Elaina M. Roberts's Blog: News from the Between, page 5

Madman’s Curse – Guest Post

I’m gonna be shameless here and state that this is my favorite story thus far. I loved it from the moment I read it and love it more with each reading. I held it until October because it’s creepy enough to have a Halloween feel to it (and we all know I loves me some Halloween). This is another of my daughter’s shorts. If you want to contribute a short and be a guest, by all means let me know! I can give you a series of prompts to choose from or you can choose your own. No restrictions on content other than it cannot be degrading to others (racist, homophobic, sexist, etc) or promote inhumane acts in a positive light.

To be honest, I can’t remember the exact wording for the prompt for this story. I think I’ve purged the email with the prompts as I can’t find it anywhere. I believe it was something along the lines of “write a story where the reader can’t tell what is real and what is a dream/illusion/etc” and boy did she deliver. If you enjoy it, consider leaving her a comment letting her know!

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Abstract 2 by ba1969 on freeimages.com

Madman’s Curse

Kairin Katsumi

They had started six months ago, the dreams. First he’d thought that was all they were, dreams based on his extensive research. He’d research myths of Hephaestus then he’d dream of working with the god’s Cyclops assistants in the forge that night. Or he’d research Demeter and suddenly she was coaching him on how to better his wife’s garden. He hadn’t taken them seriously, even as the garden miraculously began to flourish whenever he helped tend it. Not even when Helios took him on tour of the skies and showed him places he’d never even heard of.

It wasn’t until Hera appeared in his living room to tell him how to better his marriage that he began to wonder. He could have sworn he’d been awake. He’d even felt the goddess’s silken hair as they sat on his worn out little couch. She’d told him many things about his marriage, things he hadn’t thought he’d known: his wife’s disappointment in being uprooted from her family even as she encouraged his advancement to teach at a prestigious college, her longing to settle and have a family of her own even as she worked two jobs to keep herself busy, her recent miscarriage.

His wife had woken him up from his nap on the couch that afternoon, ripping away the image of the goddess and sending him reeling. Hadn’t he already been awake? At first he’d just brushed the incident off as stress and an overactive imagination induced by studying one topic for too long. While one sleeps, the mind does sort the events of what it had experienced during that day. He’d been studying Hera so he saw her in his nap although a nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that wasn’t it. It had been too real. He didn’t remember falling asleep at all. He hadn’t known what the Goddess had.

He chose not to study at all that night, intent to rest and let his mind clear. He’d taken Marianne to a local fair and enjoyed having some free time to dedicate to his wife. They hadn’t gone on a date in far too long. There had been folk dances, sword demonstrations and fortune tellers of such plenty that they nearly didn’t have time to see them all. One such fortune teller, though, had set him on edge even as his wife gushed over how wonderfully her tent had been decorated. He hadn’t voiced his uneasiness for fear of ruining the good cheer but this woman with eyes that glowed a putrid green had felt…wrong. She’d exuded the air of more witch than fortune teller and the feeling did not dissipate as she cut a lock of Marianne’s hair to read the future. The woman had claimed, though, that his wife would have a long life with many children, and as we left the stall, Marianne had been glorious in her joy. He had been more than happy to ignore the bad vibe from the woman and even the satyrs that danced around them in favor of admiring her natural beauty. That night though, as he’d held Marianne snug against his chest as they slept, he’d dreamt of fire.

The woman from the fair stood before him with Marianne’s hair held over a bubbling cauldron. She had been chanting in a language he couldn’t understand, but he’d gotten the impression it wasn’t anything good. He’d lunged forward as she’d sprinkled the hair into her cauldron, unable to prevent them from adding to the mixture. He could still remember her cackle, her scream that he was too late. She’d said his wife would die.

Again Marianne had been the one to wake him up. She’d found him standing in the basement in the middle of the night. Sleepwalking she’d called it, but as he looked back and saw the scorch mark on the basement floor, he knew it had been real. This time he knew for sure. That mark could only be made by a contained pile of burning wood. Everything escalated after that.

He asked Marianne about what the Queen Goddess had said. She hadn’t denied any of the accusations. The Goddess of Marriage had known. After that he made a calendar of what god he saw on which days. He identified the fortune teller: Hecate. The goddess of witchcraft had cursed his wife.

He poured himself into his research, determined to save her. He pleaded with Hera for help or advice, though she could offer little to help him. He’d tried every god he could think of, even speaking to Persephone as the beautiful young woman helped him to pick the vegetables that had ripened with her blessed arrival to the upper world. He had carefully kept his wife unaware of the curse upon her, determined to make her remaining life as stress free and enjoyable as he could. He could see her decaying little by little in front of him. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. He didn’t have much time left.

He’d consulted with Athena, delved into witchcraft himself, everything to save her besides speaking with Erebus, the God of Death himself. He’d been too late. After months of searching and trying, he’d woken one morning to find his wife hanging lifelessly in the arms of Hades himself. His Marianne was gone. He’d tried everything that morning, begging and bargaining, but the Lord of the Underworld just laughed at his plight and disappeared. Now, not even his beloved gods could console him. He would get his revenge. He would play Orpheus and save his Eurydice from the jaws of Cerberus. He would dedicate his life to the pursuit.

Marianne Miles carefully schooled her expression into one of calm contemplation even as her heart panged with worry. The strange man in room 4852 still muttered to himself as he studied his precious calendar. She’d found him half buried in necromancy books in her university’s library four months ago and took him in when she noticed how underfed and delirious he was. She’d thought his mumbles about satyrs, gods, and her name had been a product of hunger induced delusions, but when they didn’t stop after 2 weeks, she became concerned.

She finally pried his address out of him soon after, only to find that the current residents had been there for 20 years. He insisted that was his residence, and he wasn’t old enough to have owned the house before them. She’d been mildly alarmed until he’d sudden become convinced she was his wife and they were in the Underworld. He’d been determined to save her, bring her back to life, and take his revenge on the god who took her from him. That was when she’d drawn the line.

Now he wandered his padded room in the city’s psychiatric ward, still muttering her name. The young woman frowned, though, as she caught sight of a strange rippling outside room 4852. She could barely catch the sound of male laughter and the shape of an ancient helmet before the air settled. The patient died fifteen minutes later in a padded room that housed nothing sharper than a crayon.

The Forgotten Earth – Guest Post

It’s the first Wednesday of the month and time for another guest post. It’s been an interesting month. My daughter has moved into her first apartment with her now-fiance, panicked when the primary contractor wrote her employer out of the contract, secured a job with the primary contractor, and rode the emotional roller coaster all that entails. Being an adult licks balls. Still, she managed to knock out this short 500 word flash piece for her dear ol’ mom. Ain’t she a sweetie?

Before we move on to the prompt, I want to throw this out: if you’d like to be a guest and provide a short, please let me know! I can provide prompts or you can choose your own. There is little I won’t allow in a short and any heat level in relation to sex or violence is okay by me. I will not post stories promoting inhumane acts in a positive light or those that degrade others (racist, sexist, homophobic, etc). Other than that, the sky’s the limit. Let’s talk!

Now, this story’s prompt was a simple one: the four elements. Air, Fire, Earth, and Water. Use them, abuse them, make them dance to your bidding. This is an introspective piece. Hope you enjoy it and leave her some love in the comments.

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The Forgotten Earth

Kairin Katsumi

Many civilizations worshiped the elements, especially fire. Man, did they love fire, the most impatiently destructive of all the elements. It provided heat, light, and the ability to cook food. It had even warded off predators in the night, but it was one of the hardest elements to control. It gave a great spectacle while it was destroying everything you owned but it was over too quickly to enjoy the beauty. And really, was a pretty show worth it?

Some favored water instead for its cleansing and life bringing qualities, its purity. Those qualities only existed if the worshippers kept it clean in the first place, though, and that never happened. Human beings are some of the filthiest creatures, tainting everything around them. Just look at the trash now floating in the very water they thrive on.

Others worshipped the air as the great force that drives the weather and provides pollination for plants. They once prayed for its calm benevolence but still they pollute it as much as they pollute the water. Human’s enjoy a good breeze or a breath of fresh air yet contaminate it. It’s no wonder the air brings its wrath by way of hurricanes and tornados so frequently.

Earth, though, is the one element all but forgotten. Sure there were some civilizations that prayed for its fertility or for its calmness from earthquakes. Some had even sacrificed for its benevolence but that practice has long since died. Earth is seen as nothing now. Fire is brilliant, colorful, and unpredictable. Water is ever flowing, immortal, and sees the whole of the world. Air, too, sees all of the world and its riches. Earth is unmoving, cold, lifeless, boring. It’s a shame, really, how unimaginative people can be.

Yes, Mount Fuji has never moved. It has never seen the harsh deserts of Egypt or the beautiful temples of Greece. It has never known the excitement or wonder of the famous Coliseum in Rome. It’s stationary but it has seen the entire history of itself. It has seen the whole passage of time around its base and known the ingenuity and majesty of life and people. From the first sprout of grass on its fertile slopes to the lush forest that now surrounds it, it has seen life come and go. It has watched the entire history of Tokyo and the determination of the people. Their lives, trials, and wars have all been viewed and remembered by this immovable, silent, boring on-looker.

Fire burns itself out too fast or is too busy destroying to see or appreciate the life around it. Air and Wind both move slower than fire; however, they too are gone before much time has passed. None have watched the lives of all classes, from common beggar to emperor. None have seen the aggression and peacefulness of humans and all life. None have gained wisdom from time and patience. None knows the brilliant splendor of life but the earth on which that life lives and thrives.

Draxton’s Destiny (16) – Assault on the Compound

Lookit! I’m back in less than a month with another chapter of Draxton’s Destiny. Again, it’s not based around a flash prompt because I’m just happy to progress the story at this point. No sexy times (still!) because they’re battling to reach the Minshaari before Brixys decides to elevate himself to the position in a very permanent way. I did base the compound on the gorgeous Rud-khan Castle located in Foman city, Gilan Province, Iran. Photo and link after the break.

Rudkhan Castle

 Lovely, no? Well fortified, one hell of a hill to climb, and that central tower… holy shit! Now, imagine the trees towering hundreds of feet over the top of the battlements and you have an idea of what Draxton is seeing when they attack the Compound.

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“We are in agreement, then?”

The stone narakir’s voice rumbled through the silent forest like ominous thunder. The shifting form of the water creature hissed and spit between the intense heat of its fiery comrades. So much elemental madness and destruction was contained in one small clearing, and Draxton Larimore stood directly in the center. Any one of them could kill him in an instant. He knew it. They knew it. He knew they knew it. It was extremely unnerving, but he’d be food for a Walsingian maggot if he let them know that.

He stared into the fathomless blue of the water narakir’s eyes. “We are.”

“The fallen throne rises with the pretenders’ fall. The Mother’s children rejoice.” The fiery narakir on the left giggled in malicious anticipation.

The one of the right took up his rhyme, his voice hissing like a dying ember. “Through fire and death, we cleanse the land, and hold you to your choice.”

“Enough.” Draxton glanced into the trees and sighed. “The Minshaari’s loyal will be spared?”

“The river of time will take them someday, Champion, but it shall not be today nor by our hands.” The watery being gestured to the two fiery creatures at its side. “As the rivers quench the sparks that destroy the forests, I shall quench my brethren’s thirst for destruction. Still, for their safety, keep your men in the trees while we wash this taint from the Mother’s line.”

Draxton clenched his jaw but nodded his agreement. The small hairs on his neck and arms stood on end as he turned his back on the six narakir. He had little choice but to trust the water creature. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Climbing the rope dropped from the lower branches, he joined Fieryl to relay the necessary warnings.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know my Minshaari would not approve of this plan.” The rakshasa’s ears lay flat against his head; his growling hiss grated along nerves already stretched to the breaking point with each second he was away from Kasseus. But Fieryl wasn’t done, not by a long shot. He crossed his arms over his chest and swished his puffed tail. “We can’t trust these creatures, sergeant. They enjoy destruction and transfer their loyalties to whoever will give them the chance to wreak it. It’s true, they’ll help us take out Brixys, but then they’ll turn on us. They’ll lay waste to all in their path and laugh while doing it.”

“I don’t think so. Well…maybe the fire ones. They’re a few soldiers shy of a platoon, if you get my meaning.” He swirled his finger in a circle by his head. Fieryl arched a brow, clearly unamused. “Those stone guys, though, look pretty stable.”

“Ha. Ha. Now is not the time for foolishness.”

“Can you think of a better time? Better to laugh than cry, right?” Draxton shrugged and whistled for the warriors to activate their comlinks. He directed his next words into the small wrist device. “Change of plans. Keep to the trees and keep the area contained. No one escapes. No one survives. Do not engage the narakir under any circumstances. I repeat, do not engage the narakir. Larimore out.”

There was a rustling in the treetops and a cacophony of calls filled the skies. The warriors had questions Draxton was more than reluctant to answer. Now was not the time and later…? Well, to use an Old Earth phrase, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

“I don’t like this.”

“You think I do?” He ran his hands over the short stubble of his hair and huffed. “Look, Seshinaar is on the cusp of a civil war that threatens to destroy it completely. If we can mitigate the lives lost, don’t you think it’s worth a try? The Minshaari must rule. These narakir will ensure it.”

“But at what cost, sergeant? Do you think Kasseus will appreciate this deal?”

“Emotionally, no. Logically and strategically? It’s the only option. It’s up to you to make him see that, Fieryl. See it, and accept it.”

Draxton dropped to the forest floor and walked toward the six narakir, creatures of legend even to the Seshinaar. He held the watery being’s gaze as the others surrounded him.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“What of the fleshy ones?”

He glanced into the canopy above and prayed he spoke the truth. “The warriors will keep to the trees and ensure no one escapes.”

“This is good. All rivers flow toward victory for the Mother.” Instead of turning around, the water narakir’s features melted into its form and reappeared on the opposite side. It was the creepiest thing Draxton had ever seen. “Come, my brethren. Let us cleanse this blight.”

They broke through the tree line at the base of a sharp rise. The Compound, an ancient structure built of stone drawn directly out of the ground, crawled up the hill like an armored cantiopod. Shaped like an inverted “U” with crumbling stairs lining the outer walls, it was a throwback to the days before the Sundering. Draxton’s tattoo pulsed and glowed in the presence of the ancient magic. His gut churned at how perfectly designed the place was for defense. Or an ambush. He studied the building, its multitude of windows and arrow slits, and concluded that a frontal assault was suicide.

A stone narakir knelt at the edge of the trees and thrust his thick fingers into the ground. He tilted his head as if listening, even nodded a few times before removing his hand from the dirt and rising to his full, impressive height.

“The Tainted One holds the Minshaari high in the farthest tower.”

“Of course he does,” Draxton muttered. Strategically, it was the best location, but his gut told him there were other reasons for the location. “He probably thinks it’ll weaken Kass’ muykeesh to be surrounded by stone away from the land.”

“His arrogance and ignorance will be his downfall. Only death severs the ties between the Minshaari and the Mother.” Shaitān, spread out and clear our path. Stop at the central tower or I give you to the Māryd.”

The fire narakir hissed and cringed away from the water creature. It gathered the moisture from the humid air to coat the creatures in a fine mist until they spat out their agreement. They faded into a wavering, transparent heat wave and advanced towards the outer walls. Only Minshaar’s Blessing enabled Draxton to follow their progress across the empty field. Only a fool would have missed the reaction to their presence once they arrived at their destination.

Flames shot from open windows and arrow slits accompanied by the flashes of pulse weapons and screams of the dying. Maniacal laughter echoed hauntingly from each building as the fire narakir advanced. Warriors and Alliance soldiers poured from the doors onto the grass and rooftops. A few fled the scorching slaughter. They discarded their loyalty and sought safety in the trees only to meet death at the hands of the Minshaari’s allies.

Draxton, flanked by two of the stone creatures, advanced up the middle of the compound. He carried a pulse gun in each hand and concentrated on those scattered around the inner courtyard. His warriors sniped those on the roofs. Inch by inch, they crept closer to the central tower. An Alliance soldier charged him from his left. The stone narakir drove him into the ground like a tent peg, shattering his skull along with every bone in his spine. A Seshinaar warrior stumbled to a halt before him, his gaze locked on the pointed, leafy armor that covered his naked chest and arms.

“It’s true,” the warrior choked out. “Minshaar has chosen a Champion.”

“Yeah.” Draxton raised his pistol and fired. As the body tumbled to the side, he muttered, “Too bad you chose the wrong side.”

The battle felt longer than it actually was. The warriors in the trees pursued those few who broke their lines while Draxton and the stone giants cleared the inner courtyard. They reached the top to find the fire narakir toying with the two surviving guards. The Seshinaar stood against the stone wall, their hair and clothing already burned away. The fiery creatures giggled and muttered as they shot lines of flames at the two men, causing large blisters to form on their exposed skin.

“Enough, shaitān!” The water narakir, who had sunk into the ground at the first scream, burst from the ground in a powerful geyser. Its cool water soothed the prisoners’ burns and banked the fiery creatures’ flames. “These fleshy ones may prove useful. If they do not, then they are yours.”

“You’ll get no answers from us, narakir.” The man on the left snarled through cracked and bleeding lips. Blisters covered most of his chest and side; his hands were little more than stumps. His chest heaved with every painful breath, but he held its gaze. “Due to your help, Lord Brixys rules Seshinaar now.”

“No.” Draxton’s horrified whisper drew the guard’s attention. The man smirked at his leafy tattoo.

“So you’re the Minshaari’s bitch.” A cruel smile tilted the guard’s blistered mouth as he looked Draxton up and down. “Lord Brixys will be pleased they brought you along.”

“Oh, I’m happy to be here, make no mistake about that. I have a personal score to settle with him.”

“The Tainted One betrayed us.” One of the stone narakir stepped around Draxton to wrap its massive fist around the guard’s neck. “He claimed the human soldiers drilled into Minshaar against his orders! He would destroy the Mother, and for what?”

The guard clawed at the creature’s hand. His face cycled through all the shades of red into a vibrant purple before the echoes of the narakir’s booming voice faded. The second guard inched along the wall away from the enraged creature and into the point of a jagged dagger. Draxton grinned, pressing the dagger deeper into the Seshinaar’s flesh, and shook his head.

“Th-the Alliance,” the guard gasped around the tightening fist, “p-promised Lord Br-Br-Brixys would rule th-the Rim Worlds.”

“And he believed them?” Draxton chuckled and felt a minute measure of pity for the delusional man. “Once the Alliance has drained this world of its resources, they’ll wipe it of all sentient life and replace it with their own. Where do you think Earth Four and Five came from?”

The Seshinaar’s eyes widened and then rolled back into his head. His arms fell limp to his sides. The stone narakir shook the body one last time before tossing it away like a broken doll. All eyes turned to the remaining guard.

“Wh-what do you want t-to know?”

“The security measures within the tower.” Draxton prodded with the dagger. He took over the questioning, uncertain if the narakir were familiar with Alliance technology and methods. He glanced at the watery creature, but it nodded its head and gestured with one dripping hand for him to continue. “What tech is he using? Are there any traps, triggers, or bombs? How many guards are inside and what weapons do they have?”

“Don’t know,” the guard wheezed. “None of us were-were allowed inside once L-Lord Brixys broke the Circle.”

“Too bad. So sad,” giggled one of the fiery narakir.

Its companion grinned and took up the rhyme. “Nothing to say? Now you’re dead.”. A thin tendril of flame danced toward the guard who pressed hard against the rough stone wall.

“Wait!” Steam rose from the sweat pouring down the guard’s face. With Draxton’s knife pressed to one side and the narakirs’ fire closing in on the other, he directed his pleas to the watery creature who watched in silence. “P-please, I-I don’t know if he’s rigged the tower, b-but I do know where he’s holding th-the Minshaari.”

“Shaitān.” Cool water doused the flames, leaving the fire narakir hissing, spitting, and sulky. “Where is the Minshaari?”

“M-may I draw it?” The man gestured to an ashy patch where the narakir had burned away the grass and leaves. Draxton handed him a narrow twig, too thin to do more than crumble if used as a weapon. Crouching in the dirt and soot, the guard outlined the central tower and connecting buildings. “There’s a spiral staircase in the center of the forward tower that goes from the cellars to the roof and connects all the rooms in the nearest building. The Circle met in the cellars. Unless they’ve moved, and I doubt it, Brixys has the Minshaari in the upper room.”

“Why there and not the cellar?” Draxton knelt beside the drawing. “It has a single point of entry which allows for better defense.”

“Yes, but it’s bare dirt floors at that level. Brixys felt it was too close to the land. Plus, a single point of entry doesn’t allow room to escape should the need arise. The upper room has roof access separate from the spiral stairs.”

“Show me.”

The guard indicated the hatch’s location and completed the quick sketch by noting all windows and doorways. He twirled the stick between his fingers. “You have no reason to believe me or grant me mercy, but if you swear Brixys won’t live to see the dawn, I will aid you in any way possible. He took my sister into his harem when she was only fourteen years old. She hung herself before her sixteenth birthday. I have no love for Losha Brixys.”

The Carpenter – Guest Post

Hey everyone. The last few months have been a struggle on my end. Lots of stories running around in my head but nothing that’ll go on “paper.” It’s been as frustrating as you can imagine. Coupled with that, I’ve been prepping for moving my daughter into her first apartment and trying to untie all the apron strings. It’s tough to decide whether to celebrate or mourn. Anyway, It’s now August and time for another guest post! This time, the story doesn’t come from my child, but a coworker of hers.

Kevin used the prompt – take a myth and give it your own special twist. I like the prompt because I feel that is the very heart of paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Word limit was set at 1000, and he presented a very interesting tale he entitled The Carpenter.

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The Carpenter

Kevin Maze

The bastard claimed to be God. His mother was pregnant before she married, and everyone knew the groom was not the father. The bastard first claimed God was his father, and later claimed he himself was God in the flesh. His delusions of grandeur would have been no more than psychosis had the rest of them not believed him.

He spoke to us and said the most bizarre things:

“I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

“For I came to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.”

“Unless you hate your family you cannot join me.”

“Eat my flesh and drink my blood. My flesh is real food and my blood is indeed drink.”

A couple of people claim he went into the desert and faced the devil, and won. It is said the devil offered him riches and power, but this man made the devil go away. I still wonder how anyone knows what was said when it was only the Carpenter and the devil in the desert, and the Carpenter wrote not one word.

Others say he faced a man with many demons, who were so afraid they fled out of the man. What kind of person can scare hundreds of demons? A meek, humble man? Absolutely not! The meek are the favorite abiding places of demons. No, the one who makes demons tremble must be someone more powerful and more evil than they. He must be one who is truly to be feared.

He even said, “Fear Him who, after He has killed, has power to cast into hell; yes, I say to you, fear Him!” But supposedly there is no fear in love, and God is love. This man could not be God! The Carpenter’s own words condemned him, yet his followers grew!

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There have been many accounts about the Carpenter as the beginning of the one ascribed to a “Luke” proclaims. In addition to the ones in the book, there are “gospels” by “Timothy,” “Paul,” “Mary Magdalene,” “Peter,” and even one ascribed to yours truly. Yet supposedly thousands were fed by him and healed by him, but we have not been blessed by one account by any of them. Not one.

Of course, the “multitudes” were a lot smaller. At first he thought there was only one basket of bread and fish. We passed it out when some of the people brought they own catches and purchases and shared with each other! It was a great day to be eating in the sun together, strangers suddenly becoming fast friends. But they wrote the Carpenter did it. “Matthew” and “Mark” said he did it twice!! How did they expect anyone to believe that the sword bringer who destroys families would unite strangers?! You may as well believe in talking snakes.

The Carpenter even kicked over tables and whipped merchants who were changing currency! “Turn the other cheek”?! Only so he could hit that one too.

He had to be stopped.

I spoke with the authorities and arranged the meeting and even assisted in the apprehension of the crazy Carpenter.

Long story short, he was arrested , killed (the Carpenter died on a cross. How’s that for irony?), and put into a nameless mass grave with the other poor and homeless, never to be heard from again.

But a few decades later people started writing stuff and then the trouble began.

They say the Carpenter came back to life after three days. And let me tell you, that Friday night to Sunday morning is NOT three days!

Some say he was buried in a rich man’s tomb; wouldn’t this rich man have access to his own tomb? There goes the “resurrection” story.

Some say an angel opened the tomb; some say an earthquake opened it. One tale says Mary the Magdalene did not even recognize her close friend, but thought he was the gardener! My personal favorite that only good ol’ “Matthew” tells us was that when the Carpenter died many dead people rose from their graves and walked the streets of Jerusalem. Did I mention that some of these stories were funny?

Funny perhaps except for the fate of yours truly. I was an eyewitness to this madman’s actions. I saw his psychosis at work. I acted while the rest followed him like lemmings. I put an end to the evil. And how am I remembered? I hung myself from a tree. Or, I threw myself done on rocks until my guts came out. Even the writers couldn’t agree what happened to me as long as the point was made: the whistleblower was dead.

So the madman is remembered as a god and the concerned citizen a betrayer. Even today people still eat bread and drink wine as a substitute for the man’s flesh and blood, a sort of cannibalism by proxy. I suppose some things are easier to swallow than the truth.

Draxton’s Destiny (15) – A Plan in Motion

Damn, it’s been too long since I added to this story. I do apologize for the delay. I’d mumble something about real life and obligations, but it’d be a lie. I’ve been deep in a writing funk and have only recently forced myself to dig my way out. It’s still slow going, but I swear I’ll be a bit more reliable than the past few weeks (months?).

Though I’ve added to my Flash Fiction serial, there wasn’t a prompt involved so I’ve decided to post it on a day other than Friday. I may choose to continue this with the FF prompts or I may go another route on the FFF prompts and simply see this one to its conclusion without that restriction. Time will tell. With so many chapters, I’ll refrain from posting each link. If you need a refresher, type Draxton into the search window and it’ll bring up all chapters. I’m working on a better way to list these so bear with me.

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Draxton paced around the perimeter of the mineshaft, his gaze fixed upon the shadowed tree line. A waiting silence hovered in the air, as dense as the heavy fog that rolled in at sunset and filled with worry and fear. He checked his weapons for the hundredth time while scouts scoured the treetops for lurking enemy warriors. He refused to risk another ambush. Though they triumphed in the end, the last had been costly. Ten more loyal warriors lay still and cold. Ten more honorable Seshinaar ripped from their families, their lives cut short so that one man could feast upon delusions of power.

Lanthyn hobbled around the camp, barking orders that the warriors scrambled to obey. Once the scouts took to the trees, he handed assignments to those on the forest floor. First on the list was a team to perform medic duties. They bandaged the walking wounded and fashioned litters from the available supplies to transport those with more severe injuries. They also had the unpleasant task of preparing the dead for transportation. Another team scavenged weapons from fallen friends and enemies alike to augment their dwindling supplies. They exchanged depleted pulse guns for fresh ones and spread out an impressive array of knives, swords, and pulse grenades.

On his next pass, Draxton approached the weapons cache and chose those he wielded best. He strapped daggers to every conceivable location—boots, belt, wrists, and thighs. A handful of pulse grenades dangled from a loop at his hip, needing only a sharp tug to charge each deadly globe. Two freshly charged pistols rested in his holsters.

The rakshasa was similarly armed. Grenades weighed down his bandolier. He carried enough knives to make a planar porcupine envious. They were the only two to claim an Alliance plasma shield. The Seshinaar had never trained with such a thing since they kept to the trees and preferred ranged weapons over hand to hand. Draxton made a note to add that to future exercises. His people could only benefit from a wider range of skills.

His people? He shook his head and tossed the unclaimed or useless equipment into the glowing chasm. The explosive charges flashed in eager anticipation of destroying the traitorous wound. His people? His tattoo slithered over his skin, each vine tingling with suppressed power. He clenched his fist and the thorns peeled free to provide a deadly barrier. Yeah, I guess they are.

“What do we do with them?” Fieryl’s growl crawled along Draxton’s nerves and raised the hair on his arms. The rakshasa stabbed a clawed, paw-like hand towards the fallen enemy.

He stared at the carnage that had already lured the tiniest of carrion feeders into its midst. The gnats and flies buzzed around the bodies in hazy swarms. “We can’t leave them exposed and don’t have time to bury them.” His gaze drifted over to the open mine. His tattoo pulsed in synchrony with the chasm’s faint blue glow. “Toss them into the shaft. They’ll serve as an offering to Minshaar. If they’re smart, the souls of the Seshinaar will seek her forgiveness.”

“And the Alliance soldiers?”

“Their bodies will feed the land and replenish some of what Brixys tried to steal.”

Fieryl’s grin showed off his pointed fangs and a low purr reverberated through his chest. He stalked off to organize the mass grave, hissing instructions to the remaining warriors. The men commandeered some of the mining vehicles and set to work.

Draxton set disabling charges on each of the borers and unused mining equipment. Designed by the Alliance to incapacitate enemy ships and ground vehicles, the charges created an arc of high-voltage that fused a vehicle’s engine into a block of useless base metal. He would take no chances that Brixys or the Alliance would reclaim the mining equipment. A smiled teased his lips at the irony—their soldier using their weapon to destroy their equipment.

He warned the Seshinaar away from the vehicles. While the charges were isolated, they still sent a shit-ton of power through the metal. He saw too many rookies fry because they leaned against the wrong vehicle at the wrong time. Lanthyn gave him the thumbs-up, and he typed in the code. Set in a series, the electricity arced from one machine to the next and left nothing but smoldering ruins in its wake. Draxton signaled Fieryl and both turned toward the waiting transport platforms.

“How many are you taking with you?” Lanthyn hobbled over and leaned heavily on his makeshift crutch.

“A dozen.” Draxton met the Seshinaar’s worried gaze with confidence. He had trained for and carried out this type of insertion throughout his entire military career. While his squad wouldn’t have his training, he trusted them to have his back. “Any more and we risk alerting Brixys and his band of crazies. It’s bad enough the narakir create an unknown variable without bodging the job ourselves.”

“You’re insane! That’s not a rescue, it’s a suicide mission!”

Draxton narrowed his eyes at the disbelief in the Seshinaar’s voice and on his face. If he wasn’t so damned worried about Kasseus and grateful for Lanthyn’s help, he’d have kicked the man’s ass. “The Alliance stripped me of my rank and dignity, but not my skills. Small team insertion is my specialty, even against unknown variables. I’ve spent every spare second reading up on the narakir, the facts and the theories and even the crazy-as-fuck myths. Unless one pops up and turns chatty as a Minostian mynah bird, I’m as prepared as I can be which is more than I have been in similar circumstances.”

“Brixys is almost as insane as the narakir.” Lanthyn threw his hands up with a huff. Teetering on his one good leg, he grabbed his crutch and pointed it at Draxton’s chest. “He’s also a member of the House of Minshaar, even if the Minshaari would prefer to forget it, and thus commands powerful muykeesh. Don’t overlook his skills just because his arrogance prevented his training.”

“Get that stick out of my face before I find it a new home. One that’ll make it uncomfortable for you to sit for a while.” Draxton arched a brow, holding the Seshinaar’s heated gaze until it dropped along with the crutch. With a nod, he turned to double-check each of the ropes securing their supplies. They weren’t carrying much which made each item all that much more important.

“I’m neither crazy nor rushing headfirst into death. Brixys may be powerful, but never underestimate the amount of stupid the combination of arrogance and lack of training can create. There’s a good chance he’ll kill himself simply because he can’t fathom there’s something he can’t control. However, if he doesn’t, then Fieryl will delight in carving a hole to his black heart to see if it actually exists.”

“I wasn’t aware of this part of the plan,” the rakshasa interrupted with a purr, “but I definitely approve. Let’s make that happen, sergeant.”

“I’ll do my best. Regardless of how powerful or skilled he is, I won’t leave Kass to that bastard. I won’t,” he repeated under his breath. His fingers tightened on the woven hemp rope, tugging until the knot creaked. Power swirled along his tattoo; the pale glow limned every jagged leaf and razor-sharp thorn. “All the men accompanying me know the odds and volunteered anyway. If I’m nuts, then what does that say about them?”

“That they’re as much of a lunatic as you are.” Lanthyn snorted. “Very well. I still think you’re crazy, but with Minshaar’s blessing you’ll come out victorious.”

“I won’t accept any other outcome, not with Kasseus’ life on the line.”

*****

The entire group left the ruins in one mass exodus. Each team used the confusion for distraction and misdirection to throw off any lingering, unseen threats. The medical team turned their platforms towards Xyrilnia, the closest tribal outpost loyal to the Minshaari. Lanthyn argued long and hard, but reluctantly accompanied this group. Fieryl chuckled and shook his head as the wounded warrior’s grumbling complaints faded into the inky forest.

The healthy warriors scattered into the trees in groups of four. Their mission was second in importance only to Draxton’s—visit the tribes, discover their loyalties, and secure more allies. With the Circle destroyed by Brixys, the resulting chaos and maneuvering for power would throw Seshinaar into civil war. Kasseus and all of Minshaar would be prime targets for any wishing to snatch a marked advantage over the others.

Minshaar, though powerful, was a small tribe of barely ten thousand. The men and women who guarded and defended their Minshaari accounted for just over half of that number; the rest were young children, the elderly, and other noncombatants. Their band of warriors would not withstand a war with even one of the larger tribes, much less them all. They needed more allies.

As Draxton watched the platforms scatter in every direction, he prayed they were successful. The tribes would resist a return to the monarchy, fearing a loss of power in the governance of the outer rim planet, but Seshinaar had been divided for too long. Kasseus planned to incorporate the tribal chiefs as advisors with a greater voice in planetary policies than they currently had through the Circle. He wanted to return Seshinaar to its roots—a trade planet rich in natural resources and mystical teachings, a land free from slavery. A senseless war would only widen the gulf between the tribes, not bring them together.

“We didn’t get this far to fail now, sergeant.” Fieryl’s purring hum skittered along his heightened nerves and sent a chill down his spine. “Trust in Minshaar. She chose you for a reason.”

“Well, I hope she knows what she’s doing, because I sure as fuck don’t. This part of the mission is the only thing that seems normal.”

“You’re the chosen of a goddess, mated to a throneless king.” The rakshasa’s chuckle calmed him even if his words did not. “Your normal is about to get a lot weirder.”

“Gee, thanks, cat. That’s a great pep talk.” Draxton rolled his eyes and joined in his friend’s laughter.

The forest sped by, a constant blur of massive trunks and leafy boughs, and tore away his moment of levity. Much as he’d tried to convince himself this mission was the same as any other, the words felt wrong to his very soul. This extraction meant far more than any political prisoner or high-ranking official. This was Kasseus. He wrapped his fingers around his wrist as if twisting the cursed bands that brought him to this place.

“I won’t lose him. Not now. Not like this.”

“I know.”

Fieryl’s calm certainty shook him to his core. During his long military career few had regarded him with such unwavering confidence. It was as terrifying as it was reassuring. He prayed it wasn’t misplaced.

Draxton offered Fieryl a strained smile and forced his tense muscles to relax. The whoosh of the forest as it passed them by, the thudding of his heart, and the gentle purrs of his feline companion faded into nothingness while he sought Minshaar’s Blessing. It was strange to acknowledge that he possessed such a thing; it was even stranger to instinctively know how to tap into it. If asked, he couldn’t describe how he knew or where her Blessing rested. He only knew it was there and how to draw it forth when needed. And boy did he ever need it now.

He sucked in a breath when her power raced along his limbs. It filled him with tingling warmth, a surge of adrenaline and strength, and renewed his flagging confidence. He watched the inky thorns peel away from his skin and harden. A brush of his thumb across a jagged point came away bloody. The tiny wound fused before his eyes and solidified his resolve. No, he wouldn’t lose Kasseus Minshaar—not this night or any in the near future. He hadn’t had nearly enough time with the delectable Seshinaar.

“We’re five kilometers out, sergeant. The others are settling into position.” Fieryl’s soft growl broke into his musings.

“Understood. Secure a landing site, lock it down, and gear up.” He tilted his head from side to side, the soft crackling of his neck barely audible over the humming of the platform. Still, the rakshasa winced at the painful sound. Draxton smirked and checked each of his weapons one last time. Adrenaline flooded his body, enhancing the pulsing euphoria of Minshaar’s Blessing and setting his senses on high alert. His fingers itched to wrap around Brixys’ throat. His body ached to touch and taste Kasseus’ once more. He anchored the platform to the tree and pulled a modified pulse pistol from its holster. “Time to party.”

“Yes, sir.”

Draxton stepped onto a thick branch and moved toward the trunk. The scattered calls of local night birds broke the silence and brought a smile to his face. The small group had managed to surrounded the compound without setting off alarms or alerting those within. With a final admonition to be wary of the narakir, he signaled his team to close the net.

They kept to the trees for the first three kilometers. Draxton walked the lower branches, his goddess-blessed sight scouring the forest floor for sentries, while Fieryl leapt from limb to limb ten meters above him. Each team duplicated their positions as they inched forward.

Once they reached the two-kilometer mark, all dropped one level. Draxton crouched at the base of the massive oak and checked his surroundings. There were no signs of guard points or patrols. He frowned and whistled up to Fieryl. The rakshasa’s soft growl confirmed the lack of sentries. Where were they?

Trading the pistol for the stealth of a razor-sharp dagger, he crept toward the nearest tree. Shadows danced between the thick trunks, dense bushes, and leafy ferns. The night was silent and still, missing the usual rustling of small rodents and hunting predators. The wrongness gnawed at his gut and grated on his nerves. He strained to see into the forest but found only more darkness.

The air was denser at ground level; the canopy of leaves held in the day’s heat and humidity. A trickle of sweat made a lazy path down the side of his neck to disappear into his shirt. What light that fought its way past the overhanging leaves wavered like a blade of grass in a lazy wind. Fuck. Draxton signaled all movement to cease. He drew on the blessing of Minshaar, sheathed his dagger, and stepped into a hazy beam of moonlight.

“I am Draxton Larimore, mate and consort of the Minshaari, and Champion of Minshaar.” A muscle twitched in his jaw as he fought not to make a face. Gee, that didn’t sound pompous at all. His gaze darted between the trees and into every puddle of moonlight. The air shimmered with heat and malevolence. “Show yourselves, narakir, and declare your loyalties.”

“A human prince or human pawn?” Sweltering heat buffeted Draxton’s face and bared chest as the fiery being coalesced before him. Its voice crackled and spit like a dying campfire, enhancing its sibilants like the reptilian Nessilym of Glanshyl. “The time has come, the lines are drawn.”

“I don’t have time for your rhyming bullshit,” he gritted through his teeth. The tattoo pulsed with power.

“Time is fluid, Chosen of the Mother.” A fountain sprang from the forest floor and formed a flowing humanoid shape. “A child feels it pour between her fingers like a waterfall, yet to a prisoner it lies still as a glassy pond.”

“Time, time, yes, it is time!” A second fiery narakir formed beside the watery creature. It giggled menacingly as steam hissed from their proximity and bathed Draxton in humid heat. “Time for peace or time for war? Answer well, human prince, and tell us what you’re fighting for.”

The ground shook, nearly knocking him off-balance. Draxton swallowed hard. Even without looking he had a feeling he’d just found the remaining narakir. He licked his lips and said the second prayer of his life.

“Though we hope for peace, I fear war is inevitable. Brixys and those who desire the power he promised them would never kneel to the Minshaari.”

“What of you, human?” The narakir’s voice rumbled like an avalanche, striking his eardrums with painful precision. “What would you sacrifice to secure peace?”

What would he sacrifice to see Kasseus and his people safe? He looked into the trees and caught Fieryl’s worried gaze. He tried to smile a reassurance, but it faltered on his lips. What would he sacrifice? His fingers wrapped around his wrist and twisted. His shoulders drooped as a sigh escaped him. There was only one truthful answer.

Hexe Brennen – Guest Post

So, my daughter has this cushy little government job where she tells folks just what they can do with their computers. In a way. She works for an IT contractor at a call-center help desk. Now that she’s moved to a later shift, the number of calls she fields in a day has been drastically reduced. What does any of this have to do with today’s post? In one of our many rambling email exchanges, we got to discussing flash fiction and prompts and what-have-you as a way to fill the long, empty, early morning hours. This is one of the results of that conversation.

The prompt in question for this first story of hers is a line from Amanda Palmer’s TED Talk – The Art of Asking. (An aside – DO watch the video. It’s excellent and amusing and insightful and just awesome.) During her speech, she discusses how she couch surfs through life, usually with her band, but there was that one time that she went alone. Just as she was about to knock on the door, she had the stray thought, “Is this how stupid people disappear? Is this how stupid people die?” That pair of sentences spawned the story below.

******

Hexe Brennen

Kairin Katsumi

Amelia stood with her small group at the forests edge, staring into the darkness it held. For months, a wolf had been terrorizing their village. Or so they thought. The young brunette tugged on the rope binding her wrists behind her back. She’d seen the true culprit of the pig abductions as had her other friends. Unfortunately, her so-called friends had not been as gracious as she. They were the reason she was being taken to the forests edge as the people she’d known her whole life threw stones and rotten food at her. They were the reason she was now being tied to a post atop a pile of straw and kindling. Branded as a witch at the age of seventeen for being a decent human being, the young woman only now remembered that no good deed went unpunished.

The ropes tightened painfully around her wrists, securing her to the post as the crowd threw curses at her. And she was supposed to be the witch here? She held her head high against the onslaught, determined to keep as much of her dignity as the situation would allow. She would not repent her actions for she had done nothing wrong. Her only regret would be that these people would not learn from their mistakes. Her death would mean nothing and would teach them nothing. In their eyes, they were passing righteous judgment from their God. A witch who helped a demon could not be allowed to live.

Glancing at the man standing beside her post, the blacksmith she noted, she noticed the flaming torch in his hand. So her uncle would be her executioner? It seemed fitting; she did “defile” his property after all. She nodded to him with a small smile, earning herself a glare. Still her smile held, not allowing the pain show at his sudden switch in manner. He’d once doted on her as if she were his own daughter.

“Amelia, you are charged with heresy, witchcraft, and harboring a demon-“ The young woman leveled a calm, emotionless stair on the mayor as he approached her. She allowed his droning voice to pass through her unheard as he recited her crimes and her punishment. She didn’t need to be informed; what she was standing against was evidence enough of her fate.

“He is not a demon. He is a man whose only crime is having been created. I gave him shelter, food, clothing. I taught him to read and write so he could one day enter society and make something of himself. I helped someone less fortunate than myself. Is that not what God is meant to teach? I am comfortable with my place in the eyes of my God. Are you?” Her declaration was met with quiet murmurs from some; however, she could see that many still believed she spoke nothing but heresy. The mayor spat another curse in her direction before her uncle threw the torch into the straw at her feet. Tall flames immediately began to burst from the dried grasses.

Amelia held her head high and closed her eyes, feeling the heat already begin to travel up to her bare feet. She allowed her mind to take her away from the fire and the screams of the townspeople. She remembered meeting the man who had been her charge for these last eight months. Demon was the term they’d used for the man with the beast-like eyes and patch-work skin. She and her friends caught him at one’s farm. She remembered the screams from the girls around her as they watched him expertly catch a pig and snap its neck. She remembered the feral look in his beautiful eyes and the way he’d stared at them before running back into the forest with his catch. She’d taken off after him without thinking, ignoring the calls from her hysterical friends. That had been the end of her.

The heat and pain began in her feet and ankles as the hay and kindling beneath them began to burn with the rest. Smoke began to rise and thicken around her, making it hard to breathe, but Amelia just bit her lip and continued to remember. She remembered finding that beautiful man and offering him shelter in her barn. She smiled softly as she remembered her thoughts as she led him there. Is this how stupid people die?

She remembered his initial fear and distrust. He’d never known human kindness would be geared towards someone like him. If a created creature was discarded by its own maker, then surely it would not be accepted anywhere. She’d been determined to show him differently.  She remembered taking care of him, teaching him, loving him. He’d shown her happiness in his open mannerisms, in his unending gentleness that was hidden by fierce strength and passion. He’d been brilliant in his lessons with her and equally brilliant at pleasuring a woman. They had been glorious.

Amelia allowed only one whimper as the fire scorched its way up her legs and abdomen. The bindings on her wrists and her own iron will were all that was left holding her upright against the searing pain. She could smell her burnt flesh as it fell from her bones but still she did not make a sound. She would not give these people that satisfaction no matter if the thick smoke was making her dizzy and short of breath. She held her breath as long as she could manage in cycles as she forced her mind to continue to focus on the past, what had led her to this point and why she did not regret it.

She remembered when they’d been caught. She’d known they would eventually. It had been her uncle that saw them first. The very man who had now condemned her to death, he had caught them curled together one morning in the aftermath of their passion. She’d forced her lover to leave the barn; told him to go into the woods and wait for her. She’d convinced him this was something she needed to discuss with her family even as she knew what would truly become of her. Her uncle’s shouts that she’d lain with a demon proved that.

The fire had reached her chest and the smoke had stolen what little breath she’d had left. Her mind was unable to focus now no matter how hard she tried. Pain and smoke inhalation finally over took her senses though she gladly allowed them their due. She was finished. Buried in her heart, she had everything she needed to take her smiling to the afterlife. With her fading consciousness she imagined she could see the silhouette of her love, her monster, hidden in the trees. As the flames stole her final breath, she whispered her last goodbyes.

Monday Mumbles – Jade

I’m such a slug sometimes. I have issues with regularly scheduled articles (hello, Draxton? I haven’t forgotten you, honest!) so things don’t always get posted as planned. It’s not that I forget, it’s just that I put it off until it’s too late and then the vicious cycle starts all over again. With that in mind, here’s another installment of the Monday Mumbles, the semi-regular series of stuff I find of interest. They may, or may not, be writing related. They may turn ranty (still avoiding discussing traffic and idiot drivers…oh my god, the idiot drivers). They may even shine a light into the things that forged my reading, and thus writing, preferences.

This weeks Mumble focuses on a book I read as a Freshman in high school. Yes, we had books. No, they weren’t on stone tablets. Anyway. Our school followed a Six Week reporting period, with six reporting periods per year. Our Literature teacher assigned us one book per reporting period to read and write a report on. Of the six, four had to be either classics from a specific list or an auto/biography. The teacher would approve the remaining two to prevent some clown from trying to use the Dick and Jane primers or some such nonsense.

Now, I love the classics, adore them, and had actually read most of the ones I chose to do my reports on. My first four were well-loved classics like The Call of the Wild (click that link, for the love of all that is holy. This book is FREE for Kindle!) and The Count of Monte Cristo (Kindle copy only 99c!!). The fifth was a biography of TE Lawrence—the man known as Lawrence of Arabia. Excellent book. Fascinating man. I was so happy I chose that.

For my final book, I decided to branch out of the classics and pick a slightly fluffy novel. My teacher barely looked at the book before giving it her approval. Her opinion was that after four classics and a biography, she trusted me not to pick something totally asinine. I chose a book entitled Jade.

This book sucked me in and carried me along for the ride. Half fiction, half fact, it told the story of a young girl (Jade) who eventually ends up on Jack Rackham’s pirate ship along with the infamous Anne Bonney and Mary Reade. As an unrepentant lover of historical novels, both romance and otherwise, I devoured the historical details of Calico Jack Rackham and his two female crewmates. I saw their lives from Jade’s point of view, sailed upon the ship, and pillaged and plundered with the rowdy pirate crew. I felt Anne’s disdain and sneering contempt for Jack’s growing dependence on opium which only grew at his poor showing against the Jamaican governor’s troops. I fell in love alongside Jade with a captured doctor and mourned that love when they were all captured and sentenced to hang.

Calico Jack Rackham

The book does, for the most part, have a happy ending for those whom history allows one. Poor Mary Reade suffers in the novel the same fate she did in life—a painful miscarriage in prison while awaiting her hanging, then death by fever shortly after the loss of the babe. Jack and most of his crew succumb to the hangman’s noose with Anne being no less unforgiving in this pseudo-historical tale as she was then. And Jade? Well, perhaps I’ll let you read it and find out how she fared.

A note about the link below—this book seems like the correct book from my youth. The age, title, subject matter all point to it being the same Jade I read in high school. However, without owning a copy, I can’t say for certain. If it is, then my teenaged self highly recommends it. If it’s not, well, it still might be worth a read.

Jade by Sally Watson

Answers

Tomorrow, The Fox’s Mate toddles off into the wilds of reader-land while I watch from the window, wringing my hands, and worrying if my “baby” is getting enough food, sleep, and not getting mugged by random weresloths. Until that time, however, the pre-release contest is still going strong and I have yet another short to throw at you. Maybe it’ll bounce off and take down that weresloth gang that’s eyeballing my book.

Today’s story, yet again, centers on Lord Maximus, the irreverent vampire who befriended a young Draike Weatherby (details in the book). I haven’t decided exactly where along the series timeline this short falls. It’s definitely after The Fox’s Mate, but could be before or even after the second book. It gives nothing of either plots away. Rather, it sets up for Max’s own story which is in the outline stages.

Again, this short was originally part of Nulli Para Ora’s Musings series. I’ve tweaked a bit here and there from the original – mostly grammar and some light editing. If you’ve read the original, there’s very little difference and none in the places that matter. Max is a bit darker here as he searches for Answers to death of his mate, Francesca.

The prompt - 

The flickering light of the many scattered candles cast dancing shadows on the cold stone walls of the prison. The naked captive hung from the ceiling by a pair of ancient metal shackles attached to his wrists. A matching pair around his ankles kept his legs spread far enough to hinder his balance. After two hours of futile struggles punctuated with terror-laden, curse-filled bravado, the prisoner had accomplished nothing beyond dislocating his left shoulder and accelerating his fatigue. He had drifted in and out of consciousness ever since that sickening pop and subsequent scream of agony.

“Time to play,” murmured the figure hidden in the darkest corner of the cell. As he stepped into the light, the prisoner’s eyes widened in recognition. His answering smile was awful. “I see you recognize me. Good. That means that I won’t have to go into a lot of tiresome explanations about why you’re here.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the man croaked through swollen and bleeding lips. “The team reported…”

“Your team was as incompetent as its leader.” Maximus moved until mere inches separated him from his victim. Over the foul stench of urine, feces, and sweat was the sweet tang of fear. The vampire closed his crimson eyes and inhaled the welcome scent. His grin revealed the sharp tips of his fangs. “And as cowardly. Sniping through my bedroom window, Bankston? That’s beneath even you.”

“We were testing a theory.” The man gripped the chain with his right hand to ease the pressure on his left shoulder and chuckled. “Even if the aim was off, the mission was a success.”

“Ah yes. The Mission.” Maximus walked around the prisoner, digging one sharpened claw into the man’s flesh and slicing a shallow, bloody path. “Tell me about this mission, Bankston. None of your subordinates knew much about it beyond their targets. Some had been successful; others had failed. They didn’t quite understand why. But you do.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew Bankston growled through gritted teeth.

“I’ll pass, thank you. I make it a rule to never fuck my prey. I always feel so dirty afterwards.” Maximus shuddered with distaste. Holding his prisoner’s eyes, he licked the blood from the tips of his talons. “Oh my. You have been a naughty boy, Andrew. Do your bosses know you’re snorting your salary away? Don’t worry, though. I’ll never tell.” He winked at the bleeding prisoner before removing his jacket. “Now, try to remain still. This is only going to hurt…a lot.”

It only took a week to thoroughly destroy the mind and body of Andrew Bankston. The broken corpse was dropped onto the wreckage of a yacht carrying enough illegal arms and drugs to fund a small revolution. Armed with an organizational name and a set of coordinates, Maximus boarded a plane to the United States. He now knew the enemy, and its name was The Paranormal Research Institute of America.

He would have his vengeance.

******

Thank you for reading! For a chance at winning an ebook of The Fox’s Mate and a $5 Amazon Gift Card, check out the rafflecopter link below!

The Fox’s Mate PreRelease Rafflecopter giveaway

Saying Goodbye

In conjunction with the upcoming release of The Fox’s Mate, I’m posting a few shorts written about supporting characters. Some have major roles, some have minor roles, but all make an impact on the story in their own unique way. These shorts were originally posted on Nulli Para Ora‘s site as part of her Musings series. My flash pieces ranged from approximately 400 to 800 words and were small glimpses into the lives of these secondary characters. Two were posted last year when they went live. The first, Caroline’s Nightmare, centers on the antagonist in The Fox’s Mate and was based on a picture of a brooch. The second, The Dance, gives a peek into the lives of the ermine twins, Svetlana and Zoya. The prompt then was a photograph of a pile of scarves.

The final two, Saying Goodbye and Answers, center around Lord Lucius Maximus Petreius, the vampire Lord of London, and Draike Weatherby’s closest friend. Both occur before the events of the book so they give nothing away of the plot. They simply give a deeper look into my favorite silly vampire.

As an added note – none of these shorts were given much editing. I’ve looked them over for obvious errors but they were flash pieces, written in the span of hours if not minutes and then immediately posted. Saying Goodbye and the last in the series, Answers, will have more editing than the two listed above but are still not professionally edited. All errors are my own, and I’m sure there’s a few floating around.

******

The prompt for this Musing - 

Maximus watched the sun sink below the horizon and gripped the urn closer to his chest. The brilliant splashes of red and orange across the gentle ripples of the lake bathed his face in an eerie glow. He was thankful for the dying sun’s crimson rays for they disguised the true nature of the tears that flowed over his cheeks. Tears created by the loss of his mate, his own true love that were as red as the blood which they shared.

The wind picked up and rocked the small boat. Water splashed over the edge, pooling at his feet, and the setting sun cast its bloody hue upon the unwelcome liquid. A pool of crimson, much like the one he found upon awakening. A pool that revealed the truth he still yearned to deny. A pool that encircled his beloved’s head like a ghastly halo.

Enraged, he scooped at the water with one hand while desperately clinging to the urn with the other. He didn’t need any more reminders of that horrific evening. He wanted to think of her as she had been that night, when they had gone to bed in each other’s arms – soft, sensual, beautiful, and so very alive even after three hundred years of undeath. He wanted to erase the memory of her terror-filled eyes, her lovely face contorted in agony. He wanted to erase everything about that morning. He wanted…

Dear God in Heaven, he wanted her! Not in a cold urn about to be cast upon an even colder lake. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed, for tonight and tomorrow and all the days after. He was a greedy man, to that he would readily agree, and three centuries hadn’t been nearly long enough. He wanted three more, and then three more after that.

Sobbing, he sank to his knees in the gently swaying boat. The sun continued to set but, in apparent sympathy to the vampire’s misery, had muted its brilliant colors until the morrow. As the stars watched from the evening sky, Maximus wept his final tears over the loss of his mate. When the moon settled into place, the grieving vampire sprinkled the ashes upon the rippling waves and said goodbye to his heart.

Turning towards the shore, he took up the oars and began to row. Now, it was time for retribution.

*****

Thank you for reading! For a chance at winning an ebook of The Fox’s Mate and a $5 Amazon Gift Card, check out the rafflecopter link below!

The Fox’s Mate PreRelease Rafflecopter giveaway

The Fox’s Mate – PreRelease Giveaways

Hello! June 5th marks the release of my Urban Fantasy novel, The Fox’s Mate so I’m gearing up for release with a few giveaways here and there. Come along, join the fun, and enter to win an ARC or finished copy (depending on when and where you enter) or even an Amazon gift card!

During the next two days, I’ll post extras/shorts and information about Jarilo, the Slavic god who spawned this series. And there’ll be links! Yes, links to all sorts of things, like the above-mentioned Giveaways, other sites that are kindly hosting me, the book on Goodreads if you want to add it to your towering stack of To Read books (hint hint), and whatever else I can think.

First off, a direct link to the Giveaway (since the sidebar disappears on posts):

The Fox’s Mate PreRelease – a Rafflecopter giveaway

Go and click ALL THE BUTTONS and enter to win!

Here are a couple of other links that might be of interest:

Taliesin Publishing

The Fox’s Mate on Goodreads