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    Prophecy of Peace: Mysteries of the Oracle, #1
    Prophecy of Peace: Mysteries of the Oracle, #1
    Prophecy of Peace: Mysteries of the Oracle, #1
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    Prophecy of Peace: Mysteries of the Oracle, #1

    By Tom Goymour

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    About this ebook

    A dark and gripping tale that has taken a century to unravel until now - one October evening, 2015 . . . 

    . . . Billy Sheppardy and Michael Frey have known each other since childhood, they’ve done many things together and shared many secrets. What they don’t know is why they find themselves on a trail of mystery and intrigue that leads them to a murky field in a bleak corner of Essex, England on this cold autumnal evening.

    As they reminisce, recalling their strong memories from the past, events seem to lead them towards something beyond their understanding, but who else is on the trail? 

    The hidden estoric wisdom must be understood if they are to avoid the looming danger that is closing in around them, then, pieces of the past will be uncovered and fall into place. 

    But, what is the significance of the wallet that Billy’s Grandad found as a small boy back in 1944? 

    And what happened ten decades ago that has shaped present events to become so important?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVerbum Publications
    Release dateOct 24, 2015
    ISBN9781519954220
    Prophecy of Peace: Mysteries of the Oracle, #1

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      Book preview

      Prophecy of Peace - Tom Goymour

      PROPHECY OF PEACE

      MYSTERIES OF THE ORACLE:  BOOK 1

      By

      Tom Goymour

      Copyright © 2015  Tom Goymour

      The right of Tom Goymour to be identified as the Author of this work has been  asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical  copying, recording or otherwise without prior permission from the Publishers.

      Published by: Verbum Publications

      www.verbumpublications.com

      First published 2015

      Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein.

      To my Daughter, Abbey,

      to whom I am forever indebted

      for all her enthusiasm

      and hard work directed in support

      of this publication.

      Find more stories like

      Prophecy of Peace

      www.tomgoymour.com

      CONTENTS

      Prologue

      Best of Friends

      Dark Days

      Pieces of the Past

      The Boy and the Girl

      Life after Death

      The Numbers Game

      The Time is Now

      The Writing’s on the Wall

      Bad Girl

      In Front of History

      Prologue

      The noise came again, growing stronger all the time. He could hear that dreaded sound of shellfire echoing all around him. A cold fear he'd come to know so well once again began to claw its way deep into his flesh, there was nowhere to turn, nowhere safe to go. Suddenly he felt exposed; he was isolated and alone and as the sounds became intolerable, he knew he probably didn't have very much time left.

      Broken by the noise he huddled down in the dark with his arms up protecting his face and head. He was shaking, and he could feel the intense cold, but with each trembling second that passed, he knew survival was all that mattered. He couldn't die right here and now, he wasn't ready - today wasn't his time. As is often the case in times of great desperation, the next few seconds seemed to him to pass like an eternity as his mind recalled the past:

      He and a couple of lads from the village had caught the train to take them to sign up south of the Capital, they were aged fourteen and sixteen, but he was older - certainly old enough, so he had agreed to go with them to add sheer authenticity to their plight.

      Nobody had stood in their way and they were able to join up easily. They wanted to fight – to defend the country – to do their bit – play their part in the war that was supposed to have been the war to end all wars – the war they said would be over by Christmas . . . but he didn't. War was always the wrong option in his eyes and from the day it had started, he'd known he would always carry that burden of guilt for not wanting to have been there right from the start. He had felt that way long before anyone else had worked out the pitiful horror and hopelessness of the situation. It seemed somewhat strange to him that the others didn't really get it at first, there was such an atmosphere of courageousness about the place that he hadn't been able to show his fears. But it wasn't long before their bubble of hope had been cruelly burst. It soon dawned on his comrades that the war - that war that people had said was to end all wars, was not going to be over by Christmas and that many hundreds of thousands of them were going to die before it was finally so.

      Christmas eve 1914; he'd never forgotten that night. Something happened - something that seemed, just for that short while so wonderfully hopeful; they'd played football with the enemy that night . . . on the eve of the Christian festival celebrated all over the world.

      Someone from a distant trench had started to sing 'Silent Night'. They'd listened intently for a few seconds until a small chorus joined the lone voice in the still of the night. He could hear it in his mind right now, deep amongst that sound of shell fire that thundered through his head he could still hear those magical seconds of silence - those moments just before they arose from the trenches, and, holding hands a high, placed down their guns. Then, they'd all followed suit - every man, and moments later they'd found themselves embracing the enemy. Someone produced a football,  jackets were enthusiastically thrown on the ground, and a game was begun.

      He remembered Gustav – his German, the man with whom he'd struck up that wonderful but purely momentary friendship. He wondered now if he was still alive! They'd given each other their full name with a kind of optimistic hope that one day, when it was all over, they might meet again.  

      It could have lasted, all it takes is for both sides to give, even if just a little at first, then would come trust. The prize of peace is a wonderful thing, but always the stakes of risk are high.  As his memories dwindled in that moment of daydream, it became slightly comforting to realise that on that night at least they'd all been in the same boat; the young german men hadn't wanted to be there fighting any more than they had.

      He clasped his hands to his head even tighter and curled his aching frame into a more complete bundle. Still those hostile sounds came from all around him.

      How many had he killed? He would never know - no one would. He felt suddenly sick; war shouldn't be like this . . . war just shouldn't be!

      His mind jerked back to the present moment.

      ‘Where to go to take cover?’ Suddenly now, he got a grip of reality, and in desperation he started to crawl across the cold rough surface. 'Shelter . . . he would be safe if he could get to shelter,' (he'd always believed that.) Now, here he was in a place where he could shelter and he knew deep down that he would survive. This was his safe haven - at least, for now.

      His leg scraped against a hard edge, he dislodged something and a flutter of paper fell towards him. Through the darkness he could see it was an envelope that had landed almost right into his hands. He grabbed it and held it tightly and the minute he did so he felt something quite strange but very powerful, he knew it held some sort of secret that mustn't be lost. He mustn't let it get into the wrong hands, not at any cost.

      Right at that moment he was safe, he felt sure of that, and it was right then that he got the vision that was to become so important to him . . . this place would always be safe - today, tomorrow, and at any time in the future, but only this very place - right here, in this very room.

      * * * * * *

      Best of Friends

      Two young men strode vigorously down the country road as they headed towards an opening to a field they knew they needed to cross in order to reach the small copse that would soon become visible in the far distance. They’d had to park the car some way back down the road on a grass verge and walk up to the churchyard, opposite which they would then be able to enter the field. There

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