{"id":8024,"date":"2021-12-12T12:05:56","date_gmt":"2021-12-12T18:05:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.logikalsolutions.com\/wordpress\/?p=5209"},"modified":"2021-12-12T12:05:56","modified_gmt":"2021-12-12T18:05:56","slug":"when-gods-clash-the-blue-pendant-by-rob-james","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/interestingauthors.com\/blog\/publishing\/when-gods-clash-the-blue-pendant-by-rob-james\/","title":{"rendered":"When Gods Clash: The Blue Pendant by Rob James"},"content":{"rendered":"<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><\/div>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><\/div>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;\"><a style=\"clear: left; float: left; font-size: 14pt; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;\" href=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/808677eb47134090835f3adbed8cdc4d\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/808677eb47134090835f3adbed8cdc4d\" width=\"295\" height=\"440\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;\"><span style=\"font-size: large;\"><b>Paranormal\/Fantasy<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif;\"><span style=\"font-size: large;\"><b>Date Published:<\/b><\/span><\/span><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;\"> 12-01-2021<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/book\/show\/59666311-when-gods-clash\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/sites.google.com\/a\/myaddictionisreading.com\/spring-2016\/home\/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png\" alt=\"photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/div>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">A genre-bending breakout novel from a bold, fresh voice in contemporary<br \/>\nfiction, think Highlander.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">Debilitated in Afghanistan, Angus MacDonald struggles to find peace and<br \/>\nescape his nightmares. He visits Culloden Battlefield, Scotland, the<br \/>\npitiless field where his ancestors were butchered and the MacDonald clan<br \/>\nlost its power. Ancient voices traumatize him and reveal a shocking<br \/>\nconnection to his relatives who died there in 1746, where he now stands. The<br \/>\nvoices compel him to fight again, but this time against an unworldly<br \/>\nenemy.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">To protect humankind from slavery Angus must face the past, but more<br \/>\ntroubling, his future while unraveling the mystery of his heritage. He<br \/>\nstrives to discover millennia-old truths from Olympus, Greece, and the<br \/>\nviolent history that produced them. The truth of who bred him to die saving<br \/>\nhumanity. The most crucial battle of Angus\u2019s story begins on the same<br \/>\ninfamous field of his clan\u2019s decimation, but worse, when he returns to<br \/>\nWashington, D.C., war follows.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">Rob James\u2019 WHEN GODS CLASH includes a fascinating take on Greek mythology<br \/>\nthrough vivid world-building. This novel is a searing, unique makeover of<br \/>\nloved themes.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<div style=\"margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;\"><a style=\"margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;\" href=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/610a34e4cdca4dbcbedab56b96ce82b6\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/610a34e4cdca4dbcbedab56b96ce82b6\" width=\"521\" height=\"272\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/div>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<div class=\"separator\" style=\"clear: both; text-align: center;\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"BLOG_video_class\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/inxNP5ebgEk\" width=\"401\" height=\"333\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<h2 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt<\/strong><\/h2>\n<p>Angus kicked at the sodden soil of Culloden Battlefield, navigating the tangles of heather and lush grasses. <em>I can visualize them. The moor\u2019s thistles scraping their bare legs beneath MacDonald plaids, furling as they charged. <\/em>Afghanistan had been sand-seasoned rations and heatstroke in shades of tan and khaki. This green field delighted his senses under a leaden sky so moody it threatened to ruin the adventure. His father had told tales of the Highlanders\u2019 heroic charge, but he saw recklessness. Tartans, snagged by briars, covering his ancestors\u2019 bloodied chests as they lay dying.<\/p>\n<p>Head raised and facing west, Angus closed his eyes and sucked a lungful of air dragged from the Highlands by the gusting wind. The MacDonald Clan had made their desperate fight for freedom here. They died upon this peaceful moor, which back then was hell\u2019s gate. The thought of their heroism tempered his mood, forcing a frown.<\/p>\n<p><em>They say battlefields hold souls; mine feels at home here. I wasn\u2019t expecting that.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>His father had called last evening and said he craved to join him, rather than working in Washington, D.C. Instead, it was Angus\u2019s godfather, Tony, trudging along next to him, and Bruce\u2014Tony\u2019s best student, carrying the metal detector.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot quite as romantic as Dad told it,\u201d Angus said. \u201cI can\u2019t believe those crazy Scots fought through all this crap.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBloody stupid if you ask me,\u201d Tony said. \u201cToo far, and easy targets for the withering British cannon and musket fire. Come on, let\u2019s get to it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201c<em>Bloody?<\/em>\u201d He chuckled. \u201cWhat\u2019s that, Brit talk? You\u2019ve been working in the U.K. too long, me old chum,\u201d Angus said, spruiking an English accent and ribbing his father\u2019s closest friend. \u201cI expect you\u2019ll wanna retire for tea and scones soon? Time to come home to the States and remember how to speak proper English.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A gust tore through their conversation as Tony snarled. Angus grinned. <em>Touchdown!<\/em> He harnessed the craving to score more points.<\/p>\n<p>Bruce leaned in, smirking. \u201cGet this! When he\u2019s lecturing, he even wears a tweed jacket with elbow pads. For real, man\u2014elbow pads! Went out with Noah\u2019s Ark, didn\u2019t they? Might find a few buried here\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They laughed as Tony mumbled, face tight.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf the detector beeps, how are we supposed to dig with these tiny trowels?\u201d Angus asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe don\u2019t dig; we scratch, scrape away the surface and take our time.\u201d The retort was swift, and Tony\u2019s voice a touch firmer than usual. \u201cHistoric Environment Scotland wouldn\u2019t thank me for bringing you here with spades. Or with <em>bloody shovels<\/em>, to stay on the British theme.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Bruce set off, a spring in his step, sweeping with the detector and listening for signs. Tony fiddled with his GPS tracker and scribbled notes, while Angus\u2019s military mind overlaid the maps he had studied onto the landscape before him.<\/p>\n<p>Confident he stood near the position his clan fought, Angus faced the enemy line. <em>The British waited over there, making them difficult to flank with the rock-strewn bordering fences. They would have ruled with their cannons and muskets, and Clan MacDonald attacked through here, right into the killing zone.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Wind slithered under his collar when he looked down. What if underfoot lie the bones of his great ancestors? Goosebumps, unrelated to the cold prickled his neck. This battlefield instilled shudders, brewing a foreboding sense.<\/p>\n<p><em>Ping-Ping-Ping! <\/em>Bruce spun to the others, smiling.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGuys, I\u2019ve found something!\u201d Bruce steadied the detector over an innocuous patch of dirt, scanning left to right.<\/p>\n<p>Tony pointed to the ground. \u201cWhy are you waiting?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>After a quarter-hour of scraping, a musket ball emerged from the soil.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s English, larger than those used in Scottish muskets,\u201d Tony said, turning it over in his palms, and brushing it clean.<\/p>\n<p>Angus squinted, wandering four hundred yards to where Clan MacDonald assembled that miserable day, his eyes watering from the gusting wind over the bleak moor. Its wail carried the tone of mournful, distant pipes as it blustered along the ancient Highland paths. Rugged tracks wound where desperate Scottish clansmen had fled in terror, British troops pursuing, butchering them.<\/p>\n<p>Through epitaphs chiseled in stone, it swirled, angry, imbued with sadness, and desolate. So many clans. Their spirits were captured and blown to places unknown, scattered from bodies caught up in the endless, merciless bloody battle. The tears stung.<\/p>\n<p>The sky was darker as Angus returned an hour later.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s the news, Bruce? Found any rusted swords or stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNah, damn it. Three more musket balls and a buckle pin.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>With a scratch of his chin, Tony looked around, then down to his notes.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m confident the MacDonald charge ended within this circle. Come see,\u201d Tony said, tracing his finger over a notebook sketch.<\/p>\n<p>An uncertain grin broke as Angus joined the walk. The site of his clan\u2019s destruction was only a few yards away, and his father\u2019s stories of valor were now less idealized.<\/p>\n<p><em>This was no place of glory. Tartans, bagpipes, and colorful Highlanders filling a tale of heroes and the immortal charge. No! Death lurked here\u2014and its memory still reeks.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Three steps in, his left foot snagged.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhooo\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Angus pitched forward, arms flailing. He fought to step, to regain his footing, but the damned boot held fast. Were they bogged? Nope, the mud was no higher than the soles. A weird blue mist snaked around his ankles as shackles chaining him to the slush. Sweat beads scurried down his furrowed brow, stinging as they ran into the corner of an eye. He winced, rubbing with a finger while listening out for the others. Their voices were distant, distorted, faded into the blue mist and smoke.<\/p>\n<p>Queasiness overcame, and his eyes closed as the world set off spinning as stars darted, sparkling across his eyelids. He swayed to the barrage of pounding cannons, and a single breath drew in the caustic scent of gunpowder and fear. The ground shuddered as groups of Highlanders massed around him, screams ripped from warriors in a fury, like nothing he had heard.<\/p>\n<p>Here, on these red-soaked fields, they fought the battle close up, often hand to hand. Each warrior glared into the irises of he who may kill him, unlike in Afghanistan where bullets fired from a distance. Angus\u2019s mind flashed back to the horror that almost killed him. Over there in <em>the dust pit<\/em>, the constant stress of waiting for the inevitable attack drained the strongest. Crazy Dave, relentless, singing to drown out the noise, and Johnson spitting while Angus stared through the Humvee windows. Eyes wide, scanning for signs of disturbed soil by the roadside\u2014for a color change that betrayed the upturned earth where an IED may lie waiting for blood.<\/p>\n<p>A voice roared across the moor, drawing his thoughts back.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cForward, Stuart! Take it to the bastards!\u201d the commander in the red tartan of Clan Macdonald yelled, pointing with his broadsword.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy Lord, they are too many, use it! We must use it now!\u201d A young man, familiar somehow, pointed to a silver box hanging from a chain around the commander\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, Stuart!\u201d The Lord tucked it beneath his tunic. \u201cIt\u2019s the devil\u2019s tool, and I won\u2019t release his evil.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut Father\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEnough!\u201d the Lord yelled, panting as he charged forward. \u201cWill you lead, or must I find another to crush these English dogs? Forward, I say!\u201d<\/p>\n<p><em>Angus? Angus!<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Familiar faint cries snapped him back to the present, an array of black dots dominating his swimming vision. He cast around for something real to brace against. An object to feel, to set him in the now. A thistle at his feet\u2014he hoped it was from <em>his<\/em> Culloden, not the one he had just been a part of. If it pricked, would he wake up, much like pinching himself after a bad dream?<\/p>\n<p><em>Angus!<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Shivers tingled his spine. \u201cToooony,\u201d he managed, leaning toward a familiar-shaped outline, rubbing his head to massage the warring clans from his brain.<\/p>\n<p>More calls from Tony and Bruce pierced the din of combat. A moan, cloudiness. He tottered.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTony!\u201d He reached out as his lanky, six-feet-three-inch frame tumbled, the side of his head thumping down on the frigid, matted grass. A gray beetle scurried across his sleeve above the Marine Corps insignia tattoo pride gifted him to wear. He flicked a finger along his sleeve, above the scar underneath. It tingled, even though it was a battle prize earned nine months prior.<\/p>\n<p>Disorientated, he lay shivering, engulfed by a conflict from centuries past raging in his mind. A sharp pain assaulted his cheek as if a fresh strike. He gawked up at Tony\u2019s creased brow.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEasy with the slaps!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat happened, Angus?\u201d Tony said, frowning. \u201cIt was awful seeing you twitch.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He scanned around, refocusing on the present as Tony eased him into a sitting position.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI just need a minute. Don\u2019t\u2014don\u2019t worry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He wafted an arm, signaling Tony for distance. Too much fuss when disoriented wouldn\u2019t help.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cStay there, and take your time,\u201d Tony said.<\/p>\n<p>The scenes delivered to Angus as he sat on the grass didn\u2019t change, no matter how he struggled to discard them as dreams\u2014nightmares even. They were vivid, and he was there amongst the sounds, the smells, and the sights. The iron in blood running through these heathered fields assailed his nostrils, so potent he fought to contain vomit. And the screams and cries still filled his ears. He sought to play it down, placing a palm flat over each ear, then scratching his scalp as if to free demons from his hair.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cUnreal. MacDonald Highlanders charged right through here.\u201d Angus\u2019s usual drawl vanished as his voice quickened. \u201cI watched them, poor bastards!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re on Culloden Battlefield, so that\u2019s reasonable, but let\u2019s leave it here,\u201d Tony said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPig\u2019s ass. No piddling dream or dizziness compares with the stench of death in Afghanistan. I\u2019m a U.S. Marine lieutenant for Christ\u2019s sake. In my prime at twenty-six.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou <em>were<\/em> in your prime,\u201d Tony said, grasping Angus\u2019s elbow, \u201cbut not since the events of Kandahar and your injuries. Come on, let\u2019s go! We\u2019ll return in the morning if things are fine.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Tony tugged at Angus\u2019s sleeve as the wind stiffened and a wispy rain floated, further sinking his spirits. <em>What have I just seen, been a part of?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>He relented and slunk along after Bruce, who hurried toward the parking lot.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYoung Lord.\u201d A voice came from behind.<\/p>\n<p>Angus twisted, pointing. Nothing. Only Tony, who prodded his back to keep walking.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat did you call me?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt wasn\u2019t me.\u201d Irritation etched Tony\u2019s face. \u201cCome on, please.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Bruce neared the van. He called over his shoulder, signaling them to hurry, pointing upward. Angus waved him off, dismissing the probable drenching.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYoung Lord!\u201d The voice came, again. This time more urgent. He spun, fists clenched, glaring at the spot where the moor had earlier trapped his boots, where he\u2019d\u2026<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAngus? You okay, pal?\u201d Tony asked, and grabbed his arm.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYoung Lord MacDonald, here!\u201d The Voice.<\/p>\n<p>His eyes darted, then he whirled to face Tony, and shook his head when he saw him gazing back, unquestioning.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou can\u2019t hear that?\u201d His brow furrowed.<\/p>\n<p>Tony shook his head, knitted his brows, and eyed Angus with a concerned expression.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s just the wind. Come on, let\u2019s drink hot coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He reached out a hand to Angus, who withdrew. The field of Culloden was silent. He sneered, believing a practical joke in play. Still, he beat at his ears as if clapping the noises from his eardrums. Tony stared.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat did you hear? It\u2019s the damn wind.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo! Not the wind. A voice! A voice.\u201d Angus scanned the flat field. \u201cIt called me, \u2018young Lord MacDonald.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t care if it calls you the Lord Almighty; we\u2019re not staying here. When you tumbled, you frightened the hell out of us. Enough already! It\u2019ll be dark soon, rains coming, and we must get off this moor.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He tried to hustle Angus forward, but his godson didn\u2019t budge.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSomething\u2019s happening out here, Tony. You might not believe me, but it is. Look, I\u2019ll stay.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you mean by <em>happening<\/em>? You\u2019re not making any sense, kiddo.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. How can I explain it?\u201d Angus drew in a deep breath. \u201cAfter I fell, it was so distinct. My clan, Tony, a third wearing MacDonald of Keppoch tartans and brandishing damn huge broadswords. They charged into the English muskets, back where we stood earlier. A young guy, Stuart, led them. An older man called his name. And I was there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBritish muskets, Angus.\u201d Tony, the historian corrected before Tony the godfather added, \u201cSorry, a force of habit.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Angus sneered at his godfather\u2019s off-hand remark.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, to the Scots, they\u2019re English bastards.\u201d A slight smirk breached Tony\u2019s serious facade.<\/p>\n<p>On cue, a flash of lightning lit the blackening moor. Thunder bellowed, but Angus didn\u2019t care. His disorientation had burned off, leaving behind the ash of smoldering questions.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat does it mean, Tony? Why these images, these voices? Lord MacDonald, I assume it was him, screamed orders to the clan and his son, Stuart. I saw them through the smoke of the guns, heard the words above the cannon fire! Why?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2026 well\u2026 let\u2019s just go, okay? We\u2019ll discuss it later.\u201d Tony stressed at him like he was a skittish horse, likely to bolt. \u201cWe can find a good Scottish pub, with a roaring fire, dry out your\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>But he didn\u2019t get far.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd now, voices!\u201d Angus\u2019s mind was running away with him. His brow furrowed, and on and on he talked. \u201cLook, if I get disorientated, just roll with it unless I froth from the mouth or pull some other crap.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Tony raised a finger, but Angus scowled. He was not for stopping. Not yet.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGoddamnit! We came here for history! So, let\u2019s take it! We can\u2019t just pretend it\u2019s all normal, cos\u2019 it\u2019s not, Tony, and this is our chance to\u2026 Let\u2019s search that spot where my boots got stuck, where I toppled.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The two stood facing off, as if ready for battle themselves. Meanwhile, young Bruce strode the backdrop, swinging the detector near the van, oblivious, as if nothing occurred.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAngus!\u201d Tony\u2019s voice came loud and clear. \u201cNow listen. We\u2019re on this moor and far from help if you collapse again. Don\u2019t forget I\u2019m your godfather and have at least an element of duty of care toward you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Shoulders slumped, and Angus gazed at him. He loved this guy and had since he was a kid and old enough to trust.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan\u2019t you understand that I must learn what it means? Why it\u2019s happening\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s happening because you had a collapse, a <em>funny turn<\/em>, your brain was\u2026 Oh, I\u2019m not a psychologist or a doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFor Christ\u2019s sake!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRight. Well, whatever, Angus. You passed out and we don\u2019t need that again. Get going!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Tony shoved Angus, hoping to move him toward the van. He stood firm.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cStuart pleaded with his father to use the power within a silver box. The Lord refused, saying the gift from the devil was evil, and they\u2019d crush the English with their mettle. No way my brain could create such bullshit. It\u2019s so explicit\u2014I was there. And everything, their language was so right. Why would I imagine a silver box?\u201d<\/p>\n<p><em>Why isn\u2019t Tony listening?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>\u201cHmm. Okay, well, you\u2019ll relax back in the hotel.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Once again, Tony jerked at Angus\u2019s jacket. This time he moved toward their van.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd then there\u2019s Stuart; he struggled as well! Right there, near where I bogged,\u201d he said, turning to point. \u201cYou tell me how I\u2019d know this stuff, how I\u2019d picture the battle and the words, the emotions? And the silver box?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A loud sigh emanated from Tony. His face scrunched.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re repeating yourself, and we\u2019re not sticking around to get soaked or to watch you have another fit. Now get your ass in the van.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He raised his chin to Tony, eyeing him with stubborn resolve, but his feet slithered when Tony shoved again, then he relented, shuffling toward the vehicle and cursing a stream of expletives under his breath. The rain poured as they reached the lot, huge droplets spattering on the paintwork, torrential. The only one still looking tidy, Bruce, had stopped waving the detector near the parking lot\u2019s edge and rushed to the van. He sat in the rear, earbuds in, fiddling with his iPhone.<\/p>\n<p>Pebbles crackled beneath the van\u2019s tires. They drove from the parking lot, windshield wipers screeching, flashing side to side as the essence of the storm broke with a vengeance. Angus scowled at Tony, and then Tony scowled at the road. Bruce still fidgeted with his phone, taking little breaths, looking like he wanted to speak, but didn\u2019t. It remained quiet for three long miles.<\/p>\n<p>Outside, inky blackness, except for the giant cracks of lightning that burst forth to illuminate the van\u2019s cabin, sudden flashes cast a glow on irritated faces.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSpit it out, will ya!\u201d Angus said, snapping, as Bruce stifled another thought. He regretted it straight away. \u201cSorry, buddy. My emotions are screwed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Bruce held out his phone. An image on the screen bathed the cabin in light.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah, I\u2019ve seen that portrait,\u201d Angus said, squinting at the sudden brightness. Bruce swiped.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHmm, seen that, too. Swipe again.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>After swiping, Bruce stretched his fingers, enlarging the new image, then glared.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat?!\u201d Angus said, his emotions running riot.<\/p>\n<p>He handed over his phone. The hairs on Angus\u2019s neck stood. A group of men, standing proud, dressed fine as nobles in clan plaids: McIntosh, Cameron, Fraser. One, a younger man in a MacDonald tartan, familiar. Angus\u2019s eyes and his met across the centuries.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere\u2019d you find this?\u201d Angus asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe professor said you\u2019re related to Lord MacDonald, who died in that horror, so I searched all the neighboring clan records. That group image was in Cameron\u2019s history. There are no Lords\u2019 names, but comparisons were easy to find online.\u201d<\/p>\n<p><em>Clever.<\/em> Angus hadn\u2019t thought of that. He had restricted searches to his clan. A stretch of the screen further enlarged the image of the young man wearing the MacDonald of Keppoch tartan. Auburn hair and square jaw. A fine hero\u2019s cleft. Bright blue eyes. He was tall, wide-shouldered, and looked like he could kill bare-handed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShit! It\u2019s me,\u201d Angus said, peering at Bruce.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah, a spitting image and they painted it long before the battle. He looks just older than you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The old Lord MacDonald Angus had met on the moor had aged. His once handsome face lined and hardened by ordering men\u2014friends\u2014away to their deaths, but this image?<\/p>\n<p><em>I know how that looks. It stares at me from the mirror every morning.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d Tony asked, peeking over his shoulder from the driver\u2019s seat.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe face there. It\u2019s the old Lord, but also Stuart from my battle vision, and then, me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll check it out back at the hotel.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCheck all you want, Mr. Logical Professor. There\u2019s no doubt like you have with my stories from the moor. I tell ya! The old Lord when he was younger, his son, Stuart, and me, we look the same!\u201d<\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\">\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;\"><b>About the Author<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n<p><a style=\"clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;\" href=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/ea61da4d8f0045b7bab89954da69936d\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/storage.googleapis.com\/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3\/663\/206663\/rL88XEv2\/ea61da4d8f0045b7bab89954da69936d\" width=\"294\" height=\"297\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;\">Rob James is a student of history and geopolitics and writing novels with<br \/>\nhistorical themes is his passion. Dramatic events and tales from history<br \/>\nhelp to create thrills and suspense. They also color flawed but compelling<br \/>\nprotagonists.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">Since childhood, stories of Rob Roy MacGregor, and the ancient Greek heroes<br \/>\nheightened Rob\u2019s passion for reading. He knows them and the history of their<br \/>\ntimes intimately, lighting the richly layered backstory of his novels.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\">When referencing ancient characters, tradition can become repetitive so Rob<br \/>\ntakes care to provide unique takes on the often-repeated tales. As his plots<br \/>\nare set in the present day, intertwining the old with the new demands<br \/>\nrespect for the old, while giving them a modern punch; a lift to provide<br \/>\nrelevance and resonate with readers.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\">\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;\"><b>Contact Links<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.robjamesbooks.com\">Website<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/WhenGodsClash\/\">Facebook<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\">\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;\"><b>Purchase Link<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.amazon.com\/dp\/B09LYCDTLL\">Amazon<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"text-align: center;\">\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><a id=\"rcwidget_z30cyy2d\" class=\"rcptr\" href=\"http:\/\/www.rafflecopter.com\/rafl\/display\/408264011487\/\" rel=\"nofollow\" data-raflid=\"408264011487\" data-template=\"\" data-theme=\"classic\">a Rafflecopter giveaway<\/a><\/div>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><script src=\"https:\/\/widget-prime.rafflecopter.com\/launch.js\"><\/script><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Paranormal\/Fantasy Date Published: 12-01-2021 \u00a0 \u00a0 A genre-bending breakout novel from a bold, fresh voice in contemporary fiction, think Highlander. \u00a0 Debilitated in Afghanistan, Angus [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3826,2],"tags":[2465,3841],"class_list":["post-8024","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","category-publishing","tag-fantasy","tag-paranormal"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>When Gods Clash: The Blue Pendant by Rob James &#8211; 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