Conversation with the sh.., p.1
Conversation with the Shadows, page 1
Conversation with the Shadows
The Universe Engine, Volume 1
Zeno Dasa
Published by Epignos, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
CONVERSATION WITH THE SHADOWS
First edition. October 10, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 Zeno Dasa.
ISBN: 979-8215952924
Written by Zeno Dasa.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Preface
Chapter One, The Arrival.
Chapter Two, The Questions.
Chapter Three, Memory Lane.
Chapter Four, The Hellscape.
Chapter Five, Green With Envy.
Chapter Six, Collection of Greed.
Chapter Seven, The Chase.
Chapter Eight, The Most Gracious Host.
Chapter Nine, Fork Me Not.
Chapter Ten, Slow Your Roll.
Chapter Eleven, The fall.
Chapter Twelve, Come Closer.
Chapter Thirteen, Blood Spilt.
Chapter Fourteen, A Mother’s Love.
Chapter Fifteen, The Burden of Love.
Chapter Sixteen, Resolving The Trials.
Chapter Seventeen, The Chamber of The Elder Beings.
Chapter Eighteen, The Element of Air.
Chapter Nineteen, The Mud Man.
Chapter Twenty, Eld Water.
Chapter Twenty One, Passing of The Mantle.
Chapter Twenty Two, Revelations.
Chapter Twenty Three, Tools of The Trade.
Chapter Twenty Four, Dvine Support.
Chapter Twenty Five, The Magic School.
Chapter Twenty Six, The Laws of Magic
Chapter Twenty Seven, Portals.
Chapter Twenty Eight, Shields.
Chapter Twenty Nine, Blasts
Chapter Thirty, Telekinetics
Chapter Thirty one, Conjuring.
Chapter Thirty Two, Anubis Speaks.
Chapter Thirty Three, The Sucker Punch.
Chapter Thirty Four, Playing The Game
Chapter Thirty Five, Emotional Tyrant.
Chapter Thirty Six, The Game Plan.
Chapter Thirty Seven, Home Sweet Home.
This book is very much like being human, flawed and full of potential. The fact you’re reading it to any degree means a lot to me, so thank you. I hope this book stirs something inside of you that leads you to finding some answers you have been looking for within your life.
Before you read this book, I leave you with this. I don’t wish youth best, but I wish you to experience what’s best for you. Be open to life, and be honest with yourself so you may learn from love instead of suffering.
Preface
I once thought I was David Blackthorn, a Mississippi preacher who lived for teaching the word of God, but I'm not so sure anymore. So much has happened it’s hard to describe how I got here let alone how it all began. I feel so disconnected from the David of the past, but the story is still the same. I am so much more now but I am also nothing as well. I look back at that past me and find myself thinking was that ever me or just an idea I had of who I thought I was?
I used to think life was black and white once, and that color was a distraction we created for ourselves while we figured out what was truly black or white. That with each piece of truth we find in life, colors would fade and reveal the illusion of our false hopes. That hope was nothing without faith, and that faith was nothing without being tested with the lie of color’s illusion. Gray areas some would call them when they could not define black from white. Some would hold onto the concept of gray like a security blanket to shield them from the harshness of truth, when the truth was, they didn’t have the strength to sort through the hard questions, the what ifs, and whys. If you can’t stand for your truths to be tested, then you lack the strength required to grow further.
I thought I knew what was black and white. I thought my faith was a rock, safe from all the questions my human mind could create. I thought I knew how life worked and that I just needed to choose the right side and have unyielding faith until it was my time. If I only knew that my time began with my first breath and that every choice laid a brick in the path of my own self-created destiny; that freedom would be my own hell, destruction, and rebirth.
The truth is an amazing thing. It doesn’t care who you are, be it man, mortal, or god, or how you connect with life, your desires, and feelings. Truth will always strip you down, take away everything that makes you feel special, all that you feel empowers you, and force you to look at yourself reduced to what you truly are. That truth will ask you at that moment are you content with what you see? Are you truly happy with the mass of cells that make up the flesh that entombs your soul? A tomb that anchors you to a world where pain and suffering possesses a greater power to teach and heal than love ever could, simply because we all chose for it to be that way. We all looked at the truth and chose a lie because it was easier to blame the world for our misunderstandings. It's all one big lie.
Living in oblivion is so much easier than living in reality for most, but if you only knew what truth really is, reality would seem so much more loving. Reality is there to serve us as long as we can accept the truth - we can make bad choices, but we are also responsible for our actions. Horrible things can happen purely because of a series of bad choices. The power to change the world for better or worse lies in the choices we make for ourselves every day.
What if I told you that God is real, and demons walk amongst us? The concept of good and evil distracts us from a deeper truth more harsh than the last. If I told you that good and evil is just another layer to existence as we know it, and that even divinity is searching for answers would you be willing to accept that? Well, you most likely think I’m crazy, but for those of you who have that gut feeling that urges you to delve deeper, I’ll share with you my story of how I was pulled into the void of truth, and how within it I struggled not to drown with every breath I managed to take.
Come and experience it all as I experienced it for the first time. You will feel my fear but know that you’re safe. You will know my confusion, but know it is just a memory, a simulation of what I have experienced. You will hear my thoughts as your own, but you will appear as still separate from me. You will know me, and my secrets will be yours to know as well. Open your mind as I share with you the story of how I became the person before you, so that you may ask yourself, am I truly living or am I dead?-
Chapter One, The Arrival.
I have been a preacher for many years serving the people of Meridian, Mississippi. My family made their way here to Meridian back when the railroad came through and never left. Unfortunately, the Blackthorn family wasn't altogether too concerned with procreating. I grew up watching them pass until it was only my father and I that carried the blood and name of Blackthorn. My mother’s side of the family came in with the trains and left with the planes, or at least that’s how my mother explained it to me.
I can say during my time in Meridian I have seen many amazing things. I have seen moments when God’s glory shines brightly in the actions of humanity, but I have also seen darkness consume the hearts of men. It always reminded me that there was a sort of balance. I look back on all I have learned as a preacher here in Meridian, and I have come to an understanding that shadows can’t exist without light, that they are defined by the light
No matter how strongly you feel the presence of God within, conveying the good lord's wisdom can be quite the struggle sometimes when writing sermons, I would eat a whole package of wintergreen mints like they’d somehow help infuse my sermons with the presence of the lord, but all they did was give me a stomachache.
Today is no different. Ideas fill my head, surfacing barely before quickly fleeing, leaving my skull with a bewildering itch. My collar feels like it’s beginning to tighten out of frustration as my time runs out. I have only fifteen minutes to write a speech as my congregation gathers in the next room for tonight's potluck.
My desk is swarmed with an onslaught of crinkled papers fighting to hide coffee stains on weathered wood. The disorderly mess reminds me of my room as a boy, and how my mother would give me that look each time she saw it. She used to tell me that my thoughts were too poetic for the common ear, but to the lord they were praises unto him. She always said that the Bible is the lord's poetry because it was written to move the heart so that the mind could follow. I truly miss hearing her voice, but now's not the time to be thinking about that David. I don’t need to be seen by the masses with red eyes again, because the allergy story only works so many times.
“Thank you, mama,” I say, struggling to choke back tears.
I do this every time I try to write a speech. I get all worked up trying to find the perfect wording only to end up putting down the paper and speaking from the poetic rhythm of my heart. I place my hands on the double swinging doors that connect my office to the back of the podium's stage whispering, “here we go.”
The doors slowly swing open, groaning at my arrival and drawing the attention of every living soul to my entrance. Feelings of nervousness prey up the corners of my mouth as all the eyes in the room fixate on me. The children who’d grown into a restless mob before I made my appearance, sigh in relief. Piercing gazes make my body feel like molten lead is filling up my chest. The experience makes me so ne
“Miss Ruby, would you remind me to buy some of those baby proofing plastic pieces for the podium corners? If I keep tempting them, I’m sure one day they're gonna win,” I speak, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Yes, Reverend Blackthorn. I’ll remind you first thing in the morning,” Miss Ruby remarks, tilting her head in acknowledgement.
“Thank you, Miss Ruby.”
“Thank you to all those who brought something tonight. Sharing what you can spare has always been looked upon highly by the lord. Seeing you all here tonight reminds me of something Jesus once said,” I mutter softly as my vision blurs slightly. I must have stressed myself out a little too much over this sermon.
I gather my composure as best as I can, and I attempt to speak again. “Jesus once, once said... damn it.” Under the weight of so many watching eyes while delivering my sermon, I fail to notice that my right arm is numb. But the pressure in my chest, oh I feel that just fine. My knees knock loudly on the wooden floor of the stage as I manage to awkwardly catch myself on the podium. Trying my hardest, I look up only to see the world around me spinning faster and faster with each breath I take. My heart sounds like it’s beating on the back of my skull, trying to force its way in as I start to lose consciousness. Darkness creeps over my vision, but not before I notice a tall figure, burning bright in the corner of the room, just before I lose consciousness.
Being unconscious wasn’t anything new to my family. I would often come home from playing at a friend's house when I was a boy to find my father passed out drunk on the living room sofa. Being the one unconscious, however, is definitely something I don’t want to get used to. No matter how hard I try to move, I can't. My eyes didn't want to open and trying to speak just made my lungs feel like they were going to burst. All I can do is listen. I can hear everything happening around me like I was submerged underwater. Muffled voices, speaking in urgent tones surround me, but it all quickly fades into silence. I begin to drift off into that silence, kind of like how you can drift off in thought when an old friend just keeps on talking. It feels nice just drifting in silence with no one to answer to. I feel like I can forget about all the stress in the world, that I can catch my breath and finally just relax.
The noise of wind whistling through the trees wakes me from my drifting. I stare at my right hand, clenching it into a fist then spreading my fingers wide as I open my hand. I’m lying in bed as this tingling sensation in my hand is washed away with the flow of warm blood as if it’s the first time my body has ever known the presence of its warmth. I'm sure I had a heart attack, or was it a stroke? Nonetheless, I didn’t smell any toast burning, so I feel kind of oddly disappointed. I can’t remember where I read it, but I remember reading that when having a heart attack, it's not uncommon to smell burnt toast. I always liked to think I would smell toast because Jesus was making breakfast for me to welcome me back home, but somehow managed to burn the toast. Picturing Jesus burning toast always made me feel like it’s possible to be christ like if he could manage to burn the toast. I’m odd like that I suppose, humanizing Jesus so I can feel closer to him in my own way.
A man in a white coat briskly walks into the room with a smile on his face. I focus on him as my other senses catch up. I’m sure he is the doctor, here to tell me, ’hey David that was close, maybe you should stop eating the food people bring you all the time.’ Whenever I receive food as a thank you or a kind gesture, it’s always sweets. I guess that's what I get for helping out the kind elderly widows in my congregation.
“Mr. Blackthorn, you're awake. You had us worried there for a bit,” the doctor says, approaching the foot of my bed with a clipboard in hand.
“That's great doc, but may I ask what happened exactly?” I say while struggling to sit up in my bed.
“Well, from what the paramedics could tell when they arrived to answer Miss Ruby’s emergency call, you’d collapsed from stress induced angina,” the doctor states, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.
“A what, doc?” Leave it to a doctor to use their fancy words instead of plain English. I guess it makes all those years spent in school and the crippling student loan debt feel like they mean something.
“You had a heart attack, Mr. Blackthorn, and a strange one at that.” The doctor's eyebrows raise a bit while reading over the papers on his clipboard.
“Doc, I didn't know there was such a thing as a strange heart attack. I always thought it was one of those things where you either have one or you don’t.” I'm sure the doctor can detect the subtle hints of sarcasm in my voice.
“Well, after looking you over we didn’t find any physical damage typical to heart attack victims. In cases like this it is standard procedure to run a blood panel to check for drug abuse that could have contributed to the heart attack. Your panels came back clean as a whistle - in fact, they came back with excellent results,” the doctor notes, flipping to the last page on his clipboard.
“Even though I do much appreciate being called excellent, could you elaborate a bit on the facts, doc?” I voice, grunting while struggling to adjust the pillow in the small of my back.
“Take it easy Mr. Blackthorn,” the doctor says, walking to the side of my bed placing his hand on my chest.
“Your blood panel came back showing high levels of cortisol, which is normal for someone under great stress. Although, I did find something so odd that I had the lab run the test three times just to make sure. Your hormone levels reflect that of a man in his twenties. Being a man of your age, I thought we had mixed up the lab results,” the doctor scoffs.
“Well good sir, I'll tell you this, being fifty two years old has never stopped me from putting a boot print on the back side of the unruly, or the devil himself for a matter of fact. Don’t let the gray hairs hide the charm of this blue-eyed boy, doctor.” I'm usually a little more reserved than this, but I can’t help but feel good. I will even say I feel a little more alive than usual after all that has happened today.
The doctor smiles yet again in response to my words, heading for the door. “Mr. Blackthorn, you have had a long day. Get some rest and we’ll see about getting you out of here in the morning.”
“Don’t take care of me too well now, because I might never leave, doc.” I smile as I say those words, knowing that when morning comes, I will be free to go. The doctor made it seem as if keeping me overnight was just a procedure. That there is no real cause for alarm because heart attack was just more fancy jargon for an old man's panic attack.
“Oh Mr. Blackthorn I have to ask you one more thing,” the doctor says, turning around in the doorway to face me.
“Shoot, doc, I ain’t going anywhere,” I utter while loosening the bed sheets.
“Do you have any history of neural conditions in your family, Mr. Blackthorn? I only ask because when the paramedics found you beside the podium, your eyes were wide open like you were watching something. As they moved you through the church to take you outside to the ambulance, your eyes stayed fixed on the far-right corner of the church. Once they got you outside, you blacked out completely.”
“Well, doc, I’m not aware of any such conditions in the family, but that does raise concern with me. I would greatly appreciate it if we could look into that before I go.” My voice shakes as I speak.
“Not a problem, Mr. Blackthorn. I’ll look into it first thing in the morning. If I don’t find anything of concern you will be cleared and you can leave at your own convenience,” the doctor says, turning to walk back out the door.
Feeling a bit macabre, my mind goes back to that tall figure I saw in the corner of the church as I fell. I can’t shake the feeling that I had known the figure somehow. That I knew that it was there watching me, waiting. Nonetheless I can’t put too much stock into what I thought I had seen and felt, because I was under duress.
After all that has happened, I’m feeling quite restless, even though moments ago, I felt invigorated just knowing that I was still alive. I sit up to get out of bed and I notice the sound of my boots striking the floor. “That’s funny,” I thought, ”the doctors must have really thought I was faking or high because they didn’t even bother to undress me.” I'm no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that's what they do when someone gets rushed in here like I was.
