Who, what, where is The EverRealm?
The fictional world of The EverRealm grew from a seed planted almost three decades ago when I began to write in earnest. I have always been fascinated by Science Fiction and Fantasy. I cut my teeth on Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek television series and other equally engaging programs and novels about what might lie beyond what we can see and touch here on earth and in the heavens directly over our heads. There are those who say that there can be no coexistence of Christian spirituality and Science Fiction/Fantasy. I do not agree. Since I was made in the image of God's glory and I carry a part of his spirit within me, it is obvious to me that He is an artist...the first artist, the foremost artist. There will never be another like him. However, I will strive always to do my best to draw closer to Him by expressing that part of him that dwells within me. If I do not express it, how will it be known? How will that unique and specific part of Him be known? To know me and my love of the potential within the unknown is to know a tiny piece of our Lord and Savior. That is my contribution to the Master's puzzle. What is yours? Reveal it so that I might know yet another part of Him.
Darkness and light cannot coexist. Each rules a vastly different part of what we know as "a day". There are brief moments as one gives way to the other when we can almost say that the two exist at once. But it is merely an illusion.
The EverRealm is the prize. The battle for it rages between darkness and light, between night and day, between Raven's Wing and First Light.. And yet, that place...that "between" place is so very narrow. It is just a sliver of what can be seen. It cannot truly be grasped by the tangible hand. It is ethereal, wreathed in mist, beyond the veil. Perhaps this is the lure of it....the fact that it whispers of unattainability. It taunts with its elusiveness. It tempts with its beauty. Many will join the fray. But the way is not easily found. And the gate is narrow.
Upon A Raven's Wing
by
D. K. Anderson
The Calling to the vision was strong. The night's wind whipped through his long cloak, swirling the folds of it about his legs and tearing the hood away from his face. He remained steadfast. His eyes stared into the black of what lay beyond, his sight seemingly empty and unfocused, but any who knew of his ways knew better. That which held him rapt was unseen by all save the old man whom he had left in the warmth of the fire built upon the red rock of the desert. There was no keeping anything of import from that one. The crafty buzzard knew everything. This man's task was to simply know something, anything about that which had yet to unfold.
Some things are best left as they are. Or were.
With an almost imperceptible nod of his tawny head, the man acknowledged the thought that had come to him from the firelight. We dare not end the search. The prize is too valuable. This thought was his own, and he sent it back to the giver of the other. He refocused his mind on the vision and shut out all else. The Calling was too strong to ignore, its voice too insistent. What it asked of him was unknown to him, yet, as was his custom, he answered. The winds stilled, and the vision cleared.
She sat cross legged in the center of the bed, and her eyes were unmoving upon the wooden box at her knees. In and of itself, the box was harmless. But then, it too harbored memories. She could not help but smile as she thought of her father who had fashioned the box of native wood and lovingly carved upon its lid the twistings and twinings of settlement vine and flower. It was a simple thing and, with ease, it took her instantly back to a time and place she had long ago abandoned. Lifting the lid of the box, however, took more of an effort.
Nibbling absently on her lower lip, she fought the mental battle she fought often. Her mind waffled back and forth, from one side of the proverbial fence to the other. This was the routine. It varied little from one occasion to the next. What infuriated her was not the indecision itself but that she was helpless to avoid the indecision altogether. There was, she realized, a simple and obvious remedy. Yet it was a remedy she was loathe to administer. She was weak. That was what she told herself. Were she a stronger person or a more self-assured one... Yeah, right. Everyone who knew her described her as one of the most confident and self-assured people they had ever met. So, was she mistaken or were they?
Open the box.
To Be Continued....
But there is no balance between darkness and light; only an uneasy peace.
There are always two sides to every story...
The EverRealm
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