Beyond Faith

Prologue

T he summoning of the new spiritual future gained momentum when an ancient relic was discovered. The relic was found outside the coastal port of Acre, in an abandoned well. Incredibly, the clay urn had remained intact for more than a thousand years. The clay urn contained a scroll, which was made from vellum. The undamaged scroll featured symbols and letters written in a dialect, never seen before.

It was recovered by the son of a fisherman in the year of 1191 AD. There was little interest or excitement displayed at the time, about the historic find. The fanfare for King Richard the Lion Heart had taken precedence. The king had arrived on his Holy Crusade to find the city of Acre under siege.

As one of the former French Christian hostages walked along the beach savouring his freedom, he caught sight of the same boy. He was waving the scroll around like a magician’s wand. The gentlest of persuasion prevailed and the foolish boy exchanged it willingly, for a wooden sword.

The soldier had meticulously whittled the sword to occupy his time, during the siege inside the castle walls. The soldier was about to claim the greatest gift in history.

Logically, the scroll’s journey should have been back to France, once the Crusades had ended. However, the soldier disappeared under strange circumstances. There had been reportedly, a heated dispute with other soldiers from his battalion, about its true value to Christianity.

Whilst there was no question about its authenticity, the consensus was that it resembled the work of the devil. The language was unreadable. It also looked like no other text including; Syriac and Aramaic. It was therefore, not written by the disciples of Jesus Christ.

Once the scroll had allegedly left the Middle East, rumours quickly spread about the existence of a secret cult devoting their lives to translating the mystical text. They allegedly went into hiding, fearing the forceful oppression of the supreme authority of the church.

The fate of the scroll remained unknown for centuries until a student named Baltus Kol-Mangels, befriended a novice Polish priest called Maximilian Kolbe. They were both studying theology at the Collegio Serafico in Rome in 1915, at the time.

Privately, Baltus spoke passionately to Maximilian Kolbe of a disturbing vision, which left him questioning his commitment to the Catholic faith.

In this vision, he described walking towards a monk-like figure holding the mysterious scroll. The monk was shaking his head. He was warning Baltus about the contents, because they conflicted with his strong religious beliefs.

The temptation however, was too great. In order to become the first person to learn of its secrets, Baltus stole the scroll without hesitation.

As Kol-Mangels unravelled the scroll, the ghostly monk transformed his shape into pure light. Behind the waterfalls of cascading light, was a terrifying noise. The screeching of incomprehensible words, rained down over the head of Kol-Mangels.

The cacophony of noise deafened him, for what seemed to be an eternity. A single hand then reached out of the light, to mark his forehead.

An uplifted soul and restored hearing, was the resultant outcome of the experience. Kol-Mangels also knew that the theft of the scroll was undeniably shameful. He also believed it was sinful.

Baltus Kol-Mangels never became a priest, because of his haunting vision. He also never mentioned his prophetic dreams in public again. Historians however, observed the appearance of cryptic symbols in his personal manuscripts, faithfully recorded at that time.

Whilst the manuscripts spoke primarily of his spiritual abandonment of the Catholic faith, the meaning of the symbols became a revelation. The sequential order of the dashes and symbols, also suggested there was another secret to be unearthed. Kol-Mangels knew about the manuscript’s precise location.

For those etymologists who pursued the challenge, analysis of these symbols proved to be richly rewarding. It represented the rebirth of spiritual life.

In other words, it mapped the gradual ending of one spiritual life on earth and the dawning of a new spiritual reign, in the heavens. The new spiritual era was marked by strange objects in the sky—possibly, star bursts or exploding planets. Below this astral activity, stick-like figures appeared to be sheltering inside a triangular shaped construction.

In August 1941, the Germans at Amtitz in Poland martyred Father Kolbe, after he volunteered to take the place of another prisoner. When word finally reached Baltus about Father Kolbe’s ultimate sacrifice, despair descended over him. It was like a dark cloud. He subsequently sought refuge inside the basement of a music theatre, in Munich.

Baltus greatly admired the actions of Father Kolbe and his despair, was not for loss of his dear friend. It was for his own life of unfulfilled promise, which was the result of his public desertion of faith. In this state of introspective analysis, he decided to emulate the ultimate sacrifice of his friend.

Fortunately for historians, a young German boy was listening through the half-opened basement window, below the music theatre. He later reported to authorities, the final words uttered by Baltus.

With little emotion, Baltus spoke to the boy about how he intentionally planned to starve himself to death. He also announced that he would only pray to his dear friend Maximilian, since he believed he had already ascended.

His prayer was instrumental in setting his soul free. Finally, he could liberate his life from the self-made torment of his frightening vision.

Following his excruciating death, strange scratch markings were located on the walls of this makeshift starvation room. Baltus had spent his final months alone, forsaken by all.

He had abandoned his faith. However, he was at peace. Only when the light of the moon highlighted the rough plastered walls through the basement window, did the scratch marks reveal their true meaning.

The Latin words gained popularity, as the lighthouse for the new pioneers of the modern age—a shining beacon of hope.

When translated into English, they proved to be a revelation: This life does not end, until we have ascended to a new world—the new world in view. We will follow men to the stars, never daring to question the way.

These were not the final words of a desperate man. This was not a man enduring pain nor coming to terms, with his mortality. These were clinical words. Their intention was oozing with absolute clarity. The ultimate quest now appeared to be within the reach of mortals.

This epitaph, now unlocked the cryptic writings of Kol-Mangels. This new world of spirituality, allegedly existed in another dimension.

The challenge for humanity was to learn how to locate this Nirvana, before returning to the present world to right the wrongs. The mastering of time travel, became the only means of visiting this elusive paradise.

How did these words of Latin written on the walls of a makeshift death chamber, launch a secret revolution of philosophers and free thinkers?

These new spiritual pioneers would dare to venture beyond the edge of conventional beliefs. They would seek an undiscovered world of vast emptiness, outside of the unearthly shadows.

Their curiosity fuelled the myths about pulsating fields of energy. These energy zones could resist the natural laws of the universe. A new spirit of adventure was forged. Unmarked doorways that could penetrate the fabric of time became the ultimate quest. The search was on.

Decades later, we are still battling the fear of the unknown. One day soon, we will learn to look inside that nothingness. We will collectively imagine the unfathomable universe, as an artificial room devoid of light.

This quest will hopefully, set us free. When perpetual space travel becomes a reality, we will truly understand everything there is to know.

Until then, there are only the clumsy words of the ancient poets to articulate these dreams. They shall describe the sheer rapture of pushing through the boundaries of time.

The sensitive poet best captures the essence of this sensory experience. A journey through the universe becomes the innocent wanderings of a lost child, in the countryside. The child stumbles carelessly onto a protected gate set within a drystone wall, hidden for centuries.

The words are images and the images, change back to words— words, which burn inside our collective consciousness.

We all contemplate the possibilities. All humanity is on a journey together, leading to a hidden garden gate.

The gate lies at the end of the rarely travelled, pot-holed road. That road is the unknown future. It will be the excitement of mouthing the quietest of whispers and knowing it is enough of a vibration, to open that gate.

Once inside the previously unexplored garden, the traveller will discover a strange, mutated landscape. This is a vaguely familiar, yet vastly different landscape.

In some quiet corners, it will appear to resemble overgrown orchards of over-ripe and fruit-laden pear and apple trees. In other sections there will be only twisted, malformed shapes, which make no sense to the human eye.

Within this walled garden of wonders, there will be silence upon silence and the beating of one’s own heart. The mind will create nostalgic sounds. Sounds, like the atmospheric moaning of that arthritic gate with its corroded hinges, will play softly in the mind.

Images of textured silver plants with serrated leaves will flicker, upon the retina. The finger-like stems will tremble with energy, from the new life that moves past it.

How can we truly call ourselves pioneers and explore new frontiers, if we do not embrace the associated dangers and unseen risks?

The journey into darkness requires an unprecedented, force of will. We must continually battle the manifestations of our collective fears to survive.

The question to pose is; will these journeymen be ostracised by the non-believers, once they fulfill their mission in the future? Perhaps, these outsiders will live out their days as the haunted exiled ones. These outcasts will battle their expulsion, from the real world.

However, all of the mysteries of the universe will be within our grasp because of these secret sojourns. It shall be the bravest of souls, who venture into the unknown.

In our time on planet earth, many may have visited and some may have even shared their supernatural gifts with the fortunate ones. So why have the chosen ones never once set foot, beyond the edge of time—until, now?

Who amongst us will have our lives touched by those gifted individuals? Will that gift be the key to unlock the future? More importantly, will this gift enable the recipient to see beyond the present and lead humanity to a better place?

Once the prophets of the world accept this gift, humanity will demand a more profound meaning and purpose to life.

If it were not for two events of global significance, one recipient of such a gift may never have discovered her true talents as a prophet.

The first significant event became a catalyst, for the emergence of a new belief system. The second significant event, involved a book written by someone very close to the recipient of the gift. This was a book professing to speak the truth. In reality, it would divide the whole world.

That special person was Elizabeth Kinsella. She discovered her gift at the tender age of nine years. In truth, her journey through life had only begun.

It became a journey for everyman. For our civilisation as a whole, the real sojourn was also just beginning. When Elizabeth Kinsella eventually discovered the true meaning of why she possessed such a gift, our survival into the future was never in doubt.

Paradoxically, Elizabeth Kinsella would need to seek out the past, in order to learn lessons for the future. In the future, the world would celebrate her achievements with the maxim: In the past, we seek the truth. In the light of the truth, we find a way to a new future.

Such is the power and beauty of words. If we close our eyes, we can almost believe in their magic.

I

Truth

If you are truth, then do not speak

Be silent. For even in these moments

When there are prayers and prayers, alone

Our restless souls, with its infinite questions

Shall know, which path to follow

Chapter One

A udrey Langmuir was a gifted writer who always dug a little bit deeper than her fellow historians. Factual reports about ancient cultures were interlaced with provocative comments, secret rituals and salacious gossip. Her slick, deft accounts often rivalled those modern day stories about celebrities.

Readers were encouraged to accompany Audrey along her imaginary flecked-white beaches, of undiscovered worlds. The quest was to seek out those brightly coloured truth stones that glistened in the sun.

The single mistake she would make as a writer was to assume that all of her readers were seeking the same objects of truth. Admittedly, the literary stones of truth that she loved to quote were lovingly polished, using her sound logic and intellect.

Unfortunately, Audrey failed to understand what motivated her readers when they were confronted with unpalatable facts. Emotional needs were all that mattered in the minds of the public at times such as these. In her naïve way, she believed too passionately in the quest for the truth, above everything else.

To Audrey, a discourse on religion should ultimately create a fuller understanding of life. She did not expect that it would lead to war on the streets.

How could one book, truly change the world? Yes, it was only a book but what dangerous words, they turned out to be.

Religious leaders vehemently opposed its findings. They fueled the flames of passion, immediately following its release. The anger spread like a forest fire. The uprising finally climaxed, after months of brooding tension. The demonstrations on the streets of Vancouver were described as being at the epicentre of the uprising.

Regrettably, the demonstrations soon escalated into violent clashes, which resulted in spilled blood in too many countries across the world.

At the time of the initial dissent, the full impact of this aptly labeled All Souls revolution, had yet to be revealed. In the short term however, it would be responsible for eradicating those countries that played host, to these dangerous religious skirmishes.

In fact, these countries would lose their borders and national identity. This would all happen within a thousand days of the book’s release.

Each provocative word from Audrey Langmuir’s book was like a clarion call to the rising tide of new believers. A New Heaven on Earth, was the compass for all those seeking a fixed light upon the horizon. To the believers, this controversial academic refused to bend to the ridicule and derisive comments.

Audrey remained steadfast in her beliefs that she had simply, reinterpreted historical events. It was her responsibility to challenge the conventional understanding of religion.

In media interviews, she usually responded to the hostile backlash with incredulity, quoting the following phrase: ‘So, I am a historian telling the truth, about the past. Please tell me, what is so wrong with that?’

At the book’s launch, she also claimed that the text contained cryptic messages, which were future markers along the evolutionary highway. It was an outrageous statement, designed to offend the wrong type of people.

To the masses who craved new beginnings, her words were like flaming arrows sent to light the fire of change. One spark, one flame, one idea, was all that the world needed to bring about the revolution.

Still, a book is only a book and the public reaction may have dissipated, over time. That is, if other events had not conspired to simultaneously, work in its favour.

If it had not been for that fateful event, Audrey Langmuir may have never reached the stratospheric heights of revolutionary thinking that she ultimately achieved.

The predictions she had written about became a reality.

With confident assurance, she foretold of the visitation of one of the Ancients. Audrey did not invent this term. It referred to an unearthly messenger, who would act as a catalyst for humanity’s survival into the future. The messenger would also watch over the end of these ignorant and spiteful final days, of spiritual conflict.

Audrey had predicted that it was necessary to bring these days to an end. This needed to occur before true healing could begin. There was no place for senseless petty rivalry, over the hearts and souls of men, women and children in her new world.

Unbeknown to Audrey, this unearthly messenger planned to appear on a deserted section of the waterfront, in Vancouver.

It was here that the emergence of new possibilities would collide with the shadows of the past. By a simple twist of fate, the evolutionary turning point would occur, in Audrey Langmuir’s hometown.

The conjunction between the future and present occurred at the precise moment that the blood moon, revealed itself. The sky on that unsettled night was ablaze with light. The image of the moon had a mystical quality. It resembled a winking eye amidst; imaginary charcoal and pewter tinged brushstrokes, layered thickly on an oversized artist’s canvas.

Later, many stories would mention that particular turning point in history. Future accounts would also describe the moon that evening, using vivid prose and imagery.

Witnesses spoke about the transformation of the blood moon, from a mere planetary object into a luminous ball of fire. It reportedly, mimicked a star of prophecy.

This spiritual messenger appeared to the world as a tall and graceful man, who possessed unblinking steel-grey eyes. He stood silhouetted, against the light from the front window of the Belle Aurore Men’s Hostel.

Perfectly positioned in a quiet corner away from the busy port area, the shelter was still close enough to be a part of the recognisable waterfront.

Behind the stranger, a torn and yellowed poster in the window advertised that infamous book launch. It declared with certainty: Only One Can Know the Absolute Truth.

The chosen one to receive his message was Alex Fall, the late night manager at Belle Aurore. Alex was completely unaware why she was to be the receiver.

However, she was already a dedicated believer in a different reality, for humanity. Alex was astute enough to understand the consequences of publicly sharing her love for Audrey’s ideas.

As a result, her devotion to Audrey remained a closely guarded secret. It was no coincidence that Audrey Langmuir was also the chief patron at Belle Aurore.

Alex had carefully chosen her place of employment. She desperately wanted to create an opportunity to meet her worshipped hero.

Alex had set up an underground movement with a secretive agenda. In the current climate of social unrest, any display of public support for Audrey’s revolutionary words would have been, courageously stupid. Despite the radical content, her message was irresistible. The angry voices would never diminish its importance.

Audrey Langmuir had proposed that a messianic type movement would rise up to become as influential, as the original Jesus movement.

This new movement of the people however, would bear no resemblance to modern day Christianity—or, any other mainstream religion, for that matter. It would bring about a new belief system and show the way, to the future. It was an audacious claim.

In fact, Audrey stated with absolute certainty that all conventional religions would face extinction—consigned, to the pages of history.

It was a controversial statement, which challenged their right to exist. She had singled out Christianity but ultimately, did not discriminate. All denominations of faith were included.

The majority of the backlash came specifically from non-Christian sources. It had been a complete surprise to Audrey given the intention of her book. In fact, it was in total contradiction to the core message of the book.

Audrey had deliberately targeted the future viability of the Christian faith, because of the recent actions of the church. Their demise would create a domino effect.

The opposing voices failed to accept the truth. The key to understanding the future of humanity’s survival no longer lay within religious conventionality.

Audrey proclaimed that we all needed to look beyond the walls of the world of religious rules and rituals. However, all the significant religious leaders across the planet quickly perceived this extraordinary message, as a direct threat to their survival.

Audrey’s followers felt concerned that this chaotic activity would block the true message, which the world desperately needed to hear.

The unearthly messenger stood silently in the shadows, as the light of the first of four consecutive blood moons, cast its spell across the waterfront. The messenger was waiting patiently, to make an entrance onto the world’s stage.

Alex Fall would be the receiver and her life would change forever. Up until that moment, she had believed her purpose in life was to disseminate Audrey’s radical ideas. In fact, this pending intervention would mark her place in history, for all time.

On that fateful evening, Alex stood alone in the foyer of Belle Aurore. Despite the poorly heated foyer, her diminutive frame was clothed only in a polo shirt and jeans. Her short black hair with burnt orange streaks looked unfashionably messy.

The phone rang with an urgent shrill. It was her boss, James Grant. With little disregard for the lateness of the hour, Grant informed her in his flat dispassionate tone that the prime waterfront city block, had been unfortunately sold to property developers.

Belle Aurore Men’s Hostel had survived on the waterfront for twenty years. Sympathetic, tut-tut noises uttered by Grant, caused Alex to burst into tears.

Grant failed to comprehend that her tears had nothing to do with the fate of her job, or the building’s demise. They related to her secret yearnings to meet Audrey. She had now failed in her mission.

As Grant explained with his carefully chosen and clipped words, ‘the shelter was on borrowed time.’ With its imminent closure, Alex and her staff would now be responsible for finding alternative facilities for their regular users.

Grant warned her that under no circumstances, ‘should new visitors be registered.’ The phone slammed down, leaving her hanging in her own private world of uncertainty.

Alex would be caught up in the crossfire, which would follow the messenger’s visit. This was always going to be the chosen site of universal convergence. According to the messenger’s unspoken intentions, it needed saving.

With Grant’s call, Alex despaired about all the plans she had made for her future. Her life-source was this homeless shelter, which was to about to be destroyed by the blind ignorance and greed of property developers.

Alex was the first to notice this extremely tall and abnormally thin man, standing outside the shelter’s entrance. At first glance, she was unaware of why this man would change her destiny. However, he was no ordinary visitor.

The wet pockmarked glass completely changed his facial characteristics, giving him a mysterious quality. His face resembled an impressionistic style painting, made up of daubs, rubbings and splotches.

From his physical appearance however, there were no obvious signs that the stranger was anything more special than another homeless person, seeking refuge from the rain. This was the impression that he was projecting at least, through the streaked glass of the shelter’s front window.

He had now moved inside the foyer to avoid the rain. However, he continued to gaze wistfully along the waterfront. He appeared transfixed by the light of the moon dancing across the wet asphalt. For some reason, Alex felt uncomfortable in his presence.

In the centuries that would follow, many words would describe that very first meeting. In particular, the story told would be about that precise moment when Alex cautiously offered her hands, to greet him.

As he suddenly turned to face her, his intense stare caught her off guard. It was sufficiently long enough to unnerve her. As a result, the folder of registration papers scattered all over the foyer floor.

Alex’s demure voice strained against the background noise of the cascading rain. She averted her eyes from the stranger’s intense expression, as she picked up her papers. She walked behind him to close the doors.

The difference in their height was almost comical, especially when she stood right up next to him. However, she was determined to take charge of the situation. ‘Hello, I’m Alex. You need to complete these forms, now. Breakfast will be served at six o’clock, so we have plenty of time.’

The breakfast invitation conflicted with Grant’s stern directive. However, she did not care. She had a job to do and she was prepared to contravene Grant’s instructions, up until the bitter end.

Alex steeled her tired body for a response of some kind but received none. She immediately became nervous, assuming his silence masked some deep-seated, psychological problems. ‘I am about to finish up in an hour. I am just waiting for my backup. Can I ask your name, sir?’

Alex became increasingly annoyed with this wall of silence. This mysterious beanpole of a man had not spoken to her, since he had stepped inside the doors.

This was extremely unusual. Alex knew from experience that most drop-ins wanted to state their life story straight away. She checked the clock and noticed it was already three in the morning.

In her tired state, she began to feel her impatience building in the presence of this non-communicative man.

‘Listen sir, we cannot feed you or give you a bed, until the paperwork is completed. The morning shift manager is coming in about thirty minutes for handover. If we haven’t completed the forms by then, he will ask you to leave.’

At last the divine messenger spoke with a deep, hypnotic voice. ‘Strange way to treat homeless people, isn’t it? Toss them out on the street, for not filling in a form. You could offer a steak meal to the poor souls I have shared time with lately. They still could not complete your paperwork. Perhaps, you should address this overly bureaucratic procedure, with your own higher authority.’

Alex explained that she would be happy to oblige. However, all first timers needed to provide their personal details for government funding purposes. Her cheeks felt flushed, as his composure unnerved her.

For the first time, Alex noticed that his clothes were not the standard dress code usually worn by the majority of homeless people. He owned an expensive woollen coat, which loosely fitted over a muted grey boiler suit.

His skin was alabaster white, as if he had been avoiding sunlight his entire life. His eyes were cold and piercing. His physical characteristics contrasted dramatically, with Alex’s own olive skin and pixie-like stature.

Above the stranger’s right shoulder, Alex’s eyes began reading the protocol for late night visitors, which involved pressing a duress alarm linked to the local police station.

Her perceived increase in anxiety levels, made him smile reassuringly. He spoke calmly and with confidence. ‘Alex, there is no need to fear me. I will not harm you and I certainly do not intend to stay here. Your shelter would rather fill in forms than deal with the essential human condition, afflicting the world’s population. I only wish to speak to my flock of believers. They may require my final words of wisdom.’

With the uttering of these words, Alex immediately assumed that he was another religious fanatic. He certainly possessed the right qualities such as, intensity and zeal.

However, he looked around the crowded room and waved at two men, who were enjoying a game of pool. The quiet man with a secret mission then walked over to speak to them. ‘Hello Matthew and Brody. It is nice to see you, again. My spirit moves through you, like electricity.’

Alex watched in astonishment, as two of her regulars; Matthew Horse Ruxton and Brody Greenfields, abandoned their game, immediately. They fell at the stranger’s feet, weeping uncontrollably. These men were not religious, as far as Alex could tell. They were street-fighting survivors, battling their demons.

The stranger bent down and touched their foreheads. Their bodies began exhibiting, uncontrollable spasms. It seemed as if, they were experiencing some intense physical pain.

Soon, there was an audience of five and then, ten more.

Before too long, a crowd of at least twenty, were standing or crouching around him. As he continued to speak softly, their faces radiated with hope and joy, in his presence.

Alex was straining to hear his words, through the writhing mass of unwashed denim. Unfortunately, she was well out of hearing range, by now.

She had also abandoned hope of ever completing the registration form. She did hear selective words such as; ‘I wet the world… it was thirsty for knowledge.’

The eloquence of this phrase piqued her interest. She wondered if this man was performing demonic rituals. He did not fall back on clichéd religious phrases, like the usual preachers. There had certainly been a few of them through the doors of the Belle Aurore, wanting to save some souls.

A glimpse of his face through the crowd allowed her the opportunity to study him more closely. Without his full beard, he would have passed for another professional middle-class male. Judging by his physical appearance, he was in his early to mid-thirties and well educated.

He did not appear to possess a bible, although he did carry a leather satchel. Neither, had she heard one biblical reference, since he had arrived.

After fifteen minutes of holding their attention, the stranger bid them farewell. This makeshift congegration refused to let him go. The group of admirers was clutching and tugging at his clothing, begging him to stay.

The total scene played out like a melodramatic scene in an amateur town hall play. Alex felt highly anxious from witnessing these scenes of uninhibited emotion.

The stranger released their hold with quiet authority. He turned and started walking towards the front door. Alex wanted to speak to him, for some inexplicable reason. She chased after him.

Reaching the doors first, she flung herself in front of his only means of exit from the building. ‘Sir, who are you? I have never seen a reaction like that before. I have not witnessed love as powerful as this, for any other religious person in all my days of working here.’

The stranger held her hands with the palms, facing upwards. She felt electrical impulses, stabbing her skin. It made her shiver in surprise. ‘Please remember me, as a spiritual man. Religion divides the world but spirituality, unites us. I am the Wing Maker. My story will be known to all, very soon.’

Alex did not understand what he was trying to say. ‘Why were they all weeping? What did you say to them?’ The stranger, let go of her hands.

For the first time since his arrival, she noticed how tentacles of moonlight had snaked around him. A halo of white radiance illuminated him. Her exposed arms showed evidence of goose bumps from his touch. It was a magical moment and the sense of occasion, pervaded the foyer.

‘Alex, I have forewarned them of my imminent departure. I have told them not to be afraid. I shall never return to this place,’ replied the Wing Maker.

Alex listened intently. The words would change her life. The Wing Maker was suggesting an alternative way towards a better future. ‘Remember this moment, Alex. Your impulsive actions will affect my ability to return. However, your faith in me will prevail. It will ultimately lead others to find the truth. In time, my followers will forgive you. In the future, your name will even be adored by our flock of believers.’

The Wing Maker’s eyes focused on her, as he demanded her attention. ‘Listen to me. These days of meaningless prayer based upon fear and prejudice, must end. From tonight, a universal age of faith beyond faith will be born. You are standing on ground zero of that spiritual revolution. Soon, a child will be born. This is the one to whom you serve, in my image. There will be others born, who will claim to possess the universal truth. However, they will be unmasked as deceivers.’

At this exact moment, Alex noticed that the Wing Maker was still holding her hands. He continued, with his unblinking stare. ‘Sadly, many innocent souls will fall under the spell of falsehoods and lose their way. Please tell other innocents, to follow the one who possesses and understands this text. The blessed guide must lay claim to this text.’

He held up the tan-coloured leather satchel and for one delicious moment, she waited for him to hand it over to her. However, he simply smiled one final time, before walking outside into another torrential British Columbian downpour.

He had almost disappeared into the gloom, when he turned to her to speak with serious intent. ‘You must make contact with the one who sees into the future. This is the one who sees the face of the child. This prophet walks amongst you. Alex, you must share my truth with the prophet. I shall return only four more times, to set the wheels in motion. Whatever else happens, you and the prophet must cross paths, before my final visit. The planet is dying, spiritually speaking—your actions can help, to save it. Always remember that I know your name and you will be mine.’

As he was speaking these final words, Alex noticed how the light of the moon traced his elongated shape, from inside the doors and along the waterfront.

She stood alone in the foyer, contemplating this profound scene. Alex had always assumed that her first spiritual insight would have come from a planned meeting with her idol, Audrey Langmuir.

She had never imagined that an unknown man could possess all the answers. He had defied every public perception of spiritual leaders that she had ever read about in recent times. Still, his authenticity was never in doubt, in her mind. This man was the real deal.

As she watched him walk slowly along the waterfront in the rain, the profound words he had shared, overwhelmed her. She fell to her knees, savouring the imperceptible beauty of the infallible truth.

She also knew that Audrey Langmuir was right. She had predicted a true and prophetic new age of enlightenment. Despite the media industry nominating every phony and fake prophet around the globe, Audrey had seen the truth. It had been literally, right in front of her.

In the future, other converts would also learn that the Wing Maker was neither a fake, nor a phony. Had Alex been in a different time and place, she would have reacted quite differently.

However, she immediately fell under his spell. She desired to know more about him. As he had foretold however, the Wing Maker’s time to leave had almost arrived.

Alex had witnessed a miracle. She felt she had no other option but to share the news, as soon as she had the opportunity.

Unfortunately, she made the mistake of telling her untrustworthy boyfriend about her conversation with the Wing Maker. He was less than impressed by her uninhibited display of adoration, which he regarded as a form of betrayal against her upbringing as an honourable Muslim.

Alex did not know at the time, about his secret life. He had become a devout member of a fundamentalist group, whose name translated into English as Red Dawn.

He would never share Alex’s ambivalent views about religion. Before too long, word had reached the leader of that ideologically flawed, splinter group.

This leader had a penchant for paranoiac thinking and reacted badly, to the news. All that mattered to members of Red Dawn was finding and eliminating, this threat. Red Dawn also possessed a strategic advantage.

The traditional religious communities did not know of the existence of Red Dawn. If they had known, the next series of events may have ended with an entirely different outcome.

In another flawed piece of logic, Red Dawn wrongly identified the Wing Maker, as part of a homegrown radical group, operating inside their own world of religious pain. As a result, it was only a matter of days before a death squad emerged from its underground lair, to track him down.

Alex was undeterred by her boyfriend’s brooding opposition, to her new beliefs. She even went as far as setting up a website to monitor new sightings of the Wing Maker.

Unfortunately, she became a visible target to the haters. There was a constant traffic of vitriolic comments threatening to harm her. Hate never sleeps.

It also convinced her to take her newfound spiritual beliefs into hiding. She also remained well protected by her own fanatical followers.

They took an oath to protect their leader, the founder of the Alex Fall movement. Alex moved even deeper underground, in search of spiritual refuge. To Alex and her followers, her meeting with the Wing Maker was akin to a mystical experience.

It had also transformed the now deserted homeless shelter, into a sacred site. However, it remained a mystery why the waterfront site was chosen as the preferred meeting place.

They theorised that the Wing Maker preferred communication with the poor and disenfranchised people, of the world. Anyone not fitting this profile would possess too many preconceived notions, of the future. Their judgemental beliefs would interfere with messages that their hearts needed to hear.

Alex desperately wanted the shelter to remain open, so that it could be accessible for all future contacts. Alex imagined that because of its closure, the shift in energy threatened the safe passage of humanity. The predestined pathway to the future was threatened.

The world was about to experience a perceived quickening of life events, in all of its forms. It was almost as if, years on earth were now only microseconds, of actual time.

Any single events no matter how imperceptible, could potentially create ripples of disruptive energy across the cosmos.

Alex remained productively unemployed, whilst living alone in her basement headquarters, close to the waterfront. At least, she was next door to the closed but never forgotten, Belle Aurore Men’s Hostel.

She was intent on pursuing the search for the Wing Maker, no matter what the cost. However, her search would prove to be in vain. Many of Alex’s followers, believed that the Wing Maker’s prophetic claim declaring he would never return was now a reality.

This perceived fear, paled against the truth. Alex learned from contacts that she was now the new target of Red Dawn. After several failed attempts to locate the Wing Maker, they needed another scapegoat. The proud Islamic community no longer protected Alex, who was born into that faith.

The elders of this community had publicly disowned Red Dawn and expelled anyone suspected of being involved. Unfortunately, they failed to understand how Alex fitted into the picture. Her declared beliefs were too radical and extreme for their well-intentioned views.

Red Dawn was now hunting Alex, like a wild animal. She slipped into the abandoned Belle Aurore building, to confuse them. However, it was too late.

A military style operation relentlessly tracked her down and caught her alone, without protection. Alex recognised many of the faces behind the masks, including her former boyfriend. She felt betrayed.

Her beliefs did not threaten anyone, including these masked fundamentalists with the burning hatred in their eyes. The brutality inflicted on her body during her final hours of life as their hostage, was a sickening reminder of why the Wing Maker had chosen to appear.

Her last request to her captors was beautifully simple. She requested that she hold the book that had meant so much to her, during her brief lifetime.

She also requested a pen. Initially, her captors declined this request. However, her former boyfriend took pity on her, at the very last moment. He slyly dropped one into her hands, which was his way of saying, he was sorry.

After they had left her to die alone, she somehow managed to write inside the book, now that her hands had been secretly untied from behind a beam, by her boyfriend. What she wrote was simple but truly eloquent: Religion and terrorism are the last two great lovers, of the modern age.

As she waited for the flames to leach the life from her body, another insight inexplicably, came to her. Perhaps, it was the memory of the building, which was now her prison. A higher presence was attempting to communicate to her.

After all, this was exactly where the Wing Maker had proudly stood. It was almost as if he was once again, speaking softly to her. In fact, if she closed her eyes, he was standing in front of her, like a beacon to peace.

It was literally, a bolt from the blue. Before the ferocity of the fire finally brought down the derelict wooden and iron-strapped building, Alex worked out, who the prophet was.

It was a clue from inside the same book that she was now holding onto. It was the memory of a forgotten line, which emerged from deep within her subconscious.

"The divine messenger is linked to the writer, who is directly linked to the prophet". Alex had already suspected, who it was. Now, time was against her. She had to share this information, somehow.

She fumbled through the pages and found the text, which gave away the identity of the chosen one. It was so obvious, now. She thrust her Believe bookmark, between the pages and in her final act, wrote the name of the prophet in the margin.

To preserve the book from the fire, she kicked out a burning floorboard beneath her feet and dropped the book, into the cavity below. It was now up to her followers to retrieve it and continue the search, for the prophet.

The fire, which burned fiercely along the waterfront for two nights, masked Alex’s anguished screams. In a cruel twist of fate, new construction work was ready to commence on this site of martyrdom and charred remains.

Planning was already under way, in another part of Vancouver. An exclusive gated community would eventually replace the burnt-out shell, of Belle Aurore.

Had Alex lived, she would have been horrified about the name chosen for the newly constructed palace of dreams. It had already been decided to call the complex, Aurora Heights.

Chapter Two

B ehind the glossy marketing facade, the privately expressed views were unequivocal. Aurora Heights had descended into a total public relations disaster. Conflict had broken out within the project team, as well. Accusations were rife, alleging that the whole project was ill conceived.

As project costs spiralled out of control, it was rumoured that the indigenous spirits were to blame. No doubt, they were incensed about the intentions of the project. It all lead to the view that the construction site was cursed.

Problems had beset the building works, from day one. There had been serious injuries to contractors, site flooding and the discovery of toxic soil.

The market research had also unearthed, some disturbing facts. A large segment of the target audience indicated that they would not live, in close proximity to a working waterfront.

To make matters worse, three partially completed townhouses directly facing the derelict section of the waterfront had to be demolished. This was due to a distinct lack of buyer interest. In their place, a green belt was installed to beautify each side of the Aurora Heights access road.

It preserved the illusion of the serenity that lay behind the high walls and gatehouse. A quality lifestyle still beckoned inside these walls, for an affordable price.

Life could be enjoyed with a sense of five star luxury. This was despite the close proximity of Aurora Heights to the gritty stench of a working, industrial waterfront.

With the beautification works completed on the front access area and buyer interest for the unsold properties slowly building, the decision to demolish potential profits was completely justified.

Why was it so effective? The imposing structure of the security walls, automatic gates and gatehouse, offered a sense of security for nervous, prospective buyers. It also acted as a physical buffer from the unseen marauders alluded to, in the publicly predicted crime-wave.

By another twist of fate, one of the first to purchase directly off the plan was the one and only, Audrey Langmuir. However, Audrey had decided not to live there, herself. She had purchased it on behalf of her adopted daughter, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was also following her example and walking in her academic footsteps. She was completing her doctorate at the University of British Columbia.

For Audrey, her career was over. The final blow was the constant abuse and negativity from the media, which convinced her to leave her own distinguished academic post.

She decided to accept an offer of early retirement. It was also her