Like a nation forced to sign its own book of condolences the video testaments continued relentlessly. Even on the happiest of occasions a camera’s lens can make you feel tongue-tied but imagine how it would make you feel at a moment like this.
‘Crowley was obviously very familiar with The5,’ continued the Rock Star, ‘and wanted a way of facilitating their transit into this world. He saw Baird’s machinery as the answer.’
Mac didn’t speak as the enormity of this revelation fell hard on him like the heaviest rain.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Rock Star, ‘for many various reasons Crowley and Baird fell out before the transit arrangements could be completed.’ He paused. ‘Guided by the First of The5, Crowley Baird Inc. has been set up to complete these arrangements once and for all.’
‘What do you think will happen when I blow the horn?’ asked the Rock Star.
Inteachán didn’t reply.
‘The Summoning will begin,’ continued The Rock Star. ‘And once the Summoning has begun then there will be no stopping events.’ He smiled. ‘But you know all this, don’t you, because Mac has explained everything to you, hasn’t he?’
‘He has, replied Inteachán, ‘and I am now more convinced than ever that he was right.’
The Rock Star frowned.
‘I’m not going to argue with you, Inteachán,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to tell you the truth about what is really happening and then,’ he paused dramatically, ‘I am going to have to have you killed.’
‘Past-Change is what has been. History? You could say that but nothing is ever that simple.
We understand Present-Change in terms of what is. The here? The now? The immediate?
Future-Change is best understood in terms of what will be. What lies ahead? The shape of things to come? The minute after the minute it takes to read this sentence.’
As a race we humans either dwell in the past, refusing to let go of what has gone before. Or we live for the moment, happy to acknowledge the ever-changing nature of our existence. Failing either of these two, we look forward to things, projecting our thoughts and desires to a time that has yet to occur.’
And so yesterday’s post brought to an end the first book in the Bara Cailín series. Episode 1:1 was published on July 8th 2015 and every day since then Inteachán’s battle to save the planet from the evil machinations of the NotBeSpeak has led us all to this point.
I am currently preparing Book One for publication and I hope to have more news on this very very soon. I am also working on the cover and again I hope to be able to post more on this as well as soon as I can.
Book Two of Bara Cailín is also currently in the planning stages and will be underway very shortly.
How will Mac, Gilly and Iseult fare?
Is Terminal Transit really the end of mankind?
Will Inteachán ever make it back to save the world?
All will be revealed in Book Two.
I am absolutely thrilled that so many people have been kindly following, sharing, liking and commenting on Inteachán’s adventures – it really means a lot to me to know that people do actually read the things that I write so I would like to say a very big ‘Thank You’ to all of you.
I have really enjoyed interacting with you all and I look forward to this interaction continuing. If you have any thoughts or feedback on Bara Cailín then please feel free to leave a comment in the form below.
You can also find Inteachán and follow her on Twitter here @BaraCailin.
Starting tomorrow I have a brand-new series starting for you all to enjoy but until then I would like to say many many thanks once again for all your support and kindness and loyalty.
As I lay beneath this ragged tarpaulin after a hard day’s destruction I struggle to find the strength to keep writing this account but someone has to do something and though I know that they will shoot me when they catch me I have to keep writing so that maybe someone one day will find it and read about the time that the world still had hope.
Because all the while that I can write then all is not lost.
And all the while that all is not lost then the whole world can still wait and hope and pray (if that is your thing) for that time when it may well be that all this waiting and hoping (and praying) will bring about an upturn in this planet’s fortunes.
Amidst the chaos and the screaming and the suffering and the hatred and the horror and the hopelessness and the gunfire and the pleading and the taunting and the sheer futility of it all a small child works alone in Front Square. A small child with a broken nose who works all day, using a household hammer to smash bricks until her arm burns and she cannot lift it any more. Spent and close to collapse, this small child then falls asleep near where I am laying. No one pays her any mind.
And yet existence can live alongside the very destruction of the same and though the notion of life here is clearly finite in its duration it is the same life that resolves to sing as the firing squad takes aim or signal eternal defiance with a shout from the scaffold and until there is no-one left to hear the song or hear the shout then there is always the hope that even songs and shouting might actually signal something more than simple silent resignation. And even in the darkest darkness ever to have descended from way beyond on-high there are still voices to be heard. They may be single. They may be strangled. They may be shortened. But they are voices all the same.