Fresh from his latest escapade, the benevolent spirit known as Bean is back in a new endeavor. But this time he is faced with what could be the end of humanity as we know it ... After his successful intervention in the life and family of an autistic child, Bean meets up with an acquaintance from the past. Called Leader, this acquaintance is the entity-in-charge for billions of blood-sucking creatures. He’s also on the verge of changing his lifestyle, leaving his plasmaholic followers in need of management. Leader turns to Bean for help. But in their quest, Leader and Bean meet the epitome of evil in the cradle of Western civilization: Lili-It, and her henchman, Whoever. This duo wants nothing less than the complete annihilation of civilization in preparation for the rebirth of immorality. It falls upon Bean and Leader to thwart those insidious plans. Together, with a cadre of determined allies, both human and spirit, Bean and Leader prepare to meet Lili-It in a final conflict, where a fusion of physical and spiritual forces join in a place called Armageddon. And in this battle, there can be only one winner ... PAX expands the boundaries of human imagination and creates an intriguing and altogether fascinating alternate world.
PAX
The Bean ChroniclesBy Stephen StuartTrafford Publishing
Copyright © 2011 Stephen Stuart
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4269-3887-0Chapter One
LATER ... MUCH LATER From the Diary of the Reverend William Fellows
The first thing that hits you is the smell.
Long before we approached the place, long before we saw the enemy; long before we heard the cacophony of battle, it was ... the smell!
How do I describe a smell as abhorrent as this one? It is a smell; a taste; a corruption of both nasal and throat membranes. It is a burning ... a congealing of mucosa too thick to spit out, too thick to swallow.
It is an ever enlarging coagulate damming the spillways of your gullet.
It is a pressure on the chest, as if a thousand pounds of molten lava is slowly smoldering its way through to your lungs.
... and yet we went on, as if driven by some superhuman force intent on bringing this conflagration of evils to its final conclusion.
After successfully, but painfully, overcoming the noxious fumes, we developed a false sense of confidence—that is, until we spied, in the far distance, clouds of a motley gray boiling in a sky as dark as any hole in a stygian grotto. At the base of that living body of filth was a line of bright red slowly being assimilated into the cloud, becoming crimson sparkles mimicking the flickering of stars in a distant nebula.
What happened to our bravado, our sense of invulnerability? It passed in an instant. Hesitation superseded any assurance we had managed to generate. Insecurity gnawed its way into our hearts as we stumbled forward as if mired in a pit of primordial ooze destined to become specimens for future bone hunters.
How could we ever have thought that we would be able to conquer an adversary as commanding as the one we were going to face momentarily?
With our defeat would come the defeat of all mankind, and we knew that we must, but could never, prevail.
We had assigned our mortal souls to whatever destiny has in store for us.
Sometime in the not-too-distant future, yet far enough ahead as not to be today, and soon enough as not to be much later.
Chapter Two
This quest, this new adventure of mine, will present itself in more detail later on. But I believe the previous insert will impart a better understanding of the trial ahead.
On the way to this latest of my self-imposed assignments, I have decided to make a brief detour in an attempt to locate a comrade of mine—a comrade possessing intelligence and inquisitiveness who went off on an odyssey of his own many years ago. Hmmm ... many years ago would mean more than a thousand, more or less, of man's years.
It would prove to be useless, and a tale of unrequited supposition, if I relayed his quest to you without his personal input, because I don't know what he has or hasn't achieved—or, indeed, if his quest has been satisfied. However, my pursuit has proven to be at once exhilarating and therapeutic at the same time.
Returning to the last location of our mini-summit provided no clue as to his present whereabouts. I decided then to enlarge my exploration by soaring as high as I was able to do, testing the limits of my powers. Interestingly enough, I discovered that the higher I ascended, the stronger my sensitivity increased. Electromagnetic force, combined with the concentration of the ionic blanket surrounding the earth, seemed to give me an acute awareness of life on earth. Sort of a cosmic dish antenna, if you please, receiving a cacophonic static filled with the emanations of billions of living creatures.
Now, if I can only filter out that dissonance of life's static and concentrate on my comrade's aura, I should be able to locate and visit with him before I initialize the contact with my new charge. However, the atmosphere is saturated with the cries and moans of millions and millions of the dispossessed and downtrodden masses that populate this once Edenic orb of bountiful delights. It is inundated with those who suffer from one or more of those infirmities of the mind and body; with the voices of those who have, but desperately want more; with the voices of those who have more but yearn for the power that more begets; with the voices of those who have the power but find that they are not alone and discover that their power is but an aphrodisiac for a despot's lust for the ultimate supremacy of the godhead, which can never be attained; with the cries of the hunter and the hunted; with the dying gasps of the innocent victims of climatic alteration. The good, the righteous, those having reached satisfaction with their personal dram or so of contentment, do not cry out in despair or greed for more. To sift through those cries of despair and locate the one positive entity I seek could possibly take forever, except that I enjoy a most unusual trait, and that is my prodigious memory.
I am once again predisposed toward negativism, and I apologize for that. I feel that something quite disconcerting is happening to man. The closer I am to earth, the clearer the signals are. Hope, love, and happiness definitely present themselves amid the atmosphere of negativism but rely upon a need for additional aggrandizement. But truthfully, the higher I ascend, the more the signals bond and the more they meld, and the more difficult it is to select the optimistic indications transmitted or locate the E Pluribus Unum of my stalk.
Prior to my re-emergent powers, I was unable to observe, on a large scale, man's affirmation of violence and greed, virtues that have been fed by a duplicity of leadership and a growing decline into paranoia being broadcast on the airwaves, on the pixilated screens, from the pulpits, and on the fading newsprint of their worlds.
I was able to isolate, although which much difficulty, my charges by their aura of virtue and avoid those with a negativity of spirit. It was what I wanted and what I was convinced was my charge of existence. Those positive spirits do exist, and it was, and is, my sincere aspiration for the future of the human race to enable them to achieve and practice a positive outlook on life.
The opening up of my powers, while definitely a godsend to my previous limitations, has proven to be distressing, for these powers have opened a vast new universe of observation and contemplation coupled with an overactive sensitivity for human emotions. I feel that I am at the beginning of a new era of virtuous ministrations to the lost souls of mankind. I am at the origin of an awakening of my faerie-landsmen, which could endow them with the possibility of a mass intervention by the heretofore subjects of isolation. Not now ... not so quickly ... but soon. You need us!
Note: Before we continue, I should alert you to the fact that prior to my assuming the nomenclature of Bean, we faeries possessed no true given names. Normally we assumed the names of our hosts, providing they were human in nature. Squirrels have no name unless, of course, you digitalize them into Squirrel 1, or Squirrel 2—which, if I may add, is totally ridiculous. Therefore I refer to my comrade simply as "comrade." Perhaps when we finally meet, he will have acquired some kind of mnemonic identification. I will, of course, resume my familiar identity of Bean, if familiar only to those bookworms who have garnered a word, a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph, or even a chapter of knowledge from my past exploits.
It is an interesting phenomenon that I am able to review all those emanations from below without involving myself in their trials. It is comparable to a deluge of historical proportions, a flood of Noachian significance, but one that will never dampen me—perhaps just a few dewdrops? Verrrry interesting, but inconsequential.
Chapter Three
What ho! Oh joy! Wahoo! (Please forgive my emotion-filled emanations, parroted from my many years of coexistence with man and his need to react with gusto.) I believe I have just received his unique imprint, and off I go to a renewal of our relationship. Of course, you are all invited to accompany me, as long as you choose to remain incognito ... and quiet. No interruptions, please. He is, unlike me, rather extroverted and loquacious and would like nothing more than to spar with you on a field of semantic turf.
Hmmm ... that's interesting: I can't seem to identify a physical form to relate to. The area appears to be some sort of a zone of infestation: insects, birds, bats, and all manner of creepy-crawlies. Yet his signature is very strong—indeed much stronger than the usual signature of my faerie brethren. It is more of a presence than that of a physical manifestation.
Has he somewhat regained those same powers, as I have, which were lost to us back in the dim recesses of our existence? It would put him in the same quasi-spiritual company as I am and make us a potential mirror image of each other, but with vastly different experiences to base our discussions and observations upon. The possibilities of an immensely meaningful relationship are awe inspiring.
But first ...
He spoke. "It's time."
I spoke. "Yes, you could say it's time ... but time for what?"
He spoke, rather startled. "Who in hell said that?"
I spoke in a calm and patronizing manner. "Not hell, my old friend, but here and now, at the site of your apparent bewilderment. It has been a long—much too long, in fact—interval since we have enjoyed each other's company, and it's time now to renew our most enjoyable rapport. There is a great deal to talk about and so many adventures to regale each other with."
"You! When ... where ... omigosh. I can't believe it! You have returned ... and at a very opportune time, I must say, for my moment here has all but concluded, and I will soon be free to join you for as long as long will be."
It's amazing, but he sounds just like me. One might imagine that our vastly dissimilar experiences have brought us both to the same mental and spiritual growth level. But it's the control of his inherent powers that interests me the most.
"I've just concluded a very rewarding episode with a wonderful group of human beings and was off on a new adventure when your image popped into my mind. I don't know if I received a transmission from you or not, but I had the desire to spend time with one of my own kind for a while, and your inimitable company was forefront in my thoughts.
"So here I am, just a gaggle of drooling electrons alight in an ionic cloud."
"I don't know what you are talking about, but I imagine that it's a good thing. Perhaps we can glow together and create a formidable force in our relationships with the denizens of Mother Nature.
"Yes: Mother Nature. We will talk about that later. So much time ... a thousand earth years or more.
"Do you have the moment, old friend?"
"I can't truly answer that question. I've obligated myself to direct the growth of a potential force for great good in the guise of a newborn infant. Normally I would say yes to a prolonged interval of companionship, but I am faced with a conflict against a powerful antagonist of darkness."
"I'm not sure I understand, but it will make for an interesting tale. All I ask is for a few hours to complete my work here, and we can regale each other for as long as we wish."
"Agreed.
"By the way, I have assumed a human name, at least temporarily. Call me Bean. When you are free, I'll enlighten you as to the reason I refer myself to that identification. My last adventure was so gratifying (a human emotion and another topic for discussion) that I actually wrote a book about my experiences with the help of a strange, but somewhat creative, individual of the two-legged variety.
"I'm not aware of any of your exploits during our years of separation, but I have found man to be on the verge of entering a long period of desolation and possible destruction that could ultimately affect his very existence. So I felt that my uplifting experience with the Granlins was so satisfying, I wanted to share it with people searching for a sense of optimism and a reason for being."
"Bean? ... Fascinating! I can hardly wait to hear about it. I suppose you can call me Leader. You will understand that name shortly. Are you able to transmit the pages of your story to me? I would be very appreciative."
"You know, I never thought of that. Maybe we can put our heads together and share the words?"
"Written words?"
"Not written words ... just a conglomeration of orderly sound bites."
"Just testing you. I see you haven't lost your sense of humor. I can't tell you how I've missed it."
"By the way, what are you doing here in this indescribable miasma of unpleasantness?"
"Do you remember that, when we last conversed, I had developed a rather profound interest in man's insatiable predilection toward blood? Religious rituals, war, pseudo-medical treatments, literature, and descriptive elements of their speech, separately or combined, form an almost uncontrollable appeal to their nature. Why is the lure of blood so inherent in their personae? Why does the mere sight of it cause disgust or fright or even orgasmic excitement and fill the coffers of the masters of their media?
"So I decided to do some research and participate in some firsthand investigation.
"Where else but in the company of true blood feeders?
"So, for a thousand of man's years, I became an integral part of their existence—which, as I mentioned before, is coming to an end very shortly."
"Yes, I do recall your interest, but a thousand years? Please continue—I'm all ions."
"Ah, yes, it is time again.
"When you think about it, time really flies (a pun for the future).
"I just can't believe that an entire millennium has passed since our last mingle.
"The ironic thing about the last thousand years is that although humanity has suffered, it was not actually a major concern of ours (by ours, I mean the feeders to whom you will shortly be introduced). Plagues, wars, starvation, and inquisitions all combined to provide sustenance for us feeders and, because of man's grand foibles, we have grown strong, and we have grown mightily in number.
"The average walking buffet would undoubtedly pay no heed to us. A brief wave of an unconscious hand, an attempt to encapsulate us in a reflexive grasp, or perhaps a webbed swatter or a spray of some noxious gas are all designed to be rid of us. All are doomed to failure.
"Humanity's folklore is resplendent in dark tales of sanguinity cloaked in the garb of sinister wraiths prowling the streets in search of pedestrian plasma-engorged vessels.
"They stalk the four corners of the globe, immersed in the dark of night, assuming all forms of life, seeking out the Rh factor of their existence. A, AB, O: no matter. Disease, genetic abnormalities: no matter.
"Those accounts of monsters in the humans' midst have provided us with countless years of hysterical guffaws.
"Monsters ... oh, yeah!
"Shape-shifting creatures of the night ... oh, yeah!
"If those fools would only look beyond their superstitions, the truth would astound them.
"Look, I admit that a number of psychologically demented souls have fallen victim to those tales of blood-sucking fiends and believed that they were themselves of that ilk. Just thinking that a Shrek-like visage has the ability to impose itself into the terror of man's deepest fears is anathema to us.
"Hell: it gives us a bad name.
"You would think that hematophagia is a trait birthed by superstition gleaned from the ignorance and fears of primitive man.
"Wrong!
"'Tis not!
"Go back ... go wayyyyy back.
"I mean back beyond that ceramic depiction of a Persian gent being exsanguinated by a demon. Back beyond the Babylonian tales of Lilith and her predilection for the vital fluids of children.
"I mean wayyyyyy back.
"Five hundred million years back.
"Back to bacteria in its basic form as emerging from the ooze of terrestrial creation.
"Original life, an example of spontaneous generation or an alien-induced development, was liquid based. Maybe it wasn't blood as we know blood to be, but it was a life force nevertheless. Some single-celled entities had more liquid than others, and some felt they should have more than they were initially given.
"Hey, I'll take a little bit of yours ... you won't miss a dram or two."
"Sounds a bit familiar, doesn't it?
"Are you getting the gist of it yet?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from PAXby Stephen Stuart Copyright © 2011 by Stephen Stuart. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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