The Sanderstrohm Prophecies

A man of God caught in a web of time, deception and chaos, and a universal awakening that could throw the whole of the cosmos into one striking realisation of reality.
Excerpt 1.
Chapter One. Vestkysten

Norway, 1894.


No electricity to light the gloom of the swirling maelstrom of the Arctic ocean below. No logs burned within the hearth of the tiny cottage that sat precariously atop the rocky outcrop above the soulless abyss. Eyes as wide as a child in a store full of wonders stared out through the murky windows to the cruel, unrelenting power below. He relished the pure darkness of the nights that this land had embraced from the arms of the creator. Together with his fondness for the raw power of the sea the feeling of dread he held seemed to dissipate a touch as the moment unfolded beyond the safe haven of his cottage.

There was no time to sit, to stare and to divulge the intricacies of the land. It was Sunday evening and matters more pressing caused him to embrace the dread once more as he slowly turned away from the cacophonous throes of the night, sighed, and threw the warmth of fur around his shoulders. The door shook, then seemed to freeze in frightening inanimate awe as he pulled at his bolts. One last yank to break the fusion of ice and rust broke it free as the icy blasts of the night duly opened the door into the silence of the interior.

Pieters Sanderstrohm was a troubled, empty yet truly remarkable soul. His words touched hearts of poets and ripped the ice from the breaths of snow queens. They sailed through the air and danced around the serenity of a summers meadow, they leaped across dividing voids of ignorance and bridged the rivers that separated the shallow and the lonely from the proud and the strong. To all he was a true man of god, a miracle of understanding and love. He chose little comfort within the confines of his lowly yet adequate cottage that was gifted only for the duration of the path he had chosen. The future was inconceivable to him without a roof above his head, yet the present did not favour him with any conceivable hope of joy either. He sighed heavily once more, pulled the lustrous fur a little tighter around his heavy body, and glanced at the clock above the hearth.

It was time to greet his congregation.