Writing Sample - Opening Scene from Root for the Undergods in ReDeus: Beyond Borders
The following is the opening scene from my story, "Root for the Undergods", included in the anthology,
ReDeus: Beyond Borders
. The ReDeus trilogy, published by Crazy 8 Press, explores what would happen if every mythological god from every pantheon on Earth returned in the 21st century. How would our lives be affected? How would these ancient deities reclaim their old domains and worshippers? It's a brave new world where gods and mortals clash--and life will never be the same for either.
Opening scene from "Root for the Undergods"
by Phil Giunta
The core message of all motivational speakers can be boiled down to one simple concept—take control of your life and fulfill your potential. There had been a time when Orlando Start, superstar of the inspirational circuit, raked in seven figures annually simply for preaching that message.
Yet now, a decade into this new age where the destiny of the human race had been torn from its collective grasp by callous deities, how could one fulfill one’s potential when mere survival was questionable? How could people hope to be motivated to better themselves when their will has been stripped and their lives shattered?
Orlando Start no longer had the answers. He couldn’t even save himself.
In the years since “The Return”, the tours had been cancelled, the Blu-Ray sales had bottomed out, and Orlando’s clients, family and friends had immigrated to the lands of their ancestors as commanded by the gods of their fathers.
Battles raged between domestic and foreign pantheons as the Native American gods fought to keep people from fleeing their territories. Still, millions had managed to escape across the globe, hoping to evade death and start anew on foreign soil. Orlando’s wife had been one of them.
Intractable as usual, and despite the odds against him, Orlando had refused to leave the United States or swear fealty to Kishelemukong, the Native American god of the Lenape that ruled over the area. For a time, Orlando’s disobedience went unnoticed in the chaos. He had even managed to live well and quietly off his savings.
Until six months ago, when the gods had finally caught up with him.
Yet rather than kill Orlando outright, the state government had merely blacklisted him from society. All of his debts had become immediately due and his bank accounts frozen. He’d been unable to seek legal counsel or find a job. He couldn’t even buy food at the local grocery store, when it actually had anything in stock. As far as the world was concerned, Orlando Start had ceased to exist.
Here and now, the thirty-eight year old was alone, bankrupt, and days away from living on the streets.
It was 7:30AM on a serene Monday morning as Orlando reclined in the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. In his closed garage, the hum of the engine provided a rhythmic bass to the soft blues sax on the radio. Together, they brought an odd sense of comfort, soothing Orlando’s misery. A few more breaths and it would all be over. I’ll die on the streets anyway. May as well get it over with now. To hell with the house, to hell with the gods, to hell with this life. Orlando closed his eyes and inhaled deeply…
An instant later, a jarring mechanical whine shook him awake. He peered up through the sunroof and watched the panels of the garage door glide by overhead.
“Son of a bitch.” Orlando sat up and squinted against the morning sunlight reflected in the rearview mirror. He climbed out of the car and massaged his throbbing head before running a hand down the side of his stubbled face.
A shadow moved across the floor of the garage and as his vision cleared, Orlando found himself staring at what looked like a reject from a Renaissance Faire. Long brown hair and an unkempt beard framed the craggy face of a man in his mid-50s. He stood well over six feet tall, a head above Orlando, but it was the maroon chainmail tunic and leather body armor that were most striking. Black leather gauntlets, studded in gold, covered his wrists and forearms. Black pants ended at gray fur boots.
The man looked him up and down before speaking in a low, gravely voice. “You are Orlando Start?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Orlando tried in vain to smooth the wrinkles in his grimy polo shirt. He felt the beer stain from the night before and decided instead to cross his arms over his chest. He squared his slumped shoulders in a feeble attempt to preserve what little decorum he had left. “That depends on who’s asking.”
The man bowed his head solemnly. “I am Taranis, god of thunder.”
Orlando paused. “You mean like Zeus or Thor?”
Taranis forced a thin smile. “Yes.”
“Never heard of you.”
“Few have in this age, which is the reason why I’m calling upon you.”
“Come again?”
“I wish to hire you.”
Orlando blinked. “To do what?”
“You are a motivational speaker, are you not?”
“Well…yes.” At least, I was…
“Then we wish to engage your services.”
“We?”
“My pantheon requires motivation.”
“And what pantheon is that?”
“We are Gallic.”
Orlando shrugged.
“Perhaps you’re familiar with the ancient Empire of Gaul in Western Europe.”
“OK, yeah, sure. Sorry, I slept through parts of my Western Civ class in college. Well, actually most of it.”
Taranis raised an eyebrow.
“But I remember Gaul. Though I didn’t know they had gods of their own.”
“That appears to be the popular misconception,” Taranis said, “one that we hope you can help us correct. You see, upon our return, we were dismayed to find that so few historical references about us had survived the ages. We were once a distinct pantheon, but many of our legends have been assimilated into Celtic or Roman lore.
“As a result, we have no followers, no believers, no army to defend against the Romans. They constantly plunder and divide our lands amongst themselves with no regard for the suffering they inflict on the mortals. Our pantheon has been all but forgotten.”
“How many of you are there?”
“At present, we are merely five. However, I suspect there may be others in hiding throughout Europe, awaiting the day when we can unite and reclaim what belongs to us. We hope you will help us accomplish this.”
“Let me see if I understand you. I’m supposed to motivate you and your, uh, colleagues to stand up to the other pantheons so you can take back your lands and reinstate yourselves as respectable, powerful deities who will then engender the love and worship of the people.”
Taranis smiled and spread his arms. “A brilliant summation. Despite appearances, you’re very astute.”
Well, hot damn this is a new one. It could also be the first step to getting my life back. I wonder how far I can press this turn of luck?
“My fee isn’t cheap.”
“Money is of no concern to us. If we are successful, you will have more than you ever dreamed.”
“I dream high.”
Taranis smirked. “Yet you have fallen so low.”
“Says the god who comes to me for help. Look, I can offer support, ideas, and perhaps a different way of looking at a world that has changed dramatically during your absence, but in the end, we all fight our battles alone.”
The god of thunder nodded solemnly. “No truer words have ever been spoken. I take it that you accept the offer?”
Do I have a choice? Orlando Start, motivational speaker, shook hands with the god of thunder.
“So how do we get to your place?”
Taranis nodded toward the Range Rover. “This chariot will be suitable.”
Orlando let out a chuckle. “We’re going to drive to Europe? You realize we’re in Philadelphia, in the United States.”
Taranis opened the back door and climbed in. “Of course. Trust me, young man.”
Shaking his head at the absurdity of it, Orlando climbed into the driver’s seat and turned off the radio. “I just have one last question. How did you even find me?”
“One of my brethren happened across a few of your videos in a rubbish pile. Curious, we viewed your presentations and found them rather inspiring, so we followed the advice on the packaging.”
“Let me guess—”
“Call Orlando right away and Start changing your life today!” the two sang in unison.
Orlando closed his eyes. I hate that goddamn jingle. He looked at Taranis in the rearview mirror. “So, where to?”
“Bring us out into the road.”
“Which direction?”
“It matters not.”
A moment later, the Range Rover was in the middle of the street. Taranis leaned forward. “I shall take it from here.”
“What?”
The vehicle began moving, slowly at first, then suddenly accelerating at an impossible rate. Panicked, Orlando stepped on the brake pedal to no avail.
“Stop! What the hell are you doing?” Orlando pointed to the upcoming intersection. “The light’s red!”
“Yes, a most cheerful color it is.”
Orlando cringed as the Range Rover blasted across the intersection. Angry horns and screeching tires faded into the distance as the car raced toward the expressway. Orlando cussed, threatened, pleaded and finally begged Taranis to stop, but the god merely laughed.
Orlando could do nothing but scream as the speedometer topped off at 220MPH on their way toward morning rush hour.
Then, there was lightning.
Opening scene from "Root for the Undergods"
by Phil Giunta
The core message of all motivational speakers can be boiled down to one simple concept—take control of your life and fulfill your potential. There had been a time when Orlando Start, superstar of the inspirational circuit, raked in seven figures annually simply for preaching that message.
Yet now, a decade into this new age where the destiny of the human race had been torn from its collective grasp by callous deities, how could one fulfill one’s potential when mere survival was questionable? How could people hope to be motivated to better themselves when their will has been stripped and their lives shattered?
Orlando Start no longer had the answers. He couldn’t even save himself.
In the years since “The Return”, the tours had been cancelled, the Blu-Ray sales had bottomed out, and Orlando’s clients, family and friends had immigrated to the lands of their ancestors as commanded by the gods of their fathers.
Battles raged between domestic and foreign pantheons as the Native American gods fought to keep people from fleeing their territories. Still, millions had managed to escape across the globe, hoping to evade death and start anew on foreign soil. Orlando’s wife had been one of them.
Intractable as usual, and despite the odds against him, Orlando had refused to leave the United States or swear fealty to Kishelemukong, the Native American god of the Lenape that ruled over the area. For a time, Orlando’s disobedience went unnoticed in the chaos. He had even managed to live well and quietly off his savings.
Until six months ago, when the gods had finally caught up with him.
Yet rather than kill Orlando outright, the state government had merely blacklisted him from society. All of his debts had become immediately due and his bank accounts frozen. He’d been unable to seek legal counsel or find a job. He couldn’t even buy food at the local grocery store, when it actually had anything in stock. As far as the world was concerned, Orlando Start had ceased to exist.
Here and now, the thirty-eight year old was alone, bankrupt, and days away from living on the streets.
It was 7:30AM on a serene Monday morning as Orlando reclined in the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. In his closed garage, the hum of the engine provided a rhythmic bass to the soft blues sax on the radio. Together, they brought an odd sense of comfort, soothing Orlando’s misery. A few more breaths and it would all be over. I’ll die on the streets anyway. May as well get it over with now. To hell with the house, to hell with the gods, to hell with this life. Orlando closed his eyes and inhaled deeply…
An instant later, a jarring mechanical whine shook him awake. He peered up through the sunroof and watched the panels of the garage door glide by overhead.
“Son of a bitch.” Orlando sat up and squinted against the morning sunlight reflected in the rearview mirror. He climbed out of the car and massaged his throbbing head before running a hand down the side of his stubbled face.
A shadow moved across the floor of the garage and as his vision cleared, Orlando found himself staring at what looked like a reject from a Renaissance Faire. Long brown hair and an unkempt beard framed the craggy face of a man in his mid-50s. He stood well over six feet tall, a head above Orlando, but it was the maroon chainmail tunic and leather body armor that were most striking. Black leather gauntlets, studded in gold, covered his wrists and forearms. Black pants ended at gray fur boots.
The man looked him up and down before speaking in a low, gravely voice. “You are Orlando Start?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Orlando tried in vain to smooth the wrinkles in his grimy polo shirt. He felt the beer stain from the night before and decided instead to cross his arms over his chest. He squared his slumped shoulders in a feeble attempt to preserve what little decorum he had left. “That depends on who’s asking.”
The man bowed his head solemnly. “I am Taranis, god of thunder.”
Orlando paused. “You mean like Zeus or Thor?”
Taranis forced a thin smile. “Yes.”
“Never heard of you.”
“Few have in this age, which is the reason why I’m calling upon you.”
“Come again?”
“I wish to hire you.”
Orlando blinked. “To do what?”
“You are a motivational speaker, are you not?”
“Well…yes.” At least, I was…
“Then we wish to engage your services.”
“We?”
“My pantheon requires motivation.”
“And what pantheon is that?”
“We are Gallic.”
Orlando shrugged.
“Perhaps you’re familiar with the ancient Empire of Gaul in Western Europe.”
“OK, yeah, sure. Sorry, I slept through parts of my Western Civ class in college. Well, actually most of it.”
Taranis raised an eyebrow.
“But I remember Gaul. Though I didn’t know they had gods of their own.”
“That appears to be the popular misconception,” Taranis said, “one that we hope you can help us correct. You see, upon our return, we were dismayed to find that so few historical references about us had survived the ages. We were once a distinct pantheon, but many of our legends have been assimilated into Celtic or Roman lore.
“As a result, we have no followers, no believers, no army to defend against the Romans. They constantly plunder and divide our lands amongst themselves with no regard for the suffering they inflict on the mortals. Our pantheon has been all but forgotten.”
“How many of you are there?”
“At present, we are merely five. However, I suspect there may be others in hiding throughout Europe, awaiting the day when we can unite and reclaim what belongs to us. We hope you will help us accomplish this.”
“Let me see if I understand you. I’m supposed to motivate you and your, uh, colleagues to stand up to the other pantheons so you can take back your lands and reinstate yourselves as respectable, powerful deities who will then engender the love and worship of the people.”
Taranis smiled and spread his arms. “A brilliant summation. Despite appearances, you’re very astute.”
Well, hot damn this is a new one. It could also be the first step to getting my life back. I wonder how far I can press this turn of luck?
“My fee isn’t cheap.”
“Money is of no concern to us. If we are successful, you will have more than you ever dreamed.”
“I dream high.”
Taranis smirked. “Yet you have fallen so low.”
“Says the god who comes to me for help. Look, I can offer support, ideas, and perhaps a different way of looking at a world that has changed dramatically during your absence, but in the end, we all fight our battles alone.”
The god of thunder nodded solemnly. “No truer words have ever been spoken. I take it that you accept the offer?”
Do I have a choice? Orlando Start, motivational speaker, shook hands with the god of thunder.
“So how do we get to your place?”
Taranis nodded toward the Range Rover. “This chariot will be suitable.”
Orlando let out a chuckle. “We’re going to drive to Europe? You realize we’re in Philadelphia, in the United States.”
Taranis opened the back door and climbed in. “Of course. Trust me, young man.”
Shaking his head at the absurdity of it, Orlando climbed into the driver’s seat and turned off the radio. “I just have one last question. How did you even find me?”
“One of my brethren happened across a few of your videos in a rubbish pile. Curious, we viewed your presentations and found them rather inspiring, so we followed the advice on the packaging.”
“Let me guess—”
“Call Orlando right away and Start changing your life today!” the two sang in unison.
Orlando closed his eyes. I hate that goddamn jingle. He looked at Taranis in the rearview mirror. “So, where to?”
“Bring us out into the road.”
“Which direction?”
“It matters not.”
A moment later, the Range Rover was in the middle of the street. Taranis leaned forward. “I shall take it from here.”
“What?”
The vehicle began moving, slowly at first, then suddenly accelerating at an impossible rate. Panicked, Orlando stepped on the brake pedal to no avail.
“Stop! What the hell are you doing?” Orlando pointed to the upcoming intersection. “The light’s red!”
“Yes, a most cheerful color it is.”
Orlando cringed as the Range Rover blasted across the intersection. Angry horns and screeching tires faded into the distance as the car raced toward the expressway. Orlando cussed, threatened, pleaded and finally begged Taranis to stop, but the god merely laughed.
Orlando could do nothing but scream as the speedometer topped off at 220MPH on their way toward morning rush hour.
Then, there was lightning.
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