Andy Mcdermott - Temple of the Gods

Andy McDermott was born in Halifax, West Yorkshire and now lives in Bournemouth. As a journalist and magazine editor, amongst other titles he edited DVD Review and the iconoclastic film publication Hotdog . Andy is now a full-time writer. His debut novel, The Hunt for Atlantis , has been sold in twenty-two languages to date. Temple of the Gods is Andys eighth novel.

Praise for Andy McDermott :

Adventure stories don't get much more epic than this Daily Mirror

An all-action cracker from one of Britains most talented adventure writers Lancashire Evening Post

If Wilbur Smith and Clive Cussler collaborated, they might have come up with a thundering big adventure blockbuster like this... a widescreen, thrill-a-minute ride Peterborough Evening Telegraph

True Indiana Jones stuff with terrific pace Bookseller

A true blockbuster rollercoaster ride from start to finish... Popcorn escapism at its very best Crime and Publishing

A rip-roaring read and one which looks set to cement McDermotts place in the bestsellers list for years to come Bolton Evening News

Fast-moving, this is a pulse-racing adventure with action right down the line Northern Echo

A writer of rare, almost cinematic talent. Where otherss action scenes limp along unconvincingly, his explode off the page in Technicolor Daily Express, Scotland

McDermott writes like Clive Cussler on speed. The action is non-stop Huddersfield Daily Examiner

By Andy McDermott and available from Headline

The Hunt for Atlantis

The Tomb of Hercules

The Secret of Excalibur

The Covenant of Genesis

The Cult of Osiris

The Sacred Vault

Empire of Gold

Temple of the Gods

T he ocean had no name, nor did the gnarled land rising from it. There was no one to name them. In time there would be, after the scarred primordial world had completed another four billion orbits of its sun, but for now it was utterly barren. The planet could not even truly be said to be dead; it had never seen life.

Yet.

Had a person from that far future somehow been able to stand on the nameless obsidian sands, they would have seen a world very different from the one they knew, countless volcanoes spewing smoke and ash into the sky. This was a landscape in flux, growing literally by the day as the planets molten core forced itself outwards through the cracks in its crust.

The hypothetical observer would have found their glimpses of the heavens through the black clouds just as unfamiliar as the world beneath them. Above was an almost constant fireworks display of bright lines searing across the sky. Meteors: lumps of rock and rubble too small to survive the transition from the vacuum of space, atmospheric friction incinerating the building blocks of the still youthful solar system miles above the ground.

But the larger an incoming meteor, the greater its chance of surviving the fall.

Among the fleeting streaks of fire was something brighter. Not a line, but a shimmering point of light, seemingly unmoving. In fact, it was travelling at over ten miles per second. Its stillness was an optical illusion it was heading straight for the black beach like a bullet fired from the stars.

The light flared. The rock was surrounded by a searing shockwave of plasma as it ploughed deeper into the atmosphere, its outer layers fragmenting and shedding in its wake. But it was large enough to guarantee that no matter how much mass was burned away, it would hit the ground. An impact and explosion powerful enough to obliterate everything within a radius of tens of miles should have been inevitable.

Until something extraordinary happened.

The meteor flared again, only this time the flash was an electric blue, not a fiery red. More flashes followed, but not from the plunging rock. They came from the sky around it, great bolts of lightning lancing to the ground. The observer, had he or she existed, would have noticed a distinct pattern to them, as if they were being channelled along lines of some natural force.

And the rock began to slow.

This was more than the braking effect of the atmosphere. The meteor was losing speed in almost direct proportion to the growing intensity of the lightning flashes. It was as though the world below was trying to cushion its fall... or push it away.

But it was too late for that. Even as the electrical blizzard raged around it, the meteor continued its descent. Slowing, still slowing, but not enough

It hit the beach at several times the speed of sound, unleashing the same energy as a small nuclear bomb. A blinding flash lit the volcanic landscape, an expanding wall of fire racing out from the point of impact. Tens of thousands of tons of pulverised bedrock were blasted skywards. But even though it was now only a small fraction of the size it had been minutes earlier, the new arrival from the infinite depths of space, glowing red-hot at the bottom of the newly created crater, was still over a hundred feet across.

Then the ocean found it.

Water gushed over the craters lip, the sea greedily surging in to claim the new space. The churning wavefront crashed against the meteorite and another explosion shook the beach, outer layers of burning rock shattering in a swelling cloud of steam as they were suddenly cooled.

Gradually, stillness returned. The lightning died down, dark clouds rolling in to repair the tear in their blanket. Before long, the only movement was the eternal slosh of the waves.

What remained of the meteorite at the bottom of the new lagoon was now even smaller, only the heart of the traveller remaining intact. But for the first time in unknown ages, that core of strange, purple stone was exposed to something other than compressed rock or the harsh emptiness of space. Water , working its way into every exposed crack to find whatever was within.

It took time, six whole days, before anything happened. Even then, the time-travelling observer would have needed a microscope to see it, and still been profoundly unimpressed. A tiny bubble, the product of chemical processes at work within the ragged rock, broke free and rose to the waters surface, to be instantly lost amongst the foaming waves. It was not the most inspiring beginning.

But it was a beginning.