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Morbus Dei: The Arrival Novel von Zach, Bastian (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 29.04.2015
  • Verlag: Haymon Verlag
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Morbus Dei: The Arrival

VOLUME 1 OF THE HIGHLY GRIPPING MORBUS DEI-TRILOGY Getting caught in a snowstorm, deserter Johann List ends up in a secluded mountain village ridden by fear and superstition. Soon he realises that there is something wrong with this village, that it lies beneath a grim shadow - animals get killed, people disappear, hooded shapes lurk in the dark woods. When Johann falls in love with the daughter of a farmer, they decide to leave the village together. But even before they are able to elope, the situation escalates - a life and death struggle begins. Authentically and vividly the author duo tells a story full of tragedy and emotion and allows you to travel back 300 years in time. Morbus Dei: The Arrival - a brilliant combination of mystery thriller and historical novel. New translation: more than 300 reviews on Amazon.de (avg. 4.4) for the German edition! THE MORBUS DEI-TRILOGY Vol. 1: Morbus Dei: The Arrival Vol. 2: Morbus Dei: Inferno Vol. 3: Morbus Dei: The Sign of Aries Bastian Zach was born in 1973 in Leoben/Austria. After graduating master class at the 'Graphische' university in Vienna he worked for several advertising and media agencies. Since 1997 he works as a self-employed artist, director and writer in Vienna. Matthias Bauer was born in 1973 in Lienz/Austria. After studying history and folklore he worked for publishing companies and exhibitions. Besides writing, he works at the adult education center in Innsbruck since 2007.


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: watermark
    Seitenzahl: 296
    Erscheinungsdatum: 29.04.2015
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9783709936313
    Verlag: Haymon Verlag
    Größe: 5076 kBytes
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Morbus Dei: The Arrival


In occulto vivunt.

The black ink sank into the parchment so that the full stop at the end of the sentence began to run. The scribe hurriedly blotted the ink, and then leaned back and closed his eyes.

They live in hiding.

The bare room in which he was sitting was scarcely lit by a few meagre candles. Everything was suffused with a deep stillness, save for the shadows of the flickering candles that danced relentlessly on the crudely whitewashed stone walls.

'Gratia, you can go now'. The crouching female figure stood up, hurriedly pulled up her coarse hood and hastened out of the room. The wooden door closed heavily behind her.

Wrapped in his own thoughts, the scribe took a gulp of red wine and stared into the darkness. How much time did he have left to chronicle the unspoken? How much longer would they be borne on sufferance? He put down his quill beside the inkwell and cast his eyes over the last entries of his chronicle. The Latin text was interspersed with illustrations depicting faces, hands and teeth, all of them horribly disfigured, marking the steady progression of disease ...

The further he turned back the pages, the less pronounced the signs of the disease. He shook his head thoughtfully, then took up his quill again.

Just as he was about to dip it into the ink, a loud crash came from behind the massive wooden door.

The scribe's blood ran cold.

He could hear scraps of conversation, women and children crying, men shouting, their voices getting louder.

The hour had come.

The scribe closed his eyes and breathed out wearily. It had all been to no avail-the worst had come to pass. He turned to the most recent entry in his chronicle and dated it: November A.D. 1647 . Then he put down his quill beside the mound of candle wax and closed the ornate, leather-bound book. The old man knew that henceforth nothing would ever be the same again.

He could hear footsteps approaching, menacing footsteps, and then the door was wrenched open.

A gust of cold wind blew out all the candles in the room.


Anno Domini 1703

Johann List had bashed his face hard and was lying in the mud, motionless. Blood from the gash dripped down over his eyes and mingled with the dirty water in which he had landed. His head hurt and things around him seemed muffled as they were swathed in a fog-the howling of the storm, the rain pelting down on his body, footsteps coming closer. Then everything became blurred and he closed his eyes ...

Don't let yourself be cornered.

Johann listened to the voice inside his head as he had done so many times before in his life. With an effort, he rolled himself over onto his back.

Scarcely discernible in the pouring rain and the gleams of lightning was a figure standing over him, menacingly. The figure bent down towards him. Johann recognized the weasel-like face of the farmer he had lodged with for a few nights-and who had now just attacked him unawares with such cunning. Fury seized him at the thought of what had happened. He clenched his hands in the mud and painfully lifted himself up from the ground. The farmer grinned, then laid into him, pummelling Johann with blows.

Darkness descended on Johann.

The farmer kneeled over the unconscious man and searched his pockets with quick, practised fingers, his eyes sweeping over his victim's lifeless face again and again to see if he was stirring. Suddenly he paused; carefully he pulled an object out of Johann's trouser pocket. It was a knife, but not any old knife: from the fine silver chasing and the pristine blade it was clear that it had meant more to its owner than just a common or garden utensil.

'From now on you belong to me ...' he whispered reverently.

'No it doesn'

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