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Tuesday, 13 July 2010

The Eye of Erasmus by Teresa Geering


The Eye of Erasmus is a tale gently and beautifully told. Like the Harry Potter novels, it is a book that readers of all ages will enjoy. It is definitely a book that I will read again and again," George Polley, author of The Old Man & The Monkey and Grandfather and the Raven.
The Eye of Erasmus is the first of a series of four inter-related fables about time and fate, told in Teresa Geering's characteristic hypnotic prose.


The Eye of Erasmus tells of Erasmus, a baby born during a thunder storm, who is clearly destined to be special and, initially, especially obnoxious with his flashing black eyes and haughty ways, until he finds love.

The trouble is that the girl literally of his dreams hasn't actually been born yet.

No problem ...... Oh, but there is ....... Danger lurks ........

Teresa Geering lives in England and does voluntary work for the Kent police. It was one balmy summer's evening, when she was in her garden that she started to write for the first time. Teresa then went on to complete a trilogy of fantasy/time travelling books.

Here she is presenting a signed copy of the Eye of Erasmus to John D. Piggott who did the art work for the book cover.





THE EYE OF ERASMUS - A time travelling lover with attitude
The 30th October was a beautiful autumn day, remarkably warm for the time of the year. A weak sun appeared through rain filled clouds. Agastine heavy with an overdue child stopped walking and supported the baby with both hands around her stomach. For most of the morning there had been constant movement. Maybe at last she could bring this infant into the world she thought contentedly. Gently with her right hand she caressed the child and he seemed to settle. She had borne six daughters and this time she was convinced the child was a boy.

It had not been an easy pregnancy and on many occasions she had taken to her bed, more by necessity than choice. Agastine had already chosen the name. Her husband just smiled and gave in to his wife’s whims.

Tiring now she sat down on one of the rocks and removing her shoes with difficulty allowed the gentle movement of the waves to cool her feet. Her mind wandered back to summers past, growing up with her sister Drendell. They were both fascinated by the seashore and spent endless days playing on these rocks when the tide was out. Sadly she was no longer around and she missed her dreadfully. The previous year she had been hung as a witch. Drendell had been trying to help a new baby boy who had trouble breathing. Her potions had always worked before but this time she was unsuccessful and the boy had died. A rejected admirer spitefully accused her of being a witch, the word had spread and magnified. Dragged from her home in the middle of the night she had been hung from the oak tree in the centre of the village. Agastine although over wrought on hearing this rushed out to retrieve her body. With the help of a passing stranger who took pity on her she wrapped Drendell in a sheet and took her away on an old cart she had pulled herself. In doing so she had lost the baby she was unaware of growing inside her.

With a deep sigh she struggled to put on her shoes and pulled herself up slowly with the aid of a nearby rock. She then made her way back to the cottage sad in heart for her sister.

At one thirty in the morning of the 31st October the storm broke with earnest. The full moon at times covered by the darkest clouds competed with the fork lightening which ravaged the sky accompanied by heavy rolls of thunder. The fifty-foot waves crashed mercilessly against the rocks surrounding the small cove. Nothing was spared by the cruelty of the sea. Boats high up on the beach assumed to be out of harms way were lifted up by the waves then dashed against the rocks and splintered into driftwood. This would be collected for kindling at the earliest opportunity to top up fires needed in the winter months. One person’s loss was another mans salvation.

At nineteen minutes past two exactly a thunderbolt struck the roof of Agastine’s cottage.



SHASTA  - A young girls vision of life
Thinking back to all that had happened, she realised it was only two weeks ago that she had arrived in Shasta village as Poppy Backer. She was a vibrant young schoolgirl and the highlight of her life was arranging or planning sleepovers with friends. They would spend half the night giggling over schoolboy heroes and comparing them to unobtainable pop stars.

She had now discovered that not only was she Poppy Backer in this life but previously she had been Shasta a legendary folk heroine of this village. She had learnt from her aunt that Shasta was a magical village, where the sun shone all day but a gentle rain fell at night to enable the plants to drink. Also that she had the gift of second sight. During her time here she had aged ten years and matured into a beautiful young woman ready to accept her awaiting heritage.

At the bottom of her Aunts garden was a gate hidden from sight by fruit bushes and trees. This led through to fairy cove. The faeries were all named after flowers from her Aunt May’s garden and they were the prettiest little people that she had ever seen. They lived in toadstools in a fairy kingdom at the base of a tree and Shasta could visit at any time providing she first drank from the well in the garden to decrease her size..............................




SHASTA THE VILLAGE - A past heritage
It had been a beautiful hot summer’s day and the young woman sat atop her brightly coloured caravan enjoying the last rays of the early evening sunshine and the beginning of a welcome light breeze. The reins of her piebald horse were lying loosely across her foot beneath her dress and he seemed to reflect her happiness as he trotted slowly along the country lane. The sun, still very warm was gradually sinking in the sky behind the trees but every so often, it appeared through the thin branches.

Listening to the birds singing in the trees the woman was at one with the elements. The hedgerows along the lane gave cover to the birds, which talked to her as she passed by.

“Good morning mistress” they seemed to be saying.

“Good morning to you pied wagtails and sparrows” she responded in kind.

Approaching a fork in the road, she instinctively encouraged the horse to the right. Suddenly she reined the horse in and decided on impulse to go left. As the young woman slowly made her way along the leafy lane, she was aware that she was approaching a village. It looked completely neglected, and from every grass verge and garden, weeds ran rampantly.

How awful that there should be such neglect she reflected. No flowers were growing at all. As she passed the villagers their heads were hung low as if in despair.

“Good evening Sir” she called to one but the only response was a low grunt of derision. As she reached the middle of the village, she reined in her horse, and got into the back of the wagon. Picking up a black cooking pot, she set it down outside balancing it on its three legs. Inside she placed some dried seedpods and fresh herbs. Then collecting a few twigs from nearby she proceeded to light a fire under the pot.

Out of curiosity the villagers began to gather round and their confidence grew as their numbers began to increase.

The villagers, sitting in a semi circle with their smocks coming over the knees of their britches seemed to be affected by the hypnotic pungent aroma coming from the pot and they started to smile. Nodding their heads in approval they were content to watch.

As the vigil progressed through the night, the sky began to lighten into a new dawn. The woman held up her hand commanding attention.

“My friends each of you will take one seed from the pot. When you open it, you will see two seeds. Plant one in the hedgerow and the other in each garden. Every one will be different and this should be done at sunset tonight”. The following morning in each garden and every hedgerow a new flower had grown where the weeds had been. The villagers were so happy to see so many pretty flowers they asked if they could name the village after her. Smiling she agreed and the village became known as Shasta................

The Eye of Erasmus is now available to buy at CreateSpace and Amazon.com
Video trailer music for Eye of Erasmus: http://www.jaiya.ca/firedance/cds/invocation.htm
Teresa's BLOG

A captured past life

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