Fate’s Peak

By Scott Volentine

Ragnarök has been fought and the entire Galaxy has been destroyed. We were promised that a new realm would be created for the surviving gods to occupy, so that Life could return. Yahweh intends to fulfill this promise. He creates a new being, William, and instills the Light within him to give him strength as he ventures into the wasteland that remains in the wake of the Galactic apocalypse. His task is to find a way to redeem existence so that a new Galaxy can be created to support Life.

The Darkness that dominates the wasteland will do everything it can to try to kill William, but he finds a few unlikely allies along the way to aid him on his journey. The trials he must face would break any ordinary man, but William’s Father comes to his aid in times of weakness and he presses on, hoping he will be able to unravel the Divine Mysteries and piece together a new theology that will promote peace and harmony to prevent another Ragnarök from ever happening.

The struggle between the Darkness and Light is as ancient as the Universe, but can all this fighting be brought to an end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781546273288

Scott Volentine

Scott Volentine is a shaman whose mentor was a hermit who lived on top of a mountain at the House of Dreams, in Mount Berry, Georgia. He has produced a legitimate prophecy that offers blessings to the future of humanity. He was raised in the Catholic Church but doubted the doctrine from a young age; he was eager to be confirmed so he would have the authority to challenge the Church. He has studied many World Religions and identifies as a Gnostic. He lives in the suburbs of Atlanta with his small, white dog Ziggy.

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© 2019 Scott Volentine. All rights reserved.

Cover Image Credit to Matjaz Slanic

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/28/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7330-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7329-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7328-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018914968

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dedicated to Perry McNeil

The Mind is the House of Dreams

PROLOGUE

W hat if happiness is not the answer? It seems like common sense to pursue happiness in a world so fleeting as ours, where nothing lasts—or so they say. Nothing human lasts. Always searching for something better, we ignore what is in front of our eyes. We each hold a sledgehammer in our hands and swing it back and forth to wreak havoc on our most cherished possessions, on those we love and those we hate, smashing everything to pieces—fractured images of what they once were, mere satire to the happiness about which we nostalgize.

In our minds we reminisce on the happy times. We remember only what we want to remember, and we place these scant memories on the pedestal society provides us, engraved with the phrase The Pursuit of Happiness. We use these reminders of a fragmented past to build for a wholly unattainable future. Breaking down all we know into a dream, we become disconnected from the world as it continues to rot.

The pace of decay is an unknown, for the decay lies in the metaphysical realm. Few who venture into its murky depths ever return, and even fewer ever dare to explore beyond the physical realm. The metaphysical realm is laced with great danger: pit traps filled with blood-soaked spikes, carved from the bones of the dead; specters of corruption drifting on the wind, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice; and, everywhere, Death’s motif etched into the fabric of reality.

These obstacles mar the barren landscape of the metaphysical plain—like blisters that dot the cracked ground, stretching to the horizon and beyond on a planet we imagine into being. The visible traps pose danger to the wary traveler, but even greater danger lurks out of sight. The screeching of hyena comes floating on the wind to grate upon the mind, causing such agony that all but the strongest of minds cracks and runs away babbling.

Having existed before the first slug crawled out of the ooze at the dawn of time, the metaphysical plain refused to change even as it was discovered by humanity, torn apart by wrecking machines and covered by concrete and broken asphalt. The plain took all these assaults without yielding, waiting patiently until humanity turned their eyes from the grey sludge of the earth. Seizing the opportunity, the plain destroyed everything wrought by the hands of humanity—earthquakes toppling all the high towers, sinkholes opening to absorb the ruins into the ground.

Bearing witness upon humanity’s powerlessness, the survivors lost all hope. Lamentation and mass suicide followed, and by the dawn of the next age all that remained was the mindless screeching. The plain did not mind the noise. It rejoiced at the equilibrium restored by the absence of sentient life, for it considered humanity naught but a source of corruption—covering what was once pure in mold and permeating it with the stench of a million rotting carcasses.

The forests all withered and died, the rivers all ran dry, for the corruption of humanity had seeped into the dirt, perverting the land that had given birth to life in a forgotten age. Why did humanity cause such destruction when all they wanted was a place to call home? With their extinction, who remained to answer?

ONE

A shes swirled in the wind over this dull and lifeless plain. A bolt of lightning seared the air, and where it struck a lone man materialized, standing with his head bowed under a wide-brimmed hat, black as midnight, draped with a loose travelling cloak in the same shade, concealing his body from the trials that lay before him, with a white cape thrown back over his left shoulder and leather boots to protect his feet from the corruption of the land.

The last hope for the redemption of life lay in the hands of this figure. The wind, carrying the scent of death and decay with it, caressed the man’s face and sent his cape swirling about his body. Though blessed by Divine countenance, he trembled at the horror which assailed his nostrils like demons come to paralyze him. Shadows reached out to grasp his feet as the pale Sun descended towards the horizon.

Soon the man would be abandoned to the darkness, but where did the Sun go when not keeping watch over the plain? The other side of the planet did not Figure into any Divine Plan; no other place needed its light, no other crusader existed for demons to beset with their putrid odors. Was the Sun itself a coward, hiding from the phantasmagoria it knew would soon arrive, or was it going to call for reinforcements for the hero’s journey? Would it return in the morning with legions of cavalry at its back to purge the land of the shadowlurking demons? The future remained uncertain and the cloaked figure remained locked in an internal struggle, his teeth grinding together, a grimace on his face. No moon rose to soothe his spirit.

***

Who could say how much time passed when no human remained to count the ticking of the hours on a clocktower left in ruins, toppled over in ages past by the hands of humanity in their frivolous suicide? Without hope nothing mattered, for hope was the promise of the Sun rising tomorrow—the knowledge that the night would pass. As the world stood still, the endless wars of humanity stuck on repeat, all dreams of a brighter future were wiped away from the minds of the children.

Prior to the coming of humanity, Nature reigned supreme and all laws remained unwritten. Without words to restrain action, all the animals lived and died content with the order, for the purity of Nature promised nothing but unchanging certainty. With the arrival of humanity and their contradictory language, something changed, something monstrous was born. Humanity began to spread across the land like a plague, seeking something Nature did not offer.

Humanity constructed innumerable weapons in their attempt to loosen the hold Nature had over Life. Trivial excuses were found to spill blood on the ground, to detonate bombs in forests and on plains, in valleys and on mountains, to send infernos sweeping across the land, leaving nothing but chaos and ruin in the wake. Nothing natural could be found in the abominations humanity presented to the world. The scarred land bore no resemblance to the paradise that had existed before the coming of humanity. This plight’s visage only reminded how they were powerless to conquer; their only power was to destroy.

The metaphysical plain—the lost Eden—existed beyond the realm of Time, in a space where all that had been and all that will be coalesce into One. The plain had never known the power of the atomic bomb, had never seen the cloud of death rise over its horizon; yet the scars of each blast marred the landscape for thousands of leagues in all directions, and the radiation suffused into the soil. No mortal had ever walked this dry savannah, yet human skeletons dotted the land where each had fallen, twisting in agony, a shout dying in their throats as they were consumed by the ground.

This plain had been shaped out of the void by the Divine, but it became a construction of humanity, built up over the centuries by kings and generals ordering genocide. The will of these people caused the plain to grow and warp, to warp and grow until all hope of conquest faded into a past long dead and gone. The plain mutated and developed a consciousness of its own, ripping itself loose from the natural order, thereby placing itself beyond human control. Any attempt humanity made to grasp the plain made it slip further away, and further, as humanity continued making weaker and weaker grasps. Seeing their dreams slipping into the Void, humanity lost hope of ever regaining the power they once had.

As humanity faded into non-existence, Yahweh had been prodded into action. He molded a being and instilled all His hopes into his hands, placing him upon the final plain of existence. Yahweh, the Father of this man or god, wanderer or warrior, named him William.

***

William had nothing to do with the violence wrought by humanity. He had been spawned from the ideals of a time before humanity had existed, and he had been given form by Yahweh to atone for His mistake. William had never been consulted as to the fairness of this life he faced: that he who had never committed a crime against Nature, that he who had never known the corruption of humanity, should be forced to face the destruction they had etched into the fabric of the Milky Way. He felt he should be grateful for his existence, but he struggled to affirm this feeling with any knowledge.

Standing in the midst of the vast, scabrous plain, his head still bowed as the last rays of the Sun winked out over the horizon, William thought over what he had encountered in his past. Before he had been given a body, his consciousness had floated in the Void as he received instruction for a future that quavered in the voice that spoke to him. This voice permeated to the core of his mind, tapping into the unmapped resources of his soul to prepare him for the hardships of life after Life. The instructions William received went beyond the power of language—brought in waves of torment, joy, anguish, mania, frustration and determination—to convey the knowledge of all that once had existed and all that would never exist again. The voice conjured a panorama at the intersection of Space and Time where William could view all the possibilities and inevitabilities he might face. This map showed no clear path forward, but as he studied it he sensed his own destiny imprinted somewhere in that topography of chaos. He remained in the Void, in the embrace of his Father, until he absorbed every bit of wisdom Yahweh had to offer; yet, all he learned only reinforced the vision of a struggle stretching before him to infinity, despite the infinite stretch of Void behind him.

Recalling this vision, William felt himself reduced to a mote in the face of eternity. But the seed of Creation had been implanted within him, and if he could find a release for it he could offer the Milky Way a new path, an alternate to the Darkness that preceded him. This resolution trickled down his spine and took root in his gut; for the first time, he opened his eyes and saw the plain stretching before him in its putrefaction.

William did not move a muscle as he absorbed all that remained visible in the dusk, though his stomach curdled at the sight. He wondered at the sensation, deeper than anything he had felt before. The conflict between his body and mind threatened to rip his soul asunder, and for the first time he felt his life coursing through his veins—flowing without consideration to the suffering it carried. Blood was both the giver of life and the deliverer of sorrow; knowing that it flowed regardless of desire reinforced his awareness of destiny—as it flowed, so must he.

William’s first task in adjusting to his body required acceptance—accepting that his life never had been his own, that he could not choose to slough off his skin and return to the peace of the Void, that he could not reject his Father’s intentions though he felt his cooperation had been taken for granted. Nothing remained to him but to abandon himself to the flow of his new life, to the necessities of survival on this bleak plain.

William glanced around and saw the night was tinted red. He groaned as he tilted his head back to better see the sky, and his hat tumbled to the ground, crumpling into a shapeless mass. He did not notice the loss, for the sight gripped him with horror. Nebulas on fire swirled across the expanse of the sky, where supergiants had detonated in their mesmerizing supernovae, raining their brimstone down at his eyes. Scattered between these clouds, pinpoints of destruction marked where Life had once existed, where a main sequence star had once thrived but then collapsed upon itself, where a red giant had taken its own life and faded into the background. These cinders marred the infinite stretches above as this visage burned itself into William’s mind, imprinting a parody of destruction to remind him of the inevitable, assailing his hopes about the possibility of redemption. Trapped in the embrace of night, he wondered if his Sun would survive its trek to the dawn.

William felt as humanity had before him, but he reminded himself that he served a higher purpose. The hope of Light returning yet existed, meager though it seemed in the face of the destruction overhead. You are a deceiver! William cried, his voice cracking as it lifted into the sky.

Drained of all energy, William’s legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to his knees. He cupped his hands across his eyes to block the sight that threatened to destroy his mind. He screamed at the heavens, flinging curses with his untrained voice. Tears welled through the cracks in his fingers and pooled there before dripping to the ground. Wherever a tear touched the earth, something changed. It was the first water the plain had known in ages, the herald for the return of Life.

As his mind calmed, William removed his hands from his eyes. His cries had attracted attention, and he watched as a cloud began its descent—an amorphous cloud, a buzzing cloud, a cloud of monstrous flies. William grabbed his hat from the ground and covered his head from the coming onslaught. He curled up into a ball and whipped his cape over his body, flashing scarlet as it reflected the sky. Covering himself from head to toe with it, he waited.

TWO

E ach moment blended into the next as demented thoughtdreams paraded through William’s mind, bringing knowledge of the certainty of death, the powerlessness of life and the futility of hope in this desolate wasteland. The land William had seen, if only in the distorted light of the night,