The Island Chronicles

BOOK 2: CHOPPING WATER

In Book 1, William, is drawn by the Music to Eleutheria, who lives in the house with the thatched roof overlooking Bourani Cove and the ancient lime kiln which still burns hot for those who know how to look. There, she tells him about trapping time in the old tower, inadvertently creating the Dragon, and how he must contain the monster while she searches the world for a way to repair what she has done. 

 

Having made his choice to believe her, the story continues in Book 2, in which William tells Lexi the story of how Eleutheria came to America three hundred years ago, only to watch her life shattered, before sailing half-way around the world to Orcas Island, in search of ultimate freedom.

 

Contemporarily on the island, William encounters investors who have come to create a profitable paradise. In addition, he struggles with the mystery of Nazdehda Retovna, the woman who rescued him fifty years ago, who has reappeared as Julien Darville, debonair dandy, and owner of the bookstore.

 

With the aid of his companions, Winston, and the playfully dangerous Lexi, William continues his search for the truth. Do we really matter, or are we just characters playing our parts, nothing more, and nothing less, than conscious star dust pretending to be free?

 

Eventually, William is confronted with an evil that threatens him, his mission, and those he loves. And we learn to what lengths he will go to survive. 

Bourani Cove

Bourani Cove

Looking south from the "Bourani Cove" beach

Eleutheria's house

Eleutheria's house

My concept of Eleutheria's house overlooking Bourani Cove

Brown Bear

Brown Bear

Brown Bear Baking, Eastsound, Orcas Island, WA

They turned and walked toward me, sorrowful but dignified. Like an innocent saint to the gallows.

Hope and triumph had no life here, as ephemeral as water drops dancing on a hot iron skillet.

Sometimes, perhaps most often, information is valuable just for information’s sake. One never knows when just what will come in handy.   

But can we outrun the story? Do we have that choice? The Freedom to turn right or left? Do we have the power to create our own destiny? Or are we just characters, living out what has been prescribed for us since the Big Bang set it all in motion? Nothing more, and nothing less, than conscious star dust pretending we have options. Pretending there is meaning.

And in that eternity, the world shifted ever so slightly and everything that followed was different than it would have been.  

I have learned that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do, when you stop doing it, someone else takes your place.

It was a sound that cut through the banal banter like an orchid growing through asphalt.

Now that the line had been drawn, there was a moment while everyone stepped on one side of it or the other. Such are the choices that govern the future. Those unscripted,  unrecalled moments that go on to move mountains. Or leave them where they are.

Something is True whether I commit to it or not. That’s the Truth I want.

Even a well-trained, intelligent, adequately fed dog will still bite from time to time, either because of its nature, or it just simply wants to.

Mama didn’t raise no fool. Well, actually, she did, but I’ve worked through it.

What is immortality? Is it infinite time, or just living one moment at a time?

But I do not know if the gods always speak the truth. And I do not have the power to learn.

Uninformed power is a misfiled book. Valuable, but no longer accessible, so no longer in existence.

I embraced the fact that every second could be my last, whether walking down a foreign street or in the arms of my beloved. At absolutely any moment, any moment, this one, the next one, this one, it could all end. There is no safety. Nothing is certain. One moment is, in reality, no more or less terrifying than another. Only in some moments we are better able to delude ourselves. Pretend things matter. That we matter. But in fact, all moments are the same. Potentially the very last one. And since they are indistinguishable, they must all be feared, or enjoyed, the same.

Just because you know something is coming doesn’t mean it should not be savored when it arrives.

“Out for a stroll this fine day?” He said after walking her to the door, polishing his monocle as though wiping away the inconvenience of having to deal with the public.