The Keeper of the Manuscript

THE KEEPER of the MANUSCRIPT
An inspirational fiction of battle and love, familiarity and risk.

The Introduction

Fully counscious but not confined to their familiar limiting beliefs, the reader-of Prestons Manuscript-finds that all five senses are tantalized by these mystical writings. The only real difference between Preston and a primed soul is that Preston knows why he is here and what power we hold at our unbelieving fingure tips to craft the life of a god. Each captivating page gives invitation to the potential of a magic-filled life that we only dreamed of as a child. Preston knows well the magic and bliss of living the life offered in the Manuscript.

As proven in the Manuscript the gods like to make things interesting, and, so, Preston is sent to us bearing the burden of only one weekness ... He has fought many battles, some lost, and some won. Will Preston win this one with Sarah ...?

CHAPTER 1

His feet were getting heavier with every step, as he ran. Mud from the forest floor sticking to his already heavy leather boots. Prestons training making him able to ignore his screaming thighs and begging lungs. His eight years as a Ranger, active in three wars, P.O.W. for one year following his first assignment and countless secret combat missions, hardened him in many ways. But a brother to innocent younger siblings and the gentle, happy ways of his Mother, played to keep the soft spot in his heart and encouraged his drive to serve and protect. Prestons father had once taken him alone to a YO-Yo Ma concert. At one point Preston looked up at his dad. His studying the big man, who was sure to live for ever, had gone un-noticed. The stage lights revealing pools of tears in the big mans eyes. Then at once and with out warning, Prestons own tears gave expression of his love and respect for his father, darkening brown dops falling on his best shirt. Following the concert a slice of pie was the perfect ending for the night. The waitress brought two plates of coconut cream. Prestons red-rimmed, blood shot eyes were straining to stay awake as he intently listened to the the big mans passionate love of music. Of that unforgetable night, one thing his dad had told him, had given Preston stability in his darkest afflictions in the years to come. "Son." He began, with his big harry hand waving in the air like was still hearing music. "As strings of a cello are asked by the master to reveal his many secrets, our life is our showcase. Sometimes music is gentle and conclusive and sometimes a choppy and an unending reprise. You live to be you! Your life is your music." And with that he lowered his palm on the table sending a short understanding grin across to his son. How Preston remembered every word he wasn't sure because at the time it seemed to be a discourse in a foreign language. However, later this became his lifes cornerstone.
But now his fathers voice booming his counsel in his head as he ran. Preston had found the trail again, it allowed him to move much faster. But would it be fast enough? Had the army found the trail also? How far behind are they...? After a grueling ten-minute run he immediately came to the end of the foresight he had seen earlier while hiding near the four-hundred foot waterfall. If he hadn't been interrupted back there he would have known what to do at this point but he hadn't had the time. Blinded by dense fog and the approaching darkness, Preston was limited to the knowledge he could gain from fleeting moments of meditation, so he ran. Leaning back, to come to a stop, expecting only a short skid, his feet slid out from underneath him and he went down hard burying his shoulder deep in the mud. He was surprised by the sound and the echo that reverberated in his head. A splash and a crack, rather than a dull thud. What had his head struck in the mud? It dazed him and he lay there. But even a split second was too long and he knew it. "Get moving!" Prestons inner voice sounding like a harden drill sargent.
Preston couldn't tell if the bump on his head was actually bleeding or if it was just rainwater and sweat pouring in to his eyes. He reached up to examine it with his long, deft fingers. Eyes swimming and head pounding increasingly, he probed to determine the extent of his wound. His long, black hair was caked with rainforest soil that clung to his handsome face. The light, or lack of it, was insufficient to see the color of the substance on his fingertips. He wasn't all that surprised to taste blood; a lot of dirty blood at that. This isn't good, it can't end this way, he thought. His breathing only slightly slowed as he worked to regain a state of awareness, but he knew he was too vulnerable and he must move. His thoughts waged a small battle of priorities between what he knew he must do and his need to find protection. And somewhere between those thoughts he sensed the powerful vibrating pulse of a root. He knew it had to be near him, just off the trail. He rolled over and found himself up against it. Even if it was only for a few minutes he would hide here. It would be enough.
Almost instantaneously his meditation produced what he needed. A divine map of the next stage through the dense rainforest flashed in his mind along with his enemies angry, war torn face screaming directions to his frantic and starved army. Prestons first move was to jump the root at his side, cross a shallow river riddled with enormous slippery boulders, and climb roughly fifty paces up a steep embankment. If he made it that far, he would then race across a two-hundred fifty-foot fallen tree, turn ninety degrees south and make his way through a hundred yards of very tall roots, and crawl deep into the buttress root system of a two-hundred foot old growth cedar. The butress roots were like giant legs that held the trees off the ground. In some instances the soil had been washed out from under the trees by flooding rains leaving a type of shelter if you could weave yourself between the legs. His innerself had given him a path to one such tree. There were many of these trees here in this forest but Preston could tell that the path was to help hide his trail from his pursuers. He must get to this shelter now, because there he would have enough time to heal his wounds and they couldn't be far behind. As an enlightened Master, Preston not only had the ability to heal his wounds immediately he also had the ability to heighten his senses and recharge the powers of his belief. As he reached samadhi (deep silence) his abilities, that already surpass what most people think of as super powers, increased. But, to do this he must be still, very still. And his pursuers knew this. Preston's condition worsened, but his youthful body and immortal mind looked forward to the coming obstacle course as a challenge rather than an impossibility. From a crouch he jumped as high as he could, digging his fingers deep into the bark. In one fluid, easy motion he vaulted the rest of the eight-foot root that stretched along the floor of the rainforest. He landed in the soft mud on the other side already at a run and scanned the scene before him. His boots made wet suction sounds with every step and got louder and deeper as he approached the riverbank. It was a fast flowing, but shallow river peppered with boulders that stretched to impressive sky-reaching heights. This river originated from the largest spring in the forest, sending its body commandingly along the valley floor. Preston had learned ages ago to relish each moment and live his life in every step, not skip over creation's efforts and imaginations; he felt as one with it all as if every rock and drop of water was there to support his efforts. As he ran, his breath met the song of the birds he heard up in the canopy and the blood in his veins pulsed at the tempo of the water splashing against those formidable boulders. The path was just as he had seen, with enough room for him to get between the boulders while staying at the water level. Only twice did he scramble partway up two rocks, that had formed a seemless marriage long ago, only to slide back down to the river. The water was cold and some of the rocks were sharp, but he didn't slow is pace. He couldn't feel the pain of an external injury, but he knew that his wounded or battered and bruise body had the potential to limit the success of his mission.
By grabbing roots and slippery strangler fig branches to pull himself up the far side of the river he reached the windfallen tree. He figured that he could climb about twenty-five feet up the rootwad to get in a position to make it to the "top" of the tree. He leaped to the lowest small root that stuck straight out as if pointing down the river bank. He caught it, instinctively wrapping his fingers most of the way around as a foundation for his next thrust toward the forest canopy. He moved with such smooth and powerful ease that if someone had been watching, it would have appeared that he simply jumped to the topside of the tree trunk. Preston briefly thought that more light would be tremendously helpful or even a slight lifting of the cursed fog. He replayed the vision he had seen earlier with samadhi as he turned his back to the river and pointed himself to the smaller end of the fallen tree. This tree, like most here, was as wide as some of the two-lane country roads he had seen during his meeting with the last Primed Soul, whom he was fighting and running for. Many years before when the tree had stood upright the branches had given it a lopsided look with most of them reaching out over the river. As it fell, the weight of the branches rotated the tree leaving a pretty clear path for Preston. Its enormous weight had snapped off most of the branches which were thrust deep into the forest floor leaving jagged posts along both sides of the trunk. Preston used these as landmarks of direction and to measure the distance he had traveled. Like a deer that had been spooked by some sound in the forest he reached the end in a matter of seconds. The twenty-foot drop off the end was nothing for him and he wondered how he was doing on time. The roots in this part of the forest were huge with some of them reaching as high as fifteen feet and he had a hundred yards he needed to get through. The protection of the the dense canopy allowed the nutrients in the soil to stay near the surface causing the roots to stretch along above ground to get needed food. This was common in this part of the rainforest and they would come in handy for Preston to find a moment of solace. There were many roots ahead and his health was fading fast. Once he reached that buttress shelter he would be able to repair his own body through meditation, reach samadhi, and turn his attention to the Primed Soul.
Preston made his way over the first root and was standing on the second when he caught the first whiff since the waterfall of his enemy; Fallon. Preston knew he was downwind, and turned to calculate the distance between them and to gauge the chances of going unnoticed. They were close! He instinctively knelt down palms deep in the thick moss, thumbs pointing toward each other. His knee slid on the moss, then Preston felt it breakunder his feet. He was sliding toward the ground and fast. If he fought it, his scratching at the bark of the moss-covered root, would make even more noise. He decided to make the best of it and leaped for the next root. Hurling his body across the fifteen-foot gap wasn't much more graceful than his landing. His best reactionary effort had caught him short of his target. Preston tried to grab the top of the root with both hands exposing his rib cage. With only a handful of shallow-rooted moss and the sound of his breath escaping him, he slid to the ground.
All of this action couldn't have gone unnoticed by Fallon. Pausing only a second, he could hear the approaching screams of emptiness from Fallon's dogs. These dogs were not like any seen in the world of the Primed Souls. They didn't bark they only screamed and they were purposefully starved of any food save the vegetation that Preston had touched. This "diet" gave them just enough nutrition while Preston's scent gave them a reason to live and hunt. Fallon's army, comprised of a number ranging in the thousands, were skilled in battle and very strong. These men and women eat their human prey alive and are a most powerful force of death and while deceptively beautiful at the same time. Preston had fierce battles with some of the best looking men he had ever seen, and had been stabbed or choked many times by such goddesses that their beauty alone should have melted him. To Preston this wasn't a game, but he wasn't afraid either. Suddenly, they were upon him. Running between two tall roots, Preston couldn't tell if he was heading toward freedom or a dead-end. The ravenous canine screams were getting louder and echoing around him. They were coming from ahead as well. A dead end.

***

Jolted into consciousness Preston could tell his eyes were swollen and all his clothes had been torn from his body. Some time had passed, but how much? Fallon must have trapped him in the roots. He could tell he had been dragged for many miles and many days. How long had he been unconscious? Where were they now? Why had they stopped? Even more pressing, would Fallon win this Primed Soul? He must still be in the forest, but why couldn't he move even a finger? Preston's hazy condition limited his ability to answer any of these questions. Without warning, his head jerked to one side followed by a loud, sharp sound. Fallon had struck him on the ear.
"Stay with me, you dirty, idealist son of a bitch!"
Almost instantly his head snapped back along with the same loud, clap. The ringing in his head was extremely loud as his mortal body threatened to take over and push him back into darkness.
"Oh, no way! No you don't, boy! You won't miss my victory! Give it to him, Dahlia girl!"
Preston could barely hear Fallon's voice. Then a face he had never seen before appeared in his blurry vision. He succumbed as a gorgeous woman hunkered down near him and took his face in her hands. She shoved his head against her upper thighs and waved a burning twig inches from his nose. Instantly he felt his thoughts become clear yet distant. Dahlia was taken by Preston's looks and reputation despite his bruises and thought she could hide the fact from Fallon. Her thumb slowly caressed his cheek as she felt his tense, rough, unshaven face. A burning sensation in her heart for the man she now held had flowed to her thighs were she captured the head of this most famed Master.
Preston's only thought was of the woman touching his face. And how that at another time they might share a patch of green grass and night of passion with his head ending up in her lap just like this.
"Get away from him, you undiscerning whore!" Fallon bellowed. Preston had almost forgotten where he was. Crack! Fallon back-handed Dahlia's temple. Preston's head lifted up as she flew backwards then thumped ungracefully to the ground. This only added to the army's roar of victory rumbling through the forest. Preston's support of this Primed Soul would have to begin again, another time. He knew that all that was left was Fallon's victory show, which had already begun, ending with Preston being dragged to the edge of the forest and kicked out, thus securing Fallon's temporary victory. Whatever this beautiful goddess, Dahlia, had given him would keep him awake for the remainder of Fallon's ravings. Preston could see the veins bulging in Fallon's neck and the dark red skin that shaded the large contour of this man/god fit to rule. Fallon, a keeper of the past and a reminder of the need for his dominance was knowingly trapped by his own exsistence. Fallon will never be freed and, therefore, he must remain forever serving his illusion. As Preston felt the plight of his enemy he knew his own freedom was quite near, but that of the Primed Soul was postponed once again.
"I am god!" Fallon continued. "I have led the pride of lions to its feast! Come and see the victory of your god!"
Burdened with his loss Preston chose not to listen to the dark screams of victory and defeat. He knew that before long they would demand for him to submit, but he chose to be still. Yes, he was! He was still! He hadn't been able to be for quite some time. Now he had one more small chance. In his still meditation he looked around the still dark forest in a deep samadhi and found a tunnellike hole in a pile of rocks just out of his reach. It was just big enough for him to fit his large shoulders. The rabid rantings of Fallons lordship and his army had reached epic volumes. Now was the time. He caught the eye of the goddess Dahlia, who was still obviously taken by his handsome appearance. She was smiling with apparently gentle eyes, albiet filled with lust. Preston motioned for her to remain quiet as he silently crawled deep into the hole. After four lengths of his body the tunnel opened up enough to sit up. He pulled rocks down from the ceiling to block the entrance and sat there to meditate in peace. Preston knew it wouldn't take Fallon long to see that he had escaped. Putting that from his mind he was filled with total peace. While repairing the wounds of his body, by believing his true self, he smelled smoke that had found its way through his stone barricade. Indeed, Fallon had discovered the loss of his captive. Fallon knew all Preston needed was to be still so why had he left him to lay there for so long? The parade of his reward and support of his essence had cost Fallon the loss of his trophy. The smoke was getting too strong for Preston to breathe as Fallon's army funneled it into the hole. As Preston looked around he perceived a small light deeper in the tunnel. It got bigger and brighter as he crawled toward it. His joy grew as he could see that he had discovered his way out. As his eyes adjusted his elation fell. He saw that Fallon had indeed won this time. For Preston had just climbed through the wall and was outside the forest.