The Summoner, by Layton Green

A United States diplomat disappears in front of hundreds of onlookers while attending a religious ceremony in the bushveld of Zimbabwe.

Dominic Grey, Diplomatic Security special agent, product of a violent childhood and a worn passport, is assigned to investigate. Aiding the investigation is Professor Viktor Radek, religious phenomenologist and expert on cults, and Nya Mashumba, the local government liaison.

What Grey uncovers is a terrifying cult older than Western civilization, the harsh underbelly of a country in despair, a priest seemingly able to perform impossibilities, and the identity of the newest target.

Himself.

The first work in a globe-hopping series whose protagonists investigate the world's most bizarre and dangerous cults, The Summoner is a stylish, haunting novel of mystery and suspense that will linger long after the last page is turned. 

"Mystical, complicated, completely believable and terrifying . . . [w]ith an ending that will catapult you out of your reading chair.  Riveting." --The Review Broads

"Yes, I did put TWO Five Stars up there . . . giving Green's The Summoner Five stars and Five stars alone downplays how I felt about this book . . . BUY THIS BOOK."  --1000 + Books To Read

"I moved a little outside my comfort zone with The Summoner, and I am glad I did. A blend of action, history, anthropology, thrills, and chills, all delivered with a mature, polished voice.  I am eager for more from this author." --Scott Nicholson, Bestselling Author

 "Layton Green has written a tale with supernatural and political undertones that unravels with ever increasing suspense . . .  The book is plain terrific." --Richard Marek, former President and Publisher of E.P. Dutton

Excerpt from the Summoner:

Professor Radek sat patiently on the rocky outcropping, his massive frame hidden from view by the boulders and msasa trees covering the ledge.  Below lay a grassy valley known to local villagers as the grave, due to the huge slab of granite that, given its position at the north head of the rectangular valley, resembled a tombstone. 

He was on a hilltop at the northern edge of the Eastern Highlands, three hours southeast of Harare by car.  In the distance, to the north, he could see the first sprinkling of the lushness of Nyanga.  To the east loomed the great primeval forests and the craggy, mist-veiled peaks of Chimanimani and the Vumba.

He had arrived hours ago to procure his position, and he felt secure.  The valley floor lay far below him, a rugged slope fell away behind him.  No one was going to surprise him. 

That is, if anyone came at all.  As dusk approached, and with it the uneasy promise of the ceremony he’d come to observe, there was still no sign of anyone.  Had Nigel provided faulty information? 

He regretted missing the first ceremony.  The markings on the fresh body he’d been called to Johannesburg to examine had meant nothing, and the crime had turned out to be sexually motivated, rather than religious.  

He picked up his binoculars and scanned the valley.  He’d attended Juju ceremonies during the first investigation, but never one dedicated to Esu.  This promised to be an extraordinary event.  His intellectual side -- his professional side -- was excited at the prospect. 

But he wondered if his other side, the side he knew from long experience lurked, dormant or otherwise, inside everyone, was anticipating the event as well: grinning lasciviously, waiting to slake its craven thirst on the coming depravity.  The side of him that he feared, after witnessing too many senseless monstrosities, had caused him to grow not just indifferent to the horror, but on some level beholden to its unholy fix. 

The wait brought ruminations.  The never-ending quest for the numinous showcases the best and worst of the human race, the intelligent and enlightened striving in vain for that crumb of divine truth alongside the ignorant and narrow-minded – with neither able to prove the other wrong.  Viktor found it captivating.  Religion is the ultimate anthropological palette, a fascinating arena where each culture’s concept of the divine manifests into intricate social constructs.   

Perhaps, he thought, we’ll never know who has it right, if anyone.  And that’s the damnable wonder and terror of it all.

Laden with the weight of the eternal, he gazed upon the vastness of the mountain-studded earth before him and pondered humanity’s wraith-like state: doomed to live a half-life somewhere between the absurdity of physical existence and the shadowy quagmire of spiritual truth. 

He grew restless, tired of pointless mental perambulation.  He reached unconsciously into his pocket, but grasped only fabric.  Do prdele.  He knew why he’d left her in his suite, but he still berated himself as he peered around the boulder.  No matter -- soon his second drug would be available: the chthonic milieu of forbidden knowledge.  Would he witness something tonight that raised more questions?  Would he find another piece of the greatest puzzle of all? 

Something moved in the distance.  He repositioned himself and reached for the binoculars.  A line of villagers straggled towards the valley.  He scanned and saw more people approaching the valley from all directions except his. 

He put down the binoculars and watched the strange procession with his own eyes.  The figures beneath him shuffled into the valley like zombies, silent and listless, creeping into the gloaming. 

He noticed a group of six men carrying something covered in cloth.  He returned to the binoculars.  They entered the center of the valley and peeled back the ragged coverings, revealing a stone altar.  They lowered the altar reverently, pounded stakes and iron rings into the ground next to it, and then backed away. 

Another group entered carrying hourglass-shaped dundun drums.  They set the drums down a good distance from the altar, one in each corner of the valley.  They looked to the sky, their lips moved in supplication, and then, as one, they began to beat.   

An instant and chilling transformation overcame the valley.  Viktor knew that drums signaled the start of celebration at a Juju ceremony: people would begin to dance with abandon, as if at carnival.  The crowd sprang to life, but these worshippers writhed in a sensuous rhythm that, although captivating, possessed something methodical and sinister. 

Something wrong.

Author Bio: Layton is a mystery/suspense writer and the author of the Kindle best-selling and award-winning Dominic Grey series. In addition to writing, Layton attended law school in New Orleans and was a practicing attorney for the better part of a decade. He has also been an intern for the United Nations, an ESL teacher in Central America, a bartender in London, a seller of cheap knives on the streets of Brixton, a door to door phone book deliverer, and the list goes downhill from there.
He has traveled to more than fifty countries, lived in a number of them, and has a burning desire to see every country, city, beach, moor, castle, cemetery, twisted street and far flung dot on the map. Religion and cults, as well as all things spiritual and supernatural, are a lifelong interest. Roll in fifteen years of Japanese Jujitsu training, and the Dominic Grey series was born.
Layton lives with his wife and children in the Atlanta area. Please stop by his website at www.laytongreen.com. 

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