The Cosmic Logos (26 page)

The author chuckled. ‘Simultaneous time … what is that?' He was suddenly content to pursue the conversation.

The writer went on to explain her theories on time travel, reincarnation, karma, dimension jumping and so
forth, and was surprised to find she was really enjoying herself.

‘Goodness,' the author stated in high spirits, once she had finished. ‘I have enough trouble keeping track of day one, day two, or day three in my scripts, let alone all the jumping backwards and forwards through time you're talking about.'

The writer's heart was doing backflips. She had made a good impression on him and his flattery, and interest in her — a total nobody — made a mighty impression on her too.

‘When you have finished editing, I could send your script to my agent,' he offered and the writer needed to use all of her restraint not to start jumping up and down screaming praises to the universe there and then. ‘Now, my agent won't contact you unless she likes it,' he warned in advance. He then suggested that if the writer wanted to know what was happening with the manuscript she could chase it up through the mutual friend who'd introduced them. ‘Still, my agent doesn't usually waste much time,' he assured her. ‘If she likes the manuscript, you'll know fairly quickly.'

 

The manuscript left the writer's possession looking like a medieval fairy tale.

There was a standard format for the layout of manuscripts — double-spacing, plain font, printed on one side of the page only. However, being a non-conformist and appalled at the thought of her story looking standard in any way, the writer completely disregarded the normal protocol. This manuscript had to enchant upon sight.

Ornate borders surrounded the text on the title page, reference pages, and each new chapter page. She had even been mused into creating a couple of maps, the like of which she'd sketched up for her own reference. As she had yet to master the paths function of the PhotoShop program on her computer, the writer's husband got roped into doing the graphic layouts of the floor plans of Aberffraw and Degannwy, the two main strongholds of her story.

Much like the character Tory Alexander, the writer was not a very ritualised kind of girl. Still, having observed how well Tory's little ceremony for the elements had served her in the story, the writer performed the same kind of ritual in her lounge room to ask the spirits of nature to bless her book with success.

The casting of her circle was not quite as easy as it would have been had the writer not had a young kitten sticking his little nose into everything. She tried locking Arthur out in the sunroom, but his meows of protest were not conducive to the mood she was trying to create. When she let him back in, he seemed to have comprehended his predicament, as he jumped up onto the lounge and settled himself down to let his owner get on with her summons.

What Tory and the other guides could see, that the writer could not, was all the tiny beings who gathered around her during the ceremony.

Tiny winged fairies of the air known as Sylphs, emerged from the smoke of the incense burning to the east of the writer and her manuscript. Fiery Salamanders danced in the flames of the candles burning in the
south, whilst fish-like Undines splashed about in the golden goblet, filled with water, in the west. Gnomes popped their heads out from the flowers and soil in the planter pot that the writer had placed in the north to represent the earth aspect of nature. All the elementals present took the writer's request very seriously, once she had offered each elemental group an appropriate gift.

We recognise the creativity of this aspirant and her work,
one of the fiery elementals said.
Those who resonate to our influence of valour and courage will read this work and adore it and remain loyal to the creator and her future works.
The being cast a little ball of flame upon the manuscript in the centre of the circle. The flaming orb burst into tiny sparks of yellow, red and orange before making contact with the work, and these tiny lights then sprinkled themselves over the manuscript. Once the object to be blessed had absorbed the offering, it appeared to take on a slight etheric glow.

Next a Sylph, composed of nothing more than the sweet-smelling smoke of the incense, offered the blessings of the element of air.
May your desires for this work come to fruition with the greatest of speed. Good communications will bless you. Adaptability and constant learning will make future works come together with greater ease.
The little winged being looked at Tory and gave her a wink. Then the Sylph moulded a ball of smoke and blew it towards the manuscript, where it spun itself into a whirlpool spiralling down into the work, whereupon its etheric glow increased.

A small merman hung his upper body over the top of the goblet of water, as if he was in a swimming pool and
very much enjoying his swim.
Your work shall inspire the understanding and depth of emotion in all those souls receptive to the greater mysteries, yourself included.
He splashed water over the manuscript, and each droplet produced a glistening bubble that vanished upon contact with the work and boosted the etheric field yet again.

A little gnome, who was still admiring the golden earring and coin that the writer had stuck in the soil as an offering, plonked himself down on the coin as if to guard it and said,
If you continue to work as hard as you have been, much acquisition and wealth will come from your passion and thus your wish to be a full-time writer will be granted within the next three years.
The ugly little man cast a pile of dust towards the manuscript and each granule turned into a tiny fairy light that settled and sank into the enchanted work, now illumined with the blessings of all four elements.

The writer thanked the beings for their consideration and dismissed them to go about their normal business. Perhaps her little ritual was rather silly and childish, and yet she felt empowered for her efforts and even more confident of success. ‘I have done my very best for this story. The success of it I now entrust to the universe,' she announced, sliding it into a large envelope for postage.

‘Have no fear, my sweet,' Astarleia assured the writer on behalf of all her guides. ‘The situation is under control.'

 

The writer and her husband celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary a few days later, and they were on their way out to dinner when she got THE CALL.

What the writer had discovered in the past few days was how renowned the agent reading her manuscript was, which made the event of the agent making contact so soon all the more heartstopping.

My agent won't contact you unless she likes it.

The author's comment flashed through the young writer's brain as the agent introduced herself and they chatted briefly about their mutual friends.

‘Listen, my sweet,' said the agent, becoming more businesslike. ‘I've just read part one of your manuscript, and if the rest of the story is as good as this, you've got yourself an agent.'

Oh, my God!
the writer cried inside, speechless with delighted shock — all she could manage to squeeze out was a gasp with a joyful whimper at the end. She heard the cheering of the voices that softly aided her when writing, and, in fact, advised her at all times, above the sound of her own erratic triumphant thoughts. ‘Thank you soooooo much.' The writer's brain and tongue finally connected.

‘My pleasure,' the agent assured graciously, before going on to request two more copies of the manuscript to send off to potential publishers.

By the time the writer got off the phone she was floating on air and her husband, who'd been eavesdropping on the conversation, was walking around the lounge room with his fist clenched in delight, cheering, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!' He grabbed up his wife and twirled her around a few times. ‘You did it, babe! Good for you!'

‘Good for us!' the writer corrected, without knowing
just how right she was about that, given that her husband was just about to lend his interest in 3D graphic art to design the cover artwork for her book.

It had all been arranged with his muse, a technologist from the future whom Tory had yet to meet. She had been introduced to the writer's husband's Oversoul, Lenny, who was a charismatic onboard systems engineer on a bomber plane that went down in World War Two, although Lenny maintained that the events surrounding his demise had been beyond his control.

The guides of different charges didn't perceive each other on a regular basis; they usually only interacted when working or scheming together. The writer and her husband had some guides in common, such as Hazel. The tiny ball of light who represented the couple's future child also took to flying about its father's person when he was in the writer's vicinity, but otherwise hovered close to the mother's form.

As the guides watched their charges in the throes of a loving embrace, the old woman, Hazel, who was in charge of marital affairs, came to stand between Tory and Astarleia to express her pride in their efforts of late.

‘Best anniversary present ever, ladies,' Hazel stated for the record — this development promised to make everyone's job a whole lot easier.

‘Can we please go to dinner now? There is drinking and smoking to be done.' Nictar prompted the couple to make a move; there was nothing the deviate entity loved more than a good celebration.

 

Tory was impressed that her charge was eager to start researching the second book of the trilogy before they'd even sold the first one. They had received a couple of rejections from publishers who claimed to have loved the book, but having just taken on new fantasy writers, felt they must decline her work at this time. The knock-backs didn't faze the writer any as her manuscript was currently being looked at by HarperCollins.

As soon as her agent had told her of this development, the writer recalled her off-the-cuff comment to a friend suggesting that this publisher was her choice. The writer took her agent's note, highlighted the publisher's name, and stuck it up on her pinboard along with all the pictures of places and faces which had helped inspire her story. Was the universe really listening — only time would tell?

 

Karmalina was delighted when she arrived and found the young writer and her guides already hard at work on the sequel. ‘Congratulations, ladies, your writer has just become a published author.'

‘So the powers-that-be at HarperCollins agreed?' Astarleia gathered, as the publisher's Oversouls were the only ones Karmalina had been requested to approach — as per their charge's desire.

Karmalina burst into a huge smile as she nodded in confirmation and then frowned, as there was a condition. ‘But they're going to make you cut sixty pages —'

‘Oh, thank God! Yes, please,' Tory pleaded in desperation. ‘Are they going to make us rethink the title too?'

‘They are.' Karmalina was impressed that Tory knew of this.

Tory closed the book from which she was reading to her charge and raised the cover so that Karmalina might view it. ‘This is the second book of the first trilogy … I have connections in high places,' she explained, and the beautiful etheric gypsy gasped.

‘You're one of those cross-dimensional autobiographical muses,' Karmalina surmised, ‘like King Arthur and Obe One Kenobi!'

Tory recalled Kuthumi mentioning something to this effect. ‘I owe a karmic debt to this, the dimension of my origin,' Tory outlined her understanding of the situation.

‘Why didn't you say so in the first place?' The fiery Oversoul chuckled with delight as she pressed her hands together. ‘Which of the Masters do I have to thank for sending you our way?'

‘Ah … Kuthumi and DK,' Tory answered to the best of her knowledge.

‘Fabulous!' Karmalina clapped her hands, delighted by the information. ‘So we can expect a good serve of esoteric doctrine, science and healing from your future works?'

‘All those topics played a major role in my life,' Tory conceded, pleased to be in Karmalina's obvious favour.

‘I look forward to reading all about it,' she assured with a wave and took her leave. ‘Keep up the good work.'

Tory looked to Astarleia in the wake of the gypsy's departure. ‘Star Wars was a true story?'

‘In a galaxy far, far away,' Astarleia concurred.

‘Wow, I wish I'd visited there.' Tory imagined what it would be like. ‘I think I would have made a fantastic Jedi Knight. They never did have any female Jedi, did they?' She was rather put out by this oversight.

‘I believe they will in future,' Astarleia said to appease the muse.

Tory dismissed her little fantasy as she realised her charge had paused from her reading and was daydreaming out the long, slender windows inset in the double French doors at the end of her office. ‘Research,' Tory reminded the writer, who snapped out of her daze and went back to reading. ‘Karmalina certainly seemed pleased to learn that I am a cross-dimensional muse.' Tory was curious to learn why.

‘Naturally, as such muses are considered the choice ones,' Astarleia enlightened her. ‘See, you're not an artist, you're not making the story up as you go, so you're more likely to succeed in finishing your work. Also, you are from another dimension and are bound to bring new concepts and ideas with you into this world. And that's not to mention that to be at a level to cross dimensions in the first place, a soul-mind must have the support of the Master Rays, which is always a good sign for success.'

Tory could see why Karmalina was so joyous, but she wasn't sure all the reasons were completely justified. ‘I don't know the ending,' she confessed, only just this moment realising this to be the case.

What do you mean, you don't know the ending?
Arthur, who'd been napping on the lounge beside the writer's desk, gave a disgruntled meow.

‘Well …' Tory thought back to Kuthumi's library,
when he'd advised the page number of the final book that this moment was recorded on. ‘As far as my story is concerned, we are currently residing around the middle of book six. So how could I possibly know the ending, when it has yet to come to pass in my reality?'