Lost In the Kingdom of Mansoer

By Seth Giolle

You've been left in the charge of archeologists. They care more for digging into the island for a lost kingdom most of the world has forgotten than most anything else. Your father will return for you. Eventually. Until then, you're stuck with this. And then you fall down into the core of the island and uncover what everyone else has been looking for all along! But most of the long kingdom's old traps and guardians remain. And those guardians have grown wild. Will you survive the Kingdom of Mansoer or become another victim of the past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365463037

Seth Giolle

Seth Giolle was born on a small, rural farm in southeast Ontario. After Travelling throughout Canada in all its splendour, he once again makes Ontario his home.

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Lost in the Kingdom of Mansoer

A Control Your Destiny Book

by Seth Giolle

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Quick How-To’s

Control Your Destiny books are great, but if you haven’t read one before, they might seem a little confusing. With that in mind, I figure a little instruction wouldn’t hurt. And this being the eBook format of the original, things work a little differently.

First things first, in both paper and eBook formats, you begin with the Number 1, the beginning. This being an eBook, there are no page numbers, none that count at least, but there are bookmarks that will let you choose what number you’re going to next. Back to this starting point, you always begin your adventure on Number 1.

You read that first bit of text through at Number 1 until you’re offered your first choice.

If you attend the lesson, turn to 21.

If you skip the lesson, turn to 32.

The whole basis of a Control Your Destiny book is that nothing is predetermined for you. If you attend the lesson, turn to Number 21. If you decide to skip the lesson, turn to Number 32. You choose what you’re going to do. Turn to your chosen number using one of two options. For those eReaders with the added capabilities, there are links. Each turn to page ... has been turned into a link. Tap it, and your desired next page should show up. For those eReaders without this capability, the numbers at the top of each selection have bene turned into Table of Content entries. You can open the Contents page and scroll down. Select your desired choice and follow on along your chosen path.

However you find your pay along, and both options work well enough, at the end of that next bit of text, you’ll be given two or more fresh choices. Go where your next choice leads you and read there. Link tapping or Contents page navigating - you're on your way. And so on.

You’re going to be bouncing around the book from front to back to middle and all over. There are five distinct adventures in this book. You might end up following the main adventure down under two lost civilizations crossing boiling lava and braving ancient ruins. Maybe you’ll end up exploring the sectioned off ancient prison area of the topmost lost city. You might find yourself city level itself heading to a large bridge or underwater exit. But which is the actual exit? The fifth path you might explore would be through the very middle of the lost civilization’s testing grounds.

There’s danger along each chosen path. You might run into giant snakes, huge spiders, sea creatures, or carnivorous bugs, and there are medals along the way when you complete a path and make it out alive: Gold, Silver, Wood, Parchment, et cetera. There are only twenty pages you might find where you die. Sorry, but wrong choices in adventures lead to bad ends. There are a lot more chances you’ll survive just fine. I wish you one and more of those!

Try more than one path. Get out alive; then, go back from the start and see where else you can end up. Will you attend the first lesson? Grab Geri’s pack for her? Will you climb back up that slanted bit of rock instead of going down the ladder? Will you climb up that ladder or try the main doors? Do you rest or decipher the wall’s hidden message right away?

All these key decision points and even the smaller turning points decide your fate. Again, you decide your fate based on what you decide. Take chances. What’s the worst that could happen? Drop me a note at my website. Let me know what medals you earned and what you think about this book. Ideas for other books? Hints on how to write your own?

I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

1

The sound of bagpipes bellows through a crackling PA loud system, and loud is an understatement. The grating noise makes your teeth ache. You ease your eyes open only to shut them fast a second later, squirming back into your pillow and further into your covers!

Up and at ‘em! comes the well rehearsed cry.

You glare out from between your bed sheets, out through your tent’s front folds. As if bagpipes weren’t bad enough, Old Condelmyer’s doing his shouting routine and banging that old tin cup of his like he does every morning.

Time to get up! Condelmyer shouts at the top of his lungs, poking his head through the tent flaps. He’s wearing his old army uniform that doesn’t fit well anymore, again. The old man flashes his pearly whites, spotting you staring balefully back, before pulling the head back and shouting on, moving further down the tent row.

You think a few comebacks you’ll never use and wish you could fall asleep again, but it’s no use now. The sun is streaming into the holes in the tent, and everyone’s waking. A few people are gurgling loudly in what sounds like German. No one speaks German to your knowledge. Someone’s even started up their phonograph. That would be Norful, and she’s selected one of her operatic arias.

Lovely.

I’m up already, you groan. No need to make me suffer further.

You reluctantly climb out of bed wondering why no one on this continent seems to know how to sleep in. With the crisp morning air, you waste no time pulling on some jeans and a tee shirt. It’s a rather faded team shirt. You can’t actually make out or remember what team it sells anymore, but it fits well. Stuffing your feet into some shoes, you stand and yawn, meaning every moment of it. A different, yet equally familiar bell is heard, and you nod.

Slop time, you mumble. Better not be late.

You make sure to find your straw hat and sunglasses before stepping outside and instantly cringing under the bright sun. It always takes a moment to get used to how bright it is here. You think on that a bit. Here. Where is here again?

The brochure you were shown was for South America, but all there is to see is island and blue sea. White sandy beaches and rocky crags surround the island, as do crabs inland and sharks further out. You spot one of those fins in the water out there as you survey the morning mist rolling off the water.

Shaking your head, you start for the food tent with all the rest. They nod and smile, but they’re stumbling zombie-like for the most part too. They’re all wearing their greens and browns, canvas clothing and mesh hats. Some of them have already strapped their tool belts and small packs on for that matter, but no one’s overly awake except that overly cheerful sort, those few with broad smiles and cheerful remarks.

Something’s not right there, you rue with a sigh. Morning’s not supposed to happen this early. You check your watch only to sigh harder. Right, broke it a week ago.

It had to be six, maybe six thirty in the morning.

Spotting the washroom tent on your left, you scoot in before someone else can, before the line up begins to build. You’re not always this lucky. There’s usually a waiting period where the dances begin and grumbles spread.

Take luck where you can find it.

The washroom tent isn’t much. It’s a pail with a padded seat and camping wash station, but it fills the need. Like the other tents, it’s got a metal support system and old, canvas walls. The wind blows through the seams, and flaps flicker in the wind. It smells a little worse than the sleeping and eating tents mind you, but that just means that no one wastes their time inside. Why would they anyway?

Out again, you return to your plod for the food tent.

Hey there!

You glance over and frown. Geri’s one of the few things good about the island. She’s as chipper and energetic as some, but she also knows how to dim it down in the early morning, and she knows a few good jokes.

Hey, you mumble.

She smiles and pats you on the back. Don’t be so glum, she urges. She’s already got her tool set on too you notice, and her long brown hair’s tied up in a quick braid. To keep i t out of her work no doubt. You’re dad’s coming back today with the supplies, and he promised you something grand, didn’t he? Some kind of surprise?

You roll your eyes, but he had promised that, and he’d refused to say what it was. He’d also left you there when he’d left though which left its own sour mark.

Wishing you’d gone with him? Geri babbled on. The lines were bunching this close to the food tent. The smell of pancakes is wafting to the nose. You did choose to stay, she reminds you, smiling, rubbing your neck, and vanishing into the crowd again.

You sigh. Oh, you grumble, yeah. I suppose I did.

I need to get some contracts signed, your father had announced. That meant meetings upon meetings, and archeologists didn’t just have meetings. They had long, drawn out meetings that went on forever, carrying on about boring topics, and they used long words that you never understood anyway. You’d chosen to remain on the island.

It’ll only be a few days, he’d called over the helicopter rotors, the helicopter waiting eagerly to leave the next day. I’ll bring you back something nice.

And he’d taken off. There’d been the hug, of course and more words. Then he’d climbed in, and they’d left. Business meetings were the only time his father wore anything more than the same canvas and netting as the rest of them here.

Don’t miss your lessons today, Geri urged, returning by your side. She slips you a bun from her plate before leaning in. Corby’s a little upset you missed the last one, she confides. It’s his job to teach you stuff. Remember?

You smile, kind of, and nod.

She laughs, understanding, pats you on the shoulder, and leaves again. The bun isn’t great, but you bite into it. Food is food when you’re hungry.

Lessons – he’d left you those lessons to learn from too.

But they’re so boring, you grumble after her, knowing full well she can’t hear you. You can’t even see her anymore.

They aren’t all boring, of course. Some of them have cool teeth and claws people have dug up, or gears. There was the one about how metal corrodes over the ages, and they’d shown you an old metal gear with chipped teeth and some wicked designs on its side. But there’s also all that explanation about old kingdoms that drags on a bit. You just couldn’t help but skip the last one on the migration of local birds.

You glance up and around.

There aren’t even many birds here anymore, you groan, not unless you count the seagulls, and they’re just along the shoreline, the other side of the island.

It wasn’t a large island, but it was big enough you guess. It’s pretty oddly shaped too, kind of like a large bump in the ocean with a rocky ridge running its length. There are flat and hilly parts inland, even grassy hills and a valley for that matter. You sigh. It’s an island like many others.

And these people, his father included, spend their days, months, years if they get enough money, digging into looking for the past. The whole island is covered in blue tarps where people dig into earth and clay hoping for clay pots or toothy cogs. You’d thought it would be cool to see your dad at work. After a week, him being gone for a few days at that, after being awoken so rudely every morning, you’re not so sure anymore.

You’re all strange, you mumble. A shrug. Just a thought.

You press on through the thinning crowd and get into line with one of the dented metal trays they have stacked on one end of the serving line. Food’s open for grabbing, scooping, and spooning. It’s all like a big potluck with only fresh, natural stews and cold, vegetarian dishes.

You snag yourself some cereal in a box and a package of milk. They have some store-bought supplies. There aren’t any cows on the island, so they have to buy some things. Otherwise, you select some browns and greens hoping they taste better this morning.

It’s so exciting! someone’s shouting as you sit.

The man’s one table over, but his voice carries over the other conversations on all sides. You just roll your eyes. When isn’t someone excited about something rather small: a bit of a pot, a tarnished coin, a wooden shoe? You set yourself to scraping your breakfast from the tray, using what’s left of the roll to help soak up the juices.

Just think, the man thrills, his hands clenched and face giddy, we could be mere feet from the first chamber! The women and men around him seem equally impressed with wide eyes and nervous grins. That marker can only be allotted to the Mansoer. What if we’re right on top of the old temple? Or Teelet’s own private rooms?

We’re more likely to drop down into some servant’s chambers, a woman groans. We’re too far south and east for anything central.

Could be the cistern for that matter, a man groans beside her, shrugging. We’re pretty high though that being said. Maybe just an inner roof, nothing direct?

Something at least, the original man presses, shushing the next who tries to interrupt. If we’re down as far as Mansoer, we’re not far from our real goal of Konnette-Triol. That’s the prize!

The table breaks up into smaller, quieter discussions, all equally anxious and excited. They over-speak and work to impress one another. You just shake your head. Children get along better than some adults!

You think you remember the main man’s name. Paul, wasn’t it? You’ve spoken to him once or twice. The one woman might be Charlotte, but no. Sheri? Charlie? A tired shrug. You haven’t really gotten to know everyone’s names in one week. You know faces of the main people. Glancing around, none of them are there. They’re likely at one or the other of the many dig locations around the island already. They likely slept there for that matter.

You finish up your meal and wash the tray clean with the old hose. Dropping the wet tray in the drying pile, you step out into the sun again and frown.

There’s nothing to do but walk along the same shores and try to catch fish. Which you’ve yet to come close to doing. You could read some more. Or you could attend the day’s lesson. A bell clatters further up the island, further inland where they have the giant clunker of a brass bell bolted into place. Time for that lesson.

Or time for skipping it.

Old kingdoms. You think it’s going to be about all the old kingdom stuff everyone’s so hyped about today. It’ll likely just be a lot more dry, boring stuff. Even the shore will be more interesting.

But your father did ask you to attend.

And it might be interesting.

What to do?

If you attend the lesson, turn to 21.

If you skip the lesson, turn to 32.

2

You crouch-walk along houses and down towards the one-time bridge. The closer you get, the more the frame seems shaky. Closer still, it’s more obviously tilted left, like that famous tower. What was it? Pisa?

You stop where the houses are becoming larger, more warehouse-style buildings.  There’s a rustling sound nearby, but in the dim of the cavern, you can’t out where it came from. Inside one of the warehouses? Their basements are open to the air, so it’s possible the bug are down there, waiting.

You don’t remember ever reading anything about how smart bugs are. Jaguars, lionesses, tigers, and their fill are smart hunters, productive carnivores. They can use strategy and think ten steps ahead of their prey. But what about bugs?

Could these beetles have set up nests near a popular bridge, waiting for someone to happen by? It might have been done by chance you suppose, but that’s a lot of chance.

You creep slowly past, making sure no odd sounds follow you. A small beetle cloud does rise up as you’re closer to that bridge, but it settles again down in a large chimney three blocks down.

You smile and nod.

Stay there, won’t you?

You break into a jog and reach the bridge frame at last. Standing there, looking up and across, you can’t help but figure you’ve made a bad decision heading this way. You shouldn’t have gone for the easy choice so quickly without really thinking it through.

The bridge is a little too fluttery or your liking. The frame, this close, is definitely too brown, and that brown colour keeps flexing wings. Or crawling around. The ropes are ropes, but there’s a massive sea of brown below in the ravine. The bottom of that stone basin has seemingly broken open, and for whatever reason, the bugs have decided to make this their prime nesting site.

And you just walked right into it.

Turning around, you watch beetle clouds rise, and you can hear the bridge break free and swarm above and behind you. You watch the largest cloud of massed beetles gather above on all sides, and you know nothing will save you from what’s to come.

You are dead. Try again.

3

With the pack snug on your back, you start up. Your feet slip, and your body cries out for rest. Your head’s still spinning a little. Halfway up, you’re using a stone bench and wall slot to help get back up to flat corridor.

That’s when you feel the slight tremor. It lasts only a few seconds, but you’re fixed to the spot, wide-eyed just the same. The same land shake that made the hole for you to fall down, the same one that swallowed the man who’d just been rescued, well, it seems determined to just give, give, give today.

A few dust lines mark where the ceiling’s gained new cracks. You also notice how the slab you’re climbing up is shaking a little more than before. It shifts under your weight as you start your angled climb yet again. A longer tremor passes, and you hold on tight, praying this one will pass as quickly as the last.

It does, but not before a loud scraping, chisel sound winds out from above, from where your slanted floor meets flat running. The slanted flooring you’re climbing shakes even after the second tremor’s passed. You grit your teeth and prepare for the worst. As such, when it happens, you’re more ready to roll.

The slanted slab drops!

It’s like it’s on a hinge. The top connector chafes loose, and your slab drops, still ‘hinged’ on the other, lower end you’ve been climbing up from. It stops hard at a new angle, now down, and you’re pitched forward into that roll, also part skid and slide. Hitting a flat stretch now below and ahead of you, you also sprawl forward and let momentum carry you another foot past a low arch. You drop onto a thick dusty rock! Sneezing and coughing, you spit out stray dirt and dust, wiping away cobwebs you’ve picked up in your hair and over your clothes.

You hastily get off the rock and stand there waiting for more levels to drop, preferably not on your head!

When nothing happens, you feel around, finding a few new bruises. I didn’t need them., you groan. I could use a good bed though. You shrug. I’m not getting up top now. I’d may as well see where this goes. At least it’s flat with no death-defying drop.

You walk along your new, dusty tunnel. There are parts of the tunnel with decorative columns, but whole sections are just rough-hewn rock. It’s winding gently down in a sense. It’s like the corridor-columned parts were lifted up in the earthquake that swallowed Mansoer. The other parts were already there. As such, this tunnel is a disjointed, jumbled of short flat sections, each an inch or two down from the last, all winding, almost seamlessly down in circles.

You’re almost getting sea sick with the turning, and you’re not even on the water. You pause. Though you are on an island. Rather, in one.

The tunnel flattens out again as you