Erden: Flame of the Creator

Copyright © 2013 Philip Cook.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover and graphics designed by Cristina Cook.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events

portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people

or incidents is purely coincidental and wishful elaborations.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-2032-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2031-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2033-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013923358

WestBow Press rev. date: 4/30/2014

Contents

Chapter  1     Getting to Know You

Chapter  2     Is it Nightmare or Reality?

Chapter  3     Lilly’s Troubles

Chapter  4     Doubts, Darkness & Trouble

Chapter  5     Martha’s Plans

Chapter  6     Friends For Now

Chapter  7     Away to Erden

Chapter  8     King Laromon

Chapter  9     Erden Comes Alive

Chapter  10     Lost on Erden

Chapter  11     Dark Rewards

Chapter  12     Riley’s Mischief

Chapter  13     Separate Paths

Chapter  14     Dancing with the Undead

Chapter  15     The Fall of Clotis

Chapter  16     Flame of the Creator

Chapter  17     Muddy Lessons

Chapter  18     Faith in a New World

Chapter  19     Darkness Grows

Chapter  20     Coldcreek

Chapter  21     Martha and Mudgulley

Chapter  22     Battle Begins

Chapter  23     William Wolfson

Chapter  24     Battle of Cold Creek

Chapter  25     Darkness Despairs

Chapter  26     Light Grieves but Hope Remains

Chapter  27     Kelly’s Day

DEDICATION

To my beloved wife Cristina, whose faith in me, support, and artistic ability helped me make this novel possible.

Thank you for believing in me.

Editing by

Billi Joy Carson

Senior Editor

Editing Addict

PROLOGUE

W hen reading a fairy tale readers already know what to expect from the story. They know it will probably be about a magical land inhabited by mystical creatures, a hero, a beautiful princess in distress, and the bad and ugly villain who would make their lives miserable. Most of these characters are now considered cliché. There have been so many fairy tales that it is impossible for one not to think like that.

A fairy tale could start with a statement like, Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was a beautiful kingdom surrounded by mountains as high as the sky, and as wide as the ocean. The land was fertile, and covered with green grass, and multicolor flowers adorned the landscape. The creatures that inhabited this land were all living in peace. and so on… Then you know the story is going to be exactly that: another "Fairy Tale".

It has been said however, throughout time, that legends and fairy tales have their roots in events of real life. I must warn you, the reader, that the story you are about to read is no exception.

As the characters embark on a journey that will probably challenge not only their friendships, but also their beliefs. Peter, Lilly, and Karina will soon come to find out that fantasy is based on reality, and faith is not just thinking you can do things, but believing God can handle all things.

THE PAST

A pril 2004. Fallujah Iraq looked like many other cities at night, the pilot could see buildings and streets with the light traffic of late night commuters. In fact, with the streetlights on, it made his FLIR, (Forward-looking infrared imaging system) act somewhat crazy. Flying to target at about three hundred meters, was a normal approach altitude and he would be on target in less than sixty seconds. The distinct sound of his Apache Longbow’s engine could not only be heard, but also felt by those in the cockpit. Those in the HZ ahead of the chopper would not hear the Apache until it popped up over the building thirty meters in front of the target.

The pilot had to stay focused on the imminent action but for some reason the nigh time city below reminded the pilot of his hometown. He had to shake his head before he called in final attack confirmation Alpha-Zero-Two-One is on target. Permission to go in hot?

Hot is confirmed, Two-One, repeat, Hot is confirmed Alpha-Zero-Two-One.

AZ21, roger that. Weapons are hot, laser target is locked ground; cover your eyes boys, we are about to lift our skirts.

Ground to AZ21 hit’em hard. We count 19 hostiles in that bunker needing your hospitality.

Smiling, the pilot replied, Roger that. We are .5 clicks from target. Incoming.

The Apache stayed level, and rose using the main rotor at an incredible speed. The building below flashed past, and the nose pointed downward a stream of fire and lead spewed from the thirty-millimeter Vulcan cannon. The cannon’s steady stream of tracers lit the building as white concrete dust filled the air. The building shook as the huge rounds penetrated the reinforced concrete building.

In Fallujah, it was a common misconception by the Qaedas that reinforced concrete would stop the Vulcan. Anything up to and including a .50 caliber would be stopped. A thirty millimeter depleted uranium round, however, coming in at the speeds that their shells propelled them-simply punched through the concrete as if it was paper.

The pilot knew anyone inside that part of the building, was now dead. But he had awe orders which meant to leave no doubt to those watching. He lifted the red safety cover for the missiles, and fired four hellfire missiles through the now gaping hole in the concrete.

As the combined eighty pounds of high explosives struck the building’s interior, a shock-wave started; the building fell. Some six-hundred meters away in the air, the chopper bucked like it had just flown into a storm.

AZ21, Target neutralized. I repeat target neutralized ground. Hope we helped. The Apache hung in the air, a knight who had just slain a dragon, relishing in the victory. The incoming radar claxon sounded. Quickly, the pilot checked the radar; he only had time to realize the incoming threat came from directly below. Mayday AZ21 taking missile fire! the pilot screamed, as he banked hard right, as he vainly hoped he could dodge the incoming missile.

On the ground, an empty launch tube for a Stinger missile was thrown down. Two men in white turbans started ran through the roof top door next to them.

They ran fast and hard through the building, taking the stairs two at a time, they knew the old building well. They burst through the back door into a gravel alleyway. White- washed plaster walls lined either side.

They smiled; they knew they would be considered heroes for taking down the American chopper, they also knew if they didn’t move fast the Americans Special Forces would be on them in no time.

The two men had not stayed to watch the chopper fall from the sky. It’s main rotor was now a twisted, ruined, mass of metal. They knew they had succeeded, by the large explosion and cloud of dust coming up over the alley’s walls that blew some clotheslines down. The screeching sound the still spinning rotors made as they struck the asphalt of the city street, a block away.

Running down the alley the men quickly ducked into and out of familiar alleys. Emerging not far from the crash they slowed to a walk and one of them was saying something in Farsi to other motioning with his hand, an obvious command to slow down and act nonchalant.

The two kept to the shadows, and moved slowly. They picked their way through the streets, unaware individuals using night vision equipment had no problem keeping up, and were following them. They also had no idea the strategic and grievous error they were making. They were leading the US Army Rangers back to their base.

The ranger team knew the guys in the downed chopper, and they had watched them die. The Army Rangers acquired, and quietly followed the shooters. Figuring they might lead them to a safe house. The insurgents had jogged within ten meters of the point man on the Ranger team. The Rangers quickly and quietly made their way after them. Encountering three hostiles on the way, all three were dispatched silently, and without much effort. The Rangers were focused on one thing, killing the man who had sent the two with the stinger.

Ten minutes later, inside a house with blackout curtains drawn, the two men smiled while being clapped on the back by their friends as the satchel smashed through the curtained window. The subsequent explosion wasn’t as grand as the Apache’s, but it did the job nonetheless. The building’s walls buckled outward and the roof collapsed on all who were inside. The Rangers dashed in to what was left of the destroyed building, a single shot sounding every few seconds as they finished off the survivors.

The Apache pilot opened his eyes, and blinked unbelievingly, first that he was alive, then at the surroundings. He was chained to a chair in nearly dark room.

The chamber was barren except for another chair; the walls were a ruddy off-white and the plaster was falling from disrepair. The room smelled of blood and urine; the pilot wrinkled his nose. He turned his head and saw the moon shining through the covered window.

The curtains were dirty and worn like everything else in the room. He grimaced in pain, his ribs and face both hurt incredibly. The pilot was both relived, and worried, that he still breathed. His broken right arm sat at a strange angle and was chained so tight; it felt like it had no circulation. The pilot realized that he would be lucky if he ever made it back Walter Reed to complain about losing his arm to the reputedly hot nurses who attended all the soldiers wounded in Iraq.

The thought made the pilot smile, but he knew it would be short-lived humor; he would soon die without attention. He also knew from his surroundings, that the attention he would receive soon would not be in his best interest. Statistically, he would be beheaded after hours of torture.

It was hours later when the pilot woke again. his arm screamed in pain and he had nothing he could do about it, he began yelling insults at the guards. Then he heard the first sounds, other than his own, outside the door. He heard fast-talking, and then a sharp command in Farsi.

Seconds later the door slowly creaked open. It was something out of a horror movie, a tall, thin, dark-skinned man slowly stepped into the room. He wore a black cassock, and white turban with a golden pin of a fist glinting in the dim moonlight.

He spoke clearly, but with an accent. He asked the pilot, "Tell me your name my friend, and perhaps I will find you some relief for your pain." The stranger smiled, full of perfect teeth and malice all at the same time.

McCormick, Kelly, Lieutenant 82nd Airborne 582641 US Army, was the pilot’s only response.

With a grin, the man before him stated, "My name is Laromon, and I can either be your benefactor or your executioner the choice, my friend, is yours.

Just kill me, the pilot whispered, and looked down. He thought how he would never see his home again. He prayed for strength for what was about to occur.

Laromon chuckled, placed a hand on the pilots shattered arm, and whispered, Mentirous explicto. The broken arm shifted, like it was made of rubber. Painfully it wiggled a few seconds and then stopped and to the pilot’s amazement, he was healed.

Laromon spoke quietly, I care not for your conflict here as I have other needs for you, Mr. McCormick.

Laromon turned to leave; the pilot stammered, How?

"Magic, Mr. McCormick Magic."

Peter woke from the same dream again. The room was dark and chilly; he felt the coolness on his chest, and realized his T-shirt shirt was soaked with sweat. The dream of his brother in Iraq had become more frequent. What troubled Peter the most was the evil stranger’s smile.

Getting to Know You

I t was a week before Peter’s sixteenth birthday when the adventures began. He was sitting in a generic high school class sort of half listening to the teacher drone on about biology and evolution.

Not caring about the subject, he was pining away for a girl seemingly beyond his potential dreams. She was someone smart and classy, someone he could never imagine raising her voice, fighting or running for her life.

She was a high school cheerleader. Not your typical cheerleader stereotype, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a little slow. She was a beautiful, perky Hispanic girl with dark hair, lithe body, big brown eyes with that wonderful slightly olive complexion, truly a rare beauty.

He will never forget the first time he saw her. She was walking down that high school hallway. It was as if God had placed a decoration in his eyes. She was sparkling and shining with her brilliant smile.

She was only a freshman but moved like a lady schooled in the ways of etiquette. Every boy’s head didn’t turn and notice her, but Peter’s did. He will always have a mental picture of her and her youthful beauty for the rest of his life. Her deep brown eyes etched a mark on his soul.

Peter decided that today was the day. He would finally man up and say, Hello. to her. He thought about all the possible ways to start a conversation without losing his cool. He imagined he would say something like, Hi Karina, you look radiant today. and she would offer a big smile, and would sigh with appreciation.

But, when he finally saw her in the hallway he didn’t do it. Instead, he sort of gagged out a quick, Hi. She smiled an almost fake smile and walked past.

Now this is not the point in the story where butterflies are flying by, and the birds are singing to a romantic swell of music. That is much later. He really did not ever speak to her through his own bravery. He was actually forced to speak to her for the first time several weeks later. Frankly, at the time, he thought she seemed altogether narrow-minded and intolerant.

The first time they spoke was in their English debate class. Mrs. Traw, an ex-hippie type, always had the desks arranged in a circle around the classroom. They faced the podium at which she would chat with them. The fake wood-tops shined in the florescent lighting, just as the white-board behind the podium did.

The classroom always had a clean, brisk smell to it, but still managed to look unkempt and disorganized. The idea of the class was to take a current topic discussed in the news, and debate it.

The students didn’t get to choose the subject, nor which side they would be on; the elderly Mrs. Traw decided that. In reality, she was a good teacher, full of patience and compassion, even if she was a hard teacher. She was the kind of teacher who could see you’re potential and then found a way to get you to live up to it.

Peter felt a certain pity for Karina; he thought his mastery of vocabulary and language would be her downfall in the up-coming debate. He was very cocky and he was overconfident to the point of being arrogant.

She assigned Peter and Karina the subject of Homosexuality: valid life style or not? They had two weeks to prepare. Peter didn’t take the challenge seriously; to him being gay was simply a matter of nature, and people being able to express their feelings the way they wanted. He was asked to defend the gay life style and Karina to invalidate it. Peter believed he was already the winner before they ever debated anything.

He didn’t study or research, like he should have. He waited until a few days before the debate before he did anything. He procrastinated for the usual reasons:he had football practice, and he had other more challenging homework assignments.

Peter thought of Karina as a strong and intelligent girl of faith. He knew she wore a cross around her neck, and he had never heard her cuss or even repeat a dirty joke in passing. He didn’t know that she kept a Bible in her locker at school and she and some of her friends would have lunchtime Bible meetings. She was an honor student, but he attributed her popularity to her charming personality and her being cheerleader. For that reason, Peter had the silly idea she wouldn’t be an effective debater.

Two days before to the debate, while he was in his room playing video games he inadvertently kicked his backpack. His notebook fell open, and the assignment sheet slipped through the pages down onto the floor. He had nearly forgotten all about the debate, but even then, he wasn’t worried. He knew there was not much research he needed to do, and he kept playing his favorite video game.

Before his favorite TV show came on, he spent a mere thirty minutes on the Internet researching the subject, copying and pasting into a small ten-page report. He did write a little original material, but mostly he just repeated what he had read on the gay support websites.

Later, he found out that Karina had taken the assignment as her very own crusade, and had her Christian friends pray for her. She was flourishing; She read all the conservative websites and books, talked with Christian friends and family, and spent hours a day preparing for this famous high school debate. Peter’s view of her was about to be radically changed.

The day finally arrived, and the students filed into the overfull classroom. The desks sat in an unusual semi-circle around the front where Mrs. Traw’s podium stood. It had been moved to the side to offer the debaters a feel of an open forum.

The first few debates where interesting, but not well prepared or researched. The death penalty was up first. Drug legalization got quite a few jokes as she gave that assignment to Toby Segal, the local pothead. He was up there debating why legalizing marijuana would be a bad thing! The abortion debate became little too serious, but interesting facts and statistics were presented.

Once the abortion debate was over, in front of more than fifty students, Peter and Karina walked to their designated pro vs. con sides of the floor. As all high school events become popularity contests, Peter was nervous. He worried that he might say something stupid, which the entire school would hear about within a matter of minutes and then would never forget.

Karina looked beautiful; her dress was flowed like a breeze, and didn’t reveal much of her slender legs, just enough for Peter to appreciate them. She wore her normal brilliant smile, just above that gold heart-shaped pendant with a silver cross in its center. She was a picture of elegance, conservatism, and modesty.

On the other hand, Peter was wearing his normal pair of jeans, and his NFL sports jersey showing his support for the local team, the Phoenix Cardinals. The two of them were very mismatched. He was the local high school jock, and she was a picture of self-assurance and grace, well-dressed, well-spoken and more importantly, well-prepared.

Mrs. Traw informed Peter that he was to present his case first. He started with the normal statements you might hear from the media. Peter stated, Homosexuality isn’t even a choice a homosexual is born with the natural desire for people of the same sex, just as heterosexuals are born with an attraction for those of the opposite sex. He repeated the few inconclusive research articles he had found, seeming to imply that homosexuality was, in fact genetic, and not a choice. He left off his opening statement with, Everyone needs love. Why shouldn’t a homosexual be able to find love the way they want? They’re not hurting anyone after all, and is being gay a sin?

Karina looked at Peter, then the class. With a beautiful smile, she stated clearly that he was misinformed, that indeed homosexuality does hurt people, and it hurt the homosexuals. She went on in detail, and with statistics. She explained her position she supposed of most Christians.

The research showed that 60 percent of male homosexuals had more than 250 lifetime sexual partners, and 28 percent of male homosexuals had more than 1,000 lifetime sexual partners! Another startling fact was that 79 percent admitted that more than half of their sexual partners were strangers. Just because Hollywood portrays the homosexual as normal and fun, it does not mean it is so. The homosexual is not the friendly face that Hollywood portrays it as; normally it is a confused face looking for acceptance. I know that some homosexuals agree with what my schoolmate, Peter, just said, Everyone needs love, so why shouldn’t the homosexual be able to find love the way they want? If after all they are not hurting anyone. To be blunt, both are wrong, not only do they hurt themselves, they hurt us, and our ability to even discuss a subject.

Finally let me state that the sexual immoral lifestyles of our times hurt us as a society, not just homosexual behavior. Living together before marriage, usually leads to a broken relationship later. Sexual freedom is only found in the marriage bed, between a man and his wife. Sex before marriage, adultery, teen sex, and mothers giving birth with no father to help raise their children, are devastating lives. At some point, someone needs to step up and say it out loud without fear of closed-minded radicals shouting us down. We need a change in our culture or we will fall apart from a lack of responsibility and desire for instant gratification.

In the end, Karina was much better prepared and debated with much more data and emotion than Peter did. Karina took what he had considered a losing argument and actually won the class over to a more conservative point of view.

Is it Nightmare or Reality?

F or a jock, Peter was somewhat pouty. In all honesty, he hated losing that debate. He knew he should have studied, and prepared more. This still didn’t help soothe his feelings; he could be a bit of a sore loser and even two days later, he was still sulking. Sitting in his room, he was getting bored watching the normal stuff on TV. He switched back and forth between MTV and Comedy Central. He looked at his weight set in his messy, disarrayed room. He just could not find the motivation to use it. He thought if he listened to some music, it would help him to put him in the mood to do so, but he was really bored and losing the debate had affected him.

It had not only his competitive spirit, but he was worried about the impression it made on Karina. He sat there staring at his posters of sports heroes and rock bands, and decided he needed to get out of the house to get fresh air, and to clear his mind.

Peter had a hard time getting to sleep that night. He was disappointed in himself; he had always felt a need to measure up to his big brother, Kelly. Since he was a child, his brother had always been the star; he was an exceptional athlete and academic. Then after 9-11, Kelley became the war hero, volunteering against his parent’s wishes to go fight in Iraq. Peter’s older brother was ten years his senior.

He died almost a year ago serving in Iraq, in the US Army. He was Special Forces airborne ranger, and decorated Apache Longbow Pilot. None of that helped him much when his chopper was shot down over Fallujah. Peter and Kelly hadn’t been super close, but Peter looked up to him as a hero and figured he might follow in his footsteps someday.

Looking at the picture of Kelly in uniform, Peter remembered that he used to think that way, until that Saturday morning. Two very crisply dressed Army officers came to their house; they were supportive to Peter’s mom and tried to console her. They told her they were sorry for her, loss and that Kelly had died a hero’s death, trying to protect the Iraqis and America from the threat of terrorism.

With dark thoughts of his brother lingering in his mind Peter fell asleep. He had dreams he had dreamed before, but this night they came to him like a flood. In dark visions, they became clearer than ever before.

He dreamed of Iraq, and places he didn’t know about. He saw his brother’s helicopter shot down, and flashed to his brother in a dark room. He dreamed of the fear his brother felt as he thought he was about to be tortured. Then as the thin man with dark and evil eyes smiled, Peter knew all hope for Kelley was lost.

Peter woke. He was tired of the same dream again; it seemed to grow and expand since his brother’s death. The basics were there. He watched his brother heroically take out the bad guys, then get shot down, and then face this diabolical man.

Wiping the sweat from his face, Peter shook his head and closed his eyes. He tried to remember more detail about the weird man in the turban.

His parents said it was just his way of dealing with grief, and his missing Kelly. He kept hoping Kelley would simply walk in the door and the whole situation would have been just a big mix up. Peter figured that with no body to bury, these thoughts must be commonplace but he hated them nonetheless.

Peter’s brother not only left many emotions hanging, but Kelly had also left a daughter, Lilly. She was born nine years ago right before Kelley joined the Army.

Kelly had loved her mother, but she had been too young to settle down. He had left the raising of his daughter up to his parents. For such a young age, Lilly already knew how to manipulate people using her cute girlish looks. With innocent flash of her green eyes, or the tossing of her full head of fiery red hair; she got what she wanted. She is capricious, mischievous, and curious which makes her a little bit dangerous, and sure to get Peter in trouble if he wasn’t careful.

Lilly’s Troubles

I t was a few days before Peter’s birthday and he knew his parents had something grand prepared. It was, by their hushed tones and smiles, as he walked into the kitchen, that they were planning something.

Even Lilly was being secretive, which was very much unlike her. Normally, she could not keep a secret from falling out of her constantly chattering mouth.

Peter finally decided it was enough; he had to