The Hole Inside the Earth – epic quest from the far past to the far future!

Only the Vampire Priests understand the Blood Moon Prophecy: “A drop of His blood fills the cup and brings the Blood Moon Dawn.”

“Lots of cool action and drew me well in.” – AHF Magazine

Both men, distracted, stepped back. She knew they would be unbalanced, so she executed the estoc, her sword strike entering one man’s exposed right armpit. He fell. I once asked Omacron what time seemed like for one who had survived for so long in a tumultuous world.

I, Zosimyache, mercenary of ancient Greece, wrote this.
I once asked Omacron what time seemed like for one who had survived for so long in a tumultuous world.“Time is meaningless,” he said.
“Then, what does have meaning?” I asked.
This, then, is the story, as recalled by me and those Rememberers, few in number, who survived the last war on Earth.  I wasn’t there at the beginning, but I am here now in the tale that continues.
– from The Garden, final chapter of Volume 15: The Sea of Lost Intentions


A cup wrought at Earth’s birth, the Holy Grail is brought to Atlantis but lost.

Memory is strangely affected, making people forget wisdom, forget history, forget their faith, even eventually forget to drink water, bringing man to the brink of extinction.

But the eight Rememberers, Tantor, bastard son of Prince Tuma, Omacron (sometimes called Omah, Omaya, Om, O’Mally, Tom), Subrisa, (sometimes called Sabrina, Bri, Brina) and five others struggle through seven lives to find the Holy Grail and the Key, which together can generate enormous power, a power that can heal Earth.

Watch the YouTube video trailer below!

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Take a sneak preview of a map of Atalan T’ea Llantu here

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Both men, distracted, stepped back. Subrisa knew they would be unbalanced, so she executed the estoc, her sword strike entering one man’s exposed right armpit. He fell.

From the author:

Volume 1 cover

This tale is not entirely linear. It can best be likened to a wheel; you can choose a spoke and travel inward to the hub (Volumes), or you can explore each spoke in turn (Colours; only available as eBooks, but you only need to read 2 parts plus Volume 15), travelling around the rim and moving gradually inward until you reach the hub.

Another way to view it is like a tree. You might choose one branch and travel toward the trunk, or you might jump gracefully from the tip of one branch to another, exploring the canopy of the tree, gradually spiralling inward. In either case, eventually you will reach the trunk and may even perceive its roots.

It has been my experience that people’s lives are not linear. Their journey is an inward one, to eventually meet other, sometimes the most unlikely, souls in a space that transcends time and space, indeed even lives.

Consequently, you can read The Hole Inside the Earth by colour stream (red, yellow etc.) or by volume (which includes every colour in order). The colour streams loosely correspond to the following periods:

Green – About 3900 BC: Two Meso-American vampire princes seek the Holy Grail to save their race in Atlantis
Yellow – About 3850 BC: A vampire refugee from Ischian (alien) attack wanders from the desert in Ancient Egypt
Orange – 1947 AD: 1947 race to recover the Nazi anti-gravity device ‘Die Glocke’ (The Bell) at the end of WW2
Violet – Present Day: A couple try to negotiate a world where contaminated water makes people forget to drink
Indigo – About 2200 AD: A slave fights to save a Princess on post-apocalyptic Earth, where books are currency and Floyd is god
Red – About 5000 AD: A quantum AI and Grand Master vanish in a chess match held to avoid war, leaving a detective stumped
Blue – About 7000 AD: The last human wakes up on a space ship travelling away from Earth, but where is it going?

More Excerpts

Copyright © 2016 by Lazlo Ferran
All Rights Reserved

Green, Chapter 3
Tuma came to a decision:
“I will let you go Llanka. On one condition.”
“Each time you visit the City you will bring me some of your blood, either in a pot, or fresh, as it were.”
He smiled. Llanka knew exactly what he meant. She pulled up the hem of her panaha and exposed her thigh to him. Tuma drew a knife he kept for the purpose, a knife with a thin, crescent blade, and drew it across her thigh, sucking up the blood that dripped from the wound while she moaned in ecstasy. After taking what he wanted, Tuma handed her a jar of paste, made from the foliage of the Dragon fruit. Llanka rubbed the green paste into the wound and pressed the crushed leaves against it until the bleeding had stopped.
“Go,” Tuma told her. “And do not tell a soul about our agreement.”

The events of the meeting in the Council Chamber of Pakperowat are recounted in Volume 8, but not everything here is revealed there:
Omacron and Subrisa walked, hand in hand, in the meadow until they came to a grassy knoll.
He put his arm under her neck and felt the slight weight of her head and the touch of her silky tresses on his wrist. The early evening was warm and would have been hot but for a gentle breeze that rustled the green fronds of trees nearby. The occasional fly buzzed around them out of curiosity, and birds twittered when fluffy clouds didn’t obscure the sun, which hung beneath rocky roof of Llantu.
Omacron placed his hand on the velvet-soft material of her bodice.
“The guards will see!” Subrisa whispered.
“So? It might relieve their boredom. How do I get my hand inside?”
“Hm! Medieval dresses aren’t made for inpatient hands. I don’t think you can.”
She kissed him, arching her neck to reach his lips, while their eyes consumed each other.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Subrisa stroked his hand and closed her eyes, content. It didn’t take long for them both to fall asleep.
Omacron woke when a shadow cooled the hairs on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see a wounded man in dishevelled armour, standing over them. He nudged Subrisa awake and drew the sword from the ground.
The soldier didn’t move for a moment but then raises his visor.
“Oh my god!” Subrisa gasped. “He has no eyes. Omah!”
Omacron stood up and stepped between Subrisa and the man, brandishing the sword. The soldier lowered his visor, turned and trudged away in the manner of a man who is drunk or perhaps weary.
“Agzula!” a guard cried, pointing his lance to the sky.
The shadow swept over them and turned to approach again. Great claws reached down and grabbed Subrisa, before Omacron could do more than slice a strip of flesh from its leathery toes.
“Omacro- … !” Subrisa cried, struggling to escape the razor-sharp talons.
Omacron’s men launched spears at the great beast, but these clattered off its hard scales. Wind from its great wings beat the ground like a storm, as it rose and carried Subrisa away.
“She’s gone! It took her!” Omacron replied, weeping.
“We must get back to the safety of Pakperowat!” Aran urged. “You and Subrisa are our King and Queen!”
The atmosphere was grim in the Council Chamber, where Inyan had gathered the Rememberers, each ready for battle in full armour. Their red helmets had been set in a line upon a long table underneath red drapes that featured designs of the Key and Cup, woven with golden thread. No knight could eat the banquet laid out. They felt as if they had lead in their stomachs when Inyan arrived and slammed the great door shut.
The knights came to agree that the agzula must be Nim’a, greatest of them all. But then the obvious question became:
“Who could have controlled her?”
Omacron tentatively sat down in the seat of High Council and picked at a loose splinter on the wooden table top.
“What if Tantor were nearby?” he murmured. “I saw a man – a knight – on top of the grassy hill above the track. He wore a helmet with ram’s horns.”
“Rumour has it that Tantor wears such a helmet. He could have guided Nim’a with a spell,” Inyan replied.
The spy, Shema, was brought, questioned and taken back to the dungeon when she wouldn’t talk.
“We must decide what to do,” Inyan said.
The map was brought. Each man pointed to his fortress and detailed its strength.
“We must move tonight!” Omacron declared. Inyan will issue orders.
The gathering broke up, but Omacron held Inyan back. “Shema wouldn’t talk. And I felt great fear in that chamber Inyan! The Rememberers – and Chaka – are courageous men. Do they really fear Tantor that much?”
“Tantor is become Evil. The very thought of him fills all hearts with terror. And now he controls almost all of Llantu.”
“And he is my half-brother,” Omacron lamented.
“That is strangest of all! But where did it all begin?”
“That is a very long story, perhaps the longest story of all. It spans millennia, but for the Rememberers it all started in Peroturnakar.”
“I barely remember!”
“I will tell you the story later. We have no time now.”
But Omacron never had the chance to tell Inyan. I wasn’t in the Council Chamber, but Omacron told me the whole story later.

Orange, Chapter 8
Tantor was far from Peroturnakar now.
SS-Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler sat back in the tiny cell and realised that death had finally come for him.
Somehow, all his plans had gone awry. When he went back to his armoured car for a missing document, alone in the dark, in that one, brief moment of impulse, he had fallen from a position as one of the dozen most powerful men in the Third Reich to a caged prisoner on the Death Row that he had created.
A naked figure had leaped from the bushes beside the path and thrown him to the ground before he had time to draw his Luger pistol. The man’s strength seemed supernatural, so Kammler had no chance. He came to, gagged and bound, in a wood, his uniform replaced by peasant’s clothes.
Kammler stared up at himself, at least, a man dressed in his own SS uniform, complete with holster and Luger, and with a face that could be mistaken for him in the poor light between the trees.
“Who are you?” he tried to ask, his words smothered by the cloth gag.
“Struggla. I you hit,” Tantor replied.
‘Polish?’ Kammler wondered.

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