Alexandria Rising
Alexandria Rising Chronicles Book 1
by Mark Wallace Maguire
Genre: Action-Adventure, Conspiracy,
Suspense
Rand
O'Neal, an ambition-less newspaper reporter, is given a single task
upon the death of his grandfather: Destroy a mysterious map. What
should be a simple errand thrusts Rand into a journey across three
countries chased by unknown pursuers into a world he never could have
imagined. The novel has been reviewed as, "Superb,"
"Amazing" and "Extremely well written" and has
drawn comparisons to Dan Brown, Ian Fleming and Robert Ludlum.
The book is labelled an action adventure, but contains elements
of science fiction, suspense and mystery. It is also linked to
a multi-media website which allows readers to engage with the
experience in video, images and interactive appendices.
.
Goodreads
* Amazon
PROLOGUE
London
1603
The city stank.
It always stank in summer when the scents of
the clogged drains, rotten food and sweating bodies combined for a noxious fog
that hovered over its hills. Even the Thames stank, its shores lined with
flotsam from forgotten ships, animal carcasses and mounds of refuse washed on
the rising tides and left for the foragers from the sky and the beggars from
the cracked cobbled streets.
But he ignored the stench. Stood at his
windows opened defiantly, inhaled deeply, begging for a breeze to cool his
beaten brow. Even a simple draft to flutter the tattered drapes would be
welcome. Anything to soothe his fevered head, to alleviate the sweat bullets
lining his chest, rivulets streaming down his arms, his legs.
He brushed a piece of lank hair from his
forehead, sat down to his pockmarked desk, took another sip of watered-down
wine and pressed the quill to the piece of parchment. His hand shaking, he
pushed the words from his mind, half-muttering to himself as the black ink stained
the yellow paper.
“The sight is dismal;
And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless that should give us
hearing,”
He took another deep breath, dipped the quill
in the inkpot again. Started to write. Had to take a break. So hot. Leaned back
his chair. A breeze? My soul for a breeze, he thought. Beneath his opened
shirt, attached to a leather band, a sliver of translucent stone lay on his
chest. It shifted colors in the half-light of the candle. Sometimes azure.
Other times silver. A passing hue of cobalt. He clenched it. Inhaled again.
Opened his eyes and grabbed the quill. Attacked the parchment.
“Let us haste to hear it,
And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune.”
He leaned back again. Closed his eyes.
Focused. Listened. Heard the sounds of the streets below. The usual calls of
the pedestrians, the hawkers, the laughter of children, the occasional neigh of
a horse or the bellow of a cow being led to slaughter. He heard clattering in
the streets, the distinct sound of wagon wheels grinding on cobblestones, a
sharp rapport.
He knew that they had come. Come for him. He
was late. Again. But, there was so much perfection to do. So much to finish. So
much yet to rewrite. But, his time was up. And he needed the money. The squeak
of a carriage door, he could even hear the footfalls, knew it was him. The
benefactor. Then the words shouted above the din of the crowd.
“William!”
He ignored it. Clutched the stone in one fist.
Gulped down the last of the drink with the other. And began writing again, the
thoughts racing now, he had to force himself to slow down, lest the writing be
unreadable. The shout again from the streets.
“William!
Where is it? I need it now. I am coming up and Martin is coming with me. I know
you’re there. They told me you were at home at The Fox and The Hound. I see
your window is open. Unlock your door.”
He knew he could no longer wait. It was time.
He wrote quickly. Dipped the quill in the inkwell for a final push and then
finished the last few lines.
“The soldiers’ music and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him.
Take up the bodies: such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.”
Heavy thud of big boots on the worn wooden
stairs. A knock at the door. He scribbled a title on the first page. Blew on
the ink. Rolled up the parchment, wrapped a ribbon around it. Took the chain
from around his neck. Lifted the lid of a wooden box on his desk. Dropped it
in. Cinched up his shirt. Lumbered to the door. Opened it.
“Is it
ready?”
“Of course, I
was just taking a nap.”
The man snatched the roll from his hands. Slid
off the ribbon, opened it up. Read the first few lines.
“A
nap….Mmmmmm,” a low groan, then, “Interesting opening. I like ghosts. Audiences
love ghosts. A good start.”
“Here,” the
playwright said. “Flip to Act III, yes, there a few lines down.”
The man did so, patiently, eyes intent.
Then reading. The lines of angst giving way to
surprise, then relief. A smile.
“Late as
usual old friend, but it looks good. By Jove, I do love these lines here in
this act. My God. Very powerful. The very sense of the universe itself isn’t
it? The only thing I don’t like so far is the title. Usually you’re very
succinct on these, but it looks like this was an afterthought, ‘Hamlet.’ It
could be a play about a small village and that wouldn’t draw the crowds would
it?”
The playwright ran a hand through his hair.
His mind still reeling.
“How about,
‘The Tragedy of Hamlet, The Prince of Denmark’? Yes, a bit more detail. Will
that work?”
The man looked at him. Peered deep into his
eyes. The playwright answered his own question.
“Yes. That’s
it. ‘The Tragedy of Hamlet, The Prince of Denmark.’ By William Shakespeare.”
The man shook his head, let forth a small
chuckle.
“It is a bit
wordy, like I have a mouthful of stones, but it will work. And I am sure once
people see it, they’ll remember it. I don’t see how you do it and keep doing
it. You may be late, but you’re good son. You are good. Time may forget you,
but I won’t.”
“Time forgets
us all, my friend, but for some it takes longer than others.”
Alexandria
Reborn
Alexandria
Rising Chronicles Book 2
He
can't go home. He's dead in the real world. Everything has changed.
Forever. In, 'Alexandria Reborn,' the anticipated sequel to
'Alexandria Rising' Rand O'Neal rises from the ashes to join an elite
team in an effort to shift the power struggle set in motion by
control of the alchemistic Slendoc Meridian. As this fast paced
adventure continues, Rand will discover the answer to many of this
questions, but will he lost Hope in the process?
As
a preacher’s son, Mark Wallace Maguire spent his childhood
crisscrossing the South soaking in the lilting dialects, oral
traditions and cultural idiosyncransies. After a brief career in
music, he settled behind the desk as a reporter at the Marietta Daily
Journal and has spent the last 20 years as fixture in the metro
Atlanta media scene. He currently serves as director of Cobb
Life magazine and Cobb Business Journal. His writing has been
published in many regional and national publications including Snake
Nation Review, Reach of Song, Cobb Life magazine, Neighbor Newspapers
and The Blood and Fire Review. He has been honored for his writing by
several organizations including The Associated Press, The Society of
Professional Journalists and The Georgia Poetry Society. In 2005, he
was named the Berry College Outstanding Young Alumni of The Year. In
2017, he was nominated for Georgia Author of The Year for his first
novel, “Alexandria Rising” which was described as “magical”
and “phenomenal.” “Letters from Red Clay Country: Selected
Columns” was published in 2015 and features the best of his
award-winning newspaper and magazine columns. When he’s not
writing, Maguire produces musical projects inspired by his favorite
authors and books as well as painting, gardening and making Star Wars
puns with his sons.
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