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March 16, 2014

New Release – ‘Far Away in Time’ by Maria Savva

My friend and fellow author, Maria Savva, has just released a new collection of short stories. Following is a brief excerpt from one of my favorites:

Teaser from ‘Far Away In Time – Part I’

Angie meets Mr Silverfrost

‘Don’t be alarmed. I can explain. But you have to suspend belief first.’ His grey eyes stared into hers.

‘Suspend belief?’

‘Yes. It’s not going to be easy for you to accept what I’m telling you. You have been so brainwashed into believing so many things.’

‘I really have to go,’ said Angie, suddenly struggling for air. ‘I can’t—’

‘You’re hyperventilating, that’s all. Please breathe deeply and sit in my chair. I will try to explain.’

‘But I have to go and collect the children.’

‘They will be fine. Time is relative.’

Angie shook her head in confusion. ‘Relative to what?’

‘Let’s just say that a minute to me is an hour to you and vice versa.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘See what I mean? It’s hard to explain anything to someone who has been so conditioned to accept one way of looking at things. At one time people also believed the earth was flat, you know.’

‘So you’re telling me this is some kind of parallel universe?’

‘If you want to think of it that way, yes. I exist and I don’t exist, in the same way as you, my dear.’

Available on Amazon:

Our lives are a series of stories, and we are the characters with the starring roles. The memories, regrets, secrets, and struggles that fill these pages are at once unique and relatable. These stories belong to us all. Eight unforgettable tales reaching out to a place Far Away In Time…

Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46il_5i6lHk

Author bio:

Maria Savva lives and works in London. She studied Law at Middlesex University and The College of Law. She is a lawyer, although not currently practising law. She writes novels and short stories in different genres, including drama, psychological thriller, and family saga. Many of her books and stories are inspired by her years working as a lawyer, although she has not written a courtroom drama to date. Her most recent novel is Haunted, a crime fiction/psychological thriller.

You can connect with Maria online at:

Website: http://www.mariasavva.com

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Maria-Savva/171466979781

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Maria_Savva

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Published on March 16, 2014 13:01

March 2, 2014

My Writing Process – Blog Tour

I would like to thank fellow author Maria Savva for inviting me to take part in the ‘My Writing Process’ blog tour. Maria is an exceptional author, and I would encourage you to check out her works available on Amazon here.

If you have a chance, stop by Maria’s blog here. Or her website at www.mariasavva.com.

Now, as part of the blog tour, I have been asked to answer the following questions about my writing process (such as it is…)

1 What am I working on?

I have just released my fourth novel, ‘Touch of Darkness’ – the last book in the ‘Beyond the Veil’ series (or at least I think it is…). ’Touch of Darkness’ is the story of Rami, a teenage boy who is on the run from his past. Having been possessed by a shadowwraith, he murdered two innocent people, one of whom was his best friend. Now, with the spirit of the wraith trapped in a spiritstone, Rami struggles to come to terms with what happened. He is desperate to find a way to control the spirit and unlock its secrets. Travelling to the Orient, fate throws him into an unlikely partnership with Amirah, the alluring daughter of a caravan leader. Fascinated by his dark and mysterious past, she is drawn to Rami like a moth to a flame, and fears for his soul as he slips further into darkness.

2 How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Most of my stories are shorter than contemporary fantasy novels, with my most recent work being about 42,000 words. My longest novel, ‘The Guardian’s Apprentice’ is about 70,000. My stories are character driven, and I always strive to create scenes in which the reader can become completely absorbed.

3 Why do I write what I do?

Simple. I love fantasy. Fantasy novels were my lifeline – they provided me with an escape from an abusive and unhappy childhood. On those dark days, I could escape reality and join my friends, like Bilbo Baggins, and John Carter of Mars, who took me to a happier place. I also love being able to create worlds of my own, where magic rules instead of science, and where anything is possible.

4 How does my writing process work?

I wish I knew. No, really, I wish I could figure it out! My muse is fickle, and I may go for weeks at a time without writing a single word. Then, when I least expect it, inspiration will strike and I will struggle to write everything down before it vanishes from my mind. Most of my short stories happened that way – an idea hit, and I would write the story in a single setting. With my novels, I almost always write the last chapter first – or at least shortly after starting the book. Finally, I do not use outlines very often. Occasionally, if I have a complicated sub-plot, I will use an outline for the main points, but usually I write by the seat of my pants. I simply sit at the computer, fire up the music, and let the characters tell their story.

*snort* Dear readers, I can assure you that is NOT how he typically writes his stories. He will sit and stare at the blank screen for days on end, whining about writer’s block. If it were not for me, he would never have finished a single story. While I will concede the man does have an active imagination, even for a human, he knows little about wizards and magic. And I shudder to think what he would write about dragons if I were not here to guide his hand!

That’s enough, Idris. You will have to pardon that small outburst – Idris is both my writing partner and muse. He sits in a place of honor next to my computer, where he oversees my writing and criticizes my dialogue.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a story to write.

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Published on March 02, 2014 23:00

January 12, 2014

Cover Reveal & Excerpt – ‘Touch of Darkness’

‘Touch of Darkness’ – the fourth book in the ‘Beyond the Veil’ world, is now complete and should be published by the end of the month, once final edits are complete. Below is an excerpt – I hope you enjoy!

Touch of Darkness

The sun was starting to set beneath the horizon as they finally reached the base of the mountains, the tall sandstone cliffs stretching skyward. The path ended as the ground sloped upward, strewn with large chunks of rock taller than Rami.

“We’ll have to go on foot from here,” said Rami as he dismounted.

The chaser was buzzing impatiently up ahead, near a small path that disappeared up the slope. Rami knew they were getting close, as the chaser had changed to a dusky red. When it turned black, like the seeker, they would find their target. Rami helped Amirah down from the back of the camel, catching her about the waist as she dismounted. As her feet touched the ground, their eyes locked and he was overcome by her beauty.

“Um… You can let go now, Rami,” she said softly with a smile.

“Oh, um, I…” he stammered as he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He quickly looked away and busied himself with untying their packs from the camel.

He was still struggling with a particularly tough knot on one of their packs when suddenly an ear-splitting shriek tore through the air and the ground shook. The camel’s eyes grew wide with alarm and it bolted, most of their supplies still strapped to its back.

“What the hell was that?” shouted Amirah trying to keep her footing as the ground shook all around them.

Rami had heard that horrible shriek before, and knew it meant only one thing.

“Sandwyrm!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the boulder strewn path. “Hurry! We have to reach the rocks before it surfaces!”

“But the camel – our supplies!”

“Leave it!” he yelled, pulling her after him as he ran towards the path.

The rumbling sound was deafening now, and suddenly the sand where they had been standing just moments before erupted violently. With a horrendous shriek that sounded like tearing metal, a dark brown, scaly creature burst forth. The beast had the head of a dragon, but where the eyes should be were grown over with scales, and large moveable folds covered the nostrils, flapping open and closed as it breathed. The head was attached directly to the legless, snakelike body, which was covered in thick armored scales and disappeared into the sand. Instead of horns or spikes, large fan-shaped scales swept up and back behind its head. The head moved from side to side and the flaps on its snout moved quickly as if it was searching for a scent.

Amirah screamed as the massive, blind creature surged towards them, drawn to the vibrations from their running down the path. Rami knew their only hope was to reach the boulder strewn path at the base of the mountain, as sandwyrms could only travel a small distance on hard ground – without legs to support their massive body, they normally ‘swam’ through sand like it was water – a prolonged period on a rocky surface would eventually cause an adult sandwyrm to suffocate under its own weight. Rami heard a loud hissing sound and a boulder to his left suddenly dissolved into a bubbling mass of green slime as the beast spat a jet of acid. Rami pulled Amirah ahead of him, pushing her towards the ever steepening path.

“Run! Head for the boulders at the top of the ridge!” he shouted, pointing her towards safety.

“But…” she stammered, unwilling to leave him as she drew her sword.

“Now!” he yelled as they continued to run. “Even if you could get close enough, your steel would never cut through its scales!”

With a final shove, he propelled her forward even as he rummaged in the pouch of the satchel slung over his shoulder. Although sandwyrms where a very distant cousin of dragons, they lacked intelligence and could not use magic. However their speed and ability to spit deadly jets of acid made them just as dangerous. As a temple acolyte, he had been taught various charms, hexes and curses, but even the priests were never trained as full wizards, so he could never hope to kill the beast with magic. His only hope was to distract it long enough to reach safety. The beast roared again, shaking the ground beneath his feet as another boulder was dissolved by a stream of acid; tiny droplets of the toxic green liquid splashed across his tunic, stinging his skin and causing wisps of smoke to curl up from his clothes. His hand finally clasped a small orb in his satchel and he pulled it out. The shiny silver ball sparkled in the desert sunlight as Rami held it close to his mouth and whispered a hex. As he completed the spell, he turned and hurled the sphere at their camel, which had stopped running once it was a safe distance away. The silver orb arced through the air, emitting an ear-piercing shriek, causing the pursuing wyrm to stop and rear upward, tilting its scaly head to one side. As the still whistling ball hit the ground near the camel, it exploded with a deep ‘thud,’ shaking the ground and enveloping the camel in a white fog. Rami watched the spell took effect as the camel stretched and grew, more than tripling in size as its skin crackled and hardened. It reared its head and grunted loudly as it took off, its now stone feet shaking the ground as it ran. Attracted by the much stronger vibrations of the camel, the sandwyrm turned on its new quarry and slithered away, eager to pursue this much larger prey.

Rami sprinted towards the safety of the boulders, running as lightly as he could so as not to attract the sandwyrm. He scrambled up the pile of loose stones and dove behind the largest rock, landing next to Amirah, who was crouched down watching the receding sandwyrm as it chased the stone camel across the path they had just traveled.

“By the gods, Rami, what did you do?” she asked, her eyes still wide with fear.

Gasping for breath, it took Rami several minutes before he could respond.

“Stonehex,” he panted, his chest hurting from running.

“But the poor camel,” she said as she sheathed her sword. “It has no hope of outrunning that horrid creature!”

“It was either the camel or us,” snapped Rami, his head beginning to pound from using the curse. The stonehex spell was a form of dark magic that drew upon the energy of the caster; the spell was one Rami had learned in the restricted section of Master Ammon’s personal library when he was supposed to be cleaning the shelves. “Besides,” he said as he rubbed his temples, “the camel is now made of granite – it will take the sandwyrm a while to tear it apart.”

“Rami!” gasped Amirah.

“Come on,” he said, ignoring her expression as he adjusted his satchel and dusted off his tunic. “We’re close now – the chaser is almost black.”

Amirah just stood near the boulder, staring at Rami in disbelief. He was several steps away when he noticed she was not behind him. He turned and looked at her, spreading his arms wide.

“What?” he asked angrily. “We could never outrun a sandwyrm, Amirah. I had no choice – it was either us or the camel!”

Sheathing her sword in a single, fluid motion, she scowled at him.

“It was a living creature, Rami! At least show some compassion – or did they not teach you that at the temple?”

Rami sighed and shook his head as she angrily stomped past him up the path. The priests certainly had not taught him anything about arguing with a female.

*END OF EXCERPT*

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Published on January 12, 2014 17:48

December 15, 2013

Frostbite – the Dragon that Saved Christmas

The great white dragon yawned and stretched, curling her long tail around herself and settling in for a well deserved nap. She had plucked several nice, fat reindeer from the valley below and now, her stomach full, she would sleep for at least a week. She counted herself lucky, as hunting was usually much more difficult in December.

An ice dragon, she was a rarity, even for her kind. Although there were hundreds of different species of dragon, several from each of the elements, ice dragons were the least common. They lived in the Polar regions, high in the mountains. While most dragons had the ability to breathe fire, or acid, ice dragons had the ability to generate a powerful blast of ice-magic that froze on contact. Their wings beat great currents of frigid air, and they had the power to concentrate the moisture in the air and cause blizzards.

But tonight, Shiv’ra, or Frostbite as she was called by the humans, had no intention of leaving her nice, cold cave, curled into her nest of snow. Or so she thought until a loud voice echoed through the cavern.

“Frostbite!” shouted a gruff, male voice. “FROSTBITE, I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE – ANSWER ME!”

Her curiosity aroused, the dragon uncurled, shook the snow from her back and made her way down to the entrance of her lair. No human would dare to address her in such a manner, and no dwarf would be found this far north. She reached the entrance to her cave and sat down on her haunches, curling her long, spiked tail around herself like some giant cat.

“Who dares disturb me at this late hour?” she said into the twilight.

She saw no one near the cave, and only a fool would venture out in a snowstorm this late in the season. A shadowy movement in the distance caught her attention and she peered into the dark. A figure was approaching, trudging through the snowdrifts up the path to her lair.

It must be a wizard to have projected his voice from such a distance. Oh, how I detest wizards; arrogant fools.

“Frostbite! I have a bone to pick with you, dragon!” said the figure from about halfway down the path.

A bone to pick? The insolence! I would eat him whole if I weren’t already full; still, I could freeze him for later…

Her eyes narrowed in anger, she watched as the dark form grew larger and gradually took the shape of a large, burly human.

Oh no. It can’t be. I thought that old fool died years ago…

As the light faded and the sun finally sank out of sight, Shiv’ra flicked her tail and two large werelights flared to life on either side of her. As the bright blue-white glow lit the surrounding area, the figure trudging up the path became clear.

Kringle! she thought with a grimace. The one human her race was forbidden to interfere with.

Long ago, the magic users of all the races reached an agreement with the dragons that the magician, Kris Kringle, would be untouchable. A relentless practical joker and trickster, he had taunted and embarrassed the Council for years. It all came to a bitter end however, when the beloved pet snark owned by Eudora Fogle, head of the Order of Black and Chairperson of the High Council, had its fur covered in a bright pink paisley pattern. Even the most talented wizards had been unable to break or reverse the spell, although most were too busy chortling under their breath to properly recite the incantations.

A stern and unforgiving witch, Eudora served Kringle a life sentence. His penance was to spend one night each year delivering toys and presents to the children of the world, to foster their belief and wonder in all things magical. At first this might seem the dream job for a wizard such as Kringle, who was still so young at heart.

But Eudora was a crafty old witch, and she didn’t get to be head of the Council by playing nice. She ruled the Council with an iron fist and was, above all else, a bureaucrat – a rulemaker, a law passer, a ‘three copies filled out in blue ink not black’ if you please – tyrant. For you see, she cursed him with a seemingly impossible task.

It was now Kringle’s task to track every single child in the world – magic or not – and keep a tally of their behavior. Who was naughty. Who was nice. Who was just naughty enough to get coal or just nice enough to get candy. Every child in every country was on his list, and he had to watch them. Every. Single. One. Until they became adults, and then he had to watch THEIR children. Forever. If he ever failed to carry out his mission by sunrise at the Council tower, he would be stripped of his magic and exiled to live out the rest of his life among the mortals.

As a result, he was under the protection of the Council as long as he was carrying out his duties, which meant Shiv’ra could not eat, freeze or otherwise harm the old wizard in any way.

Pity, she thought with a caustic glance at the old man. As plump as he is, I would imagine him to be quite tasty.

Kringle finally stopped in front of the dragon, leaning heavily on his staff and puffing steam into the cold night air like an old locomotive. After a few moments, he finally caught his breath and launched into a tirade.

“Just what do you think you are doing? Have you ANY idea what day this is, you great fool of a dragon?” he snapped.

Shiv’ra was somewhat taken aback, as most humans showed more respect towards her kind. She flexed her broad, white wings and cocked her head to one side, focusing one of her giant blue eyes on Kringle.

“Excuse me? Just whom do you think you are, storming up here at this hour?” she hissed. “If you were not under the protection of your precious council I would have you for a snack!”

“Hmph!” snorted the old man. “You don’t scare me, dragon, and they are most certainly NOT ‘my precious council’!” he said with a shake of his gloved fist. He took a flask out from beneath his voluminous robes and took a deep swig, the smell of peppermint wafting upward and causing the dragon to wrinkle her nose. “For almost two hundred years, I have met the challenge of that hateful old witch, and I have brought Christmas to the four corners of the globe as agreed, ON TIME!” he shouted. “But now, now, I am undone, in a single night, by YOU!”

He’s gone insane. Perhaps this is what candy cane poisoning looks like…

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are blathering about, Kringle,” she said icily. “After my hunt, I settled down in my cave. I have been nowhere near you or your tower.”

Kringle shook his staff at the dragon and shouted angrily, “You ate six of my reindeer, you fool! How is my sleigh supposed to take flight?!”

Shiv’ra paused at this. She had indeed devoured six plump reindeer – bells and all in fact – as she had been quite hungry. The other three she had let escape into the pine woods as she was satisfied.

“It is not my fault, Kringle. They were out in the open and I was hunting; I am a dragon, you know.”

The wizard put his gloved hand over his face and sighed deeply. “How many reindeer have you seen whose nose glows bright red? Did that not strike you as odd?”

“I must admit, it did make that one easier to catch; it would also explain the heartburn…”

Kringle sat down on one of the boulders near the mouth of the cave and slumped over, leaning on his staff. “I’m finished. After all these years, that hateful old witch has won.”

Shiv’ra snorted, sending a blast of frigid air and ice crystals showering down upon the wizard. “Oh, please! You’re a wizard. Just use a portal, a flying carpet or a broom, for heaven’s sake.”

“I can’t you fool of a dragon!” snapped Kringle. “It’s against the bloody rules! I must deliver gifts to all the children of the world in one twenty-four hour period, traveling in a sleigh pulled by magical creatures. For years I have used the flying reindeer raised by the elves; they were strong and dependable, and could land on almost any rooftop.”

The old wizard took another drink from his flask and looked up at the dragon. “Wait a minute!” he said with the sound of inspiration in his voice.

This can’t be good; a wizard with an idea is a dangerous thing…

“The rules don’t specify reindeer…” said the old wizard, a gleam in his eye.

“No! Absolutely not!” snapped the dragon, knowing all too well where this conversation was headed.

Kringle arched his eyebrow and glared up at the Shiv’ra. “You owe me, dragon. It is your fault I cannot complete my rounds tonight.”

“Impossible,” she said. “Even if I agreed to such an endeavor, which I do not, even I cannot fly that fast; no dragon could!”

Kringle shook his head and motioned with his staff. A shrieking sound filled the air, akin to the sound of sheet metal being shredded. The air shimmered and in the blink of an eye, a large red sleigh snapped into existence in a cloud of snow.

“You don’t have to fly fast, Frostbite. You simply pull the sleigh, and once airborne, it takes over.”

The dragon looked skeptically at the wizard. “What do you mean, ‘it takes over’?”

“The sleigh emits a magical field that forms a bubble around us; we slip through the atmosphere in the blink of an eye and criss-cross the entire planet before you can say mistletoe!”

“No.”

“Dammit, Frostbite, you owe me! You ate my reindeer, and if I fail in my mission I’ll be exiled to the mortal realm and the magic of Christmas will cease to exist!”

“Absolutely not. It is degrading. I am an ice dragon, not some common dray animal!”

The wizard pulled at his beard, clearly frustrated with the conversation, until he looked up at Shiv’ra with an even brighter gleam in his eye.

“Think of it though, for this one night, you will be the fastest dragon in history – no other dragon will have flown as far and as fast as the great Frostbite!”

Hmmm. He has a point. I would be the envy of my race…

Shiv’ra narrowed her cold blue eyes as she laid out her terms. “I will carry the sleigh, not be harnessed to it.”

“Agreed.”

“I will not wear sleigh bells.”

“Agreed.”

“And at the conclusion of our task, you will go away and never bother, harass, contact or otherwise disturb me, ever again – understood?”

“Deal!” said Kringle with a grin, as he clambered up into the sleigh.

He raised his staff and muttered an incantation and an ornate silver railing sprouted from the back of the vehicle, arching high overhead to provide something for the dragon to grasp in her claws. The dragon spread her enormous wings and took to the air with a single, powerful downward beat, causing a flurry of snow to surround them. She grasped the silver bar in her foreclaws and lifted the sleigh and its contents skyward as if they weighed nothing. Although Shiv’ra’s massive body eclipsed Kringle and his vehicle, she felt a slight tingling sensation as the velocity spell activated. There was a sound like a thunderclap and a bright flash, as dragon and sleigh vanished from sight, leaving nothing but silence and snowflakes in the darkness.

***

Eudora Fogle was happy. The old witch was sitting at her desk in her warm office, watching glittering silver grains of sand slip through the neck of a large hourglass sitting in front of her. A harsh and brittle politician, she was rarely happy, and when she was, it usually meant that some other poor soul was very unhappy. As the last of the silver grains slipped through into the bottom chamber of the hourglass, she smiled – a crooked scar of a smile that creased the cruel lines of her face. At that moment, a loud thunderclap rumbled across the courtyard outside her chambers, and her smile grew even broader. She rose from her chair and gathered her thick, black robes about her and went to complete a task she never thought she would have the pleasure of finishing. The heavy oak door to her study closed behind her with a ‘snick’ and a bright pink, paisley covered snark curled on the hearth opened an eye, then yawned and stretched and went back to sleep.

***

Shiv’ra released the now empty sleigh, setting it down gently in the courtyard. She then folded her wings and landed beside it as Kringle jumped from the sleigh, causing a cloud of snow to erupt around the plump wizard. The dragon watched as the large double doors to the castle opened and at least two dozen witches and wizards, bundled up against the cold, came to greet them.

“Out of my way!” shouted, a tall, rather stern looking woman in black robes with jet black hair pulled up into a tight bun, brandishing a silver wand.

The dragon saw Kringle grimace as he took a quick drink from his flask, the strong scent of peppermint filling the air. He nodded to the woman as she reached the sleigh and said, “I have completed my mission, madam chairperson. Every child has been accounted for, every gift delivered.”

“Ha!” she spat with a grin as she waved her wand under his nose. “You’re late!”

Shiv’ra saw the color drain from Kringle’s rosy red cheeks, until he looked rather like a snowman in robes.

“What?? That is impossible! I’ve completed my mission!”

“Wrong, you old fool!” she snapped gleefully. “You are two grains too late! You have given your last gift, eaten your last cookie and stuffed your last stocking!”

The dragon looked at Kringle. She had never seen someone look so crestfallen before; when delivering gifts the old man positively glowed with excitement.

He actually enjoys his penance! Bringing joy and wonder to others has become his purpose…

Shiv’ra snorted in anger, sending a shower of ice crystals cascading down upon Eudora. Startled to realize she was standing underneath an ice dragon, the witch staggered backwards, wand raised over her head.

“Do not bother, witch,” said Shiv’ra with the sound of disgust in her voice. “There is little magic that can harm me, and none that could stop me slaying you where you stand.”

“Stay out of this, dragon,” shouted the old woman, although one could hear the fear in her voice. “Kringle failed and now I will strip him of his magic and banish him out of my sight forever!”

Shiv’ra stood and rose to her full height and lowered her head until her massive, tooth filled snout was just feet from the old witch’s face. She snorted again, covering the old woman in a thick layer of frost and causing the wizards and witches around them to gasp in fear.

“Kringle may answer to you and your council, witch, but I do not,” hissed the dragon. “This man has served his penance. Furthermore, he shall continue to spread the spirit of Christmas across the globe as long as he wishes, for the belief in magic benefits us all.”

“You… you can’t do that,” stammered the witch as she struggled to brush the frost from her robes.

Shiv’ra narrowed her eyes and spoke a single word, “gla’sere” and the air shimmered as a bright silver mark in the shape of a snowflake appeared on the forehead of the old woman.

She winced and pawed at her forehead, trying to scrub the mark from its place but it would not budge.

“What have you done to me?!”

Shiv’ra straightened to her full height and addressed the entire crowd of spellcasters.

“From this day forward, the man known as Kringle shall be freed from his servitude to the Council. He shall continue on in his duties as he pleases,” said the dragon, her deep voice echoing off of the castle walls. “Furthermore,” said Shiv’ra as she turned to address Eudora, “if you interfere with or hinder him in any way, your body will be turned to ice from the inside out.”

Eudora blanched as she tried harder to scrub the silver snowflake from her forehead. Someone in the crowd began laughing, and it quickly spread as the crowd erupted in cheers, prompting Eudora to run into the castle for the safety of her chambers.

“I cannot thank you enough, Shiv’ra,” said Kringle with a wink.

Surprised that the wizard knew her true name, she nodded in return. “Merry Christmas, Kringle,” she said, as she unfurled her great wings and took to the air. She angled northward and glided on the air currents, ready for a long winter’s sleep.

END

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Published on December 15, 2013 16:42

October 2, 2013

Legend of the Pumpkin King

October is here and Halloween is just around the corner. One of my favorite times of the year, it always puts me in the mood for a scary story. Following is my short story, ‘Legend of the Pumpkin King’ written last Fall. Hope you enjoy!

Watch your back, its Scarecrow Jack!

The horrible Pumpkin King!

When the frost is new, he’ll come for you,

The terrible Pumpkin King!

With eyes glowing red, you’ll soon be dead,

The dreadful Pumpkin King!

In the cold night air, you will despair,

Beware the Pumpkin King!

Jack trudged through piles of dry leaves that had accumulated on the sidewalks. It was a chilly fall morning and he was on his way to school after missing the bus. A pair of older boys had stolen his books again and hidden them in different places around the neighborhood. It had taken him almost an hour to find them all, and by then he had missed the last bus to school. It would be the third time this week he was late. Mr. Perkins, the principal, would be sure to phone his parents again. Jack’s father had been furious the last time and spent the better part of an hour lecturing Jack about how disappointed he was that his son was a weakling. Apparently Jack must be doing something to bring this abuse upon himself, or so his father believed.

The boys and girls in his village had always made fun of him, but today had been even worse than usual. For years he had been teased unmercifully and his father had told him to ‘be a man’ and to ignore the taunts. No matter how hard he tried though, it still hurt. He tried to make his heart a stone, to feel no emotion, but it never worked.

Jack had always been small for his size, and his straw colored hair was unruly no matter how hard he tried to tame it, but his eyes were the most unusual of all, for they were an odd golden-orange color. At fifteen he was thin and lanky and the boys and girls at his school had taken to calling him ‘scarecrow’; once a group of boys had even tied him to a makeshift pole in the farmer’s field of pumpkins. They had placed a paper crown on his head and taunted him for hours.

“Bow to the Pumpkin King!” They laughed as they threw rotten tomatoes at him and danced around the pole. “Watch your back, its Scarecrow Jack! What a loser!”

After the bullies left it had been hours before anyone responded to his cries for help, and he still had scars on his wrists from where the rope had cut into his skin. The farmer was furious with Jack, warning him to stay out of his fields or he would set the dogs on him. It didn’t help that the farmer’s son was the ringleader of the group that night.

Jack’s day at school was uneventful, although he was ordered to serve after school detention for arriving late. His pleas had fallen on deaf ears and Mr. Perkins had spent several tense minutes on the phone with Jack’s father. His father felt it appropriate that Jack walk home, as punishment for embarrassing his family yet again.

The light was beginning to fade as Jack walked home, and the cool autumn breeze stirred the leaves around him. The streetlamps began to flicker and come to life and a misty rain began to fall. As he walked down the lane he shivered; the forest loomed dark on his right, while fields of pumpkins stretched far out of sight on his left. The wooden split-rail fence was in disrepair, and it was not uncommon for children to take a shortcut through the fields on their way home. Jack did not want to anger the farmer however, and decided to stay on the main road.

The sound of a twig snapping in the shadows made Jack freeze. Years of running from bullies had made him wary, and he listened closely for any further sounds. After a few moments he heard the crunch of footsteps in the leaves. Jack bolted for the fence, not caring any longer about angering the farmer. He cleared the fence in a single leap and ran quickly between the rows of pumpkins. The sun had now set and it was a crisp, cold night, the frost just beginning to form on the leaves and vines in the farmer’s field. He looked over his shoulder and was terrified to see a pair of glowing red eyes floating in the air twenty paces behind him.

“YOU CAN’T RUN, LITTLE JACK, I’VE COME FOR YOUR SOUL,” bellowed a gruff, disembodied voice that echoed across the field.

Fear surged through Jack and he took off across the field like a scared rabbit. As he leapt across a small stream that cut through the field, the glowing red eyes stopped their pursuit and fell to the ground. The sound of laughter could be heard as Billy, the farmer’s son, and three of his friends guffawed at the sight of Jack running across the fields. They congratulated themselves and decided to go back into town for hot chocolate, leaving their long wooden pole with two red lanterns attached lying in the field.

Jack ran until he could no longer hear any sounds of pursuit, but he was afraid to stop running. He stumbled onward for what seemed like an hour, tears streaming down his face, and realized he had lost his bearings; he could see nothing but row after row of fat pumpkins.

He staggered onward until finally, exhausted, he collapsed in a heap amongst the giant pumpkins. He shivered in the cold as he sobbed uncontrollably. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be in this field – his mother had warned him hundreds of times not to wander this far out from the farm houses. “The Pumpkin King will catch you and steal your soul,” she used to say.

An old wives’ tale used to scare children into doing as they were told, Jack knew the story was just a myth. But the sight of the disembodied red eyes had truly scared him. His heart was still thudding in his chest and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He huddled in the midst of a group of pumpkins and decided to hide until he was certain he was safe.

***

The morning dawned cold and foggy, a dense mist covering the fields. Jack stretched and looked around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

This part of the field did not look familiar at all, although it had been dark and he had been running for his life.

Where am I? I was hiding among the pumpkins, but this is open field.

Jack stood up and looked around, and saw a crowd of people in the field not too far away down the hill. There were a dozen or so of them, including the farmer and his son, gathered in a circle and pointing at something.

“Poor thing,” said a matronly old woman in a thick shawl. “Must’ve been terrified to die out ‘ere, all alone like that.”

No one paid any attention as Jack walked up to get a better look. As he drew near, he could see the body of a young boy, probably in his teens, curled up among the pumpkins. The boy was about Jack’s size and had the same shaggy, straw colored hair. The frost covering his skin glistened in the early morning sunlight, and as the mist receded, Jack could see his own face looking back at him, the orange colored eyes locked in a vacant stare.

“No! It’s not me! I’m not dead!” he said to the old woman, who looked right through him.

“I’M NOT DEAD!” he shouted to the people, but no one heard him.

His anger blossomed and surged out of control, the years of repressed hatred boiling forth in an unstoppable flood as he saw the smirk on Billy’s face. The people in the crowd began shifting and looking at each other, as if something was very wrong. The mist around them began to thicken into a cold, dense fog, and the farmers’ dogs began whimpering in fear.

“Not right, I tells ya,” drawled the old farmer. “Not right som’un dien out ‘ere – it’ll wither the crops!”

“CROPS!? You’re standing over my body and all you are worried about is your CROPS?”

That was the last straw for Jack. Without knowing exactly how it happened, he lashed out in anger. The green vines began to squirm and writhe along the ground like a mass of snakes. Cracks appeared on the surface of the giant orange pumpkins, small at first, but growing larger, until cruel faces were formed. Angular slits opened up and glowed a fiery red from within, matching the orange-red glow coming from Jack’s own eyes as he floated into the midst of the crowd. The crowd didn’t notice that the small frozen body of Jack Thatch had disappeared, melting down among the vines; they were too busy staring in terror at the appearance of fiery red eyes and jagged toothy mouths opening in laughter. In seconds, what had been a crop of prize winning pumpkins was transformed into a legion of grotesque, orange monsters.

The people screamed in panic as the field around them came alive. Some tried to run, but green tendrils shot out from the vines and curled around their legs. The old farmer swung his pitchfork down hard, trying to cut a path to safety, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the vines and was gone from sight in an instant. Billy had tried to run to safety, but a thick, spikey vine had wrapped around his throat, silencing his scream before it could escape.

After just a few moments, they were all gone. The evil, grinning faces of the pumpkins receded and soon the field returned to normal. Only the echoes of the dead remained, whispering on the wind that the Pumpkin King had returned.

END

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Published on October 02, 2013 17:57

September 15, 2013

New Release Spotlight – “3” by Maria Savva

Today I am highlighting a new release of short stories by my friend, London based author Maria Savva.

“3” contains a trio of short stories, with the theme of how memories from the past can haunt the present. The stories include:

1. Never To Be Told – Tom and Amber are on a romantic date… but the past is always present.

2. The Bride – In this paranormal short, Olivia makes a chilling discovery.

3. What The Girl Heard – Victoria revisits a place that holds a dark reminder of an incident from her childhood. She had vowed she would never return.

Book Trailer: here

About Maria:

Maria is a writer of short stories and novels. She has always been a storyteller, and an avid reader, and is now having a lot of fun in her adventure with the creative art of writing. She has published 5 novels, including a psychological thriller, a family saga, and a fantasy/paranormal/time travel book. She also has 5 collections of short stories, the latest “3” has been described as an “Innovative showcase” of her short stories. If you like stories that will take you deep inside the characters’ hearts and minds, and you like twists in the tale, you will probably want to try these stories.

As well as writing, Maria is a lawyer (not currently practising law). During her career, she worked in family law, criminal law, immigration, residential property law, and wills & probate, among other things. Many of her stories are inspired from her own experiences and the experiences of those she knows or has known. Chances are, if you get to know this author it won’t be long before you are changed forever into a fictional character and appear in one of her books. If she likes you, you may become a romantic hero/heroine; if she doesn’t… well, she writes a good thriller I hear.

Maria currently divides her time between working as an administrator in a university, and writing/reading/editing/blogging. She maintains the BestsellerBound Recommends blog helping to promote fellow indie authors. She’s also a music blogger for UK Arts Directory where she helps promote independent musicians.

If you would like to connect with Maria online:

Official website: http:www.mariasavva.com

Goodreads Blog: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1418272.Maria_Savva/blog

BestsellerBound Recommends: http://quietfurybooks.com/bestsellerboundrecommends/

UK Arts Directory Blog: http://ukartsdirectory.com/category/blog/maria-savva/

Twitter: http://Twitter.com/Maria_Savva

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Maria-Savva/171466979781

“3” is Currently available in Kindle format (Can be read on a Mac, PC, iPad, Smartphone etc., with the free downloadable apps from Amazon). Look out for the paperback coming soon.

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon FR: http://www.amazon.fr/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon ES: http://www.amazon.es/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon BR: http://www.amazon.com.br/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon IT: http://www.amazon.it/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon JP: http://www.amazon.co.jp/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

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Published on September 15, 2013 23:00

New Release Spotlight – “3″ by Maria Savva

Today I am highlighting a new release of short stories by my friend, London based author Maria Savva.

“3″ contains a trio of short stories, with the theme of how memories from the past can haunt the present. The stories include:

1. Never To Be Told – Tom and Amber are on a romantic date… but the past is always present.

2. The Bride – In this paranormal short, Olivia makes a chilling discovery.

3. What The Girl Heard – Victoria revisits a place that holds a dark reminder of an incident from her childhood. She had vowed she would never return.

Book Trailer: here

About Maria:

If you would like to connect with Maria online:

Official website: http:www.mariasavva.com

Goodreads Blog: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1418272.Maria_Savva/blog

BestsellerBound Recommends: http://quietfurybooks.com/bestsellerboundrecommends/

UK Arts Directory Blog: http://ukartsdirectory.com/category/blog/maria-savva/

Twitter: http://Twitter.com/Maria_Savva

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Maria-Savva/171466979781

“3” is Currently available in Kindle format (Can be read on a Mac, PC, iPad, Smartphone etc., with the free downloadable apps from Amazon). Look out for the paperback coming soon.

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon FR: http://www.amazon.fr/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon ES: http://www.amazon.es/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon BR: http://www.amazon.com.br/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon IT: http://www.amazon.it/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

Amazon JP: http://www.amazon.co.jp/3-ebook/dp/B00EUM59XM/

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Published on September 15, 2013 23:00

May 31, 2013

New Release & Giveaway – Maria Savva’s Delusions & Dreams

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My dear friend, London based author Maria Savva, has a newly released collection of short stories. I had the privilege of reading an advance copy, and absolutely loved the stories she has woven together. There is a wonderful mix of genre’s in this collection, ranging from the light-hearted to the emotional.

To quote the official ‘blurb’ for the book:

“Twelve stories of betrayal, greed, revenge, deception, dreams, and courage.

We all struggle to find our way. What you see isn’t necessarily all there is. This collection takes you into the grey area, because the world is never just black and white.

Life is all about perspective. One person’s delusion is another person’s dream.

Includes five bonus stories.”

At the end of this post you will see a Rafflecopter link to the giveaway – 5 different ebooks and 1 signed paperback copy of ’Delusions & Dreams’ are up for grabs, so don’t forget to click to enter.

You can purchase her new release here:

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

As part of the book’s release, Maria was kind enough to answer a few questions for me, so take it away, Maria!

1. ‘Delusions & Dreams’ is an impressive collection of seventeen short stories! Have you been collecting these over the years, or are they all recent? Did you write any specifically for this collection?

Delusion and Dreams is a collection of new and old stories. Some of them I found on my computer; I wrote years ago. Some I found on a floppy disk, written in the ages when people still rode donkeys to work I updated/edited the older stories. The title story, Delusion and Dreams, is a short story told in four parts. It’s new and I wrote parts II, III, and IV, specifically for this collection. Part I was written a few years ago. I found the handwritten version in a drawer at home, and decided that I liked it. When I typed it up I was inspired to continue the story. In fact, I could have probably written more parts… maybe even a whole novel. The characters in that story have lots to say, and I might revisit them sometime. A few of my beta readers commented that they’d like to read more about them. Similarly, part II of Friends and Neighbours, was written specifically for this collection, whereas the first part of the story was written at least ten years ago. The other new stories are Happy New Year, and Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow. The rest of the stories are old ones that I edited for the collection. The last 5 stories are bonus stories that have been published before, but as single stories, so I wanted to include them in a collection.

2. I really enjoyed the serialization of the ‘Delusions & Dreams’ parts I-IV. Do you think the story will continue?

As mentioned above, yes, I do think I will revisit this story at some stage. I like the characters. Jessie and Jack are close to my heart. I’d like to tell more of their story in the future. I hope I’ll find some time to maybe continue the story or write a longer book about these characters.

3. ‘Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow’ was very enjoyable – I especially liked the humor involved with the wig. What inspired you to write that story?

Thanks, Michael. This one started off as a challenge for me because I’d been invited to write a comedy story for a short story collection by a small press publisher. They wanted a story up to about 1,500 words. Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, took on a life of its own once I started writing it, and although there are comedy aspects to it, it’s a bit deeper and some people have told me, also quite sad in parts. It was far too long, at about 5,000 words to be acceptable for the short story anthology that I’d been invited to submit to, so I decided to include it in Delusion and Dreams, and I think it fits in quite well.

4. I notice the collection had a wide variety of themes, ranging from light-hearted (Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow) to darker (Happy New Year). Is there a theme you enjoy writing more than another?

My genre/theme for a story or novel is dictated by the character that I’m writing about. For example, Haunted is a crime thriller because Nigel has a dark secret; A Time to Tell is a family saga, because we are looking at the lives of more than one generation of the same family; Coincidences is more of a mystery because Alice is looking for her father and finding out truths about her past; and Second Chances is more of a romance because Pamela and James are facing up to a difficult time in their relationship.

I have always been a people watcher. I am fascinated by people and why the do what they do, human behaviour. My books and stories will always be character studies more than anything else, because that is the kind of person I am. I like to dig deep below the surface and find out what is really going on underneath. There is always a reason why people do things. Many of my stories developed through my need to know why a character has done something and how they feel, how it affects others around them. I don’t only write in one genre, because I write about life, and life is full of events and characters that don’t fit in to one genre.

5. Your recent novel, ‘Haunted,’ was definitely darker than your other works. Did you find writing a darker story more difficult?

Emotionally, for me, it was the hardest book I have ever written. I really got into Nigel’s mind and it was dark in there! It took me to some very dark places personally, but I am very happy with how it turned out and how it’s being received by readers. All the sleepless nights were worth it. I didn’t intend to write a psychological thriller, but I ended up writing the darkest kind of psychological thriller possible. Some people have said it’s too dark, but I believe it had to be that dark, anything less would not have done the story justice… It’s a book that explores the mind of a murderer… not for the faint hearted. I don’t think I will be writing such a dark book again soon.

6. Do you think your writing has been influenced by your work as solicitor?

Most definitely. I worked as a solicitor for about 15 years and met hundreds of people from different backgrounds who were all going through different problems. I listened to their stories, some heartbreaking. In my role as a solicitor, I was in a position where people trusted me with their deepest secrets. It’s all eye-opening stuff. I draw from my experiences every time I pick up a pen, I’m sure, not necessarily consciously either. I mean, I’ve never sat down and thought, “why don’t I write a novel based on that client”. I would never do that. But I do find that when I read my books over, I notice tiny character traits that remind me of people I’ve met; maybe something they’ve said that had an impact on me.

In my novels, A Time to Tell and Second Chances, in particular, readers will be able to see where I may have been influenced by my work as a solicitor, but I think that experience touches all of my writing.

Anyone with a creative mind, who works in a customer service type job can leave the office/shop every day with heaps of ideas for stories and books. Meeting different types of people is so important for a writer. We need to create believable characters in our books, so the more people we come into contact with, the better.

7. Do you have a preference between writing short stories and writing full length novels?

I enjoy both. It’s a question of how much time I have available for writing. The thing is, I have a need to write, but I don’t always have enough time to concentrate on a novel-length work of fiction. At those times, short stories are an excellent way to keep the creativity alive. It takes a long time to write a novel and it’s important to be able to devote enough time each day to write when you are writing a novel. I work full time and find that at the moment, it’s easier to write short stories because I can write a short story in one sitting. It takes me maybe an hour to write one. The editing takes twice as long. With a novel it could take me six months when I am writing at least a chapter a day, and then the editing takes about another year.

8. What is your favorite time/place to write – do you need absolute quiet or can your write in the midst of chaos?

My favourite time is at night. I need it to be relatively quiet when I’m writing. I can have the usual buzz of London sounds in the background, but anything more and I lose concentration. I can write anywhere, though. I have been known to write a short story when there is chaos going on all around me.

9. Of all the stories in this collection, do you have a favorite?

They’re all my favourites. Chosen from about twenty stories that could have possibly gone into the collection. If I had to choose a favourite from this collection, I think it would be the Delusion and Dreams series of stories.

10. Do you have any works in process at the moment?

Yes. I have written three new short stories for a new collection which will be called ‘3’. I hope to publish that very soon. It’s just a matter if finding time to edit them. They are a bit creepy, which is nice.

I am also working on my next novel, working title, ‘Illusion’, but I think that may change. It’s a fantasy, but you’ll be sad to hear there aren’t any dragons in it… well not yet, anyway… maybe there will be?? But seriously, it would probably be classed as an urban fantasy. It’s very other-worldly and strange. I’ve written about ten chapters, but haven’t worked on it for a while (since about December), so will have to read over it before I write any more!

Thank you so much for joining us today, Maria!

Giveaway Links:

Rafflecopter giveaway

Maria’s Bio:

Maria Savva lives and works in London. She studied Law at Middlesex University and The College of Law. She is a lawyer, although not currently practising law. She writes novels and short stories in different genres, including drama, psychological thriller, and family saga. Many of her books and stories are inspired by her years working as a lawyer, although she has not written a courtroom drama to date. Her most recent novel is Haunted, a crime fiction/psychological thriller. You can find out more about her work at her official website: mariasavva.com

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Published on May 31, 2013 23:00

May 8, 2013

Touch of Darkness

Following is an excerpt from my current work-in-process, a new novel tentatively titled ‘Touch of Darkness’. My friend and fellow author, Maria Savva, encouraged me to tell the story of Rami, a character from my last novel, ‘Rise of the Shadow.’ Rami is an Egyptian boy of fifteen, who is struggling with his inner demons as he tries to resist the siren call of power. I hope to have the novel published before the end of this year – I hope you enjoy!

Michael

**Spoiler Alert** The following excerpt takes place after the events in ‘Rise of the Shadow’ and will give you clues to how that story ended – proceed at your own risk.

TOUCH OF DARKNESS

The voice whispered to Rami out of the darkness…

“You killed him…”

“No!” he shouted, trying to spot his accuser in the surrounding inky blackness. He flailed blindly trying to find something, anything, to grab onto for support.

“He was your friend…”

“But, I couldn’t…” he stammered, tears streaming down his face.

“Murderer…”

“I had no choice!” he screamed, turning in every direction trying to find the voice that taunted him.

“They were innocent…”

“Leave me alone!”

“They died because of you …”

“Who are you?” he shouted. No one knew he was the one who had murdered old Khafra, the priest, and only one other had seen him kill his best friend, Fer’al. “It wasn’t me! I was possessed!” he screamed at the faceless tormentor. “IT’S NOT MY FAULT!”

He had been possessed by a shadowraith, and was powerless to stop the killings, but worse was the surge of emotion he felt when it happened. He felt powerful, unstoppable, like he could command the world. He actually saw the light ebb from his friend’s eyes, and sensed the energy of Fer’al’s spirit as it fled beyond… and he had savored the feeling. He fled the tomb of Oriannus that night, frightened of what he felt and terrified of what he might become.

There was a sudden flash, and two large, yellow, cat-like eyes appeared before him in the darkness. Rami stumbled backward, unable to see in the inky blackness.

“You killed them Rami, their blood is on your hands…”

Rami felt something warm and wet dripping from his hands, and he frantically wiped them on his tunic as he continued to stumble blindly, trying to escape the eyes. He pitched backwards as he felt the stone give way beneath him, and he tumbled into the darkness. As he fell, the voice dissolved into harsh laughter, echoing all around him.

Then he woke up, screaming.

***

The cool night air drifted in through the half-open flap of the tent, causing Rami to shiver. He was sitting upright on the small cot, the thin cotton sheet twisted around his limbs from his nocturnal struggle. Panting, he was bathed in a cold sweat of fear. In the distance he could hear the bells on the camels clanking softly in the night. He had been traveling East with the caravan for several weeks now, seeking to put as much distance between him and his past as he could. Not one to socialize, he pitched his tent at the fringe of camp, but he still would have occasional visitors as his traveling companions sought conversation and company.

But that was before the nightmares began.

Several days into the journey, he began having nightmares of being chased through the darkness by someone accusing him of murder. Someone who knew his secret. Although the dream always ended with him falling into darkness, he awoke in a greater panic each night. At first the others had come running to check on him after hearing his screams, but now they stayed away, fearing he was cursed.

He untangled himself from the sheet and lay back down on the cot, breathing deeply and trying to slow his racing heartbeat. His hand slipped down to his tunic pocket and he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the smooth surface of the stone hidden there. He had stolen the spiritstone from the tomb of Oriannus, after the wizard, Keegan Whitestone, had trapped a wraith inside of it. The wraith had possessed Rami, forcing him to murder two innocent people in an attempt to unleash the malevolent spirit of the Shadow on the world. A warmth emanated from the stone, pulsing with the energy of the spirit forever trapped within. Rami focused on the stone, and thought he could hear a distant whisper speaking to him from across the depths. He heard the sound from the first time he touched the stone, and every time since he thought the whispers grew louder until he could almost make out words.

“Power…”

Rami’s eyes snapped open as he realized the whisper was clearer now. Had the spirit finally spoken to him?

He pulled the smooth, black stone from his pocket and looked at it closely. “Who are you?” he asked it, his brow furrowed in concentration. The stone did not respond, though he could still feel the warmth emanating from somewhere deep within. For now at least, the wraith was still silent.

“Rami?” came a female voice from the entrance to his tent.

Startled, Rami quickly buried the spiritstone in his pocket. “Yes?”

A slender arm reached through and parted the flaps to the tent, followed quickly by a young girl dressed in the robes and headdress of a nomad. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a tight braid that snaked down her back to her waist. She dressed simply, like the other travelers in the caravan, but the strands of gold thread weaved into her braided hair marked her rank. Olive skinned, and eyes like the darkest of sapphires, Amirah was a beautiful young woman of sixteen, and she possessed every bit of her father’s head for business. As the daughter of the caravan’s leader, it was her task to keep records for the trip, including sales and purchases of goods, and a final tally of the profit. She also inherited her father’s fierce loyalty to family, as well as a fiery temper, though she was loathe to admit it.

She stepped into the tent, a look of concern on her face. “Are you alright? I thought I heard you scream.”

Rami swore under his breath. “I’m fine, Amirah,” he said in an exasperated tone.

Since joining the caravan, Rami felt as if Amirah had adopted him like he was a lost puppy. He had earned his place in the group when he inadvertently saved her father’s coin purse. Rami saw the thief as he slipped his hand into the man’s pocket. Acting on instinct, Rami had uttered a curse that paralyzed the thief and saved her father from losing several hundred gold coins. In his gratitude, the man had allowed Rami to travel with them to the East. It was rare for a magic user to travel the trade routes, and Amirah’s father thought Rami’s services might be useful.

“It was the night terrors again, wasn’t it?” she asked, her right hand resting on the hilt of an ornate shamshir. The wide blade of the curved sword glinted in the light of the wisp overhead, and Rami knew she was not one to be trifled with.

Rami looked at the floor, unwilling to meet her gaze. She had an effect on him like no other; he respected her strength and cunning as a warrior for her father, but the smell of exotic spices that wafted through the room when she entered made his head swim. He felt weak when this happened, and vulnerable – two feelings he disliked immensely. He struggled to focus his mind, choosing his words carefully.

“I will be just fine, Amirah, I just need to put as much distance between me and Sakkara as possible. The nightmares are from my time at the Temple of Set,” he lied, finally meeting her gaze.

She moved closer and sat on a small stool near Rami’s cot. At first Rami thought the look on her face was just concern for him, but there was more. There was a burning curiosity behind those eyes – a yearning for knowledge and a thirst for the unknown. A child of the caravan, she had grown up with merchants, and the sights of the road had become commonplace. She killed her first raider when she was ten, and had mastered the sword by the time she was fourteen.

“What did you see there, Rami? What was so terrible that it would haunt you so?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

“You would not understand,” he said sullenly. “My parents sold me to the temple in exchange for the blessing of the dark deity, Set; since I was seven I have seen things that would cause the Pharos’s royal guard to flee in terror.”

Amirah frowned as she crossed her arms. “I want to help, Rami,” she said. “You’ve been having these nightmares more and more frequently,” she said in an annoyed tone. “Everyone has heard your screams in the middle of the night. The other merchants are beginning to think you are cursed.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his eyes losing focus as his mind drifted back to thoughts of the spiritstone.

“Stop it!” she snapped angrily, rising to pace across the tent. “Do you think you are the only one who has seen bad things in this life? I killed a man when I was just ten; he was trying to capture me to sell to the slavers. It was almost a year before the nightmares finally stopped; you just need a task to focus on,” she said, her index figure only a few inches from his nose.

Rami looked up at her, seeing the look of determination in those deep blue eyes. “I’m sure you are right,” he said with a sigh, even though he knew she was not. He had been inhabited by a dark spirit – something that would drive most grown men insane – yet somehow he survived.

Amirah folded her arms and looked down at him with an approving smile. “Good! Come to my father’s tent in the morning. We need to organize and catalogue the last crate of scrolls my father traded for from the library in Sakkara.”

Rami nodded, knowing better than to argue with her. She smiled and turned to go, stifling a yawn with her fist.

“Now try to get some sleep. We break camp tomorrow to continue eastward,” she said as she bent down and stepped out of the tent and into the night.

Rami fell back onto his cot and snapped his fingers, extinguished the pale wisp hovering near the ceiling, and waited for the nightmares to return.

***

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Published on May 08, 2013 19:00

April 27, 2013

Never Argue with a Dragon

I really thought I had ended the ‘Beyond the Veil’ series when I wrote book three, ‘Rise of the Shadow.’

Little did I know, however, that one of the characters in that book would demand to have his story told. I resisted the idea at first, as I thought I had wrapped up the series – all loose ends nicely wrapped up, thank you very much. But Rami, the fifteen year-old Egyptian boy serving as an acolyte in the Temple of Set had other plans.

You see, when I refused to listen to him rattling around in my head, he went behind my back. That’s right, he started talking to Idris. If you have visited my blog or website, you know that Idris is my writing partner. I freed him from captivity at the Medieval Times gift shop and he now sits perched on my desk, overseeing my writing.

Idris, like most dragons, is extremely well-read and believes himself to be an authority on most topics – especially writing fantasy novels. He frequently criticizes my dialogue, and when I try to ignore him I am rewarded with singed fingertips. Mercurial on his best days, he is not always helpful. One recent discussion went something like this:

“What do you think I should write next?” I asked.

“What do you want to write next?” was his caustic reply.

“You’re not helping, Idris,” I responded testily. ”I need an idea for a new story.“

“Hmph,” he snorted, blowing smoke rings in my face. “Think of your own ideas, human.“

Realizing he was in a *mood* I dropped the subject and decided to await inspiration. That is when Rami started whispering inside my imagination. He thought the world should hear his story – about what happened after the events in ‘Rise of the Shadow.’

I wasn’t so sure. So, I did what any good writer would do, and ignored him, hoping my rather fickle muse would find inspiration elsewhere. The next time I sat down at the computer however, Idris decided to chime in.

“Your next story shall be about Rami,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

“What?” I replied incredulously. “No, absolutely not. I want to write something… different.”

“His story needs to be told,” he responded icily. “You have started him down a dark path, and it needs resolution.”

“But…”

“You heard me.”

*sigh* ”Fine.”

And so, not one to argue with one as wise as Idris [he made me write that...], I am now about 7,000 words into what is becoming a new novel focused on Rami.

Several new characters have been introduced, including Amirah, the sixteen year-old daughter of a caravan leader. She is a fierce warrior with a head for business, having been raised by her father on the trade routes to the east. She is accompanied by her bodyguard, a burly, foul-tempered hobgoblin named Halvar. Readers will also get to see more of the dragon Shai’tan, or ‘Firestorm’ as he is known among humans, who was first introduced in the short story ‘The Amaranthine Flask.’

I’ve no idea how long it will be, or even how it will end. I’m just letting the story take me along.

Michael

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Published on April 27, 2013 15:09

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