Tuesday, March 28, 2017

“My third book by Roy Lester Pond did not disappoint..."

Amazon Kindle



“My third book by Roy Lester Pond did not disappoint.
Plenty of interesting historical content along with a good dose of adventure. I hope we find out whether Lucas and Giulietta ever get to return home...” Amazon Au


New edit issue. March 2017.
An Egyptian archaeology dig, 'impossible' warnings sent through the layers of time.
Was there a Ra-virus? An Aten Scourge?
Is a vanished archaeology team member trapped in Egypt’s ancient past during an age of terror – and sending warning messages to today?
‘WARNING! ANCIENT GLOBAL THREAT…’ the graffiti message appears in a newly found Egyptian tomb, along with a modern biohazard symbol.
What mysterious plague has hit the population of Egypt in the reign of Pharaoh Amenhotep III and his young co-regent, the sun-struck Akhenaten? Why is it seen as a judgement by the angry sun god Ra?
Lucas, a physician and World Health Organisation expert on pandemics, must find its source and the antidote in time to save the ancient past and the future.
Especially when his lover, the lustrous Italian-born Egyptologist Giulietta, is exposed to the deadly contagion. Can he warn her in time and save her and can they ever hope to be reunited? 




“Roy Lester Pond joins my favourite Egypt authors like Christian Jacq... A furious pace keeps the reader engrossed.”- Goodreads
 

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The inspiration for SESHESHET in Hunting Hathor and The Smiting Texts?




 Sesheshet - her name evoked the rattling sounds made by Hathor's systrum shaken by priestesses in the temples and also the rustling sound of reeds as the lioness Sekhmet the Destroyer stalked the hunter...

Both the wicked Nefernefernefer (The Egyptian) and She (novel by Rider Haggard) probably helped spark my character Sesheshet.

Sesheshet also appears in a tale within a novel in The Smiting Texts


Monday, March 20, 2017

It's a curious reflection that ancient Egypt is the gift of climate change




Temple of Philae reflected in the waters of Africa


'Egypt,' the Greek historian Herodotus famously wrote, 'is the gift of the Nile.'

And yet it can also be said that Egypt is the gift of early desertification that first caused humankind to settle on the banks of the River Nile and gave rise to the oasis civilisation of ancient Egypt.
 
And it was of course the dry custodianship of this new climate that preserved the relics of ancient Egypt so wonderfully for us today.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

A blast of imaging radiation... brings back a blast from the mythological past...

"The Egyptian Mythology Murders" - Amazon Kindle

5-star - Amazon UK

A female mummy from ancient Egypt lay outstretched inside a hospital scanning machine.
The British Museum had brought the mummy to St. Thomas’ Hospital for a non-invasive examination of the body beneath its wrappings.
“We’ll begin by doing the head and neck in two millimetre slices. I’m just relieved that nobody will have to give this patient the bad news that she’s terminal.”
The radiologist had made the joke to bridge the jarring disconnect between ancient death, wrapped up in magical spells, and the modern day machinery of medical imaging. 
The radiation scan - at a dose lethal for the living - blasted through the linen windings. It was like a penetration of sunlight warming the bones after the ache of the desert night.
The machine hummed. A spinning cylinder curved around the mummy’s head like a night sky arching over Egypt.
The sand-dry cells of the body, spread out in an undulating landscape on the CT tray, stirred in a sudden breath.
Life! Resurgent life! It eddied, thickened, mounted in force, blowing, gusting, then blasting through the mummy like a desert sand storm.

(Excerpt - The Egyptian Mythology Murders AMAZON KINDLE and paperback)

 * (Example of my writer's pre-novel storyboard approach before I write, using a combination of my own Egypt photos, scrap art and googled images)

Sliding ramp Egyptian tomb trap... humanoid block... a crushing volume in stone...


From THE IBIS APOCALYPSE (Amazon Kindle)

Ibis catacomb, el-Ashmunein, Egypt





“SORRY, ANSON. Your search for the stela ends here!”

The voice of the young woman funneled down the underground passage, the echoes fluttering off the stone like startled bats.

Anson Hunter, alternative Egyptologist and theorist, felt a chill as the words reached his ears. It was caused as much by the emotional separation in her voice as by its distance. Her voice was startlingly removed. It was also hard and cold. A few minutes earlier she had been a companionable presence at his shoulder. Now this. She had deserted him, stealing back up the ramp of the passage.

Why?

A rumble of thunder came to deepen his puzzlement and then a screech, the sound of stone moving over stone, grinding, scouring. He felt a tremble under his feet. He spun his flashlight. The abrasion grew to a roar that made his eardrums cower.

A slab of darkness surged out of deeper darkness. His beam flared on a block of granite in a humanoid shape. A man mountain. It was a stone block with a carved head on top… a colossal block-statue of a High Priest of Thoth, weighing tons.

The cubic man, with head, feet and hands protruding, squatted on a base with his knees raised and arms folded across them under a cloak to form a crushing volume in stone.

In the turmoil, the passage trembled and so did Anson.

The wigged and bearded face on top of the block wore a

smile that belied the missile’s crushing intent as the statue shuddered over the floor. Hieroglyphs on the front of the block leapt into Anson’s vision like an execration hurled at him, a spell to obliterate an intruder.

The attack of the granite rock slide turned him to stone.

He had seen the block statue earlier, bulking at the head of the passage, and, fearing a trap, had urged his female companion to step over a granite flagstone in the floor, fearing it might trigger disaster.

But she had slipped back and deliberately set it off.

Now he understood the reason for the vast corridor and the ramped floor that plunged into the earth. It was built to speed the massive plug on its rush down the passage.

The cubic man gathered momentum and the sound of tortured stone assaulted his ears as he felt a blast of arriving air hit his body. It felt like a train coming down a tunnel.

He could never outrun it.

Then what?

A glance told him there was no room in the passage to jump clear. That left one option. Jump on board the block statue before it gathered more speed. Go along for the ride.

Instead of fleeing, he went to meet his fate and the stony smile on the face seemed to spread.

Jump! Hold on to the head.

The throaty roar of the slab filled his ears and sparks showered from its base.

He sprang like a suicide throwing his body into the path of a train.

The stone mass slammed into his body. He lost his torch and his wind in the impact. The polished surface tried to repel him and he felt his body skidding. He threw his arms out and hooked them around the pyramidal bulge of the block-priest’s wig, clamped on tight.

He rode the human slab in darkness broken by sparks showering upwards to illuminate sliding passage walls. The flicker revealed the statue’s brutal face and stone ears curved like bowls against the wig. The grind and screech of the block’s descent sent shock waves through the core of the colossus and it seemed to be shaking underneath him as if in a rage.

The slab thundered on. It was as if the priestly defender of the tomb were trying to sweep him off by speed alone.

Down, down Anson slid, riding a rock fall on a journey through the darkness of an underworld.

He had clung to ancient Egypt all of his life and now he was hanging on to it for his very life, not to its mystery or allure or its esoteric beliefs, but to its concrete monumentality.

He never imagined it would end like this in the hell of screaming, spark-showering stone, betrayed by a woman he trusted. Yet this was where his journey had always been going.

His obsession to find a stone book called the Destiny Stela, inscribed with the most dangerous texts ever composed, was carrying him to destruction.





The opening scene from Egypt adventure thriller “The Ibis Apocalypse” (Amazon Kindle and paperback – third in the Anson Hunter Adventure series featuring renegade Egyptologist Anson Hunter.

Egypt's underworld guardians - and personal demons...


A journey today through ancient mystery
What disturbed me more was the fateful ring of her words.
“You will have to face your own personal demons that guard each doorway,” my mysterious Egyptian guide said. “You must guess the guardians’ names to identify them first so that they show themselves and then face and conquer them, one by one.”
My interest and misgivings grew.
“Or what?”
“You fail.”
“And?”
“Failure means you don’t survive.”
“My life depends on it.”
“Exactly. It’s either you – or your personal demon. Only one can survive.”
It was a startling thought. Imagine if it were true and hell was a not a place of impersonal tormentors as traditional Christianity painted it, I thought, but rather one where the demons were those of your own making. Did the ancient Egyptians have a glimmer of this?
“Face my demons? I’ve got plenty of those, but I wasn’t quite expecting a tour of hell,” I heard myself say on the surface, while underneath I was thinking: ‘Am I dead already and don’t know it? Surely I would know if my dream trip to my dream place of Egypt had suddenly turned from a dream into a nightmare?
Hell had always been a troubling idea to me. As a writer with a childhood love of Egypt and a later leaning towards a faith, I had wrestled with hell as much as I’d wrestled with faith. Hell was exactly that to a thinker. Hell. And I wasn’t alone in my feelings, I learnt. Celebrated Cambridge University Don C.S. Lewis, ‘England’s must reluctant convert’ and author of the Narnia books had issues with hell and had surrendered only reluctantly to biblical authority. “There is no doctrine which I would more willingly remove from Christianity than this, if it lay in my power. But it has the full support of Scripture and, specially, of Our Lord’s own words...”
There was no dodging it. The Apostles’ Creed, recited by millions in church every Sunday, hammered the stake firmly into the sand: Christ ‘descended into hell’ and on the third day he rose again.
But if there were a hell, could it be anything like the Egyptian hell with its gateways and guardians? 

(Excerpt from DOORWAYS of the Egyptian Night - Amazon Kindle)