And Other Silly Things

By Demartinos

Are we the result of divine intervention or the consequence of a random act?

From the open fields of 1800's Barcelona to the dark and sandy Egyptian halls of the Valley of the Kings in 1932, the BLOOD KING returns with new characters and mysteries in an epic adventure across five continents and hundreds of thousands of years of hidden history to uncover the ultimate truth. This time is double the blood, fangs and danger when Renzo and his protégé -Julia Saravova, take on two of the most ruthless criminal organizations the world has ever known in their quest for answers.

“And Other Silly Things” is full with drama, twists and thrills, and offers a serious look into the human condition with a teleological argument that challenges everything mankind has built around that unknown mysterious force responsible for the creation of all life.

Join the quest and follow the clues to unravel a mystery buried in secrecy and sealed with blood in a time long forgotten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Demartinos
• Release date: Jun 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310414855

Demartinos

Born in Spain, Gadriel Demartinos is an accomplished author, film Director, executive producer, philanthropist and entrepreneur.

Book preview

Gadriel Demartinos

For Kamille

PROLOGUE

Well, this is not Hemingway.

She said after finishing the first draft of the second manuscript based on what she kept calling the blood journals.

After spending the last three months back and forth between New York and Miami corroborating facts while trying to trace back events and people mentioned in the multiple texts - I found myself back again in one of the terminals of La Guardia airport, but this time on my way to Heathrow.

As I waited, I thank in silence my lucky stars for her - Sofia, my agent. She was the only one pushing me to pursue what others called a cheap hoax. She was also the one picking up the tabs of the entire research.

After every known publisher simply wasn’t interested in - a vampire novel without sparkle, like a young editor called it - my options were very few. Months after the self-publishing of the first volume, out-of-nowhere, Sofia called me asking to meet. My first impression was to worry not knowing if she was somehow in league with the mysterious courier who left the journals in my office before disappearing in thin air.

I can still see those piercing eyes of hers in my dreams and her voice still burns inside of my mind.

Julia, she said her name was Julia.

Unconsciously, since that night more than a year ago most of my activities and appointments have migrated within the confines of daytime. I rarely venture out during nighttime anymore and when I do - for the first time in my life, I suffer from panics attacks.

Sofia was different and much sophisticated than I imagined her to be. A fifty something world traveler and an academic who had seen and learned things most of us will never dream of. After decades of exploration and collaboration with some of the most respected anthropologists around the globe she penned her own study regarding several of the most fascinating cultures in the world. Her book, written under an alias - is currently in reserve in some of the most prestigious universities and had been quoted, and used by students all over the world.

Under her advisement, I have deliberately left out her last name and title. After all, what serious validation her previous effort may keep if the academic society finds out her sincere interest in my work?

But the truth is that I’m here - alone in this terminal because of her opinion in the matter.

The moment she heard from my lips the details and read what I have uncovered by studying the journals entrusted in me she became emotional.

For a moment, during our first meeting while sitting in that public café at noon - I thought I was in front of a potential lunatic. She asked me to look her up and to check her work history - and I did.

A few weeks later, I became convinced she was the real deal and because of that I made an effort to overlook any odd behavior. In my mind she is simply eccentric - like most geniuses are. Regardless, she was on board and before I knew it we were collaborating - or better said; I was jumping from plane to plane while she was financing everything else.

And that’s how I’m back in this airport terminal flipping the pages of one of the many journals inside my heavy leather backpack. I’m infatuated with the details, the side notes and the odor of old ink.

When I published the first part of the incredible story of El Gitano - less than six months ago, I made the conscious decision to transcript all the important events written in the journals from 1993 to the mid 2000s. I felt then - just as I feel now, that what took place during those twelve years provide a clear understanding of the nature and existence of such merciless creature.

Now after further reading and analysis, I have come to the realization than in order to move forward, I must first recount the incredible events that took place in his life more than seventy years before.

Through trial and error, I have encounter details and facts buried under several foreign languages in these texts that will make it so much easier for the reader to understand what is about to come.

It’s important to explain these facts and comprehend the motives behind the actions in order to share the psychological state of mind of the main characters.

With that in mind, I have backtracked several clues and surviving evidence and these now are leading my journey to the United Kingdom. The purpose of this trip is to be able to closed this chapter and continue with the next.

As I write these notes, I’m thinking in the below passage written by the Gypsy.

I believe that is the right place to continue with his story, and with that conviction I again submerge myself into the darkness of a reality more freighting than any fiction.

As I take this journey one more time part of me envy most of you. I’m jealous of the discovery of the impossible and the intimacy with immortality you’re about to experience for the first time.

And with all that jealousy, I begin.

Gadriel Demartinos - New York, August 7, 2013

These are the words written by the Gypsy. All dates and locations signify when the entry was made.

I am a killer. I was a killer before I became what I become. I was a killer before the thirst. I am a killer now.

There’s no regret or emotion. I kill because I have to, but more importantly because I want to. I can argue that nowadays there are other options- blood banks, willing donors, etc. But no alternative thrills me as much than the hunt. The simple action of taking a life- of draining a human being out of its life-force; that’s what I crave the most. In lame terms- it makes me hard.

I can be civilized and politely say that sometimes I think about my victims- that a fainted sense of regret shows in my consciousness once in a blue moon making me feel something but I rather be honest even if it means being rude. The truth is that I don’t care.

Killing one or killing a million. Young and old makes no difference. Just another prey that will represent absolutely nothing in my universe right the second after the last heartbeat is taken.

But my resolution, or lack of remorse for that matter, was not always as it is now. There was a time that I questioned my killer nature.

My curiosity about the possible consequences regarding my actions took me to a journey of discovery- to an ancient knowledge not known by many. A knowledge that is not hidden- more like buried.

As I think about that time my memories also take me to that humid night. It was the summer of my twenty-eight year; I went out on horseback next to my cousins Elios and Tamás to steal from passing merchants in route to Barcelona.

CHAPTER 1

BARCELONA, SPAIN 1808

This was years after the ‘Peninsula War’ and the defeat of ‘Pepe Botella’ the so called French King and his ‘josefinos.’ This was right after King Ferdinand VII signed on to agreements with the clergy, the church, and with the nobility to return to the earlier state of affairs even before the fall of the French emperor. A royal policy that prompted General Rafael del Riego and a group of mid-ranking officers to conspired against the weaken Spanish crown by leading an army across Andalusia with the hopes of rally supporters for a new revolution. The result was a forced ‘progresista’ government system that reorganized the entire country into new provinces and proposed to reduce the regional autonomy that had been a hallmark of Spanish bureaucracy since Habsburg rule for over 200 years.

This was during the opposition in the affected regions – in particular, Aragon, Navarre, and Catalonia – who shared in the king's antipathy for the liberal government and for the anticlerical policies that led to friction with the Roman Catholic Church- during the attempts to bring about industrialization alienating old trade guilds.

This was a time of uncertainty and during this time a new Spanish nationalism was evident and Gypsies were targeted as invaders with no loyalty to the crown, to the ‘progresista’ government or to its social reforms.

It was the worst summer that I could remember, and the merchants were traveling by night trying to avoid the scorching heat.

These were bitter years for me. My father’s clan had been disseminated by the constant raids lead by Christian supporters and / or army factions looking for French supporters, and I as the youngest nephew of the four who had lived to manhood to Gypsy King Bal, (a King without any male heirs), I had no claim to the title or the land, and no prospects. Not that any of that meant much, the clan’s common wealth had been used up long ago to support our people constant relocation after each new raid. My eldest cousin, Rafael, who was the rightful heir to Bal’s title had spend most of his life rotting inside a cell for the crime of being a Gypsy.

My father's horses, my mother, and my surviving cousins were my entire universe. And I'd been born restless -- the stubborn, the angry one, the killer. I wouldn't sit by the fire and talk of old tales and the days of the great ancient Roma King who rose from the ashes of his people to lead a new generation of Gypsies. History had no meaning for me.

But back in those days, in that faint and out-of-date world, I had become the predator. I killed the weak and the strong, the innocent, and the guilty to steal from their dead hands -- whatever was needed and could be got -- to eat, to survive. It had become my life by this time -- and one I shared with my kind -- and it was a very good thing that I'd taken it up, because unknown to me those years of my youth filled with death and innocent blood was my true rite-of-passage. A way of life that lured out from the darkness the immortal who created me- he saw in me the only real quality that matters to immortals; a true killer instinct.

Of course I’m not here to advocate killing, but to state that for me, (even back then), it was my reality- in order to survive I had to kill and I became real good about it.

Hunting for human’s blood is the price of immortality, and we immortals alone had the right to do it. Two times in my life I'd tried to escape this life, only to be brought back with my ego bruised. But I'll tell more on that later.

Right now I'm thinking about the humidity within the night wind all over Barcelona and those merchants slowly approaching to their deaths. And I'm thinking in the words of Amorgos the Greek- my creator. Words spoken so long ago but decades after that summer night while we lived in his old state in Larissa- when I was a new born immortal facing an existence I couldn’t or wanted to comprehend.

His voice still burns inside my memories. It has been more than a hundred years since the last time I saw him, but wherever he may be resting- he’s still here, in my thoughts and in my reasoning.

I closed my eyes and I can hear Amorgos tale of a time long gone- when the world was small, life was short and men ignorance greater.

I can also picture myself back again on that empty road ready to kill in stolen boots and a dirty coat, with these ancient weapons tied to the saddle.

That life, that it might as well have been lived in the Middle Ages taught my kind enough of the fancy-dressed travelers on the road to Barcelona. The nobles and the poor in the capital called us Gitanos but the real meaning of that name to them was trash.

Of course we could sneer at them and call them lackeys to the king. Our clan had stood for thousands of years, and not the Persians or even the Christians in their war against us had managed to pull down our ancient pride.

But as I said before, I didn't pay much attention to history.

I only knew that I was unhappy and ferocious as I rode up towards the approaching riders. I wanted a good battle. There were five armed riders protecting the merchandise cart, and I had my gun in my left and my long dagger on my waist.

Well, I rode challenging the night wind with an evil grind on my lips and death in my eyes. The riders noticed me and two charged towards my loyal Arabian with their swords out cutting air.

Within seconds Elios and Tamás appeared- guns blazing from the flanks attacking the cart forcing the two riders charging against me to split. One went back to help the others leaving his partner to meet me half way.

I don't think I felt the slightest fear then. But I felt something, and it caused the hair to rise on the backs of my arms.

The countryside for all its vastness seemed empty. I readied my gun and some vague thought came to me that I could meet my death right there and then.

I took aim struggling with the horse gallop.

As the idea of my end appeared a sudden question was asked inside my head- is there a hell?

The rider lifted his sword in readiness. I heard an intense exchange of gun shots and death screams as my cousins reached the merchant riders and cart in the distance.

I squeezed the trigger and heard the gunshot before that memory ended taking me back again in front of Amorgos the Greek.

His blue eyes looking at mines with interest, "what do you think?’’, he asked me.

I considered my answer for a moment. My clan believes that death is an illusion. Life never ends.

Amorgos kept silent for a moment before standing up to look for an ancient scroll he kept inside a vault filled with other scrolls- then he sat down again. As he carefully opened it I began to hear again the horse gallop from that old memory inside of my head.

I studied next to a few of the great scholars of my time. He whispered.

As I heard his voice the mental pictured of me on my horse charging against the rider that night so long ago in the open road to Barcelona came back one more time.

The rider lifted his sword in readiness.

There was a time that I also asked similar questions…. Amorgos voice said as my mental self struggled trying to keep his aim against the horse gallop.

His words brought me back again to Larissa. My vampire eyes took a look with marked interest to the open scroll in his hands. That scroll has the answers? I asked.

Amorgos looked down at the scroll then back up towards me.This scroll has a glimpse of some of the things I have learned in my travels. Stories about good and evil, about gods and demons, life and death….

Again, my memories took me to Barcelona, I saw my horse charging against the rider as I fired my gun but missed, and the rider’s sword sank its sharp metal looking for my head as leaned forward and my horse reared. The long blade missed me only by inches.

The rider’s horse made a hard stop as mine made a sudden turn. As I returned the gun to my waist my hand grabbed the long dagger. My eyes fixed on the upcoming charge.

…heaven and hell…. Amorgos voice echoed inside of my head as I guide my horse forward. As I jerked the reins hard, I let the Arabian run as he wanted, straight for the rider. Again the man lifted his sword in readiness as I held my dagger on the side for a strike. As he swung the silver flash of his blade found only air while my dagger sank deep and hard in his chest.

A loud grunt followed by a gurgling half-scream that made me smile- moments later the rider’s body fell on the dark ground while his horse kept riding towards the city.

I turned to the left to look at my cousins and that was the end of it. The other riders and merchant were dead. And we were alive.

The only sound in the empty field was my own breathing and Amorgos voice bringing me back to Larissa once again to that future past.

In this scroll are the accounts and stories I have learned from those who believed had the answer about the mystery some called divine. With a swift movement he handed it to me.

With care I grabbed the scroll to look at the writing. Is this the story of the gods? I asked.

My eyes went up meeting his with curiosity. Slowly, a smile appeared on his lips first and then his fangs, And other silly things. He simply answered.

CHAPTER 2

I was born free from all creeds and superstitions. I was never exposed to a higher invisible entity or to an afterlife reward for a pious life. I lived open to the possibility of now and was bound to the reality of here. That was all that matter.

It was after my death and resurrection that I became interested with the afterlife and the magic of creation. I became a student digesting volumes of information written with old ink in ancient papyrus by dead men who spoke of the past in an everlasting present tense. I read about obsolete things from dead civilizations with dead gods.

Amorgo’s scrolls were just the beginning of my quest for answers. A quest that took me from the Orient to the New World seeking for clues and proofs that could help me understand the truth, (if there’s any), of the myths and legends responsible for the faith of so many in what men has called the divine.

For over a hundred years, (in one way or another), I have been able to witness and discuss with scholars and the common people the facts behind most known religions.

And after all the reading, the asking and the revealing I have come to one simple realization;

Fear, fiction and faith are the only real divine forces of this world.

Faith can transform an individual while fear can drive that individual to produce a fiction to justify the science that can’t be explained.

Man’s fiction is born from one of the key abilities that separate our species from any other - imagination. Imagination can be influenced by many stimuli and one of the most powerful is fear.

When fiction is born from fear to the unknown it disguises itself as theories, and these may sound like answers. These answers could convince entire generations to embrace that fiction as their belief.

Mankind worst enemy is ignorance. Men destroy everything that can’t be understood. It’s the most basic human nature and a trait that doesn’t need to be taught.

And when men can’t destroy what doesn’t understand it worships it. Ancient man saw the strong wind and feared it - felt fire and feared it; feared the lightning and the thunder - so it worshipped them all.

This action comes from fear and this basic human emotion, as I have come to learned, is the responsible of most religious traditions observed and followed by millions across the globe.

But what makes men to be afraid? And perhaps more importantly, how can men conquer fear?

I believe that in order to be able to rise above our own fear we must first embrace what we know and forget assumptions based on ill-advised man-made superstitions.

I suspect we humans once had a clear understanding how the universe and life was created millions of years ago. I also suspect that an event of unimaginable proportions occurred and change the landscape of our ancient civilization(s) sending us back to a place of ignorance and fear.

The following is based on my own discoveries and do not provide a definitive answer. There is no definitive when it comes to the mystery of creation.

What it does provide is a clear image of the things we know now opposed to the things we don’t. The only real conclusion is that our species suffers from amnesia.

To initiate our recovery and to understand the root and path of fear to world domination we first must go back to the beginning- to a time and era long forgotten. We must start with the real genesis.

It took