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: Conspiracy

When I began writing the trilogy in the early 1990s was when various news reports of “militia movements” and “far right” “patriot” groups began hitting the mainstream media, highlighted by the incident at Ruby Ridge, Idaho, and the take down of David Koresh’s Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas. Then, a year before I published Battle of the Band, the first book in the trilogy, the Oklahoma City bombing happened. All of these events saw standoffs of sorts between some so-called patriot group and the Federal government. These and other incidents led many to start spouting “conspiracy theories” about a “new world order” group some called “the Illuminati” as well as secret societies ruled over by “dark forces.” I am not posting this to claim if these theories are true or not–I will leave that up to the reader.

But these theories and elite groups mentioned in the trilogy provide the counterpoint to the “good” side that the fictional rock band called Sound Unltd eventually sides with, having seen the “evil” side. Further, there are groups of elites in think tanks and secret societies, some considered satanic, that actually exist. Some of these groups and secret societies are fairly well-known. Finally, it isn’t just worldwide governments, economies, media and entertainment that these elites rule over. One snippet concerns control of weather and physical structures.

The first snippet introduces the characters that make up the fictional rock band the novels are about and also introduces the primary antagonists that conspire to use the band for their evil purposes. As with ‘the powers-that-be’ that many now know belong to secret societies, the evil-doers, in one of their secret meetings, discuss why the band was chosen, and in the process introduce the band characters. The last part of this snippet is rated R and was not included in the previous citation. (Previously linked here) A similar dialogue between these conspirators later in the book introduces the point man of the conspiracy, called Swami Negran, a New Age guru cult leader of sorts.


A small group of exceedingly powerful men sat in red plush chairs surrounding a polished mahogany table. In front of each participant lay grey leather folios that displayed the gold-leaf embossed symbol of the Novordo Club—a pagan cross radiating from a sun-circle encasing an s-like snake. The Demons watched over the assembled luminaries.

“See these men of Our Lord Lucifer?” Silver Demon said. “Their agenda bears our Corionic Cross which The Creator banished from His realm. The red crystals around their necks prove their allegiance to us. Whoever wears or minds those crystals of Our Lord shall heed our cause to own this small planet.”

“Their governments are implementing our political, financial, and social programs targeted by Our Lord for placement. This group of leaders will discuss how they will control the culture of the young of this world.” Gold Demon then whispered as if the men below might hear them. “It is today they will choose our troubadours of the new generation. Of course, we will make sure they choose our boys of the spoken-pact two years ago.”

Some of the men left the oak-paneled room to attend other Novordo Club meetings involving environmental policy. Those involved in deciding who would lead the world’s youth remained. These included Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau, head of the world’s largest banking cartel; a forty-two-year-old record mogul; and two media kingpins, Mr. X and Mr. Y.

“Talent manager Joe Phillips, that is, my wayward son,” the Baron said, “has a five-man band of ill-repute that has the talent-skills, the charisma, and the desire to succeed where all others must fail. More than anything, my son says. More than anything will this group perform to impassion the youth into a frenzy of hero-worship.”

The record mogul asked, “Are you referring to Sound Unltd? They’re not exactly a hot act right now.”

“Who the hell cares?” Mr. X asked. “Isn’t it us who decide who will own popular entertainment? That they aren’t now the top band is all the more reason to go with them. They’re obscure enough so as no one will ever guess our motivation for picking them.”

“They truly have it all,” Mr. Y said. “Their singer-lyricist Erik is, pardon the expression, a godsend. Matchless voice, and even better, his naughty operatics and pyrotechnics on stage drive girls and boys into the lap of devilish fanaticism. He lived in great poverty after his hated father abandoned his family and later died. This one’s in it primarily for the money.

“Their guitarist-composer Jack is already of hero-quality with his screaming guitar style. He led a street gang and demands perfection and unity from the others. He’s in it for the glory. Coincidentally, my agents told me that the guitarist believes he made a pact with Our Lord Lucifer for success. Both the singer and guitarist are handsome rogues with model-gorgeous girlfriends, perfect for the idol image both of them must project.

“Mick, their current bassist, is skinny with a beak for a nose and a long, pretty face surrounded by dark-brown hair ringlets down his back. He was sexually abused by his mother and neglected by his father. He’s in it for the perversion. A cultist who wears our symbol of the old Celtic Crag-Dwellers of the Craggy Mountains of Wales.

“Bryan, their keyboard synthist, is a bulky biker with bushy red hair and associates with bikers. He made his girlfriend pregnant last year and felt obliged to marry her. Reggie Lewis, a top studio musician, is helping him build a keyboard-effects synthesizer. He’s in it for the ride.

“Their drummer Tom lives with clairvoyant Prissy Wyatt and pretends to channel the god Corion for amusement. His father is indentured to the Duke of Effingchester. The young curly blond doesn’t know this. He’s in it to find out.

“Later, a sixth member, a Warwicke’s Ship Works riveter named Keith will rejoin them on bass. A strict follower of the outdated Code. But his dad was a womanizer. Like father, like son. He’s in it for the women.

“When the sextet is formed, they will be unstoppable.”

“So,” the mogul said, “you’re saying Sound Unltd won’t have any trouble winning over multitudes of fans? They’re that good?”

“My son thinks they’ll have an impact greater than any band before them,” Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau said, “and my agents, who do disparage their obscene antics, by the way, agree with my son. They’re fit to rule youth culture in the nineties. Sound Unltd stands for money, glory, perversion, self-interest, sex. You know, naked power at any price. Other acts will compete with them, but it has been decided.”

“You have decided, Baron,” the record mogul said. “I’ve never seen their so-called raunchy antics. How do I know Sound Unltd can best harness the basest desires of the young?”

Mr. X placed a cassette on the table. “The best I can do right now is to show you this video of a live performance at XanadU.” X put the tape into the VCR. “Not another band in the world does the routines these boys dare to do, though many come close.”

Music of raw, slow, hot passion set even middle-aged hormones ablaze.

The record company man watched and listened in titillated awe.

The first scene showed Erik singing with his hands down his skin-tight leather trousers.

Rub me, suck me, tease me, (bleep)

Then, with his exposed hands about his genitals, he humped a mic stand while moaning in climax.

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooooh, baby, (bleep) me dry

In the next scene Mick and Jack, on either side of Erik, jabbed their guitar necks into the singer’s awaiting rear. Scene four showed Jack and Mick flicking their tongues together as their bodies rubbed. Finally, Erik and Bryan butted each other’s rear-ends together atop the synthesizer which quickly exploded into red flames.

“These boys’ll do anything to rouse a crowd, won’t they?”

“That’s the point,” the Baron said. “They’ll do anything. The guitarist, their band leader, will drive them to greatness. Kids today don’t buy a product strictly on industry hype. The younger generation will follow them precisely because they are great.” Baron Torquay sipped his water. “And so, are we agreed about Sound Unltd?”

Each nodded. Each red crystal glowed heart red.

Torquay adjourned the meeting. “Let us now end the discussion with a prayer to Our Lord Lucifer.” The rotund aristocrat began the affirmation. “We are ever in service to you, god of darkness born in light. Your realm of power and pleasure shall purchase all who bear your light-cross symbol.”

The second snippet, narrated by pop culture pundit Jay Elliot, concerns a freakish physical earth event and the weather that coincides with an archealogical dig in the Welsh mountains sponsored by band album producer and guitarist Mick, a fan of the occult and Druidic lore. This comes from Chapter Seven of The Prophesied Band. Elliot calls Mick to find out more about this incident, which both consider some kind of conspiratorial event.


Summer, 1998

 

Now the preachers were sure of it. Seven years of tribulation were upon us. Half-way through this period in which Apocalypse’s fabled four horsemen—war, famine, pestilence, and death—would ride roughshod over sinner and saint alike, the Anti-Christ would reveal himself. All but the most devout of God would fall under his evil spells.

Until finally the Messiah would come again to save the devout.

People were urged to buy video- or audio-taped ‘wills’ for those ‘left behind.’ Some new-agers prepared welcome sites in deserts for enlightened ‘visitors’ in ‘rainbow ships’ whom would allow them to reach their ‘tenth consciousness.’

And those who would wait out the tribulation until the Second Coming or go down fighting some nebulous ‘new order’ of ‘illuminated ones’ dug in with guns and butter. Membership in militias, according to various cable news networks, grew into the millions. Media darlings as well as media outcasts warned of states of emergency almost daily. Race riots spread from city to city.

I was driving home to my new place by the Pacific waters—a secluded home I bought in a high-rent area a couple of months ago to escape a Richmont nearing ravage—wanting to turn off the radio as Reverend Ike Lawson exhorted for the hundredth time that day that we should read our Bibles. But I’m glad I didn’t. Next on the radio was this amazing bit of news.

“Would you believe an earthquake in Wales?” folksy syndicated radio columnist Paul Harvard asked rhetorically. “It’s true, folks. A five-point-fiver hit today in the central Craggy Mountains of Wales not far from an archeological dig for the nineteen-hundred-and-fifty-year-old bones of Crynnwagg, one High Priest of the Druidic Crag-Dweller sect. Dig sponsor Mick Pordengreau had this to say, ‘We’d been having problems finding any evidence of his bones for months. But we knew he was buried in this area. I truly believe this earthquake is a sign that we’ll find them.’ Never mind that an entire village was levelled.”

Cute, Harvard, cute.

When I got home at seven that evening I couldn’t keep my hot little fingers from dialing Mick at Holyhope, a full nine hours of time ahead of me. I knew he hardly ever slept until just before daybreak.

“Is that earthquake for real, Mick?”

“Shit, Jay. Me phone’s been ringing off the hook for an hour. I just started to sleep, eh?” He sounded tired and irritated. “Yeh, it’s real. And it killed twelve people so far. I’ve gotten several calls from charities begging me to give ‘em a big load o’ bread for their earthquake funds. But I’ve already told the town leaders I’m donating whatever money they need. A lot of these folks helped out with the Crynnwagg dig, and with a couple o’ videos the band did earlier this year.”

“The two Crag-Dweller songs on Seccond Coming.”

“Yeh. These are good people here. You know they never hassled me about my lifestyle. We get along.”

Of course it’s not every day a remote Welsh village has a world-renowned musician-producer in their midst, even if a bit kinky. But his Crynnwagg dig very much put the town on the map, and money in their tiny gift shops.

“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.”

The third snippet from The Prodigal Band, Chapter Eight (Chapter Ten in the PDF version) features the same group of evil-doers but with newer members making plans to deal with the band which appears to be reneging on their original “oath” to the forces of evil.


Inner sanctum of the Hellyon Society at Torquay Hall, June 14, 2001

 

A glowing hot ring of fire embedded within a pentagram and reflected in the faces of Torquay, Effingchester, Rodney Davis, Messrs. X and Y and eight others as they stood, in black robes with black hoods covering their foreheads, in a circle surrounding the fire. They held up crystal goblets filled with a blood red wine.

“To Cole Blessing,” Torquay began the toast. “He served us well, and he put the planet, and Our Lord Lucifer, above everything else. He served our cause to the fullest.”

They clinked glasses.

“Being impaled on a bedpost!” Davis snickered. “Crap, if I wanted to kill somebody—”

“You always want to kill somebody,” Effingchester scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Marty, but I wouldn’t have picked him up and put him through a bedpost. Anyone know who did it?”

“None of us,” X said, “and, as far as I know, everyone who knew Blessing has already been cleared. I personally think it really was an accident.”

“Right,” Davis sneered, “just what the media says.”

“And who do you think told them to say that?”

Murmurs all around, some muffled laughter.

“But Blessing isn’t why we’re here, you know?” Davis had no love lost for the spirit healer of the St. Xenos ashram. “It is past time for us to have gained the complete and total allegiance of Sound Unltd. Way past time!”

“We have their allegiance,” Y said. “We’ve had their allegiance since Swami Negran inducted them into the Circle of Unity.”

“Right!” Davis grew angry, trashed his cup, and stomped out of his point into the center of the pentagram, by the fire. “That’s a load of crap! I know for a fact that they stopped following the Circle of Unity since those heart attacks of theirs. I know for a fact that they’ve repudiated Negran since Mick found out Negran killed Adam Bloodlove. I also know for a fact that instead of following Blessing, they went chasing after the meaning of that blasted Walltown Code, have communicated with someone called the Witch of the Hovels and have had miraculous messages from that Tooters statue of theirs! Now, does anyone here really think that Corion is pleased with our piss-poor efforts? We were supposed to have them signed, sealed, and their souls delivered by now. I guarantee it, he was not at all pleased with Cole Blessing’s botching of that job. The same way he was not pleased with Swami! And I, for one, don’t want to wind up in their shoes!” The promoter was livid now, flailing his arms. “We’ve got to do something! Now or never!”

Marty then stepped out to commiserate with Davis. “I admit we haven’t been on our guard over them. But that miracle business will soon be forgotten if it hasn’t already, and those six will get back to normal. At this point, Rod, they couldn’t leave all their wealth and power behind even if they wanted to. They are wedded to the elite just as surely as we are.”

“But they need to take the oath, Marty. They need to come right in here, drink blood, sign the oath in blood, do the ceremony just like all of us have, and then I’ll know—we’ll know—that they belong to Corion and Our Lord Lucifer. Then we’ll know that we’ll be side by side with him when he comes back to rule the world. Then we’ll know that Corion won’t gnaw on us forever!” Davis was now pleading in desperation. “We have got to get them in here! One by one in chains if we have to, but we have to prove to Corion that we mean business!”

“So how do we do that without exposing ourselves?” Torquay, usually assured of every Novordo plot, was now at a loss and nervous about being at a loss. “We can’t kill them until they’ve signed the oath. And scaring them into signing an oath would tip them off.”

“What ‘tip them off’?” Davis would have no excuses. He faced down Torquay. “Tip them off to what? They have no idea about what we want them to do. The ‘tip off’ as you put it comes when they are threatened with losing all that money and power they’ve acquired. That we’ve allowed them to acquire! They either sign on, or we wipe them out financially and any other way we can come up with. Maybe a few accidents, you know what I mean?”

Effingchester stepped back into the circle. “We must never soften our stance, you know. We must screw them over until it is done. And their women too, you know. They must suffer also. And their children. And their families. They must be ruined. Completely and utterly.”

“Works for me,” X said. “Too bad. They’ve always had such productive unit-sales.”

Y concurred. “Yes, they really know how to make a hit. They’ve got the most loyal fans in the world. It really is too bad we have to lose them.”

“Well,” Davis said, “it’s either them or us. That’s all there is to it.”

Now, if you want to know what this conspiracy involves, you may just have to buy the book–no spoiler alerts this time!

You can purchase the entire The Prodigal Band Trilogy at my author spotlight page 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.

 

 

Starting This Week: Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy by Category

I cannot think of a better way to nudge folks into buying any of my books that comprise The Prodigal Band Trilogy than to provide snippets from the books, mostly snippets from the ‘three-books-in-one’ but also from the original printed novels and free PDF.

The categories include: Comedy, Conspiracy, Drama, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, Occult, Romance, Satire, Spiritual and Suspense. Some of these categories are also fiction genres, but my novels do not conform to one or two particular genres, thus the genre I chose for the Lulu-published The Prodigal Band Trilogy was Adult, General.

When a snippet from the novel is presented I will provide some background information regarding characters, setting, sub-plot, etc.

Below is an example, with the category being Conspiracy. The snippet introduces the characters that make up the fictional rock band the novels are about and also introduces the primary antagonists that conspire to use the band for their evil purposes. As with ‘the powers-that-be’ that many now know belong to secret societies, the evil-doers, in one of their secret meetings, discuss why the band was chosen, and in the process introduce the band characters. From Chapter One of Battle of the Band, from the first part of The Prodigal Band Trilogy.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy, printed and e-book versions, can be purchased here.  The e-book is on E-Pub format and can be read on an E-Reader easily by downloading Calibre E-Book Management

For Kindle Readers, download and install Calibre, download the novel after purchase, put the e-book into the Calibre Library, transfer the E-Pub format into MOBI format, then transfer the e-book to the Kindle device or laptop app. Shortly, The Prodigal Band Trilogy should be available from Amazon for all Kindle Readers.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy is © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde. Rights Reserved. Battle of the Band is © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde. All Rights Reserved. (Original printed version)

***

A small group of exceedingly powerful men sat in red plush chairs surrounding a polished mahogany table. In front of each participant lay grey leather folios that displayed the gold-leaf embossed symbol of the Novordo Club—a pagan cross radiating from a sun-circle encasing an s-like snake. The Demons watched over the assembled luminaries.

“See these men of Our Lord Lucifer?” Silver Demon said. “Their agenda bears our Corionic Cross which The Creator banished from His realm. The red crystals around their necks prove their allegiance to us. Whoever wears or minds those crystals of Our Lord shall heed our cause to own this small planet.”

“Their governments are implementing our political, financial, and social programs targeted by Our Lord for placement. This group of leaders will discuss how they will control the culture of the young of this world.” Gold Demon then whispered as if the men below might hear them. “It is today they will choose our troubadours of the new generation. Of course, we will make sure they choose our boys of the spoken-pact two years ago.”

Some of the men left the oak-paneled room to attend other Novordo Club meetings involving environmental policy. Those involved in deciding who would lead the world’s youth remained. These included Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau, head of the world’s largest banking cartel; a forty-two-year-old record mogul; and two media kingpins, Mr. X and Mr. Y.

“Talent manager Joe Phillips, that is, my wayward son,” the Baron said, “has a five-man band of ill-repute that has the talent-skills, the charisma, and the desire to succeed where all others must fail. More than anything, my son says. More than anything will this group perform to impassion the youth into a frenzy of hero-worship.”

The record mogul asked, “Are you referring to Sound Unltd? They’re not exactly a hot act right now.”

“Who the hell cares?” Mr. X asked. “Isn’t it us who decide who will own popular entertainment? That they aren’t now the top band is all the more reason to go with them. They’re obscure enough so as no one will ever guess our motivation for picking them.”

“They truly have it all,” Mr. Y said. “Their singer-lyricist Erik is, pardon the expression, a godsend. Matchless voice, and even better, his naughty operatics and pyrotechnics on stage drive girls and boys into the lap of devilish fanaticism. He lived in great poverty after his hated father abandoned his family and later died. This one’s in it primarily for the money.

“Their guitarist-composer Jack is already of hero-quality with his screaming guitar style. He led a street gang and demands perfection and unity from the others. He’s in it for the glory. Coincidentally, my agents told me that the guitarist believes he made a pact with Our Lord Lucifer for success. Both the singer and guitarist are handsome rogues with model-gorgeous girlfriends, perfect for the idol image both of them must project.

“Mick, their current bassist, is skinny with a beak for a nose and a long, pretty face surrounded by dark-brown hair ringlets down his back. He was sexually abused by his mother and neglected by his father. He’s in it for the perversion. A cultist who wears our symbol of the old Celtic Crag-Dwellers of the Craggy Mountains of Wales.

“Bryan, their keyboard synthist, is a bulky biker with bushy red hair and associates with bikers. He made his girlfriend pregnant last year and felt obliged to marry her. Reggie Lewis, a top studio musician, is helping him build a keyboard-effects synthesizer. He’s in it for the ride.

“Their drummer Tom lives with clairvoyant Prissy Wyatt and pretends to channel the god Corion for amusement. His father is indentured to the Duke of Effingchester. The young curly blond doesn’t know this. He’s in it to find out.

“Later, a sixth member, a Warwicke’s Ship Works riveter named Keith will rejoin them on bass. A strict follower of the outdated Code. But his dad was a womanizer. Like father, like son. He’s in it for the women.

“When the sextet is formed, they will be unstoppable.”