Finally... "The Mystery Of The Shaman's Secret should be available on Amazon, Kindle and other platforms in both paperback and electronic versions by mid-next week.
Since this is an announcement about what is going to happen I thought you'd enjoy seeing the cover as it was pre-proof and, if you're kind enough to buy the book, you'll see the adjustment made to make the cover a bit less crowded.
Below, you'll find chapters one and two. Don't worry about the unfamiliar names, the cast of characters is not very large and you'll soon find yourself swinging along...
The chapters are also pre-final proof so, if you notice a typo it should be fixed in the final version but, again, I thought it might be fun to see pre-proof. It's astonishing how much work goes into a book after the "work" is done!
The setting is Han China, in the first century B.C., and, to begin the book, you will find a brief discussion about the historical figures the story is about. Most of the major characters actually lived and, the fiction is woven through some actual events in the court of the time.
So, enjoy. I'll post a Facebook notice when the book actually comes available.
Chapter 1
Crime And Punishment
Jyang Choong sat quietly
watching the scene below. From time to time his eyes focused on the shaman but
mostly Jyang studied the face of Emperor Wu.
The temple had been
especially constructed for this occasion. Looking more barbarian than Chinese,
it was shaped like a shallow drinking bowl. The floor of the bowl was bare save
for a slightly raised platform in the middle. This platform was small, less
than a pace across.
A man stood on the
platform. At his feet lay two objects: a small oil lamp and a misshapen lump
that had apparently once been molded into the shape of a human being and then
buried.
The man stood as erectly
and proudly as his wrecked body allowed. The effects of three days at the hands
of the prosecutor’s staff of torturers were obvious. The man would never walk
properly again even should he survive the ordeal before him and horrible scars
would mark him for life; but for now these were the least of the man’s
considerations. He stood silently, but gazed at his sovereign with a look of
sorrow.
“Are you certain of the
charges?” Emperor Wu asked as he watched the shaman perform the chants.
“There can be no doubt, my
Emperor,” Jyang Choong answered.
“He was one of my oldest
and most trusted advisors,” the Emperor mused. “I find it difficult to believe
that he would practice wu-gu. Why would he be attracted to the evil
magic?”
“There can be no doubt,”
Jyang repeated.
The Emperor’s throne was
located at the north rim of the bowl. Various functionaries of the court were
seated at different points around the depression. All looked down intently at
the man below.
The shaman continued his
chants for a time and then suddenly stopped. He walked to a point in front of
the Emperor, then prostrated himself. “The man has not practiced wu-gu,”
the shaman proclaimed.
The Emperor glared at
Jyang.
“You find no fault with
the man?” Jyang called out.
“There is an emanation of
evil,” the shaman answered, “but my efforts fail to detect what the man has
done.”
“What of chu-tsu shang?”
Jyang asked.
A muffled gasp from the
crowd followed the question; Chu-tsu shang, cursing the Emperor, calling
down spirits to do harm to the exalted body, was as heinous a crime as a man
could commit.
“NO!” The shout echoed
through the temple. “My Lord Ruler knows of my faithful service. Do not
dishonor my life and my death by such a charge.” These were the first words the
proud man on the platform had spoken in three days.
The Emperor turned to
Jyang.
“You go too far,” the
Emperor hissed, fire flashing in his eyes. “He has been my faithful servant
since his birth. I cannot believe that of him.”
“Let the shaman test him
then,” Jyang Choong answered, loudly enough for all to hear. “If he passes the
test, there is no dishonor, for he will have been proven loyal. The dishonor
will then be mine and I will take his place on the platform and his place in
death.”
“You are so sure?” the
Emperor asked.
“I am,” Jyang answered.
“Let it be done.” The
Emperor nodded to the shaman who quickly resumed his place in front of the
prisoner. The chants began.
The Emperor turned back to
Jyang. “You risk everything?” he asked.
“I risk nothing,” Jyang
replied. “I exist to serve the Emperor. If I serve well, I live. If not, I
die.” The Emperor, inured to empty flattery, gazed quizzically at Jyang, but
said nothing. Both men turned to watch the scene below.
The shaman was from north
of the Great Wall, in the eyes of most of the Emperor’s retinue, a foreigner.
His clothing was dirty, barbaric in cut, and covered with strange designs. He
whirled and twirled, here and there, mouthing strange words never before heard
in the capital city of the Han. No one noticed him motion to a serving boy
stationed at the top of the stairway leading from the bottom of the bowl shaped
temple to the top. The serving boy signaled back, then nodded to his master
below. The shaman embarked on a particularly vigorous series of moves, then
froze in place, a wild, keening cry coming from his lips. His hands pointed to
the prisoner in the center of the cleared space. All eyes focused on the shaman
and on the object of his cry.
The shaman’s keening wail
seemed to go on forever. The watchers wondered to themselves how a man could
utter such a noise and keep doing it for so long. Soon, all in the audience found
themselves almost involuntarily leaning forward, hypnotized by the awful sound.
Suddenly, when it appeared that the cry could go on no longer without something
snapping in the old man’s throat, there came a loud “WOOMP” and the entire
floor of the temple seemed to have ignited in an explosive rush of heat and
fire.
Instinctively the crowd
drew back. Then, as individuals within it gathered their wits, the crowd surged
forward towards what appeared to be a magical flame remaining after the initial
explosion.
The Emperor was among the
startled onlookers straining towards the platform. Only Jyang Choong remained
seated, a slight smile playing on his lips. After a short time the prisoner
ceased to scream.
Chapter 2
An Emperor Under Threat
The braver members of the
crowd edged toward but then quickly fell back from the charred corpse, covering
dainty noses with kerchiefs, sleeves or whatever was close at hand. A peculiar,
bitter-sour smell could be detected in the air. It mixed with the
disconcertingly pleasant roast pork- like odor of burning human flesh. The
shaman and the prosecutor exchanged glances as the latter at last rose from his
seat and moved forward to the Emperor’s side.
“So,” the Emperor
muttered, “he was indeed guilty. The conspirators multiply as I grow older.”
The Emperor Wu, Lord of all that was Civilized Under Heaven, the literal
representative of Heaven on earth, seemed to age as he spoke these bitter
words. His cheeks sank inward and his skin paled beneath the sheen of sweat
evoked by the mysterious holy fire.
The chief prosecutor took
this in. Jyang was a large, fleshy man, still in the vigor of middle age.
Taking care to mask from his voice the contempt of the still young for the
ineffectually old, the chief prosecutor sought to soothe his sovereign.
“Such is the price of
success, Your Majesty,” he said. “Always there are those who would plot the
fall of the One who sustains us. But happily there are weapons against those
men of evil. Your Majesty’s enemies will continue to be confounded, for I have
found a means of detecting the black magic men of darkness would use against
the royal person. So long as I stand by the side of the Emperor, no man may
practice such evil against him.”
“Most impressive,” Emperor
Wu replied, regaining his emotional balance and directing a sharp glance at his
chief prosecutor. The demands of power had long since taught the Emperor to
mistrust even those closest to him. The just concluded lesson had only
reinforced this mistrust. The chief prosecutor’s methods were indeed powerful
but such power brought with it threats to the Emperor.
“You and your agents have
done well. I suppose you are right. This sort of thing is inevitable. That
damnable Chen woman tried the wu-gu magic on me when I was little more
than a boy. That was nearly forty years ago, but my…
