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The Blood That Cries in the Ground
by Gregory
Bellarmine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Italy. A tough master of novices, Father Dante encounters the bold
young priest Antonio who challenges his identity and accuses him of being the
Saint Nicholas. But despite the Father faking his death, a determined Antonio
discovers a rather alive Dante arrayed in kilt and armor.
In return for Antonio’s silence—and to protect the town from
attracting all manner of darkness—Dante agrees to tell his life story. Without
explanation, Dante orders Antonio to meet him at night in the abandoned
Cathedral, the site of a former battle that the Church has kept secret for a
generation.
Until today.
The Criskindl. Ice Steeds. The Unborn. Saint.
From the Dark Ages’ when Poet-Sorcerers ruled kings, to the Holy
Land when a new civilization was rising, to Revolutionary France where love is
lost and gained, Father Dante pursues the one responsible for both his master
and his mother’s deaths: Black Peter, his brother.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"As you see, I'm not
overweight, and of being jolly I've never been accused. Moreover, I find the
pagan ritual of indulging children's greed quite loathsome. Rewarding a year's
worth of insolence merely encourages more childish behavior and prevents the
child from becoming the man. Secular excess goes against everything I believe
about how to upbraid the sinner. In fact, I can't name a single child who
should get anything other than the strap for Christmas."
He sat back in the creaky chair,
then wove his fingers together and hooked his thumbs into his silver buckle.
The white of Father Dante's priestly collar contrasted the Cathedral's
late-night shadows. Diamond eyes—blue crystal pools that appeared half-blind
but which studied all—snared the candelabra's golden light with a glint. Red
among gray streaked the trimmed whiskers at his chin, and cardinal flecks
peppered his mane.
November gusts rattled the
stained-glass windows and shuddered the main doors where we sat in the foyer. I
glanced right to the rows of freshly varnished pews, then above to the painting
of Sebastian's Martyrdom on the dome, and hoped the Abbot slept soundly. On the
curved roof was a gothic spire, and that was where the young Abbot took his
brief hours of rest. He claimed he felt closer to God there.
Dante shifted his broad shoulders.
"Were a man like that to exist, do you really believe he'd be sitting
across from you now? They're myths. We made them up to teach women to pray at
least as much as they gossip. Really, Antonio, you surprise me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gregory
Bellarmine is the author of the bestselling Monthly Roman Breviary. He lives a
happy though sometimes sleepless life in the UK with his wife, two children and
rather cheeky Parson Russell Terrier.
www.FatherDante.com.
Email:
frgregory@latinmass.org.uk
Gregory’s
blog is http://www.fatherdante.com
@VRevGB
Book Trailer -
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QF_LaW215X4
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18660010-the-blood-that-cries-in-the-ground
Amazon
USA: http://amzn.com/1907436472
Kindle:
http://amzn.com/B00G24AQRA
“The
Blood That Cries in the Ground will grab the reader by the throat with a death
grip from which it is impossible to break free.” -Reviewed by Bil Howard for
Readers' Favorite
Link
to the full review: http://readersfavorite.com/book-review/13394
The story sounds interesting.
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