The Chronicles of Mayer_An Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Nicola McDonagh

  The Chronicles of Mayer

  The History of NotSoGreatBritAlbion

  Prequel to The Song of Forgetfulness Series

  By

  Nicola McDonagh

  http://www.thesongofforgetfulness

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events portrayed are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any character resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely co-incidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2017 Nicola McDonagh

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Daphne deMuir

  Original photographs by Nicola McDonagh

  Special thanks to Martin for drawing the map so accurately.

  Thanks also to Andrea Houtsch for helping me get this manuscript into shape.

  Foreward

  The Chronicles of Mayer and subsequent stories were written in response to readers requesting more information about the history of NotSoGreatBritAlbion, the setting for the books in The Song of Forgetfulness Series.

  After months of research into global warming, environmental issues and the rise of deadly diseases, I began to write a ‘historical’ account of how the world might change if nature took back control of this beautiful planet - and the consequences for mankind if it did.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreward

  Map

  Contents

  Part One Beginnings

  Part Two Home

  Other books

  Reviews

  The Chronicles of Mayer

  Dressed in an orange all-in-one lab suit, Caitanya Mahaprabhu, pressed her hand against the raised square on the locked metal door. A green light flashed above her head. She turned to her companion, a young woman with cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, sturdy limbs, wearing a coarsely woven sand coloured shirt and many-pocketed tie-at-the-waist trousers, and said, ‘This, my dear, is where all the info about the history of this sad land is kept. You will find in this library actual recordings from the Gopi and Gopala’s that tended the precious bovine herds on this bit of lushness. There are journals of those who split from the group to make their own way. Plus, writings of factual evidence taken from recordings, word of mouth and vid shows, from the times of struggle, right up to now.’

  The door hissed as it opened revealing a bare bright white room. The two women entered and stood in the centre of the windowless square space.

  ‘Erm, Kayete Anneja Mah htingy.’

  ‘Here, I am called Caitanya Mahaprabhu.’

  ‘Yep, right, great and all, but I know you by two other nams and thought that Wirt guessed your one true tag. Some fem you are, all secrets and wonder that’s for sure. When we first met you were a nun, a fib. Next, you say you are a Lady and now - a Moocow Monk. This big moniker is somewhat vast and difficult to say. Can I call you by a more pronounceable tag?’

  ‘Indeed, Adara, call me Kate when you see me here. I am furtive to be sure, my dear, but that is so I can glean the truth from those who wish to keep it hidden.’ Kate put her finger to her full lips and brushed her long red hair away from her brow.

  Adara stared around the bland room. ‘Kate, you promised me answers after you said things were happening for a reason. That folk do what they do because of stuff imprinted in their noggins from long ago. So, where are the books you spoke of that will tell? All I see is wall.’

  ‘They are not like the ones I showed you in the Monastery in the Clouds, all records here are kept on disc and secured in recess trays.’

  ‘Which are where?’

  Caitanya walked to the wall facing them and tapped it. The thing burst into a matrix of multicoloured connecting lights that zig-zagged across the surface. ‘Wait for the beams to go out and you will see.’

  Caitanya and Adara stood back. Before their eyes, the once smooth blank surface became full of small oblong slightly protruding box shapes.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Indeed, it is quite a spectacle. Within these recessed drawers are records of the history of this world we now live in.’

  ‘Yeah, great and all, but I have seen books actual with pics and info describing what occurred, in said monastery. How are these so different?’

  ‘Those history journals were written after the fact. They are not first-hand witness accounts like these, recorded by the ones who experienced things as they occurred. Making them, exclusive.’

  Adara scratched her ear and whistled through her teeth. ‘And I will see them?’

  ‘And hear. The info has been collected and stored in new tech that makes the words become pictures as though you are living the scenes. Manufactured by our very own devotee, Gopala Ananta. He still lives here, but is so old, that not even he can remember his age. Still, his mind is alert.’ She pressed a box in the centre of the wall, it slid open to reveal a pair of blacked-out eye goggles. ‘You may use these spectacles to learn a comprehensive account of how our order came to be.’

  ‘Neato, and will this info tell me why I have the calling and the gift of voice to command or destroy, those I wish to? Why I have six fingers instead of five? And, how to stop the Agros from releasing the virus and you know, pretty much ending all life?’

  ‘I am not sure, but for the sake of who and what is left, I hope so. Although it is a copious tome, it does not have all the details. More info can be procured from the writings of techs, meds, Ladies and even Agros.’

  ‘What? The enemy gave up their history?’

  ‘Not quite. Information of our past is a much-needed commodity and was gathered by means not always legit. I have partaken in doings not altogether honest in order to procure documents of past histories.’

  ‘Spies. Always there are spies.’

  ‘Ah, now, please refrain from using such a judgmental tone. Remember, there are those close to you that were considered spies.’

  Adara hung her head. ‘That time seems so far in the past that it could be a dream. Except, there are many loved ones that will not wake no matter how hard we wish them too. Nah, no dream, fact. Nad. I will not succumb to sentiment. I am here to seek knowledge.’

  Caitanya Mahaprabhu nodded, took the glasses from the drawer and guided Adara to a chair in the centre of the room. ‘And you will. What we learn from these yesteryears accounts help us to improve and not make the same miserable mistakes our ancestors did. Although, I fear you may not have time for all you seek to know to be revealed before the Agros go on the aggressive and you decide to use your power again.’

  ‘Nad.’

  ‘Do not be discouraged. You will learn much from this. It may sway you on the decision you have to make.’

  Adara looked at the floor. An image of a young man with six fingers on each hand, standing with his back to the roaring ocean, filled her head. ‘What do I do?’

  Caitanya smiled. ‘Simply place the specs over your eyes, the arms go behind your ears. Next, you access a disc from one of the drawers in the wall, insert them into the right side slit, sit back and watch. The device will speak to you and you will listen and observe. When you wish to access other accounts, simply press the box to the right of the one I did, and more discs will be available to you. Remember to eject the first one before inserting the next, which you must replace into the correct drawer. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘sit. If you clap twice, the lights will change colour to a more soothing hue.’

  Placing her hand
s on Adara’s shoulders, Caitanya gently pushed her onto the yellow chair. Adara sank into the thick cushions that moulded around her bottom.

  ‘I will leave you to absorb all you need to.’ Caitanya bowed and left Adara alone in the big square chamber.

  With a gulp, she clapped twice. The room became bathed in a pale golden light that reminded her of the setting sun as it sank below the waves. Adara pressed the drawer Kate mentioned, took out a tiny round flat tablet, put on the eye goggles and pushed the info disc into the slim opening on the arm of the eye specs. Sitting back, she listened to the words of, Gopala Ananta. A Moocow monk from the order of Mayer.

  Adara let her head fall against the high-backed chair. As Gopala Ananta spoke, she saw his words as living pictures.

  ‘Herein lies the fragmented history of NotSoGreatBitAlbion. A country divided by hate, prejudice, disease, and war. Spanning from the first years of panic and loss when floods engulfed most of the land, to the time of more lies and new beginnings. These accounts give insight as to what happened to the population of a smallish island in the once continent of Europe.

  What you will be reading henceforth, are jottings of those that survived. Some of these journals were found amongst the ruins of once cities and towns. Some, given to us by those who kept them safe. What you are about to hear and see, are taken from the recorded diaries of Gopi Jnanamaya Kosha, a milkmaid who followed the doctrine of Krishna.

  I Gopala Ananta, a Moocow monk from the order of Mayer, have stored these and many more historical accounts so that future generations may learn from those that lived in the time of Fracture and Woe. When the Isle of Britain dissected itself and became many countries instead of one.’

  The journals of Gopi Jnanamaya Kosha

  Part one

  Beginnings

  I began these recordings during the time of Bluster and Wetness. When all was upheaval and sorrow in this ever diminishing land.

  Although it was not my idea, I realised keeping a detailed account of what was occurring, might prove useful to subsequent generations. I intended to record events from the time of our odyssey, but my past was intertwined with the present. Therefore, I chose to commence at the point that led to my emergence as an enlightened being.

  It was in my mid-teens when I realised how adept mankind is at looking the other way when disaster strikes. Even when the warnings are there, humans manage to shrug it off and go about their daily business.

  I was frustrated when I witnessed apathy regarding the steady destruction of our habitat. After a conversation with my father where I questioned him about having two cars, I became even more disheartened.

  ‘But Dad, even this government is asking people to use public transport and trade in their fossil-fuelled car for one of those battery powered motor buggies. We have to act now to stop global warming.’

  He shook his head. ‘Global warming? Nah. Propaganda. Pollution? I don’t see it. Anyway, the ozone layer is okay here. As for those stupid new styled car thingies, useless. No, I’ll keep what is mine thank you. I’ve worked hard mending roads to get these luxuries in life. As long as we’re all right, who cares. Why should I get upset about an earthquake happening on the other side of the world? Or about some bug killing off a few people in a place I’ve never even heard of.’

  I stared at his thin lips and clenched hands. Although I knew not to say anything when he had that look on his face, I could not help but answer back. ‘But, Dad, the things that go rotten elsewhere will not be contained. Those far away natural disasters, droughts, deadly diseases, and famine, you dismiss, are spreading.’

  He turned away. ‘Not my concern.’

  He was not the only one to feel that way. Most people ignored the signs of impending disaster. I confess that I too preferred not to acknowledge something dreadful was happening.

  In ignorance, and without any friends as such, to distract me, I carried on with my hobby, gardening. Taking pleasure in clipping things back, mowing the grass, tending to my pretty flowers and topiary shrubs. But when an ecologist came to my school and gave a speech on environmental issues, my attitude towards landscaping and manicured lawns, changed.

  I sat uncomfortably in the lecture theatre listening to his words of gloom. Normally we just watched some seminar via live streaming. His actual presence agitated us all and promoted a fit of twitch-leg amongst my fellow students. When the tall grey-haired man spoke of the troubles brewing, my guts churned.

  ‘Even though most farmers are using fewer pesticides these days, the soil is still saturated with decades of chemicals that will continue to pollute the crops. Indigenous species of insects have died out at an alarming rate because of this ingestion. Those mammals and birds that feed on them are also becoming extinct. Soon thousands of creatures will be gone, forever. This must stop.’ He paused, leaned forward on the lectern and pointed at us. ‘You are the future. It’s up to you. Do something.’

  I stood. My classmate, Rachel tugged at my shirt sleeve. I pulled myself free and despite a pursed-lipped glare from Mrs Earl, spoke, ‘What did you have in mind?’

  He smiled and straightened. ‘Well, for a start, you could let your neatly planted gardens go to seed. Give nature a chance to do what it wants. Plant insect-friendly shrubs. Stop using harmful weed killers. In short, let your garden grow they way it wants to. Attracting animals, insects, reptiles, birds and amphibians. You’ll be giving then a haven.’

  I folded my arms. ‘Will that save all species from extinction?’

  ‘It might. Anything, no matter how small to help this planet survive is not without merit. Do what you can. That’s all I’m asking.’

  At home that night when we were sitting with our meal on our laps watching television, I turned to my parents. ‘I think we should stop taking care of the garden. Professor Grant gave us a speech about letting things grow as they should, to attract wildlife and since so many species are in danger of…’

  Dad dropped his fork and knife and pushed his plate away. Mum shook her head and said, ‘You and your, save the world ideas. Why can’t you be a teen and go out with your friends instead of mooning over things that shouldn’t concern a girl of your age.’

  ‘But, we have to act now.’

  ‘Finish your dinner, then go and chat on whatever you young lot chat on these days. Leave all that eco nonsense to those best qualified. You’re just a girl. You can’t save the world single-handed.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Shut it.’

  I did. Although from that time on, I stopped tending to the garden. It became overgrown with weeds and the Buddleia bush my mother planted when I was born to attract the pretty moths and butterflies, spread rapidly until even the cracks on the patio had small shoots growing. I sat underneath the bushiest part waiting to see the insects land and feed off the tiny purple flowers, like I did every year. None came. I waited in the same spot for a week. Not one butterfly or bee landed. Professor Grant was wrong. It was too late.

  The fact upset me more than I realised. With a heart like lead and a mind full of fear, I could not contain my despair. On seeing my father swat several flies, I lashed out. ‘Dad, why are killing everything? Stop, you monster, stop!’

  He frowned, bashed another fly with a tea towel and went back to his computer game. ‘They’re just flies. Nasty, dirty bugs. No big deal.’

  ‘No big deal? Really? I suppose it doesn’t matter that half of the world’s animal life has become extinct, that people are dying in their thousands because of viruses we can’t contain?’

  He didn’t even stop playing his stupid com-game and merely churned out his usual rhetoric, whilst moving his fingers up and down the keypad. ‘Utter rubbish. They’re occasional, annoying little viruses. Most of them don’t kill. What was it I heard the other day? Oh yes, all they do is cause foetal abnormalities. Get your facts straight. Besides, if you just stay away from the countries where it is, you’ll be fine.’

  He wasn’t the only one who believed that. People all
over this Isle thought the same and looked the other way when things deteriorated as the diseases spread.

  I watched, read and listened to reports of the dreadful things happening around me.

  On the back of the dreaded Zika virus, a mutant version evolved. They named it Mapuches, after the indigenous tribe in Chile where it was discovered. Similar to the Smallenberg infection in sheep and cattle, it caused miscarriage in humans and often the death of the mother.

  I tried to speak of these things with my parents but they turned away. So, I brought it up at school in class debates. ‘The world is changing, not for the better. If we are to survive we must act. We have to protest. We must lobby parliament to…’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To make a stand.’

  ‘Sit down. There’s nothing to be done.’

  ‘But if we do nothing then these viruses will spread, adapt and…’

  I did not finish my sentence. I looked at my classmates, at their smirking faces and sat back down when my best friend said, ‘So what? I’m okay, you’re fine, we are all doing okay. We are not directly affected.’

  I could not believe how my fellow man could be blinkered to the horrors unfolding around the globe. They went on as if nothing bad was happening. Yet it was, and closer to home.

  Floods and terrible diseases were wiping out many local farms. I remember when a neighbour lost his business. It was the first time I’d seen my dad upset. ‘You know Brian?’

  ‘Sheila’s uncle?’

  ‘Yep. Well you know they have a small holding?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Lost all their cattle and sheep to some ancient bug thingy. Had them all shot dead. They’ll be bankrupt.’ I stared at my father. He shrugged and said, ‘Well, there you go. That’s life I suppose.’ He turned on the television sat and watched the news. He shivered. ‘Turn the central heating up, love.’