The Bartender: Greek translation

Just clicked publish on the Greek version!

Excerpt: The Orphan - Rose scented shampoo

 

HE RETURNED AFTER hours of waiting. Her nerves screamed at her to go after him, help him, he may be in trouble, but just as she was about to abandon the dry hollow where she hid, he appeared.

Sunflower hit him in the shoulder. “Don’t do that again,” she snarled.

He merely laughed … and held out a holdall.

Eyes narrowed, she snatched it, opened it. Oh. Fresh clothes. Toiletries, including pads.

“We can wash in the pond we saw a way back.” Adin watched her rummage, clearly enjoying her reactions. “But first …”

She accepted the brown bag he shook with wiggling eyebrows. Food. Proper stuff-it-in food. Sunflower sat flat on the stony ground, and stuffed her face. Although cold, it was delicious. Fries, deep fried fish, pork sausages, savoury tarts, and a yummy chilli dip.

“How?” she asked around filled cheeks.

“Raided the clothes recycle bin to look presentable enough, washed up in a toilet in back of the local gas station, and then went shopping. Got some funny looks for the girl stuff, but so what?” He peered at her. “Charged my phone at the diner.”

Sunflower stared at him. “You went online?”

“That’s what took so long, yes.”

“And?”

“Your father put out a fresh appeal for you on your birthday, but I didn’t find anything else about you.”

Sucking the last of the sauce from her fingers, she prompted, “Fred?” She still called him Fred, easier to deal with him, as if he were no more than a character in a play.

“Dug some into Paul Paterson’s life. Seems he vanished around the time you did, so it’s definitely him. Folks have the kind of money to put him in that fancy school, but he was the fifth son, won’t inherit much. The bulk of the estate goes to the oldest.”

“Explains why he took me for ransom.”

“His folks have a reward out. They’re looking, as your folks are looking.”

“But he can’t go home, not until I’m dead.”

Adin nodded.

Sunflower rose to gather the remains of her meal. “Let’s get to that pond.” As they walked on after shouldering their gear old and new, she asked, “What are you not telling me?”

“He broke out from an institution. Committed for some mental disorder. His parents want him found because they say he is a danger to society.”

Closing her eyes briefly, she walked on. It explained his odd behaviour. How he taunted her. How he watched her. Yet, to be truthful, he did not actually hurt her. In some ways he, in fact, cared for her. Monthly feminine products. New clothes. Books, including the cookery kind. Sleeping tablets. Cough mixture when she had a chest issue.

It didn’t make sense.

She said as much.

“There’s such a thing as mental torture,” Adin murmured.

And wasn’t that the truth?

They reached the pond, and as the first rays of sunshine peered over the towering mountains, Sunflower forewent everything else to become as clean as she could be, revelling in the rose scented shampoo Adin had bought for her.

Ever would the smell of roses bring him to mind.

An orphaned boy searches for a lost girl.

A woman abandons her new-born at a motel in the back of beyond. Adin grows up unloved, bullied, and no one remembers him. He doesn’t exist.

Until he sees a poster for a missing girl on a lamppost. There is an instant connection to little Sunflower, kidnapped for ransom, only to disappear after the money is paid. He exists because he must find her. Alone, he searches, a journey that takes him into the wild places, meeting along the way some interesting characters.

In dreams he speaks to her, for she is the one who will remember him.

THE ORPHAN

Caturday: Better late than never!

Bit late with the Caturday post :)

 

Sounds like a plan :)

 

Life to everything

 

Drama Dots!

 

Act accordingly!

 

Those amazing lights!

Seems whether I was at the southern tip of Africa (my birth place) on May 10, or in Kildare, Ireland (my home county now), those amazing lights in the skies put on a show for both 😍

South Africa:

Ireland

Yes, don't us writers think this?!

 

Ancient Illumination: Temple Dancer (excerpt)

 

Dark eyes roll back and Halley’s hands commence a peculiar pattern of movement, as if they too are dancing. This isn’t pole twisting, I sense; this is more like temple worship.

Winter murmurs, softly, “Please listen to her. This is the Movement of Memory.”

It is not as if we have the power of speech anyway, for we are all of us mesmerised by Halley’s flowing hands and sinuous body. She is indeed a dancer.

Halley begins to speak in a hypnotic tone. “The Giants laid down the great stones and carved upon them words of power. The Masons settled rock upon rock upon these foundations, revelling in the perfection. The Magicians created arches for ingress and spheres for light in the sheer edifice, and were satisfied. The Mistress waved her wand and, lo, a star appeared in the marvellous ceiling. The Artists played with gold and gems and covered the very walls and floors with otherworldly ostentation. Many came to gawk, it was that beautiful. The Master was displeased and sealed mighty Castle Drakon for all time, to all outsiders.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand stiffly to attention. Somewhere, perhaps in a dream, I have heard this before. I know this legend.

Fire spews and ice follows. The world Drakonis is near death and all life has fled. Except for Brennan, the thief who hears mysterious directions to Castle Drakon on the wind, and brothers Bastian and Cole, who choose to follow her. Then there’s Halley, an exotic dancer from the burning cities, and Audri, who refuses to speak.

 These five are the last and it is their task to ensure at least memory remains, or Drakonis will be eternally forgotten. To ensure this, they must find Castle Drakon.

 In a grotto under the ice they discover three others alive and before the warmth of a fire hear of a mighty legend. Unravelling its mysteries could lead to a way off a dying world. An ancient light will illuminate their path.

ANCIENT ILLUMINATION

Caturday: God/Goddess

 

Collages: Flower Power

 

Books and Pajamas

 

I'm in!

 

Also me!

 

R.I.P Bernard Hill

 

LOTR trivia

 

Book of Being so far

 

My A - Z book of short stories. So far : Artist / Bartender / Caregiver / Follower / Jeweller / Orphan / Potter / Student. All links and info under Short Stories and Novellas overhead 😍

Dandelion wishes

 

Caturday: LOL

 

Grimalkin & Minikin

 

But then you read

 

Books: You will find you

 

Magical and Happy

 

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Excerpt: House of Valla - every 1000th page

17 Books, over 7000 pages (small print).

Below are excerpts from every 1000th page.

Page 1000

Gillil, a red Sylmer, bright red tail and hair, his eyes as blue as the daytime ocean, also glowing, surfaced, powerful arms holding Saska horizontal on the bouncing ocean. She was still unconscious, but seemed not to have suffered from the dunking.

“It’s too rough out here!” he called out. “We’ll go around to the long island.” He vanished into the water briefly to come up under Saska, using his back as a raft for her still form. His arms wrapped backward about her, and he used his powerful tail to propel them forward.

Stirri said, “Enchanter, you have extra biology within; you are able to breathe water, did you know? No? Well, now is not the time to learn. Put your arms around my waist.” He turned his back to Torrullin and, once Torrullin complied, set off just below the surface to pull his burden along with powerful strokes.

Page 2000

TYMALL HUDDLED ON the dais. He was bound with Valleur rope that had none of the properties of vulci, but nevertheless held him. In truth, he could have freed himself upon regaining consciousness, being Valleur, but had chosen not to. He would have succeeded, although not easily, not with four guards over him. Tymall was fatalistic, his anger dissipated.

Torrullin approached with a measured tread his son knew well. His father attended to his emotions before he lashed out. When he attained the platform, he halted. “Did you hurt Taranis?”

Tymall was confused. It was not what he expected to hear first. “Ask him.”

Torrullin placed one foot on the dais and leaned forward on it to stare into his son’s grey eyes. “I cannot. Taranis is dead.”

“I did not touch him.”

“You lie, Tymall. His injuries were internal, a ruptured spleen, collapsed kidneys, broken ribs pierced his lungs, put pressure on his heart, his liver was torn, and his intestines were as liquid.” Torrullin was silent for a beat. “A pulse at short range, Tymall, with venom, and exacerbated by sustained kicking.”

“I did not kick him.”

“Then you hit him with intent to cause as much harm as possible. Margus may have thought it necessary to subdue Taranis, and Taranis would have fought, I know, but Margus prefers direct death when time is an issue. Vulci achieves imprisonment once the pain barrier is too great; Margus would not have used a pulse.” Torrullin straightened and stepped onto the dais. “My father was also hit about the head. Slapped. Spat on. Viciously gagged.” He hauled his son roughly to his feet and stood him up. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if you caused your grandfather harm.”

Page 3000

Millennia back Beacon laid claim to a sister world in its solar system, a world that became a hungry nation’s breadbasket. Known as Beacon Farm, it was sparsely populated, as available land was relinquished to farming. Farmers rotated through the system and permitted no casual emigration from Beacon to Farm. Still, produce from Farm was insufficient and imports were of paramount importance. It seemed to work; Beacon was a clean, well-governed world with no poor and hungry. But there was a dark side.

Manufacturing was done under license on other, less congested worlds, with no qualms about pollutants and no compassion for those exploited. Beacon’s powerful business cartels strip-mined, denuded forests, and quarried with no thought for the future. They paid high prices, yes, but left nothing but sterility and poverty behind, and moved on to the next proposition. Beacon was hated by other worlds.

Spacefaring for eons, they were also arrogant and superior. What was once regarded as a survival necessity, those pathfinders to other worlds, transformed into greedy business practice. The might of the cartels respected only two other human worlds; Valaris, for limiting Beacon to normal, healthy trade, and Xen III, for denying them access to long dormant minerals and ores after the domes were brought down.

Page 4000

KNOWING A NETWORK of sites existed meant it could be felt. There were now faint tugs at the subconscious, although without definition and direction; on Ceta also, a world chosen from a proverbial hat for a showdown, and thus they transported to a statue of an angel in a forest.

“Cetans were more comfortable with religious figures,” Elianas said. He frowned at the angel, not liking it. He always felt statues of angels and cherubs were no more than a soothing device. Akin to a lie.

“Likely,” Torrullin said, and moved away. “There is nothing to learn here.” He did not like the angel either.

“Has our focus changed? We intended to track history of others; are we now tracking the net?” Elianas demanded.

“Gods, how can we not?”

Lowen now knew of the ancient connection between worlds. “It seems to me early history will have a Valleur connection - any world.”

Page 5000

Elianas raised an eyebrow, the first sign of underlying emotion. “If that is how you prefer looking at it.”

“That is what I prefer, yes. So bloody what if you are Warlock. So what if Lowen has mighty Wings. So what if we stepped over lines in that nowhere place; it did not translate to here, unless we reveal results.”

“Crap. I am Warlock here and Lowen does possess her shadows. It translated.” A thread of frustration now weaved into Elianas’ speech.

“But no one knows.” Torrullin tapped the table, frowning.

“You are fooling only yourself.” Elianas’ eyes narrowed. “You have had a vision or visitation or something like it, haven’t you, something pretty enlightening. This is why you regard our issues as small; it has nothing to do with the reality of death and destruction.” Elianas’ hand whipped across the table to grip Torrullin’s wrist. “What changed for you?”

Torrullin suffered the grip without complaint. “Tarlinn.”

Elianas removed his hand with a snort of disgust, before muttering, “What happened?”

Torrullin smiled inwardly. Now they could talk. The man’s curiosity had been aroused. The Throne’s involvement meant questions and answers they had not before considered. “I revealed all.”

Page 6000

Hunkered on the bank of the Lare River, exhausted after the night’s ferrying, but relieved they had found everyone that needed finding, Karydor watched the water gradually turn to sludge. Pulling his cloak’s hood further forward to afford him breathing room, he swore soundlessly.

When Echayn’s long legs appeared in his field of vision, he snorted. “Lord Sorcerer could probably have done something about this.”

“Perhaps,” Echayn murmured.

“That’s a mighty secret you kept from me, Echo.”

A sigh sounded first, before the Valleur spoke. “Way back, in Lorin time, sorcery was untamed and that meant signs and prophecy was rife; even the less proficient among the Valleur could read images. When your son was born, certain women of a certain caste understood how important he is. He was and is needed for the cycles, for the then and for the now, and especially for the time the circle is opened, and time is made new. They saved him by placing him with parents genetically identical to you and Cylene. Rebirths? Yes and no. The genes speak of a rebirth, but his mother and father have not been either you or my sister, nor will they be in this cycle. It’s complicated. Even Elianas would not be able to explain it.”

Page 7000

Torrullin glanced at Elianas. “We need the Kaval.”

“And we have no time to waste,” the dark man nodded. “I will accompany Nefilim to Sorison, and aid in delaying the event, while you go to the Dome.” Reaching out, he gripped Torrullin’s forearm. “Already you are sifting through likely containment fields, something Elixir excels at, but be careful. Let this not harm you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Torrullin murmured. “Elianas, you get the hell away if that weave shows sign of eruption, hear? If you vanish into the netherworld, I am coming after you. Reaume cannot deal with what I will do to extricate you.”

Elianas smiled. “I’ll be careful, promise.”

“Then go. I will come to you.”

“Shall we, Nefilim?”

The massive dragon lumbered to hindlegs. “Follow my signature.”

He dissipated, and Elianas, after sending Torrullin a brash grin, followed. Torrullin stood and paced to the edge to stare down into the darkness filled with nightlife of the natural order, and inhaled a shuddering breath. Change cannot be avoided, he mused. Change now bites me in the arse.

Saluting the world, he vanished.

A Golden bloodline through the Ages. Indeed, for the Valleur are also known as the Golden, the race of Master Builders ruled by the mighty House of Valla. From then to now, into the future and back, the Vallas transform not only Time but also alter the dynamics for all civilisations.

Nemisin is First Father, or so he believes. Vannis is known as the last Vallorin … until Torrullin Valla steps forth. He changes everything; the House of Valla will never be the same as Torrullin battles darklings and dragons, a Darak Or and a Warlock, witches and soul takers, a Timekeeper and the evil lurking in his own family.

House of Valla brings together 17 volumes in the Vallas’ history. Prepare for the long haul, for this is a mighty tale …

HOUSE OF VALLA

Ha!

 

Caturday: Poses