Scylla: The Revenge is the sequel to Mistress of the Rock by Myron Edwards

What Jaws did for Amity, Scylla can do for Cyprus.

Some nine years have passed since the world was introduced to the phenomenon of the Mistress of the Rock at Petra Tou Romiou. The strange image of what looks like the body of a woman in the waters by the rocks, spurred author Myron Edwards to write about his discovery. His epiphany moment inspired him to create the book and a screenplay. In 2017, a re-edited and reprinted version of the story was published by US publisher James Hill of Rockhill Publishing. This new edition was more intense than the first and led to the belief that there was even more to the tale.

Scylla: The Revenge, is the continuing account and takes place just a year after the first book ends. Enraged by his rejection, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, shows another side of her character, wreaking havoc across the coastlines of Cyprus, from Ayia Napa, Protaras, and down to Paphos. Together with her sister, the Scylla—a mythical beast of the sea—the two create mayhem and force a reluctant Richard Cole to return to the island he swore he would never go back to; where he will be compelled to face the Goddess one more time to try and stop the killings.

This version goes a long way to explain the deep connection between Richard Cole and Aphrodite and answers many of the questions the first book posed. For those curious to know what the Scylla looks like, she is depicted in one of the oldest Mosaics in The House of Dionysos in Paphos.

Scylla: The Revenge, is available in Kindle and Paperback and is distributed worldwide through outlets in India, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, UK, and USA, and most of Europe. Prices vary, so it is best to check with sites such as Amazon for the latest. It is also available from Barnes & Noble USA, Foyles London, eBay, and Google Books, or direct from the publisher,

With book three in progress, Edwards is trying hard to find investors to fund the movie he is planning. So far, no one from the Cyprus Government has shown any interest or responded to requests. The story merits a much larger audience and Edwards believes that the film would rejuvenate a historic site that for too long has been neglected.

Websites: and
Amazon UK   |   Amazon US

About the book

Shock and Awe

In the first and second world wars, they called it ‘shellshock’, in modern times the condition was sanitised to PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but whatever you call it, the short word for it is fear!  In ‘Mistress of the Rock’ we see first-hand how the effects of war can change a man and what drama it can create for those around him.

History tells us the first Gulf War in 1991 was over in 100 hours, but for Richard Cole who had never seen action up that point, his own private war was raging inside him. Gripped by fear and terror of what might happen to him, he looks for solace and finds it in Cyprus in the mythical figure of the goddess of love, Aphrodite, to whom he prays to for safekeeping. She answers his prayer.

Believing that the war is over for him, he begins to ready himself for the journey home, only to find himself a spectator in one of the most terrifying and gut-wrenching episodes of the conflict. It is here that his nightmares and visions begin. Fear turns to terror as image by image becomes a reality in his mind, and turning for help to the mythical figure, he finds sanctuary.

Twenty years later, he returns to Cyprus with his wife, Julie, for a personal pilgrimage of thanks to the goddess and a vacation for Julie. During a surprise trip with his best friend, Richard Shaw, a former war pilot, the three of them take an unscheduled helicopter ride over the site of Petra Tou Romiou, the birthplace of the goddess. Images that plagued him after the war, begin again. PTSD has no time limit, can return at any time, and any place, with no warning.

It is here that Richard begins to unravel the secrets that have tormented him for so long, especially when he discovers what he believes is the real image of Aphrodite.

Once again, Aphrodite brings him solace but more importantly, she stops his nightmares of war and instead creates a fantasy world where he and she communicate. Is it a symptom of PTSD or just an over-imaginative mind? Either way, the conflict that begins between reality and fantasy spills over into Richard’s real world and soon all that he has, could be gone forever; his wife, his children, and his home, even his mind.

Discover what secret Richard uncovers that takes him towards an uncertain future, where what is real or what is fantasy, collide in a climax of choice.

Mistress of the Rock is published by RockHill Publishing LLC Virginia

Launched May 31st – June 2nd at the New York Book Expo.

Kindle & Paper Back versions available

About the author

Myron was born in 1952 in Orsett, Essex, England, as the youngest son to Welsh parents, Iris and Bill Edwards. Upon leaving school, he went into the travel industry. He travelled the world, working in travel agencies, as a tour operator, and for airlines for some 30 years. In 1976, Myron began freelance writing for the BBC, radio and television. His credits include The Two Ronnies, Week Endings, and The News Huddlines. In 1980, he joined JWT advertising, as a copywriter, writing his first TV commercial for dog food inside 10 days.

Always artistic and inventive, he created Tubewalking in 1987, a new map concept, to help people get around London easier on foot, which still operates today. In 1990, he married Niki, whose family background is Greek Cypriot. On a family trip to Cyprus and while visiting Aphrodite’s Rock for the first time, the beginnings of his passion to write the story of Mistress of the Rock came to fruition.

Moving his family in 2005 to Cyprus to live, gave him the opportunity to write, as during this time he worked on campaigns for TV and Radio in an advertising agency in Limassol. The first manuscript of the book was completed in 2007. Released by a local publisher, it had a limited audience, but was well received by those who read it. He has now completed the sequel Scylla the Revenge and is working on the third part of the story Odyssey Julie’s Return due for release later this year. Myron has three adult children, two sons and a daughter.

Websites : and

Book 3 will be out later this year it is called Oddysey Julie’s return.

Myron’s Youtube link shows you from the air the image




That morning, Lenny set off early, leaving his wife sleeping; the sedative he had given her not simply a means to relax but also to make certain she slept longer than usual. This would help him with the plans he had hastily concocted. From first-light, he had been assembling all the gear he figured he would need and walked around the house bare-feet, tip-toeing past the bedroom door when he needed something. By 7:30am, he was ready.

He started the truck and made sure the equipment stored in the back was secure. The small vile of liquid rested inside a larger case and he moved it delicately to a spot among the gear, tying it with a thick red cord to make certain it did not move. To cover everything, he threw a tarpaulin over, keeping it hidden from prying eyes on the drive to the boat, which would take about half an hour if the traffic was okay.

It was just after 8:20am when he next checked his watch. It was later than he thought, but that hardly mattered. He took the boat, started the engine, and made his way from the quay where he habitually moored out to the open sea. The sun was already warm, as its rays coated his shoulders. The boat moved through the gears as it picked up speed, heading out to the Zenobia wreck.

The sea was calm as he steered the craft almost nonchalantly, and poured himself a small cup of coffee from a flask, and just for good measure, added a wee dram to the cup and drank it swiftly. Normally, he didn’t drink, especially not at this time of day, and certainly not Scotch, but today he felt he needed some extra Dutch courage for he had no idea who, or what, he was looking for.

He stopped the boat as he approached the dive site, collected all his gear together, and reached out to the long case. He took out the small vile and carefully opened it, pouring a small drop of its contents into a small beaker and returned the vile to its resting place. He opened the canvas hold-all behind him, took out the short spear gun, and dipped one of the tips into the liquid. While replacing the red cap on the tip of the spear, the faintest droplet of liquid rolled down the shaft, but he ignored it, instead, getting into his diving suit quickly, he attached the weapon and heavy-duty torch to his belt, and lowered himself over the side. His oxygen tank was half full; he hoped it was enough for what he needed.

The water was clear as he descended. In fact, having a better clarity than the previous day, no silt coming up from the seabed and as he took out his torch and shone it down, the reflections of a lorry’s bonnet bounced back towards the beam. Swimming slowly, he eased his way towards the wreck, noticing as he did that the usual collection of fish and crabs seemed fewer than normal. As he approached them, they became skittish; the fish swam away and the crabs ran for cover. He too felt uneasy, sensing a presence, and moved to take the spear gun from the side of his belt. Holding it in his hand, and with the torch in the other, he landed on the seabed. The silence was extreme as he stood there, just the rhythm of his oxygen bubbles permeating the air and atmosphere.

Why did he feel so wary and more than a little scared? It was as if fear itself was transmitting from the wreck, like a prelude to disaster, feeling almost tangible, and its scream deafening. He shone the beam from bow to stern like a searchlight, skimming across the ship; nothing.

He knew he had to go inside, so he flicked at the red tip on the top of the spear, and moved forward, the lethal poison now ready to be used against whatever was on that ship. His movement across the floor kicked up sand, decreasing visibility and he decided that swimming would be a better choice as he pushed towards the hull. He checked his watch, there were about fifteen minutes of oxygen left, it had gone much quicker than expected.

He looked around again, nothing; but as he moved forward, he caught a glimpse of a dark fleeting form moving across the hull and away from him. Pushing the torch into his belt, he swam towards the shape, his heart and lungs beating harder and faster with the increasing pressure of the chase. He pivoted quickly as the figure changed direction with him in pursuit, his adrenalin pumping as fast as his heart was, and felt exhilarated as he gave whatever it was the best hunt of its life.

As he grew closer, he could see what looked like scales on the back of an indistinct contour. His excitement now mixed, it also took over, as he swam harder and faster as determination pushed him to the limit to find this thing. But just as he reached one of the rotting overturned lorries, his body suddenly jerked and he felt a numbness enter it as an excruciating pain shot through him. As muscle and sinew ripped from his arm, flooding the sand below in vibrant spatters of red, his blood jetted out in one thin stream and flowed from the gaping wound that opened wider as the richer thicker blood spurted from his slashed arteries, spilling out onto the sand. In seconds, he began to lose consciousness, almost instantly his face drained, and a white ghostly pallor appeared under his mask.

Just barely alive, he tried to reach for the spear gun with his other arm, but the second attack gave him no chance of reply, as his stomach shredded open. His agony unimaginable and the sound of the attack beyond vicious, the noise of his torn flesh and tattered wetsuit splitting in two echoed across the junkyard of the seabed.

Whatever protection the suit gave him became null and void against the frenzied assault as his scattered flesh joined the human offal of internal organs that dribbled from his body and coated what was left of the suit, before being deposited at his feet on the floor. Lenny’s last act of defiance was to open his eyes to see his killer; he had his answer, as they shut forever.




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