my dear friend.

Keep in touch,

MIG

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gonsev, also known as MIG, finished his text message, and placed his phone back in his jacket, and then caressed the scar on his face with his right index finger, before asking the stewardess for a soda and stiff spirited drink. Please get me a caffeinated cola and a strong drink please.

As the stewardess went to get his drinks, Gonsev quickly asked the others beside him to give him room to pass by, as he went to quickly go to the lavatory before the drinks were ready. He slowly walked down the tight aisle, where on both sides travellers were all busy listening to music, reading, conversing, or watching the movie being broadcast. He finally got to the lavatory, and luckily was free and he opened the door to get to the toilet, wash his hands and his face. As he splashed some cold water in his face, before exiting, he took one last look in the small mirror and saw an ageing face that was full of pain, grief and a battle scar would forever define his appearance, despite all efforts of trying to turn his life around, after losing his wife and daughter many years ago. In a bout of anger, Gonsev quickly and forcibly punched the mirror, without breaking it, but loud enough that it could be heard by people outside the doors that were seated and standing. Gonsev then took a deep breath, and exited the lavatory and returned to his seat, where two drinks were waiting at his table.

Gonsev reservedly and calmly repositioned himself in his seat, to get comfortable and looked at the drinks, and holding them so as they would not spill during his movements in the seat. He then put the drinks back on his table and took out the photograph of his wife and daughter, and also placed it on the table, and then downed both drinks quickly. Within a few moments, Gonsev motioned at least three more times to the stewardess to refill his desired drinks, and then after the fourth, his eyes closed until the plane arrived at his destination near the Black Sea.

After a few more hours of flight, which Gonsev slept through, the plane arrived and was making its descent and slow movements towards the terminal. After the captain announced the arrival and the passengers and stewardesses were slowly starting to gather their belongings to exit, Gonsev, grabbed his bag, which had his most valuable asset in it – his family portrait of his wife, daughter, and him, in happier times, and slowly made his way towards customs.

The customs department had four kiosks with border control and customs insignia adorning the top sections above the plexiglas counters, where behind the desk sat burly uniformed officers with blue dress shirts, with stripes on the sides, inspecting and stamping the passports against the information on their computer screens. In the waiting area, many of the television screens were already taking note of the chaos that erupted in Bagerville and began transmitting the news: Crisis Measures Protocol enacted in Bagerville and Ophidia in the Soma Confederated Lands.

General Vysten and Supreme Judge Bollxop assume control during the crisis in Bagerville and Ophidia. President Lornae and many others step down. Corruption at the core, with many arrests to follow. Gonsev looked at one of the screens transmitting the news and shook his head before saying, Glad to be out of there. Too much chaos, and it will only get worse, with Gunthar.

Gonsev then walked over to one of the kiosks, and gave a red coloured passport to the officer, who looked at his computer screen and him sternly, before stamping and returning his passport and stating, Welcome back, Mr. Gonsev, here you go.

Gonsev walked once more through a secured area and then walked out towards the exit, where many taxi drivers in their old sedans were parked, and some were outside having a cigarette and chatting and hustling people holding onto suitcases, who were waiting for rides. Gonsev walked over towards one of the taxis, and saw an older, unshaven, dark-haired man, with a thick bushy moustache and grey flat newsboy hat behind the steering wheel of an older red, four-door sedan. The driver looked at him and motioned him, to enter the taxi with his tobacco-stained two fingers and yellowish stained teeth, as he asked in a strongly accented tone, Come in, please. I will take you. Where do you want to go?

Gonsev looked at the driver, and the passenger seat, where a sandwich rested on a foiled paper beside a newspaper, and then opened the back door, behind the driver’s area and threw his bag in and sat down. The taxi driver looked back towards him, and just lifted his eyebrows and raised his right hand upwards moving it to the left and right, and then upwards.

Gonsev looked at the driver, and understood the local innuendo meaning and quickly responded, The hockey arena at the edge of town, my friend. Take me there please.

The taxi driver just nodded, gripped the wheel tighter, put up the radio of some ethnic music of female vocals over slow-paced string instruments, which was melancholic, and made Gonsev take a deep breath and hum along. After a few turns around circular streets that spiralled throughout the city, they reached a hockey arena at the edge of town. The arena was fairly new, modern, well-lit, and full for a practice that was taking place. Besides the arena was the drop-off area, a small parking lot, a park, and a kiosk selling newspapers and cigarettes. There was a flurry of activity going on, as kids were going in the arena with their parents carrying hockey sticks and large duffel bags.

As the red sedan taxi arrived at the drop-off point, Gonsev grabbed his bag, and took out a fifty unit of currency for the area, giving it to the driver before exiting, and stating, Thank you, my friend. Keep the change. The driver’s eyes just widened as Gonsev exited and walked towards the entrance of the arena.

As Gonsev got to the entrance of the hockey arena, he noticed people sitting inside near the concession stands having a few drinks and enjoying a bite to eat, and down the hallways were two hockey rinks holding practice, including one with his nephew, Basil. Gonsev walked over to one of the concession stands and ordered a coffee, threw a five-unit of currency to the cashier, and then walked over towards the second ice rink towards his right side. As he walked away with his coffee in hand, the cashier held up his change, and he just stated, The rest is for you.

As Gonsev walked down the hallway towards the second ice rink, the air became colder, and when he opened the doors the chilling air, felt like he came from a warm climate to a cold snap within seconds. Gonsev looked at the rink, and about eight players, a goalie and coach were skating and practising on the ice. In the stands were about fifty unrecognisable people watching the practice, so Gonsev walked over towards one of the sides where the goalie was in net, and then noticed his nephew Basil skating, and stick handling before taking a slap shot, causing the black rubber puck to ricochet off the plexiglas in front of him. At that point, Basil noticed his uncle Mikhael, and then fervently began skating towards him with a smile that shined through his visor, that was attached to his helmet. As Basil skated closer towards the side of the rink where his uncle was, he slowly began to bend his knees, and pivot his skate sideways creating a snow plough effect of ice chafing and flying against the boards and plexiglas.

As Gonsev stood watching, Basil, a person in the stands behind him stood up and waved, Mikhael, over here.

Gonsev quickly turned and noticed his brother, Alex, and waved back while he raised his index finger upwards. Give me one minute, Alex. I want to speak with Basil for a moment.

As he turned around, facing him on the other side of the plexiglas was Basil, who he could hear and see with the cold air intonating, You are back, Uncle Mikhael.

Gonsev smiled and then slapped the palm of his hand against the plexiglas, in a show of solidarity and replied, I knew you would be here skating and playing, as you always have since you were six. You have grown so much Basil. I am back, for now at least. I don’t know about tomorrow, but today, I am here to see my nephew, who I love like a son. You go practice. I’ll be with your dad in the stands.

Basil felt a warm sense of emotion flow through him, which gave him a new burst of energy, and skated back towards his teammates and coach, while Gonsev slowly turned around and began walking up towards the stands where Alex was seated. Alex smiled at Mikhael as he adjusted his blue and red coloured plaid scarf around his neck, and padded the seat next to him, motioning him to sit there.

As Gonsev reached the section where his brother Alex was seated, he gave him a friendly gesture of rubbing the top of his hair with his hand, and commenting, You haven’t changed a bit. Well maybe a few more grey hairs, and the fact you need to shave, but asides from that you still look fairly healthy. We will talk more about everything when we get to your place.

Alex rubbed his hand over his sweater, shifting his focus away from the rink towards Mikhael, with a puzzled look asked, What happened? Did things change for the worse that fast in Bagerville? The news said there is chaos there, with strong measures being put in. We also saw reports that the president resigning, and then afterwards there were many arrests, with more to follow. What happened?

Gonsev just agreed and said, I saw chaos and trouble on the horizon brewing. Gunthar is the mastermind behind everything. It was best that I left before things got worse. I will lay low, and not say too much for now. Gunthar has eyes and ears everywhere.

Alex listened, as he leaned back in his seat in the stands, and reassured his brother with a promise, You are still my brother. You can stay at our house as long as you like. You are not a guest, but family. Stay with us, until the winds blow over.

Gonsev looked at his brother with a tired and solemn face and replied, Thank you, Alex, for everything, you, and Basil are all that I have left. Before anything, I will leave now for the cemetery and visit Svetlana and Olga, and I will be by your place in a few hours.

As Gonsev slowly got back up from his seat again to make his way towards the cemetery, Alex understood the need to visit the loved ones that were departed meant everything to Mikhael, and wished him. Two bouquets of red carnations work well, Mikhael. I will see you back at the house later.

Gonsev slung the bag now over his shoulder, waved to Basil and Alex, and exited the rink towards the front of the arena, and called a taxi. Within two minutes, a familiar older red sedan pulled up with a dark-haired driver with a bushy moustache who stuck his right hand out and started pointing for him to enter. Gonsev opened the passenger back door, threw his bag in, sat down, and said, Take me to that florist at the other edge of town.

Within another four minutes, they arrived, and as Gonsev was leaving and gave him a ten unit note, the driver asked, Do you want me to wait, and take you somewhere else?

Gonsev just waved his hand back, and said, No my friend, I will walk there, as I need to only get two candles, and two beautiful bouquets of carnations, and the place I will visit is not that far from here.

The taxi driver insisted. I can take you, my friend.

Gonsev looked at the driver and