Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Occult, Part 2

Part One of this snippet-occult series delves into mock occult practices which anyone that feels like faking occult practices could do, such as claiming to ‘channel’ some spirit entity so as to embed oneself into some New Age celebrity grouping, for instance. Heck, IMHO, anyone can claim to be a ‘witch’ or ‘wizard’ just by buying a Ouija Board or Tarot Cards or pretend to perform séances. Now I never owned a Ouija Board but I once bought Tarot Cards having no clue as to how to use them as a witch would, but just to see what Tarot Cards looked like. One girls’ slumber party I attended–I was in a high school B-list sorority–I witnessed (without taking part in it) a séance on a sorority member performed by another sorority member who may or may not have ever performed séances before. As I stated in the previous post, any activity I had with anything occultist stopped the night two friends and I created a mock Ouija Board and would up calling up spirits we should never have called up, scaring the crap out of all of us so that they had to walk me home over a mile around 11 p.m. and it was still winter.

In part 2, the snippets call forth much more sinister forces than mere fake channeling of some New Age ‘god.’ Anyone who studies the occult knows why occult rituals are used–for true witchcraft, and to capture souls for the forces of evil, the devil, aka Satan, which in The Prodigal Band Trilogy is referred to as Corion, a fictional false god of an ancient fictional Celtic cannibal sect that rivaled the Druids, called ‘the Crag-Dwellers’ of the mountains of Wales. Now who would want to ‘capture souls for the forces of evil’? The spiritual forces of evil, of course, and their minions on Earth whom they have given such as power, wealth, fame, fortune, and lusts in exchange for their loyalty to the Evil. And who would be victimized by these forces? Folks who get suckered into seeking advantages over others by “selling their souls to” the devil and such, which is supposedly rampant in the annals of popular culture, according to some. Rock stars, for instance, but also their fans.

The first snippet is from the first chapter of Battle of the Band and has fictional band leader Jack “praying” for success for his band, Sound Unltd, about to tour the UK after winning a contest.  He thinks he is praying to good angels but bad angels, The Demons, answer his “prayer.”


Early morning, June 6, 1986

 

Bound for London for fame and fortune, sleepy-eyed band leader Jack Lubin lifted himself out of bed, went to his wash basin and communed with the deities.

“If anyone is listening, please answer me. Look, man, we want to make it big. Huge! The greatest rock ‘n roll band there ever was. We got the talent, we got the ambition, and I got the will to drive us. Do you think you can fix it for us?”

“We hear you,” a deep voice answered.

The seventeen-year-old guitarist stumbled backwards into a dresser drawer, aghast. “Who the hell are you?”

“One of your guardian angels, as you would call us. As for your wish, it’s done.”

“Huh? Just like that? By wishing for it?”

“Of course, you won’t make it right away. You’ll have to work your way up like anyone else. That’s so nobody suspects our pact.”

“Our pact?”

“Yes. We will see you make your big break. And once you make it, no one will be able to stop you. Sound Unltd will be invincible. All you boys have to do is prove you want it more than anything. More than anything!” The Demons laughed in uproar. “When the time is right, we’ll name our price.”

Jack shook. “A price? What you mean by that?”

“Well,” the deep voice laughed, “you can’t expect fame and fortune for nothing, can you?”

As the notion of paying a price for success swarmed in his head like attacking bees, Jack repeated out loud, “I didn’t hear that. Just me imagination, eh?”

The second snippet comes from the end of Chapter Seven after guitarist-producer Mick is poisoned, his cocaine he was addicted to having been laced with strychnine. This event happened shortly after Mick and his gay lover, singer Adam Bloodlove, argued while Bloodlove was about to sign a recording contract with Mick’s record label. Mega-media mogul, Mr. X., ordered New Age and Satanic cult leader Swami Negran to murder Bloodlove in order to “force” Mick and his band to “sign the Pact” with the devil as they both believed that Mick believed Bloodlove had laced the coke with the poison–that way, a dead man could “tell no tales” and prove his innocence.


The Indian mystic was given his instructions by Mr. X. A square piece of paper read, “The time for Sound Unltd to sign a Pact with Our Lord Lucifer is near. Have producer see the consequences of not fulfilling his group’s bargain. He assumes Bloodlove poisoned him. So that Bloodlove can’t tell that he is innocent, kill the singer.”

A short time later, Swami showed up on Adam’s doorstep. The occultist eagerly opened the door.

“Welcome, Swami. Come in and party with me, eh?”

“Yes, my friend, but first I have something to show you.” Negran held out his red crystal. “Look into my crystal, Adam. You will see something very interesting.”

Adam forgot he’d asked the mystic in. “Well—yes, I think I will.”

“Look deeply, my friend.”

Bloodlove held it in his hand and took a sharp look. “I see a man in there, eh? That’s strange.”

“Yes. Look long and hard.”

The singer began to glow. “Hmmm. I feel really light, like I’m disintegrating, becoming a light beam. Light headed.”

He now felt hypnotized. His life force was slowly but surely sucked out of his body while the luminous egg surrounding him entrapped his physical state. Several minutes later, Bloodlove collapsed dead, his soul imprisoned within the crystal.

Adam’s body was found by a derelict two months later in a sewer that connected to a London Underground station.

The final snippet comes from Chapter Six of The Prodigal Band and introduces another man soon-to-be-possessed by evil, Mark Besst, that will try to win the confidence of the band for nefarious purposes.


Enter Mark Besst—The Making of a Hellyon, the Inner Circle, 1995

 

Allyson Hallsey-Foxworth took a potion meant to cause mild hallucinations for Mark Besst during his initiation into the Hellyon Society Inner Sanctum and slipped it into the water he was about to drink.

“Here you go, Mark. Water. You must be thirsty after all that sex.”

He took the water and drank it. “Thanks, I needed that.”

He did not notice any difference in taste of the water due to the potion, which would cause him to become drowsy enough so that Hellyon minions could bind him and place a black hood over his head as part of the initiation, and cart him off to Torquay’s dungeon for the Inner Sanctum Hellyon ritual.

And when Mark was standing at the foot of the altar as Baron Torquay thrust a sword into a terrified two-year-old orphan as a sacrifice to Satan-Lucifer-Corion, he would consider the event an episode of heightened consciousness, as if he was in a state of Buddhist nirvana.

And so it was, at the altar, when Melanie Ross, at his right side, in nothing but a hooded black robe, handed him a 24-carot gold cup of the sacrificial blood, which he slurped robustly.

The chanting of a satanic prayer began, but the Hellyon on his left side, Ally, implored, “Don’t drink it all, Mark! Leave some for the rest of us!”

The Hellyon closest to Torquay at the baron’s right, the last to sip the blood, was Marty, the Duke of Effingchester. After partaking, he threw the cup against the opposite rock wall and proclaimed, at the end of the ritual, “Come, O Lord Lucifer! This world is yours! And now Mark Besst is yours!”

 

Above ground in the ballroom of Torquay Hall where millions of dollars’ worth of gold, diamonds, pearls, and human bones and teeth were strewn, the Hellyons celebrated their newest member into their Inner Sanctum.

Torquay, half-naked in a satin black half-robe that nearly exposed his manhood as well as his somewhat flabby legs—he was 65—went up to Besst and grabbed his right arm, turning him around. “Your company success is now assured, and your competition will be destroyed, Mark. You will own the online media, completely. You will help us control planet Earth. Literally. Our Lord Lucifer will make you a god. Literally! For we, all of us here, are gods and goddesses.” Wicked laughter. “We rule the Earth at the behest of Our Lord.”

“Including Ally and Melanie?”

“Allyson Hallsey-Foxworth is 36, but she looks 16, right? Our Lord Lucifer keeps her young and maybe the sexiest woman alive. She drinks aborted fetus blood often. In fact, her company and foundation owns many abortion clinics on Earth, even in places like China. And Melanie? Same thing, but she has an even darker nature. She is the one that buys and sells babies and children for Ally and the rest of us. She now owns over one thousand orphanages and controls the ones my father used to own. She and Marty. And no one who works at these places will ever dare challenge either one of them.  As with my father,” he laughed, again wickedly, “they despise the masses and want their flesh and their blood.”

“Really? Well,” Mark laughed with a smirk, “they need to save some for me.”

“Good!”

“Yeah, I have watched Marty over the years, and hung around Rodney Davis as well. I consider them my mentors.” Then he flinched. “But what I don’t get is why Marty married that Tina! Such a bore! Not the Hellyon type I guess.”

Baron got nasty at the mention of her name. “Do NOT mention that wench! That marriage was arranged by her mother and father who just happen to be here tonight,” he pointed toward the bar, “over there. They are totally ashamed at her and want nothing to do with her and in fact,” Baron whispered in Mark’s ear, “have thought about killing her, what with her not wanting to be part of us! But I have told them not to even consider that.” Baron then talked in a normal voice. “Tina is good friends with a man whom we need with us and was promised to us many years ago, he and his five cohorts. Sound Unltd.”

“Really?!” Mark nearly shouted in surprise.

“Yes. All six have been promised to us, to Our Lord Lucifer, for many years, since the late 80s. But, Mark, something or someone keeps getting in the way. Whenever we think we have them, something happens.”

Mark then came up with an idea to serve his new master. “Maybe I can help on that front, Baron. They, all of them, even the doubters among them, trust me.”

“Yes, you can and you must. As for Neville Banner, he is not committed to serving us. He wouldn’t even join our outer group, let alone our Inner Sanctum. According to Ally, who used to date Mick Pordengreau—who was an outer Hellyon for a while, even, but again would not commit to us—Mick turned Neville away from the idea of joining us. We had given Neville a mission to help capture the six.”

 

That is, getting this six into Banner’s World Community Artists Foundation, and getting Swami Negran in good with them, resulting in the ‘world unity’ gig of 1994, which led to riots and teens murdering young children—thanks to the influence of the red crystals.

 

“And he has failed miserably.”

Considering members of the band were leaving, not joining, the Foundation.

“I’ve always liked Neville,” Mark said disgustedly, “but now? He is clearly weak minded, unsure of who calls the shots in this world. And I must say, Baron, I didn’t just join the Hellyons for success and millions and billions of money. I truly love Lucifer! I want to serve him! Lucifer implores us to live the way we want. If we want to be good, fine, but if we want power and money and great sex and see godhood, Lucifer wants us to have that as well. I have wanted to follow Lucifer since I was a freshman in college.”

Then Mark explained to Torquay how Allyson Hallsey-Foxworth’s brother Drew recruited him into the Hellyons. He convinced Mark that aborting unwanted fetuses and sacrificing unwanted orphans to Satan or Corion or another false god was not only good for the Earth—getting rid of ‘useless eaters’—but good for the sacrificed fetus or child to Satan-Corion. That way, Satan-Corion would ‘take care of’ and ‘love’ that sacrificed fetus or child.

“So, you see, Baron, I really want to do the will of Our Lord Lucifer. And punish Neville for betraying our god! He will pay for his crimes!”

“That is your mission, then, Mark. Take care of the infidel! And the sextet.”

 

And the ‘infidel’ was poisoned to death by Mark Besst in 2001. By then, Besst, CEO of a tech giant, was out to control the world, online and off-line.

That’s it for the occult snippets. Paranormal is next.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Updated “Contact” Page

Well I finally figured out why the original “contact” page didn’t work! Sorry I’m a writer, not a “techie” so I screwed that up using some pre-set “contact” page format which had no way for anyone to contact OmegaBooks, plus the e-mail address had to be changed as well. My old e-mail address was scammed and possibly hacked, so I changed it to the ProtonMail service which is encrypted and then decrypted….whatever that means!

Here is the new contact page with e-mail address.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Occult, Part 1

Along with snippets relating to the fiction genre known as horror within The Prodigal Band Trilogy are snippets of horror’s ‘sidekick,’ the occult. I have only witnessed the ‘milder’ side of occultism–Ouija Boards, Tarot Cards, mock séances with fake ‘mediums,’ and in all instances these tools were not being used by actual ‘witches’ or wiccans. Just ‘playing’ at it during parties or whatever. Yet one evening at a friend’s house more than a mile from my own house two friends and I did get a good look at what true witchcraft would look like without realizing it, and the event scared the crap out of me to the point where the two friends had to walk me home around 11 p.m.! After that, I eschewed any and all of these practices! But I did get to witness actual occult practices, and, while writing the trilogy, was glad I did partake in the occult, a little bit, knowing I would never do such things again. Any other knowledge of occult rituals came from horror movies or fiction novels.

All three novels that make up The Prodigal Band Trilogy have occult aspects. Part 1 of this snippet-occult series shows the mockery side of the occult as well as the witnessing of pure occultist evil that took place inside of a separate room within what is called an ‘Ashram,’ which is a Hindu religious retreat that could also be used in any eastern-type religion (which is what Swami Negran’s ‘Church of the Circle of Unity’ is derived from, using Hindu/Sikh systems for a New Age cult. Negran is a prominent fictional evil character within the trilogy. His successor, fake ‘healer’ Cole Blessing, is featured in the second snippet.)

In the first snippet, drummer Tom Cornsby of the band Sound Unltd surrounds himself with an entourage including a ‘clairvoyant,’ Prissy, who is also a pop star, her handler, Paul, a TV show-hostess, Lady Moira, and a rock singer, Peter Slade among others, lounging around a hookah during a party. His ultimate goal is to find out, using these celebrities with ties to aristocracy and government officials, who indentured his ancestors. Since Prissy and some of the others are into occult rituals, he pretends to ‘channel’ the New Age ‘god’ Corion, the ‘god’ of the Swami church. This snippet comes from Chapter Three of Battle of the Band. At this point, Tom’s agenda is just getting in with these folks so that he could use them later after they learned to trust him. In later parts, he finally meets a fictitious princess who would be more knowledgeable about whom had indentured his ancestors.


Tom, once consigned to the background as clairvoyant pop star Prissy Wyatt’s toy boy, had the street sense to develop his own jet-set following which turned enraptured on his every word. Lying against pillows depicting woven dragons, his little entourage surrounded a hookah. They discussed the future of Prissy’s singing career guided by her producer and promoter, Mushroom Paul, son of an MP. With his advice, Tom might as well have been her manager, agent and songwriter.

Prissy inhaled some hashish. “Whatever happens, I swear I won’t make any decisions without consulting Mushroom Paul and Tom. Tom’s sorta my spirit-guide right now. He knows. He knows.”

Peter Slade, a low-level aristocrat and singer with Hot Vinyl, asked, “What kind of music will you do? Raunchy metal? Orchestral? Mystical?”

“None o’ those,” Tom answered in his nasally baritone voice. “All that shit’s on the way out, eh? Prissy’s gonna do what I call honky-tonk. Really, Pris, you have that show-parlor style. You could do a flapper act, eh girl? Tell you what. I’ll even be your drummer, eh? With EpiGram’s permission and all that crap.” The five-foot-six drummer laughed, then took a hookah hose and inhaled.

Paul snickered. “Right. And her songwriter, and her manager, and her limo driver.”

“Yeh, and you could be her bootlicker.”

Paul responded with a cuss. Tom responded with, “Not in this lifetime.”

“Really, you two.” Lady Moira Sedgewick sighed. “Why do you both always have to argue?”

“Tom’s an arguer, that’s why.” Paul whined.

Prissy came to the drummer’s defense with a giddy smile. “Now that’s not true, is it, Tom?”

“That’s what Mick and Bry say. I love to argue. But I feel I have something to say, so I say it.”

Tom saw Prissy gleam at him. He quickly turned away to roll his eyes. She’s such a little nuisance.

Slade said, “You don’t like ol’ Mick, do you?”

“It goes back to when Mick and Bry joined us. Mick acted like I was going to consume his skinny little bod. Like I was a vampire. Little prevert. And get this. He really grimaced when I smiled and said hello to him.”

“Knowing Mick,” Slade said, “he probably would have loved it if you did consume his skinny bod.” Laughs.

“No. I won’t even have lunch with the bastard.”

Tom laughed to himself as he thought about the others lying with him. No sense telling these silly people why I don’t go for that perv shit. They’d never understand. They’ve never been abused, poor, homeless, indentured. Really such stupid little rich kids. So ripe for my plucking. They’ll never guess I’m only using them to find out who indentured my family.

That Prissy, whose tabloid predictions usually came out true, needed a spirit-guide bothered talk-show celebrity Moira. “What I don’t understand, Pris, is why you—a fortune teller—need Tom or anyone else to make your decisions for you.”

“Because my auras and chakras have been so clouded lately. Too much interference from bad angels. I can’t handle it now, and I’ll prove it.”

Lady Sedgewick slapped the floor. “Prissy? Are you saying you can’t be my medium anymore? Please don’t tell me that. Just who the hell am I supposed to get to replace you?”

“I’ll show you who. The spirits that communicated with me will now do so with Tom. Tom’s a channel. He didn’t even know it when I met him last year. Did you know the god Corion speaks through him?”

Slade, a debonair but insecure star who was new to New Age ideas, asked, “Who the hell is Corion?”

Prissy answered. “A god of light born in darkness. The One we call God threw Corion out of Paradise, but then Corion changed his ways and is now a god of light. There’s a tribe in Africa that claims Corion is married to the deity we call The World. He will now speak through Tom when I call him in séance. Isn’t that super?” She looked at everyone. “Now let’s hold hands.”

The crowd surrounding the hookah sat yoga style holding hands in a circle. Prissy went into a trance and called Corion. “God of light born in darkness, speak to us.”

Very quickly, ‘Corion’ answered her through a deeper voice of the conniving drummer. “I am here. Your question, please.”

“You once said there would be world unity and peace in a few years, and all the world’s tuned-in people would follow your chosen minstrels.”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell the tuned-in friends here who will be your chosen minstrels?”

With a meditative poker-face, Tom-as-Corion answered, “The band called Sound Unltd.”

An uproar of protest ensued. “Oh, come off it!” Slade yelled. “What sorta crap is that, Pris? Of course he’s gonna say that!”

“Hear me, unbeliever!” Tom-as-Corion bellowed back. “There is no doubt! They will be persecuted next year. But they will afterwards rise up and lead the youth of this planet into an era of—novordopax, nuevopax, tricameron.”

Tom then woke up from his pretended enchantment. “Well, did I? Did Corion speak through me?”

“Yeah,” Slade said with a sneer, “and he said your quintet would be the leaders of the world’s youth into an era of—what the hell is ‘novordopax’ and that other gibberish?”

No one could answer that.

Cornsby, with authority, said, “It’s Corion’s word for world peace, or didn’t you know, with your proper public school education, that ‘pax’ is Latin for ‘peace’?”

“It’s just that I find it ridiculous that Corion—through you—would say Sound Unltd will lead the world’s youth as if you’re the reincarnation of—”

“And who are you to doubt Corion? The man’s a god, eh? If he says we will, then we will. So—we will. We got that ambition, eh?”

In the second snippet Tom and this princess, Tina, who are in fact lovers though Tina is married to the one whose ancestors did in fact indenture Tom’s family, meet together at the basement of a palace next to the Ashram mentioned earlier. What they witness while outside looking through a door window is a wicked occult ritual led by the evil fake doctor Cole Blessing within a large room. Blessing uses the original occult amulet known as the Red Crystal of Corion, which brings forth demonic powers, in this ritual. This takes place at the end of Chapter Eight of The Prophesied Band and is narrated by pop culture pundit Jay Elliot, who sees the two witnessing the ritual.


“I just can’t see very much, Tom,” the Princess of Leandro whispered with anxiety as she looked through a tiny square glass window built into a metal door.

“Blessing, my wonderful husband, and one or two others are in there, I know, because I can hear them. But it’s too dark in there!” Tina then turned to Cornsby. “There is a red glow, however. Not a lightbulb glow. More like a candle that glows red, or a candle covered by a red glass.” Turned back. “A votive candle, perhaps. Or a red-glowing crystal.”

The drummer, standing behind her, let his body fall against the door. “A red crystal?” A loud whisper. “Don’t tell me Blessing’s got one o’ those!”

“I hope they didn’t hear you slam against their door, Tom.” Her annoyed voice was low normal. “Anyway,” she looked at him, “It’s too big to be the kind Swami Negran wore. But I feel this crystal and Negran’s are related somehow.”

“Maybe the crystal in there is the mother of all the other crystals Swami had, including the ones he gave the six of us.”

I heard the last thing he and she said to each other. More than just curious, I went toward Tom and Tina. Less than a minute later I heard them go breathless and saw the aura of a giant red glow.

“Tom!” Frightened. “You won’t believe this!” Turned to him. “See this for yourself.”

The curly blond said nothing at first as he feasted his eyes on a room large enough to be a gymnasium, with objects of pure gold wall-to-wall, and the hooded people—including a woman by the look of her face—in supplication to Blessing, who stood hoodless over the red crystal.

Blessing’s hands then engulfed the crystal the size of a baseball—which, having just illuminated the room, now burned a fiery ball of light.

And when Tom heard him speak, Blessing’s voice bellowed with such force several gold statues near the west wall shook.

Corion was also in the room.

“My children,” the dark voice said, “soon I and Mother Nature will come forth to show the only way for the people of this beautiful lush planet—our way, as our enemies cringe and burn before us. Mother Earth will return to her greatness, my followers.”

The crowd chanted, “Your will be done, my lord.”

“Our enemies are being rounded up now, a herd for the slaughter, as our Master cleanses her domain, as I—with you at my right hand—come to the head of your world.”

“We are with you, my lord.”

“Tina!” Tom swiftly got off his tip-toes with breathless fear. “This is it! The people who seek to enslave this world. And Blessing is not Blessing. Or, maybe he’s speaking through a distortion microphone that I can’t see. But he sounds—possessed! Did you hear him? The chanting?”

“Yes. It’s Blessing’s inner circle. Probably the same ones that make up the Novordo Club.” Then she shuddered. “I think we need to leave, my love. I’m really afraid.”

“You got that right!”

In Occult, Part II will be featured rituals that take on a much more sinister tone as the chief minions of the Evil reveal themselves and their agenda in full.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Mystery

There is plenty of mystery within this trilogy, but it is not mystery in terms of crime (as with Sherlock Holmes), suspense, or science fiction, but spiritual mystery. However, the following snippets that follow a specific event highlighted by revelations from the spirit being for Good known as the ‘witch of the Hovels’ do incorporate crime and suspense themes. All of these snippets are found within the second book of the trilogy, The Prophesied Band.

The first snippet from Chapter Six finds the band Sound Unltd meeting with their manager Joe Phillips in spring, 1996, about the Asia leg of a tour that began the previous year and had to be rescheduled due to a crisis event that I will not issue a spoiler alert over. When that issue was settled, the guitarist-producer, Mick, then brought up the following relating to an archeological dig near his Holyhope Castle in the mountain area of eastern Wales. Mick is an occultist obsessed with the ancient High Priest of a pagan and cannibal cult, called Crynnwagg. The cult is called the Crag-Dwellers.


“…I’ve invited some archeologists up to Holyhope to dig for Crynnwagg’s bones.”

The drummer laughed. “You mean to tell us, Skinny, that your hero Crynnwagg’s bones just happen to be on your estate?”

Mick snickered. “No, Shorty, they’re not, eh? The archeologists are Druid scholars, they’re staying at Holyhope, and their digging site is four miles west of there at the foothills of—”

“You funding it, too?” Keith asked.

“Yeh, through the Druidic Foundation. Made contact with them four years ago. Only now are they done with their paperwork.”

The second snippet from Chapter Seven, partially referenced here, involves a phone conversation between Mick and pop culture magazine freelancer Jay Elliot, who is the narrator of The Prophesied Band. Elliot had heard over his car radio that an earthquake, an extreme rarity in Wales, had occurred in the area where the archeological dig was taking place. It is summer, 1998. In the conversation is mentioned that both Crynnwagg and Swami Negran had long tibias. Negran, whom had ensnared the band in his plot to win souls of fans as well as the souls of the sextet band using the red crystal amulets each of the six had worn during concerts, with the amulets being controlled by Swami, had supposedly recently died in a car crash.


“So,” I finally asked, “did the earthquake help you find the bones?”

“That they did. Or at least we’re speculating they’re his bones. Crynnwagg was known through legend to have had tibia bones much longer than they should have been.”

“Long-shanks.” Which reminded me of a long-ago English king.

“Yeh.” Snort. “And like Swami Negran, too. Little murdering bastard!”

By this time the word had gotten out that Negran was the one who did in Adam Bloodlove. Mick made sure of that. But no one could bring the Indian mystic to justice. The man supposedly had been killed by a Christian radical in a so-called car crash.

“And no one can find his red crystal,” I said.

“Joe thinks his father and his elitist cronies hid the crystal somewhere and they’re using it. I mean, all the crap with the weather. Shit, Jay, southern England’s drying up, and they’re literally drowning in Walltown. Jack and Keith have been up there about a month now. They think they’ve found some Code manuscripts in an iron vault, but they can’t open the vault until it stops raining. And who the hell ever heard of earthquakes in Wales? Torquay and them are definitely screwing around with the weather.”

I laughed, especially since he had no proof. “You sound like those militia-types we have here in the States.”

Pordengreau snorted several times. “You know I’ve never believed that shit until now. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff Tom’s gotten out of Tina how Torquay and Effingchester are out to control the planet.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” Of course, I still wasn’t convinced that anti-new-order stuff wasn’t anything more than sheer paranoia. “So, what’s gonna happen to the bones?”

“They’ll be sent to the Archeological Society for carbon-dating. If the bones are about nineteen-hundred-fifty-years-old, we’ll be fairly sure they’re Crynnwagg’s.”

The rest of the snippets come from Chapter Nine. The mysterious ‘witch of the hovels’ had summoned two of the band members to meet with her in the home town Victoria Park near the angelic statue called The Tooters. The meeting took place early June, 2000.


Tom, Keith, Jack, Billy Prestin—with whom Jack stayed while in town—and new arrival Bryan sat facing each other at a chessboard table under a shade tree several yards at a diagonal to the famed statue.

“Mick’s on his way,” Bry told the others. “Spoke to him on the phone at my folks’ place. And he has what he calls ‘scary’ news about Crynnwagg’s bones.”

“Scary news?” Tom said. “Right. He’ll probably tell us they’re Adam Bloodlove’s.”

“You know Mick. Loves to be occultically dramatic.”

After discussing the reason for the meeting, Mick finally shows up with news regarding Crynnwagg’s bones. The “King” referenced is Edward II, known as “Longshanks” in the movie Braveheart.


The five and Prestin didn’t have to wait much longer for Mick. When he showed up, the sun was heading down over the shadowy horizon of council houses and ship yards. A shadowy pall rose slowly up the south face of The Tooters, heightening the tall one’s mask of gloom.

After greetings, Tom asked, “So, Skinny, what’s up at the bone yard?”

Pordengreau, who once wore gaily colored robes to match is gay-ly lifestyle, now tended toward jeans and t-shirts with cartoon characters. Further, it was rumored he had started shunning other men. The horrifying fate of former lover Adam Bloodlove did a psychological number on the lanky one.

Who now began hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong, Mick?” Jack asked.

The lanky one composed himself. “Um, look, what I have to tell you scares the shit outta me. It’s too unbelievable.”

Tom asked, “Is this the reason you’ve had to wait so long to find out if the bones were Crynnwagg’s?”

Deep sigh. “They’re not Crynnwagg’s.” Another sigh along with a pounding heart. “They’re Swami Negran’s.”

As if ordained by God that this startling news should quiet all sound, the life of the park came to a standstill.

Six eye-popping faces on bodies taken aback, froze.

“The bones are not fourteen-hundred-or-so-years-old. The bones are so recent that carbon fourteen-dating can’t register them.” Mick spoke as if entranced to an audience of zombies. “I found that out several months ago. So then they began to narrow it down to dental records and the fact that both Crynnwagg and Swami had long-shanks.”

That last phrase awakened Jack. “Like that King.”

“Yeh. But having narrowed the candidates to people with long tibias, and me telling the university people that Swami had those kinda bones, they sent for Negran’s dental records, and voila! Match.”

By then everyone else had come out of his comatose state.

“But no one believed it at first. Not me or the team I sponsored. Swami was killed in a car crash, eh? Which would mean at least some of his bones would have been mutilated in the crash. News reports said the whole right side of his body was smashed. But these bones don’t show that. It’s as if he died a natural death with no bone deterioration. Like I said, no one could believe that. Negran was about middle-aged, when most people start losing bone calcium, or something. Not these bones. They’re almost perfect. But that’s not the scary part, eh?” He didn’t wait for anyone to respond to that. “The scary part is his crystal. The university people didn’t find his crystal with his bones, eh? But after all those months and then concluding the bones were Swami’s, that crystal showed up within his jawbones a day or so after I was contacted. Yesterday, in fact. I was busy in production—”

“You know,” Jack interrupted, “it’s funny that crystal showed up the very day the witch contacted me.”

“What witch?” Mick asked.

“The old lady who told us that Swami killed Adam. That witch, remember?”

“Oh yeh, that witch.”

Having dabbled in the occult most of his life, Pordengreau was unfazed by what he heard and would soon hear.

With every band member now at the meeting, ‘that witch of the Hovels’ then shows up to tell them why the red crystal associated with Crynnwagg was not found with the bones, but mysteriously showed up at Crynnwagg’s skull a day or two before the meeting. And the truth about the red crystal, which belonged to the fallen angel, Corion, whom God had cast into ‘the Abyss’ in the ‘beforetime.’ In between her paragraphs, some band members ask her questions which do not need to be referenced here.


“…Listen to what I have learned from The Tooters. Corion is the wayward son of The Creator of All Things, the One you call God. Corion is called Satan by most. Corion is the name given the Evil by a Druidic Age sect of cannibals called the Crag-Dwellers.” She looked at Mick. “You in particular have studied them.” To all she said, “None of you, however, knows the story you must know. In the year 50 AD, before the onslaught of the Romans, the Crag-Dweller High Priest Crynnwagg was killed by a group of Druid Priests called the Legion of the Twisted Oak, his blood drained and consumed by those priests in a cup of blood. You know this and wrote a song about this called ‘Crynnwagg’s Cup of Blood.’ In your other Crag-Dweller song, ‘The Rune of Seven-Crag Mountain,’ it is told how the Crag-Dwellers tied fourteen Druid children to oak trees and burned them in retribution. What you may not know is that Crynnwagg returned from the dead by the black magic of Corion’s Demons.”

 

“So Crynnwagg returned from the dead thanks to Corion’s Demons. But before he left the Abyss in which God exiled Corion, Crynnwagg stole Corion’s red crystal sight by which Corion could see his way in the black abyss. I do not know why Crynnwagg did this. Only God knows. But Crynnwagg did this thing and returned to the world using the crystal for godly power. The greatest of these powers is immortality. Crynnwagg would live forever, so he believed. That is, he would appear to die as anyone else, but then he would arise and take the form of another.

“Eventually, his Crag-Dweller sect was defeated by, first, Roman Legions, then by Christianity, various conquerors and the Normans under William the Conqueror. During this time in the late eleventh century, the bearer of the crystal was killed in battle by a young knight, who, of course, stole the crystal not knowing its powers at first. He learned, however, and used the powers to convince the king to make him a Duke. Thus the First Duke of Effingchester was created. Through succeeding generations, these Dukes became some of the kingdom’s most powerful landowners. Then came a moody madman, the Fourth Duke. He could be quite worthy, as in 1135 when he established throughout his land holdings—which of course included Walltown—new freedoms and less taxes. But he always had a dark side. He would not emancipate his serfs. He just couldn’t do it. I don’t know why. Serfdom was disappearing throughout Britain, and his serfs knew that, too. So these poor peasants, in July, 1136, tried in great vain to win their freedom. I know this because I was there. A few blocks from here in the old Hovels. The serfs were almost victorious because many freemen, called yeomen—themselves former serfs—aided their cause. So seeing himself being defeated in shame, the old Duke used the same crystal stolen by the First Duke to summon the Corion’s Demons. It took only three of them—Gold, Silver, and Bronze Demons—to burn Walltown to the ground.”

 

“To go on. When Effingchester number four summoned those Demons, he also prayed Corion to take back the crystal. The Duke threw the crystal in the air as Corion had told him, but Crynnwagg—as the Duke’s manservant—not Corion, caught the crystal instead. This did not please Corion one bit! So Corion put a curse on the Effingchesters for eternity.”

 

“…Crynnwagg survived the ages as various people of various walks of life. As a lesser duke in 1776, he formed the Society of Luminaries. In 1879, Crynnwagg, as a socialist philosopher, founded the Ring of Our Lord Lucifer, which, like the Luminaries, believed and strove for a one-world-order under Satan-Corion. Both groups used parts of the Corionic Cross. Then in 1964, Crynnwagg, as majordomo for Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau, founded the evil Novordo Club, which rules what some today call the new order.”

Finally, since it turned out the bones found near Holyhope were in fact the bones of Swami Negran, not the bones of Crynnwagg, the band leader asked this question which the ‘witch’ answered.


“But what’s this have to do with Negran?” Jack asked.

“Negran, of course, is Crynnwagg.”

To find out how Crynnwagg morphed into Negran and others throughout history, to find out how Negran really died, and to find more mystery in The Prodigal Band Trilogy, buy the book using links from the Bookstore here.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Horror

I grew up immersed in the Horror genre, movies mostly, but also some comic books. When I was a pre-teen and teenager, some local TV station had aSaturday night movie series called “ChillerTheater.” Today that has morphed into the DirecTV and DishTV channel “The Chiller Channel” or whatever it’s called now. It was on this show series I saw “Godzilla,” “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms,” “The Crawling Eye,” and various Japanese and other monster movies, various zombie/ghoul/vampire/Frankenstein-type monsters and serial murder movies many of which starred my fave actor at the time, Vincent Price. Basically, if Vincent Price was in the movie, I watched it.

In my twenties, I started reading horror genre fiction but I thought horror movies were more exciting. There was one book–I have no idea what the title was but it’s one of the few I actually finished reading–about some vampire-like rock band that recruits roadies or fans or whatever and then turns them into vampires, but one small group of fans turns against the band. Eventually, the vampire band gets “burned” if you know what I mean. But I did not buy the book because it had vampires, but because it had vampires who were rock stars!

And around this time, Ozzie Osbourne was making it huge…And. Oh yeah, AC-DC, “Highway to Hell” and all that…

One of the reasons I began writing the books that make up the trilogy was the notion, which has some merit but which can also be debunked, that rock stars are all “devil worshipers” and rock music is “the devil’s music” which quite a few Christians still believe is true. Many supposedly Christian YouTube channels try to verify this over and over and over while mentioning a few, such as the guitarist for MegaDeath–I forgot his name–are avowed believers in Christ (as is rapper DMX). My point is not to prove rockers are not devil worshipers; some clearly are (such as Marilyn Manson). My point is wanting folks to get over the notion that listening to rock music is going to turn one against Christ or for Satan. As if listening to country music and someone like Miley Cyrus is going to turn one to Christ!

But anyway…

To contrast the band called Sound Unltd’s beginning and rise to fame and fortune with their inability to handle it wisely later, and then the coming trials and tribulations they face, I thought it would be a good idea to bring in the most debauched period of their ‘supremacy’ in rock music. This is where the horror comes in. There are no monsters or vampires or zombies or mass murders, but it still has horror themes including ‘rituals of the craft’ if you know what I mean.

The following snippet which is a bit long comes from Chapter Six of Battle of the Band. The scene is a Hellside Horror House party for the touring band Sound Unltd given by the estate owners Andre’ and Cheetah, owners of a horror TV channel who use snakes and lizards as props on their show. Both are occultists as well. The night of the party is Thursday, July 12, 1993, in the fictitious city of Richmont, California, in the Bay Area. Band guitarists Jack and Mick (the occultist of the group), drummer Tom, singer Erik and bassist Keith are all mentioned, as well as various groupies, some of whom are wiccans, and Adam Bloodlove, Mick’s ‘partner’ and rock superstar of satanic bent.


Ring around the rosy, pocket full o’ posy

Ashes, ashes, all fall down

“A song about the Black Plague? Can’t you play a happier song than that, Jack?” Cheetah asked as she, the guitarist and six others finished the gruesome children’s rhyme.

Another asked, “What about your song, Jack? The Rune of Seven Crag Mountain? About the burning children?”

“Right. All in the name of religion. I can barely tolerate Mick’s cultist crap, let alone Swami Negran.” He readied his guitar to play the song. “But I love playing this piece.”

Jack began the music as a skuz tray was passed around.

They rounded up the young ones

And tied them to the trees,

And lit the grass.

The wood did burn

And then young skins.

You could feel the screaming breeze.

Cheetah broke in at the end of three verses. “I got an idea. Why don’t we play like the song says in the woods by our pond?”

“Let’s do it,” someone said.

 

Mick, Andre’ Cool, and Adam Bloodlove lounged in Cool’s dungeon-like bedroom, listening to the guitarist’s tales of the Crag-Dwellers.

Cool asked, “Where’d you learn these stories?”

“I formed the Druid Family. Mostly, for fun—and sex. But these people weren’t really Druids, eh? My cult’s based on the Order of the Crag-Dwellers, a secret society that lived at the time of the Druid priests. The Crag-Dwellers were cannibals.”

“No shit? Cannibals?”

“Yeh. They turned cannibal when the Druids tried to drive them out of their huts by the crags. The Crag-Dwellers believed that if they ate the flesh of an animal, they acquired the spirit and power of that animal. So, they applied that rule to people’s spirits as well. If they ate Druid priests, they acquire the Druid’s power.”

“But why did the Crag-Dwellers burn the children instead of eating them?”

Mick said cynically, “Because children have no power. So, they fried.”

“What else did the Crag-Dwellers do?” Bloodlove asked.

“Well, they also— Hey, wait a bit, eh? You know, I could show you outside. Andre’, you got a pond here, eh?”

“Yeah, about a half-mile behind the house.”

“Okay, I’ll show you what they did, and, on the way, I’ll tell you about it.”

Mick proceeded to tell the story of how the Crag-Dwellers gouged the eyes of their victims.

 

Tom, Princess Tina, and Lady Moira Sedgewick sat at a patio table on the veranda, deep in discussion.

Her Grace said, “Now, Tom, I read an editorial in CounterCulture that said due to inflation, consumers were being priced out of live entertainment. For instance, the outrageous cost of your concert tickets. And sixty bucks is outrageous.”

“Yeh, but in our case, sixty is worth it. And if what they said was true, we wouldn’t be perennial sell-outs. You know what the gripe is? A lot of acts would love to charge what we do, but they can’t. They don’t have the reputations for excellence and outrage like we do.”

Just then, a rush of singing, partying people from the solarium passed the trio. Cheetah called out, “Hey, Tina, you guys want to play Crag-Dwellers and Druids?”

“Oh, how super! You want to Moira? Tom?”

“Sounds ducky to me.” The two women got up.

“Oh shit,” Tom said. “When is that Skinny gonna get off this Druid crap?” He got up, disgruntled, and followed them.

 

“You mean, they took skewers and jabbed them into the eye sockets and wriggled the skewers around ‘til the eye popped out?” Bloodlove now couldn’t wait to play-act the scene at the south end of the pond.

“Yeh,” said Mick, “and then they ate the eyeballs. Raw. Whole. Like this.” Mick made believe he had an eyeball on his finger and stuck the finger into his mouth. “Delicious!”

“So where we supposed to get the eyes?” Andre’ asked nervously. “We’re supposed to kill something?”

“Shit, man, just a frog or something,” Mick answered. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill one o’ your lizards.”

“Gila monsters, not lizards!” Cool performed surrounded by the poisonous pet reptiles. “And I’m not killing anything!”

“Party pooper!” Bloodlove sneered.

“Come on, Adam,” Cool yelled in annoyance. “You’re just sucking up to that devil worshiper to get a record contract.”

“No. I get high off doing this. I thought you did, too.”

“I just make believe. I’ve never killed anything in my—”

“Shut up!” Mick whispered loudly. “I see a frog and I’m gonna catch him.”

“But not kill it, Mick. This is my pond, and—”

“I won’t do anything.” Andre’s hesitancy wearied Mick. “We’re just playing, Andre’. Who told you I was a devil worshiper?”

“Well, I thought you were, with all those altars at your place.”

“It’s just décor, eh? I collect Druidic artifacts and other witchy things. And you should talk, with all that ghoulish shit in your own house. Anyway, I’m not a devil worshiper.”

“Come on,” Bloodlove said, “let’s get on with it.” He turned to Cool. “We can’t waste any frogs, eh?”

“No.”

“Well then,” Bloodlove winked at Mick, “we’ll just have to kill you.”

He and Mick jumped Cool, sending the victim to the ground. Adam grabbed at Andre’s eyes.

“Get the hell off me!”

Bloodlove and Mick rolled off Cool, laughing with gusto.

Suddenly several bodies flailed at the three, chanting nonsense while grabbing at hair.

One of the new arrivals carried some twine and yelled, “Tie them up!”

The gang picked up the trio and shoved and marched them over to some trees. Mick, Adam, and Andre’, by now having been stripped to their ankles, were tied to an oak tree.

The curly blond among the gang got out his cigarette lighter and torched some tall grass under the trees, shrieking, “The Crag-Dwellers be avenged!” He gathered the others in a laughter-filled war-dance around the growing fire. “Burn the beastly Druids!” Tom’s face glowed orange by the budding blaze as he jabbed at Mick. “Skin them alive!”

Mick and the other two had enough and broke free of the bondage. “Okay, Shorty, put the fire out! Now!” The three stomped on the fire, and others used whatever devices they carried to take water from the pond onto the now smoky blaze.

Once the fire was out, Jack jibed at Mick. “So, you can’t take a joke, eh? What’s the matter? It’s you that believes this shit.”

Mick dusted himself off and snickered, “Did you have fun, Jack?”

The other laughed. “We need to do this again sometime.”

Tom joined in. “Yeh. Tomorrow night. Hey, Jack, you think we can do ‘im up during the show, a new skit?”

“Fuck you, Shorty!”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Tom, I wouldn’t waste me time with this loony lad. But maybe we can grab our road manager, tie ‘im to our monolith—”

“Aaaaaarrrrrruuuuughhhhh,” came a blood-curdling scream from the pond’s north end.

“Everybody,” Bloodlove called out, “let’s see what that is. Quietly, okay? Let’s sneak up on him.”

Some carried wooden torches as they followed the satanic singer.

Another snippet that follows continues the bizarre party scene.

“God, Erik! You sounded like you enjoyed killing that poor baby frog,” Rona pouted as she squatted down to kiss her man for the evening.

The singer, still grasping the hapless amphibian, cocked his head to face the nineteen-year-old with cascading, shiny black hair. “Haven’t you heard? I eat frogs before I make love. That way, my pecker becomes more slippery and—juicy.” He ran his tongue over his sweaty lips and whispered, “Join me, luv, in my carnal feast.”

Their lashing tongues caressed each other’s mouths.

The frog squirted out of his grasp.

“Oh, no!” Rita shouted. “My frog got away!” She looked down at the writhing couple. “I thought you killed that frog, Erik! Why’d you let him get away?”

“Because,” the singer looked at her and smiled, “some things are more important than frog’s eyes for your witches’ brew, eh? Why don’t you and Lindsay go see if you can find that frog again, and Ro and I will catch you later, eh?”

Rita, disappointed, turned away. “Fine, Erik. Let’s go Lindsay. We’ll get our own frog, and we’ll make a potion and cast a spell on the two of them.” When she looked back, a naked Rona mounted a naked Erik.

Later, a torchlight parade saw the two girls coming toward them. “Witches!” Cheetah called out. “Burn those witches!”

The gang war-whooped and swooped down on the two.

“Wait! Wait!” Rita shouted. “We’re not witches. We’re hunting witches, and we got two of ‘em over there.” She pointed to where they left the lovers.

The growing throng danced down upon the passionate twosome, who got up immediately and ran furiously toward the house, still naked.

When Erik and Rona reached the veranda—the others in hot pursuit—they shut off the outside lights, then walked silently into the pool. The darkness caused three others to fall into the water.

Then— Flash went the lights. Crash! Went the music, to begin the next party round. Splash! Went half the wasted guests into the light-sparkling refreshment.

Untouched by the ‘witch-hunters,’ Erik and Rona walked arm-in-arm out of the water toward the bath house to towel themselves, their clothes still out at the pond. When they entered the small building, they found Keith and Lolita resting limp with exhaustion on the floor.

“Oh, sorry about interrupting,” Rona apologized.

Lolita covered herself with a towel.

“No need for that, girl,” Keith snickered. “They were just leaving.”

“Fancy meeting you here, bro.”

“Oh, fancy that. You still here.”

Rona sensed trouble between the two blood brothers. “Well, that’s okay. We just came in for towels and—”

“No matter, lovely wench,” Keith said. “We’ve been here long enough. Shall we go, my precious?”

He and Lolita strutted outside to a scene of rollicking hedonism exploding to the sound of gnashing metal and ghoulish cries.

Let’s party in Hell. We make it so well!

Move over, Sweet Satan for the party in Hell!

They ran, crying, “Let’s party in Hell!” as their momentum hurled them into the water.

 

There are more horror snippets I could have included but I figure this one is long enough as it encompasses most of the chapter. Want a much more serious horror scene? Buy the book using links here:

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The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Fantasy

The Fantasy genre can be defined in many ways as it mixes in with Science Fiction or Horror-Occultic or Spiritual or even Dystopian genres. But The Prodigal Band Trilogy does not take place on some fantasy world in another galaxy or another planet or another time frame, but in the modern times mostly in the time frame of late 70s to early 2000s, mostly in the UK or the US, mostly in southeast England, NYC, LA area or the Bay Area or in the fictitious city of Walltown in northeast England where the band, Sound Unltd, is from, or the Bay Area fictitious city called Richmont. Yet that’s not the fantasy part.

Both the first chapter of Battle of the Band and the first chapter of The Prodigal Band begin in the “beforetime” realm of God in heaven with the fallen angels being cast into the Abyss, and on Earth in the 1130s in Walltown, which in the year 1136 is burning, having been cursed by an evil Duke calling forth Demons to burn the residences of rebellious serfs. Meanwhile angelic forces entering the city through a portal where a three-part angelic statue is being built, come to inhabit that statue where they sit in spirit as they put out the fire. Since the statue-figures have music horns, the statue is called The Tooters.

Another force for good–truly a fantasy character–an old woman considered a ‘witch’ by the locals, Morwenna being her name, is able to channel The Tooters for the cause of good. As she is given a song that will be passed down to future generations to save the town from evil, she suddenly by divine intervention becomes young again, and is able to mate with the man who will raise a son to pass down the song for over 800 years. What can be more fantasy than a woman who grows old and young and old and young for 800 years to assure the song is passed down to what would become a ‘prophesied’ band.

Unlike previous ‘snippet’ posts with two or three snippets from one book or all three, this post will only include one snippet, from Chapter One of The Prodigal Band.


In the Battle of the Beforetime

 

Before God created mankind, He created angels, the ‘Sons of God’ as told in the Book of Genesis. Administrators—Principalities and Powers—for His plans on Earth He created. They were given powers over the creatures of the Earth according to His Will. Except the ‘Light Bearer,’ Satan, didn’t want to serve God. He wanted to be God, and God simply wouldn’t allow it. So Satan, with the ‘fallen angels,’ fought against God and His angels, lost the battle, and was cast down as far as they could be into the Abyss.

Called Satan in many instances within the Bible, God’s chief adversary had other names, such as Lucifer, mentioned in Isaiah 14. But a tribe of cannibals conquered by the Romans in 50 AD known as the Crag-Dwellers, who lived in the Craggy Mountains of Wales, called him Corion, as referenced by a Roman historian. Corion was their god. The Druids were their enemies.

 

On Earth, 1136 A.D.; In Heaven, timelessness

 

Foreordained, it was time to send the message.

So it happened that three angels took up spirit-residence within an as-yet-to-be completed granite three-part statue of winged trumpeters called The Tooters, at the north gate of a green-grass marketplace in the midst of Wall Town.

But the grass and the marketplace and the surrounding wood-dwellings wore dancing flames in rhapsody fanned by Demon breath. For the fourth Duke of Effingchester had to burn a peasant army and their homes to the ground to preserve his power over them.

A dilapidated quarter due east of the statue, the Hovels, was spared the fire, but Corion bade the Demons hold sway there. The serfs Effingchester refused to emancipate must forever be in debt.

Within the smoky pall around her, Morwenna, called by some the Witch of the Hovels with her scars of great age and scraggly gray hair, stood before huts of twig and scrap wood. In an instant her arthritic hands glowed with supernatural cure. The Tooters had told her she would survive eight-hundred-plus years to warn the chosen minstrels of Demon destruction and guide them to the Way.

“A—rock band, you say?” She laughed a wizened laugh. “Imagine! Rocks playing music. What a wonder of God!”

Morwenna then looked up in the westward direction of the voice of The Tooters. “What be their names?”

Soft and mellow, Tooter Three answered, “The Creator has told us their name. Their name will be sound, unlimited. Their sound will be of The Creator. Yet the Demons will try their evil magic with them. It will be they will fall under Corion for a way. But Our Creator has decided. It is this sound, unlimited that will minister the youth to His Will. Only then can they and the youth be prepared.”

Still wondering over her now-youthful hands, Morwenna spoke. “Yes, but—” Her voice quivered. “How will they know?”

“You will tell them. You will give them their name.”

“So I will tell them in 800 years?”

“Yes. You will grow old, then young, then old, then young. For 800 years. You will not see death until the mission God has given you and we have imparted to you, has ended.”

“But—”

“Impossible, yes. But with the All Mighty God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and all things seen and unseen, all things are possible.”

“So, I am doing the Will of God.”

“Yes. And we, His angels, are telling you this.”

“So it is true.”

“Yes. God does not lie.”

Tooter Three then spoke to the partners. “And at the appointed time, only they will see and hear her. Morwenna is now a spirit for Good. We have given her the power to know His chosen ones and to give them an unseen guiding hand.” The spirit turned away and laughed. “To use the parlance of those future times—they won’t even know Who hit them.”

Morwenna was now a young maiden.

Nearby, a dazed lute player, not realizing he had wandered that far eastward from his usual marketplace milieu, fell prostrate from smoke inhalation. Cough, cough. He laid his instrument on the dirty ground.

A voice called to his prone form. “Minstrel, we will now give you a song. You will play it and pass it on. It will one day save the young from evil. Your bloodline will perform it.”

He sat up instantly in vexation. His name was Mollock.

Soon Morwenna approached the musician.

“Eh, fair lass,” Mollock called to her, “that song. You hear it?”

She looked toward the statue. “I know the song you mean. You are to preserve it for your posterity.”

He sat up. “Are you the giver of the song, pretty maiden?”

“Well—” He’d never believe it if I told him it was the statue. “Yes,” she fibbed, “it was me who sang it. But you will pass it on. You will give it to your son to pass to your generations.”

Startled. “Son? Young lassie, I don’t have a son.”

So she gave him one.

And that son would turn out to be the one to pass down that song, the most important song in the entire trilogy. To find out why, you will just have to buy the book. Here are all the online bookstore links you would need.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Links to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play and More to Purchase Books

As one can tell I am busy promoting or marketing or whatever you want to call it, The Prodigal Band Trilogy. And why not? I put in many, many hours and even years writing and formatting and having the books printed and creating covers and figuring out the most cost-effective way to get the word of my books out there, globally. I could have just chosen Lulu’s or Amazon’s e-book formats and uploaded the book myself but what if the book is just consigned to the rejection pile? Because believe it or not just because you upload a book doesn’t mean an error message won’t pop up or that the online retail outfit will do anything to help sell the book. After reading various publisher blog help posts I realized I had to get this job done with a lot of help. That is why I went with Lulu’s Publishing Service–GlobalREACH. With a little divine intervention…
Here are the links to purchase either the softcover or e-book versions:

Amazon/Kindle softcover and e-book link

Barnes & Noble/Nook softcover and e-book link

Kobo link

Google Play link

Lulu and iBookstore link softcover and e-book

Links to other softcover stores via Goodreads

Links to other e-book stores via Goodreads

I have also partnered with BookBub for marketing purposes and they will have their links up shortly to Amazon, Barnes &Noble, Kobo, Google Play, and the Apple iBookstore.