THE DEATH MASTER CHRONICLES
Book Three, The Supremacy (First Edition)
by
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Hermi forced his eyes open the next morning to see sunlight beaming into the bedroom window and he could detect the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchen. He climbed out of bed, took a quick shower and put on some fresh clothes and then wandered cautiously toward the kitchen area where the smell had traveled from. Sarah was standing in front of the stove cooking breakfast clad only in an apron which somewhat hid her obvious charms but left little to the imagination. He wrapped his arms about her from behind and whispered in her ear, “is this the way you always dress when you’re cooking or is it just an exception for this occasion only?” “You never know, Sherlock. Sometimes I like to cook this way and sometimes I don’t. One thing for sure, you won’t see me like this much if we live in a populated area or after we have children; whichever comes first.” She replied contritely and turned her face to kiss him. “I can build a house that doesn’t have any windows in the walls, if that will provide any further incentive,” he ventured, loving the smell of her hair and the feel of her against him. “It could be, but it wouldn’t do for a member of the clergy to have his wife seen in a get‐ up like this every morning at breakfast time. I suspect we’d have a lot of foot traffic past the house if that were to be the norm, or if a loyal parishioner stops by for morning coffee. No…, this is for your eyes only, Reverend Madariaga. We’ll remember these days with a particular fondness one day and wish we could re‐live them again,” she observed, as she placed bacon, eggs and pancakes on a plate and handed it to her husband. “My guess would be around the time we turn seventy or so.” They sat at the table eating breakfast, eyeing each other in a slightly different manner than they had the day before. Finally, Hermi could stand it no longer and asked. ”A penny for your thoughts Mrs. M.” Sarah looked at him, her dark eyes twinkling as she chewed breakfast, a thoughtful, and studious look on her face. “It’s a bit different than it was yesterday and the day before and all that isn’t it? I think it’s funny. We spend all that time talking about other things when our mind is really on getting into bed and see if we can screw ourselves cross‐eyed, when the fact is, it only lasts about two or three minutes. Then it’s back to reality and you’re left sitting wondering, where we’re going from here. Like I said, I think it’s hilarious.” She leaned her head back and laughed and laughed, continuing to look at Hermi. “I can relate to that.” He replied, smiling at her complete candor in the way she expressed her thoughts. Doesn’t matter; she tells it like it is and I like that. “That’s good to know,” she chuckled. “I’d hate to think I’m in the minority here. So, let us chat a bit more about this phenomenon. Do you think all young married couples are alike in this respect or are we a departure from what should be considered normal?” “Oh…, I’d say we’re as normal as the rest of them. Think about it for a minute. Guy meets girl, guy falls head over heels for girl, girl falls head over heels for guy, they get married and expect to live happily ever after and that’s it. Or is it?” He asked, taking a drink of hot coffee.
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About the Book
In this, the third book of The Death Master Chronicles, “The Supremacy”, the focus is on H. E. Rasske’s grandson, Hermi. Henri Eduard Rasske Madariaga; schooled and drilled in the expertise of the Death Master regimen since he was eight years of age by his doting grandmother, makes the decision to become an evangelist. Called on at a young age, he tells his grandmother, Sophia Madariaga he will never use the training for its intended purpose. At the urging of his grandmother, he devotes summer school vacation time activity to the study of this expertise, because she feels it will better prepare him for life in the modern world whether he becomes a Death Master or not. Hermi devotes the remainder of his free time to visiting Horse Ranch Mountain. He finds great peace there and forms a tremendous spiritual bond with his grandfather. As he grows to a young adult, he discovers the surprise of his life on one of his visits to the mountain which houses Rasske’s cave. After this moving experience, he is confronted with a choice and must make several concessions regarding his schooling and ministerial training.Upon entering the world stage as a minister, he is eventually confronted with another choice. He has grown to a formidable status in the evangelical community at a very young age and discovers he has enemies in that community because of his views and the manner in which he brings the word to his people. In order to protect himself and the love of his life, he finds the Death Master expertise a natural thing to use…………………………
About the Author
The author first became acquainted with the Death Master regimen in the US Marine Corps. In boot camp one day, while playing hand games with a fellow recruit, an observant drill instructor asked the author to accompany him to see the company commander. The D.I. told the Colonel, “This kid from Idaho has the fastest hands I think I’ve ever seen.” The commander asked the author to perform a few tests and then asked, “How would you like to train to be a Death Master?” The author had never heard the term and asked, “What in the world is that?” The commander replied, “The Marine Corps takes promising candidates and train them to kill people with their bare hands, which is nothing new. But in this instance, you would be trained to end a life and the victim would die a silent death. No noise. It would be exercised in very secret operations where a weapon cannot be used. The author consented to the training, but never had the privilege of finishing it. The Marine Corps decided they did not need the expertise any longer since the Korean War was now over. Some time later the author was medically discharged from the Marines because of a service aggravated disability. He has always been fascinated with the idea of this expertise and has devoted the better part of forty five years researching it. Research has shown it is a concept almost 8,000 years old and comes from the Assamese culture, not the Shaolin Temple. The concept has been incorporated into these works of historical fiction to tell a story of what possibly, “could have been”. The author has been asked on several occasions about whether any of the content of these books refers to him in particular. The only thing the author can truthfully say is that there is a large part of him and the way he grew up in these pages. Enough said. R.C. Beale