Fantastic eBook Sale

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Lady Laindora informs me the time is right for a sale on her eBook novel Healer of Surflex. It will be on sale for the month of April. You can purchase it in a wide variety eBook formats at the following link:
https://www.books2read.com/b/bWekMm
You can also find it in Kindle at the following link: https://www.amzn.to1u92UUj

https://www.books2read.com/b/bWekMm

Kerlia has fought to survive even before she was born because of the prophesy a child will destroy Kernel’s hold over the kingdom by healing the kingdom. Kernel’s minions search for the healer as his wizards strive to design the ultimate weapon. The minions almost capture Kerlia in the forest however she escapes by being transported to the fairy realm to begin her training to control her healing power. Kerlia must control her powers soon to protect those she loves. Can a mere child stand against the evil that has brought so many men to their knees

Make sure you snag this fantastic bargain before it is gone. You can find Healer of Surflex at the following links:

https://www.books2read.com/b/bWekMm

https://www.amzn.to/1u92UU

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Grant Challenge

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We’re really excited to let you know that we’re a part of the @acommunitythrives It’s a friendly fundraising campaign launched by @USATODAY where organizations dedicated like Iowa Author fest supports the creativity of our local Iowa Authors/Artist/Musicians in their endeavor to bring their work to reality and promote their written word/art/music to their patrons. compete to raise the most money with the top team winning a grand prize cash donation of $25,000.

It starts on Monday 18th ,2019 at 12pm ET and a total of $800,000 will be given away to organizations in the Challenge. The top raising organizations that raise the most will receive cash donations. We’re ready to raise as much money as we can so we can win the $25,000 grand prize donation.

How You Can Help

As a passionate member of our board, we know that you want to help out in any way you can. The best thing you can do is set up a fundraiser page. Donating is great, but if you can become a fundraiser and reach out to your entire network, the potential for raising more money increases drastically.

All you have to do is Go Here https://www.crowdrise.com/o/en/campaign/iowa-author-fest1/iowa-author-fest

Iow aut fest logo

IOWA AUTHOR FEST

At a meeting of supportive authors, the discussion was about different events or lack of events for self-published or indie authors in the Des Moines area.
That sparked the quest to create an event for authors in the Des Moines area and Iowa Author Fest came about.
The purpose of Iowa Author Fest is to promote Iowa Authors and to start or continue the networking of Iowa Author and other associated fields of creativity.
Iowa Author fest supports the creativity of our local Iowa Authors/Artist/Musicians in their endeavor to bring their work to reality and promote their written word/art/music to their patrons.
In 2014 we did our first short story contest in the Des Moines high schools with two stories submitted a disappointment but learning experience.
Two years later we reached out to high schools across Iowa and the response was overwhelming, 93 stories. We setup guidelines and the process of gleaming out the stories that met the guidelines, judging, complying, formatting, publishing and distribution the final book to the students took longer than expected. A learning situation. We gave out prizes of $100, $75 and $50 to the top three stories.
This year we are setting modified guidelines to expedite all aspects of the contest.

Some of the past participating authors in Iowa Author Fest:

Ia-AuFe-children-postcard 2

Thank you in advance for your support.

Apocalyptic Nightmare

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This is the second novel I read written by Author Ricki Dragoni. Author Ricki Dragoni spins a intriguing nightmare with his novel ‘The Swift’.

The main protagonist, Coach Mike wakes up August 8, 2022 to find nothing working, no electronics period. Nothing from a flashlight to any utilities working in town. The word of mouth information has it that the military will be evacuating the town of Storm Lake by sundown. The military arrives in antiquated vehicles not seen since the Vietnam War.

The first thing the military does is throw up a barb wire fence around the town. Then the evacuation starts. The military separates the town’s people into two groups, one group to green transport trucks and the other into a fenced in pen. Then they are gone with no explanation on what happened, leaving them in the pen.

After escaping the pen, those who are left decides to travel to the military base at Fort Dodge to find their families and answers. They must travel at night because the sunlight now burns their eyes. All process food is contaminated. The only things palpable is water, alcohol, and fresh meat. The trip is taking a toll on them, they are wasting away. In between them and their objective is the Swift. The Swift appeared shortly after they start the trip. The Swift is a group of vicious, brutal, creatures that are lightening fast with hands of sharp claws. Some can breathe fire. You shutter when you hear their high pitch screams knowing death is close at hand.

The story will draw you into the adventure and terror as Coach Mike strives to be united with those he loves. The ending is a fantastic twist to the story. No spoilers here. You have to read the novel to find out what Coach Mike finds out what actually happened to them.



The Swift by [Dragoni, Ricky]

You can find out more about Ricki Dragoni at the following links: https://book2read.com/r/B-A-HRGE-CYES https://www.rickidragoni.com https://facebook.com/ricki.jimenez.564

You can find out more about Ricki Dragoni at the following links: https://book2read.com/r/B-A-HRGE-CYES

https://www.rickidragoni.com

https://facebook.com/ricki.jimenez.564

Last Free First Chapter

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This the last of the free chapters of my novels. I appreciate all of your involvement during this promotion. You can find the complete novel of Resin La Rock at the following links: www:https://books2read.com/u/m2XWOr

www:https://azn.to/1u92UUj

CHAPTER 1

Resin La Rock glared from behind his Allis Chalmers Wd45 tractor as the scrawny little old lady swung her revolver at him. “You stupid old crone, get the off my property and out of my hair! My name is Resin La Rock. I never laid eyes on your scrawny backside before I moved to Wayne County two years ago.”

Resin La Rock glared from behind his Allis Chalmers Wd45 tractor as the scrawny little old lady swung her revolver at him. “You stupid old crone, get the off my property and out of my hair! My name is Resin La Rock. I never laid eyes on your scrawny backside before I moved to Wayne County two years ago.”

Resin saw her face twist into a snarl. He shook his head. He was going to have to swear out another complaint at the Sheriff’s office in Columbia against Miss Sunshine Lea Defiance. This old wrinkled wisp of a woman had been a thorn in Resin’s side since he made the stupid mistake of coming to this little jerk water town.

Sunshine stood on the driver seat of her Packer convertible to gain a better angle for that revolver at Resin. “Don’t you be lying to me. You know exactly what I mean and I’ll get the truth out of you even if I have to do it with lead. Come on admit it, you’re Hank Freeman. You done me wrong thirty years ago and I’m here to make you pay for your lying, cheating, thieving ways.”

Resin’s ground his teeth, “You’re delusional! Go back to your funny farm where you belong. I’m only twenty-six.”

Resin dove behind the rear tractor tire as a bullet ripped through where he stood moments ago. A second later, the rear tire let loose with a high pitch hiss of air escaping through the gaping hole left the bullet left. The tractor twisted slightly as the tire sank, exposing the other tire to the same treatment. The radiator sputtered and gurgled, releasing its liquid in a stream as other bullets careened off different parts of the tractor.

Resin let out a stream of billingsgate with each impact trying to find him. Resin flew into action as the hammer hit the empty chamber. He rounded the tractor and made a beeline for the Packard as Sunshine fumbled with the ammo in her jean pocket. She slammed three rounds in the chamber as Resin charged. Resin launched over the car, clothes lining Sunshine across the chest. Resin landed in a crouch; Sunshine laid on her back, the air knocked out of her – but not the fight.

The revolver came up intended to put a bullet right between Resin’s sea green eyes. He ripped the revolver free from her shaky fist as he flipped her over on her stomach. He kept Sunshine pinned to the ground with a knee to the small of her back. Resin slid the revolver in the back of his waistband and pulled several tie straps from his hip pocket. He twisted Sunshine’s arms behind her back hog, tying her. Resin grabbed her by her waistband and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Sunshine flopped like a fish out of water trying to get free as Resin walked over to his pickup and deposited Sunshine among the crates of fruit and vegetables in the bed. Her face crimsoned, “You can’t do this! I’m not some animal to be taken to the slaughter. You brash mother -” Resin shoved a greasy rag in her mouth cutting off the rest of Sunshine’s rant.

“Chew on that for a while. It matches your mouth. Chiamaka….Chiamaka! Come on out it’s over.”

Chiamaka Chinwe Chibueze, his Kenyan housekeeper came out onto the porch. The edge of her apron was crumpled in her fist. Her worried expression changed when she saw where Sunshine was. “Resin, huna kutibu mwanamke mzee kama hiyo. Mimi kufundishwa wewe bora. (Resin, you don’t treat an old lady like that. I taught you better.)”

“Now don’t you start in on me, Chiamaka. I didn’t hurt the old hag even though I wanted to tear her head off and shove it down her throat. Follow me into town so I can get rid of this pain.” He did not wait for her response. He went over and climbed into the Packard, roaring the engine to life just to aggravate Sunshine by treating her baby so roughly.

Chiamaka untied her apron and threw it on the porch chair. She went back to the kitchen door and snatched the truck keys off the hook by the door, shutting the door. Resin could hear Chiamaka’s tongue click clear over to the car. He shook his head as she came over to the car, holding out the truck keys.

Chiamaka tried to talk him out of what she considered would bring only heartache for those involved in Resin’s scheme. He could still hear Chiamaka’s Swahili even now when he mentioned his plan to her so long ago. “She may not want the past drug up. It may be your right to know, however, it’s not right to force someone to relive their past when they choose not to.” Then Chiamaka started correcting him as she would a small child. Click, clack, snapped her tongue let Resin know just how unhappy she was with him.

Resin threw her a disgusting snarl before he climbed out of the car and snatched the dangling keys. He stomped over to the truck, climbed and started the truck. He slammed the truck into drive, stomping accelerator as the truck threw rocks as it peeled out of the driveway and headed for town. Resin made sure to hit every rut in the road he could find.

Resin slowed down as he approached Columbia; getting stopped by the Sheriff before he could tell his side of the story was something he wanted to avoid. He rounded the corner, almost clipping the town’s worse gossip Randi House.

Resin pulled into a parking space in front of the Sheriff’s office. He shut off the truck and climbed out as Chiamaka drove the Packard in the parking space next to the truck. Resin reached in and pulled Sunshine out of the truck bed, slinging her over his shoulder once more. He walked up to the driver side of the Packard, listening to the aggravated clicking tongue of Chiamaka.

“Take the food order over to the grocery store while I take care of this pain. And no, I am not ready to see her yet. Now is not the time for it.” He huffed, “Please just do it without the tongue clicks, okay.”

Chiamaka gave him one last loud click of the tongue before she took the keys hanging from his hand. He just shook his head and then headed for the Sheriff office. By the time he transverse the fifteen feet to the door, small crowds started to gather in the town’s doorways at the spectacle of Sunshine hanging over his shoulder.

The deputy looked up from her paperwork as Resin came through the door. Resin deposited Sunshine in the chair next to the deputy’s desk. The deputy jumped up pulling the rag out of Sunshine’s mouth. Sunshine spat and twisted her mouth trying to rid of the nasty taste. The deputy turned to Resin, “You can’t be treating Miss Defiance this way. I ought to charge you with assault.”

“Before you charge me with assault I want this shriveled up old crone charged with assault with a deadly weapon.” Resin’s face twisted in a snarl two inches from the deputy’s face.

The deputy’s mouth twisted in disbelief, “You’re trying to tell me she assaulted you? I don’t believe it.”

Resin pulled the revolver out of his waistband and placed it on the desk, “Check it out for yourself. You’ll find the bullets from her revolver in different parts of my Allis Chalmers. She has caused over five thousand dollars in damages to my tractor. I want her locked up this time.” He poked a finger at the deputy. “I’m sick of her being able to go around harassing people without any repercussions. I want Miss Sunshine Lea Defiance also charged with violating the no-contact order I had placed on her last month. Tell the Sheriff he can find me at my farm.”

Resin turned on his heels and marched out the door, slamming it shut as he left. He caught sight of Clara leaning against his pickup parked in front of her store up the street. Clara Patriot was just going to have to wait until another time to meet him. He was in no mood to open that can of worms. He quickly ducked around the side of the police station and headed back toward the farm.

Resin crossed over the bike trail bridge into the cemetery, stopping in the middle of the graveyard by a granite monument. He stared down at the name on the stone: It all started with you.

“Hiya Resin. What ya doing traipsing around the cemetery this time of the day?”

A smile spread across Resin’s face as he glanced around, locating Porsche sitting in the crotch of the tree several rows over from him. He sauntered over to the tree. “I’m just walking off some tension on my way back to the farm.”

“I know a much more delicious way to relieve tension than walking.” Porsche caressed his chest with her toe. “A sampling of my chocolate mellows any tension a man might have.” She slid down into his embrace.

Sweet jasmine musk fueled the hunger building up in his soul for the bountiful body gliding across his body like a well-fitted glove. He drank in some nectar from her plump lips and allowed her to nibble his lower lip before releasing her from his embrace.

“Oh, you don’t make it easy to say no to you, Porsche.”

She pulled him back into the embrace, gliding her luscious lips across the base of his neck and sending shutters of desire throughout his body. “No one said you have to say no.”

Resin hooked her chin with the crook of his finger and raised her face to meet his. He sampled the nectar one last time. “Although your invitation is incredible, I’m going to have to decline.”

Porsche pulled away, crossing her arms. “What’s wrong with my invitation? You sure seem to enjoy the view of my summer night dances at the parties on the banks of the Beaver River.”

“Uhmm…. It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy sampling your chocolate till my brain exploded. However, you are such a special lady that you deserve more than just a sample, and right now, I am not at a point in my life where I can give you what you truly deserve in a relationship. Besides, I believe there is someone on your mind that fits that slot a lot better than me.”

A small twisted smile crossed her lips, “Now what would make you think such a thing?”

Resin gave her a hug at the shoulder, “I’ve seen you watching him when he wasn’t aware you were there. You lick your lips as you would a double dipped death by chocolate ice cream cone.”

Her laughter tinkled across the cemetery, “Okay, you win this round. But the next time you go night fishing, remember to bring your fishing rod or I will cross the Beaver River with full expectations that you’re going to deliver.”

Resin kissed her forehead, “Okay, I’ll remember.” He trotted off toward the Beaver River. The burdens on his soul lighten by their encounter.

He reached the bank and sat down, pulled off his boots and socks. He placed everything from his pockets in his boot before climbing down the bank to the water’s edge. Resin drew a deep breath and then waded into the drought-stricken river. It only came up to his waist, but the swift current kept the water temperature at a chilly forty degrees. It quickly squelched any desire still running through his body and mind. He climbed up the other side of the river bank and heard Porsche’s laughter float across the river. He turned to see her sitting on the other side of the bank, dangling her leg over the river bank. A mischievous smile spread across her lips as she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, sliding the blouse off her shoulders to expose the chocolate richness below. She blew him a kiss along with a tinkling laugh.

Resin smiled and pretended to catch the kiss, putting it in his front jean’s pocket then gave her a goodbye wave. He turned toward the farm, making his feet travel away from the delicious chocolate laughing behind him. That would be all he need to have old noisy Randi come across him sampling Porsche’s chocolate. She would have it blown up to a full lustful orgy with some bestiality thrown it to make it really juicy gossip.

He climbed the fence into the meadow. The soft grass was starting to stress under the drought. Resin could feel the soft crinkle of the blades breaking under his feet. He bent down and plucked several blades, testing their flexibility. If it did not rain soon, his crops would start to suffer. The grass would not have the nutrition the cattle and sheep needed. He was already hauling water to the orchard behind Sandra’s property to keep the crop of fruit plentiful and sweet. If the fruit crop went bad, it would not be only him that would suffer. Sandra’s struggling bakery would collapse if she had to buy the fruit for her pastries. When he bought the acreage, Sandra offered him, he spent a small fortune to plant almost mature trees and plants in the orchard. Between the cost of starting the orchard and maintaining it so Sandra could make a go of the bakery, he had almost depleted the reserves he set aside for running the farm.

Resin needed a good crop on each of the fruit and nuts from the orchard plus the sale of livestock to replenish the rainy-day fund. He could not continue to use his two black Gypsy Vanner stallions for stud without flooding the market with their colts. He also could not afford to take them back and forth to the east coast and keep his whereabouts unknown.

The two stallions were his prize possession. They were champion Grand Gypsy Vanners. They were pure black with white manes, tails, and feathering on the legs. They were a matched set, standing sixteen and a half hands tall. Now thanks to Miss Sunshine Lea Defiance, he was going to have to use them in place of his tractor. Just the thought of doing it made Resin irritated again over the situation.

Book links:
www:https://azn.to/1u92UUj
www:https://books2read.com/u/m2XWOr

New Year Treat

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Happy New Year everyone. Here is a great way to start out the new year. A new chapter to read for your enjoyment. This time the chapter is from my fantasy ‘Healer of Surflex’. The novel is full of magic, fairies, knights, demons, wizards, dragons and talking animals. You can find the complete novel at the following links:

https://www.amzn.to/u92UUj

https://www.books2read.com/u/bWekMm

 https://www.acx.com/titleview/A10U52CZ0IIOMS .

CHAPTER 1

Pomelia’s moans of anguish woke Terian out of a deep sleep. He groggily rose upon one elbow and searched for his wife in the dim shadows of their thatched cottage. She moaned again, and he focused in on her huddled form at the edge of the hearth. The embers of last night’s fire gave a faint glow as it bathed her creamy complexion in a pale red hue.

He rose swiftly, spanning the space between them and crouched beside her. Terian caressed her face and brushed back the satiny black curly hair. Her light brown eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Pomelia what’s wrong?”

“It’s not fair! We’re kind, gentle, loving people, not like the miller or the innkeeper. They charge unfair prices, stealing from those of the idle minded and still God blessed them with children. God, what have we done to deserve this punishment?” She lifted her hands soaked with blood.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the smoking ash of the fire as it filtered through his nostrils, exploding in the recesses of his brain.

Terian’s heart caved in, Pomelia had miscarried again. He gently picked her up and cradled her against his rock hard chest. Terian went over to the bed and sat her on the edge, removing her soiled gown and used it to wipe off most of the blood from her body.

He remorsefully returned to the hearth, lovingly shrouding the tiny form in the bloody gown to hide their son from his wife’s view. Tears crept down the leathery cheeks as he covered the perfectly formed face.

Terian laid the tiny body by the basin then poured cool water from the large pitcher in the basin. He gathered clean cloths taking the basin back to the bed and sat it on the floor in front of Pomelia.

Terian searched Pomelia’s eyes for any evidence of life behind them. She moaned softly at Terian’s gentle touch in spite of his rough, callous hands as he methodically bathed her and cleansed her body with prayer and water. As Terian dressed her in a clean woolen gown, she was unable to even lift her arms. He laid her against the down tick pillows then covered her with their heavy quilt to guard her from the chill of the night.

Terian picked up the basin and left through the back door to go the well at his blacksmith shop. There he disposed of the basin’s content and cleaned it before he returned to the cottage. He returned the basin to the stand.

Pomelia no longer moaned. Sounds of light breath in sleep wafted from their bed. Terian prayed, Thank you Lord for sending sleep to Pomelia. That is the best thing for her so she won’t dwell on our devastating loss. Forgive her blasphemy, for it was her grief wailing, not her faith in You. Please give me the strength to endure the mourning period and Pomelia’s sharp tongue as she again deals with the loss of another child. She is, as she stated, a kind and gentle soul. Find it in Your heart to grant her heart’s desire of a strong, healthy child.

He cradled his shrouded son, and left quietly to make sure the door did not creak to wake Pomelia from her rest. The dogs were not even awake to snap at his heels as he trudged up the winding cobblestone lane toward the main street past the still darkened cottages of his neighbors. Every step Terian took oppressed his soul. Grief racked his massive frame with this fifth loss. Doubt penetrated his heart that God would bless them with an heir. It seemed the prophecy of the local soothsayer would hold true.

Terian forbade Pomelia from seeking advice from the old crone after her first miscarriage. Pomelia, however, secretly visited her while he was away at the castle at Congor’s request to discuss the new designs for the battle armor for the king’s warriors. Congor was the king’s man of arms and chief counselor.

Terian returned to find Pomelia had given the old soothsayer a month’s worth of wages for a mixture of foul, musky herbs that were to be made into a drink and drank before each session of intimacy as they chanted to a small gross ebony carving of a fertility deity.

Terian’s rage exploded and for the first time in his life, he wanted to raise his hand to another human. He snatched the herbs and carving and heaved them into the flames of his forge. Pomelia ran wailing into the cottage. He pumped the bellows to engorge the flames and eradicated the abominations out of existence. He turned his frustration to his hammer and anvil. Terian shaped a pile of metal into various sizes of breastplates. The anvil’s clang echoed off the walls of the village cottages.

Several hours later, the shuffled tap of the soothsayer’s steps and cane interrupted him. She stood in the doorway, weaving heavily against the twisted knarred cane.

“Be gone, hag! There is no welcome at my hearth for you or your abominable deities. Leave my wife and me in peace before I dispatch you in my forge, as I did your graven image and poison.” The warning rumbled through the rafters of the shop and stable, causing the nesting doves to take reckless flight in fear.

She cackled with delight over Terian’s raging frustration. She crooned and leaned against her cane as she pointed a gnarled finger at him, “I’m not frightened of your ravings against me as one of the pathetic doves roosting in your rafters. Your wife came to me, begging me for my help, since your god wasn’t strong enough to hold a child within her womb full term to deliver a healthy son. I warned her if you had an inkling that she was going to be using my help, your pride in your worthless god would compel you to destroy her plans, dashing her desires for a son.

“You’ve done exactly as I foretold. Because of your blasphemy against Kernel, Pomelia will continue to try, but will never give you a live heir until Kernel claims her also, leaving you wallowing in your pride for your pitiful, minute god for the rest of your miserable life.”

Terian could stand no more of her threats. He hurled his hammer at the old crone’s balding scraps of hair, “Leave Pomelia alone. My God is greater than anything you can carve, witch.”

She disappeared, cackling, “We will see blacksmith, we will see.”

The hammer embedded itself in the massive oak door frame.

Terian’s mind swirled in self-doubt mixed with guilt that indeed these tragedies could have been diverted if he had cooperated with Pomelia’s plan, instead of relying on his faith in God. They could have five healthy sons if he had chosen differently.

The soothsayer’s cackle echoed throughout his soul, mocked his faith with ‘We’ll see blacksmith, we’ll see!’ With every step he took, it tried to divert him from his destiny. Soon every muscle in his body strained against his will, wanting Terian to stop, turn aside to the gnarled, vine covered trail that lead to the soothsayer’s tumbled down hovel, and beg her to lift her curse.

Still he stayed true to the course as it led Terian humbly through the village past cottage after cottage filled with slumbering children. He arrived at the ornate iron gate he designed with love. Terian lifted the heavy latch and pushed the gate inward. The gate groaned and shattered the stillness of the night. It woke the rectory guard dog. It bayed loudly at his approach.

A chorus of howls joined the guard dog’s baying seconds later. A light blinked on in the rectory window as the pastor groggily met Terian at the door. He held his lamp high in front of him to see who was at the rectory this late at night. The beam of light barely radiated through the darkness and revealed a hazy, gigantic form moving among the tombstones toward the rectory.

“Quiet whelp, before you wake the whole village with your baying. I’m awake. Who’s there? Terian, Terian is that you?” The pastor called out and peered in the darkness. “Terian, why have you come at such an ungodly hour? What are you carrying?”

Terian’s heavy shuffled steps mingled with the baying hound. It sent an eerie chill running through the pastor’s soul. Terian came into view cradling the bloody shrouded parcel tightly against his chest. Blood coated his chest and forearms. Terian kissed the cradled shroud. He held it out to the pastor, his chocolate brown eyes swollen under his knitted brow. Strands of silver glittered among the mass of ebony hair that four years ago had none. Terian’s tawny skin now held a sallow glow. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked.

His voice rumbled full of sorrow, “Pomelia miscarried another son. I need you to prepare my son for burial, as Pomelia is incapable to perform the necessary cleaning ceremony. I’ll be in the chapel.”

The pastor quaked as he reached out and took the shrouded infant from the grieving father. He passed it to his wife with the lantern, who arrived behind him for the needed ceremony. “Yes, yes go ahead Terian. I’ll dress and go to Pomelia. She needs to be cleansed, then I’ll be back to prepare your son.” He reassured Terian as he shooed Terian through the rectory to the chapel.

“No, there is no need to bother Pomelia. She is resting.”

The pastor drew back at the rebuff, “Terian, you know the cleansing ritual must be performed within an hour of the birth to ensure the mother’s health.”

An iron grip slammed around the pastor’s forearm and painfully halted his progress. “I said, leave her be. Do you think I am incapable of performing the cleansing ritual correctly after four previous miscarriages? She is fine. Sleep is what she requires now. It is our son’s body that needs attention.”

The pastor winched in pain, “Terian, my arm, you’re crushing my arm!”

Terian immediately released his grip and muttered his apologies. “Sorry, just let her sleep, please,” then went into the chapel. He moved slowly up the aisle to the altar. He lit two candles. He knelt deep in prayer. The pastor closed the door and left Terian in privacy to wrestle with his sorrow.

Moans of anguish escaped Terian’s trembling lips. Tears streamed along the crevasses of the sun-stained face. They soaked his chest and left trails through the caked blood. It pooled on the floor around his knees. His mind could only scream repeatedly, “Why, God?” His body was racked in grief at failing his wife once more, enforcing her fears of the soothsayer’s prophecy.

Streams of light filtered through the altar’s stained glass window. It cast a rainbow of color across the crumpled man. It grew in intensity, bathing Terian in its warmth.

“Terian,” a soft unseen voice shattered the silence, “Terian, rise.”

Terian slowly lifted his head. His swollen, bloodshot eyes dimly focused on the blurry shape behind the altar in front of the stained glass window. “Leave me in peace. I need solitude, not company.”

“Terian, rise, and hear the Words of God, for He has heard and felt your sorrow.”

Terian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand to clear the tears from his eyes. Terian tried to identify the intruder of his solitude. His eyes concentrated enough to view a tall, well-formed man, clothed in iridescent robes. The man lifted up his hand for Terian to obey him.

Terian shook his head, “I beg of you, leave me in peace.”

A brilliant light burst forth from the man and caused Terian to shield his eyes from the blinding light, “Terian, rise, for God has granted you His mercy. I am Moryx, messenger of God.” his voice reverberated throughout every molecule of Terian.

Terian raised his massive frame. It quaked in fear then he collapsed in a heap, “Forgive me Lord, for I’m but an unschooled oaf in the midst of grievous sorrow.”

Moryx unfurled a magnificent set of wings and arched them high over his chiseled bronze features, “Do not bow before me, for I am not God. Rise, Terian and view God’s glory through me.”

Terian rose, shielded his eyes, his legs quivered, barely able to hold him erect. “Who am I that God has felt my sorrow, and has mercy upon me?”

“You are who you are, no more, no less. God has chosen you to bear His healer to aid in the war against the evil ravaging Surflex. She will aid God’s warrior to free your kingdom from the evil grip that is tightening its coils around the kingdom’s soul.”

“A daughter, God will bless me with a daughter? Forgive me; but wouldn’t a son be a better candidate for a warrior of God? A daughter may not be strong enough to carry out God’s plan for freedom.”

Moryx’s wings spread out filling the space behind the altar. They blotted out everything else. “God has chosen His champion already to fight the battle with evil. Your daughter must heal the sorrow caused from the ensuing battle. To allow her to reach her full potential there is much preparation. There will be no other midwife but you to bring her into the world. You will wear calfskin gloves at all times in dealing with your daughter. She is not to be touched without gloved hands. Her mother or a wet nurse will not nurse her, for she will be unable to control the healing powers until she reaches maturity. It would drain her life force during the healing.

“You shall teach your daughter how to be genial and merciful. You shall show her how to love those who despise her, those who fear and envy her power. Keep her secret well, even from Pomelia, for even her mother will try to use her power for her own selfish desires.”

Terian fell to his knees, his hands clasped together and begged for leniency, “Please don’t condemn my child to a life without contact with another living soul. Every living thing craves contact with others. She couldn’t live without being able to feel another’s embrace.”

Moryx’s stern angelic features softened, “God knows of her need for contact and is not unfeeling. She may touch any animal bare handed, no matter the species. They will have no fear of her and will serve her slightest wish even unto death. Go now, for Pomelia is now awakened and the time of your son’s burial is at hand.”

Terian rose as Moryx vanished. He left the chapel and made his way home to collect his wife for their son’s burial. A large strip of silver hair hanging down in Terain’s eyes glistened in the dawn’s rose-colored light, a constant reminder to Terian of his conversation with Moryx.

Once again here are the links for ‘Healer of Surflex’ you can find it in eBook print and Audio format. :

https://www.amzn.to1u92UUj

https://www.books2read.com/u/bWekMm


https://www.acx.com/titleview/A10U52CZ0IIOMS .

Crime Murder Mystery Series

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I am featuring my crime murder mystery series over the next few weeks. I will be sharing appetizers from the novels to wet the readers’ anticipation. The first in the series is titled The Perfect Witness.  You can find  it at https://books2read.com/u/m0G2W3 for your eBook options or https://amzn.to/1u92UUj for a kindle edition or print copy.

3d The Perfect Witness

THE PERFECT WITNESS,
BOOK ONE
IN THE DEBOIS SERIES

WRITTEN BY SUE RAYMOND

All the characters in this book are fictitious, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
COPYRIGHT © SUE RAYMOND

Bible passages quote are from the King James Version

Without limiting the rights under copyrights reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced in any unauthorized format into any retrieval system or transmitted by any means without prior written permission of the author.
FIRST EDITION 2008
Second Edition 2015
IBN 13: 978-1514877678
10: 1514877678

Raymond, Sue
The Perfect Witness, Book One: The DeBois Series/ Sue Raymond
Upon Eagle’s Wings, Malachi Ink Publishing
516 East Park Avenue, Des Moines, Iowa 50315

CHAPTER 1

Miss Anderson was running late because of traffic. Mr. Hogan’s office called two weeks earlier for a wedding gown consultation for his daughter who was getting married in nine months. She proceeded up the marble stairs toward his office, straightening the light blue suede jacket of her suit, juggling her portfolio and purse as she went.
This better be on the level since I spent so much time drawing up all the different designs they wanted. To think that anyone would spend so much on just the wedding dress is beyond me. However, without these extravagant eccentrics I soon would no longer have ‘Upon Eagle’s Wing Designer Studio, Malachi Inc. which helps pay the bills. Well, I hope she does not take all day to make up her mind. I hate dealing with spoiled brats who whine excessively at their parents that they deserve this. What they deserve is a swift rap on the hand with Mother Superior’s ruler over being a self-centered egotist obnoxious delinquent.
She was lost in thought when she overheard a loud conversation coming from her client’s open office door. Mr. Hogan was screaming at a certain Mr. Wallace. Mr. Wallace was explaining about a shipment that was coming in from Colombia on the Monticello next Saturday at Pier 57 in Cowanus Bay at 9:00 pm in South Brooklyn. Miss Anderson peered through the crack in Mr. Hogan’s doorway.
“I apologize for the leak, which cost us the last drug and weapon shipment. I assured you the leak is now sealed,” Mr. Wallace, a small twig of a man, wrung his hands together while he stood before the oversized desk, groveling under Mr. Hogan’s stony gaze.
Michelin Hogan reached into his desk, pulling out a nine-millimeter Beretta handgun with a silencer on it and pointed it at Mr. Wallace.
He scowled ghoulishly, “I always make sure all loose ends are tied up.” He pulled the trigger, shooting Mr. Wallace directly in the chest and tossed the gun to the mammoth henchman standing by his side.
Mr. Wallace crumpled to the floor onto an oriental area rug. Mr. Hogan glared at the body, instructing his henchmen to take out the trash.
She backed away from the door and was almost at the stairs when she bumped into a small table holding a vase. She desperately tried catching the vase, but lost everything in the process, even tearing her nylons. The vase and her portfolio went crashing to the floor spraying toward Hogan’s office door. It gave the impression of her just coming up the stairs when the vase broke. She quickly knelt down, trying to retrieve the sketches as one of the henchmen came charging out of the office, his hand in his jacket in a threatening manner.
Miss Anderson glanced up at him, “Could you help me pick up my sketches? I am running late for my appointment with Mr. Hogan and his daughter.”
He glared down at her, his expression held an unspoken threat. Mr. Hogan came out of his office, straightening his tie and summing up the situation. When he was satisfied she had not overheard or seen anything he told his henchman, “Don’t just stand there, you big lummox, pick up her stuff for her.” He came over to her saying, “I overheard you say you were running late, my daughter is also running late from shopping with her mother. I would like to reschedule our appointment for say… maybe Friday if you would be able. I would appreciate it if you could accommodate me in this.” He took her hand, helping her up as the henchman gathered her portfolio.
“Y-yes that will be fine,” she stammered taking back the portfolio and glancing nervously toward the stairs.
He walked her out to a waiting taxi and opened the door for her. “Thank you for rescheduling the appointment and, since I know what an inconvenience this places you in, I will make sure it will be worth your while to come back again.” He shut the door and the taxi sped off. Miss Anderson shuttered, glancing back to see Mr. Hogan talking to one the henchmen and pointing to the speeding taxi.
Su Anderson went to her studio, making sure there was no surveillance placed on her before going to the authorities.
perfect witness book jacket

The cartel sent an assassin to silence Su Andrewson because she witnessed a murder by a crime lord. Now she is under the protection of US Marshall Jean DeBois. #crime #MurderMystery #assassin #amzn.to/1u92UUj #USMarshall #WitnessProtection #CR4U #books2read.com/u/m0G2W3

 

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Grant Challenge

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iowaauthorfest

We’re really excited to let you know that we’re a part of the @acommunitythrives It’s a friendly fundraising campaign launched by @USATODAY where organizations dedicated like Iowa Author fest supports the creativity of our local Iowa Authors/Artist/Musicians in their endeavor to bring their work to reality and promote their written word/art/music to their patrons. compete to raise the most money with the top team winning a grand prize cash donation of $25,000.

It starts on Monday 18th ,2019 at 12pm ET and a total of $800,000 will be given away to organizations in the Challenge. The top raising organizations that raise the most will receive cash donations. We’re ready to raise as much money as we can so we can win the $25,000 grand prize donation.

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As a passionate member of our board, we know that you want to help out in any way you can…

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Innocence Mage

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The author throws her protagonist head long into the unknown right from the start of the story. Sybel, a simple farm girl watches her mother’s life being taken by a wasting away disease. At her mother’s funeral, her father accuses Sybel of being the cause of her mother’s death. Hatred fills his heart as he shoves Sybel into the funeral pyre to kill her. Only the fire doesn’t consume her it wraps around her bathing her in flames. She walks out of the pyre unharmed only to find that the whole village has now turned against her because she is a mage. Sybel must flee to find the answers to her life to the mage city of Kemoor. The reader is drawn in as Sybel searches for the answers for her life, making the reader wanting more as the book ends as she reaches Kemoor, to continue in the next book.

Dragon's Flame: Half-Blood Sorceress 1 by [Moss, Crissy]

You can find more about Crissy Moss at

https://www.amazon.com/Crissy-Moss/e/B0080XV602

The Butterfly Effect

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I just finished the novel ‘Ripples’ By Ricky Dragoni. The story is a Sci-Fi thriller worthy of being a Night Gallery or Twilight Zone classic. The story opens up in the year 6749 where humanity has genetically engineered itself to be perfect. Humans are no longer born, they are harvested after the parents have the geneticist program from a limited DNA pool specifications what they want in a child. They live perfect lives for 200 years then they are recycled. Jordan is such a human. Jordan’s parents chose curious, creative, structured, and unconcerned. This combination set Jordan apart from the norm. As Jordan grew up, the others were always asking if Jordan was truly engineered or was Jordan a Random.

Jordan is a temporal scout for the KronoCorp on the San Andres Island. Joran scouts different periods of time to determine the value of the period of time and safety for visitation by the Civilization. Jordan viewed humans of the past as primitive, weak and vestigial remnant until Jordan encountered an elderly couple on the subway in the year 1979. The couple’s devotion and love for each other sparked a yearning within Jordan to start a quest to create the butterfly effect. Now Jordan must carry out this mission in secret so the auditor does not catch on to the ripples in time and stops Jordan.

Ricky Dragoni weaves a tale within a tale keeping the reader enthralled page after page with a twist at the end. I give it a five star rating. You can find Ricky Dragoni’s work at the following links: https://www.amazon.com/Ripples-Ricky-Dragoni-ebook/dp/B06Y6N4D6C https://www.amazon.com/Ricky-Dragoni/e/B019GJBZ9U

twitter: Ricky Dragoni@RickyDragoni

Ripples by [Dragoni, Ricky]