As the descendants and heirs unite and fortify one another with their
special skills, they find themselves in the heart of the center realm,
Ebassia. The recently deceased King has left the enormous duty of ruling
such a vast realm to his daughter, Oladesni, who has only the head
Necromancer of the Velsharoon as her mentor. With an unrelenting desire to
be released from her own prison, Isot leader of the Velsharoon uses the
coronation of the new queen as her opportunity to execute the Binding of the
Crypt spell through the Pact of the Everlasting. Shaz and his company of
elemental mages and miniature warriors must find a way to stop the
Necromancer from committing an unthinkable act of mass murder. The company
is thwarted by one thing after another and must race against time to stop
her.
About the Author
DS Johnson is an artist, illustrator, entrepreneur, and author of the
Realms of Edenocht series for Young Adults. With over a decade of writing
Young Adult novels and graphic design and an avid online role-playing gamer,
DS Johnson has years of experience in the art of fantasy make believe and a
love for the genre of role playing games and has endeavored to bring to life
in action adventure novel form the love of the game. With quotes like
‘WOW, now that was pleasantly unexpected!’ With the natural
sense of leveling up your character and developing your skills, DS Johnson
has successfully combined the art of fantasy and role playing in a
remarkable series for young and old readers. Even if you’re not a
role-playing gamer, you will find the books Realms of Edenocht utilizes the
traditional, but exciting story telling techniques with skill and flare all
readers will love. DS Johnson works from home and enjoys family life and the
creative process.
How would you react if given only 21 days to live?
21 Days: The Random Thoughts of a Brother in Mourning is just that, random
thoughts about death, faith, and God.
21 Days is the chronological countdown to David's death as described by his
brother, Donald. His written thoughts document what was happening to his
brother David as he quickly succumbed to esophageal cancer. Donald describes
his emotional turmoil in dealing with his brother's untimely and unstoppable
death. He asks a powerful, rhetorical question that makes everyone ponder
their mortality. What would you do if doctors told you, you or a loved one
only have twenty-one days to live? How would you react? Donald reacted by
questioning his faith in God and God's power over cancer during this
countdown.
About the Author
Donald R. Dragovich has always used writing as a way to express himself and
his feelings. Writing was easy and seemed effortlessly for Mr.
Dragovich.
For his education, he has an associate degree in advertising technology,
and in his work experience, he is a NACE certified coatings inspector where
he writes detailed and descriptive reports daily which has both helped hone
and define his writing skills. Just like with his daily work reports, Mr.
Dragovich’s writing captures the readers’ attention and brings
them into his mind as if they are there experiencing what he experiences.
Through his writing, Donald hopes to make the readers feel what he feels,
think the way he thinks, and react the way he reacts. Donald has been
married for thirty-three years, has three adult children (a deceased infant
son), and three grandchildren. His family is his life. He writes about his
personal family experiences during tragic and faith challenging events. The
life tragedies that Donald has endured are ones that everyone can relate to
and many may have experienced, as well. Mr. Dragovich uses his writing as a
coping mechanism during these tragic times, and ultimately as an inspiration
for others. “Forever in our Hearts” is a song that Mr. Dragovich
wrote after the death of his infant son, Donald, Jr. Mr. Dragovich’s
brother David, composed the music, performed the song and recorded it. The
song was used at infant death counseling events as a theme song in
Youngstown, Ohio. Donald’s writing is multifaceted as he has written
short stories, poems, and a children’s book. Donald also has a blog,
we-the-people-have-spoken.net, where he writes about current events. His
ultimate goal is to share his experiences with others and to inspire, help,
and educate people who read his writing.
Four years have passed since the lillipads fell and Etyom slipped into
darkness. The New Black Death has mutated again, spreading to near epidemic
proportions. What little order existed in Earth’s last city has
disintegrated into chaos.
Rippers roam the Vapid, robbing and leaving their victims butchered. The
Robusts have spilled out of their broken enclaves and hide in any dark
corner that will conceal them. Meanwhile, the elite Graciles, fallen from
their pristine towers in the sky, have all mysteriously disappeared.
Demitri is a prisoner in his own mind. His demon, Vedmak—now known as
the Vardøger—is manipulating Demitri’s body to execute a
secret plan far more disastrous than even the Gracile Leader dared.
Mila, her status among the fractured resistance elevated to that of
Paladyn—a protector of the people—leads the fight against
zealots intent on destroying what little remains of Etyom. It is a
responsibility she never wanted, a calling that prevents her from doing what
she truly desires.
Yet, Mila should be careful of what she longs. Caught between annihilation
and loyalties that refuse to die, she must reconcile a single immutable
truth: following your heart comes at a price.
Previous Book in the Series
Sci fi, dystopian, apocalyptic
Date Published: May 22 2018
Publisher: Vesuvian Books
The world you know is dead. We did this to ourselves.
The epidemic struck at the end of the Third World War. Fighting over oil,
power, and religion, governments ignored the rise of an
antibacterial-resistant plague. In just five years, the Earth was
annihilated. Only one city survived—Etyom—a frozen hellhole in
northern Siberia, engulfed in endless conflict.
The year is 2251.
Two groups emerged from the ashes of the old world. Within the walled city
of Lower Etyom dwell the Robusts—descendants of the poor who were
immune to the New Black Death. Above them, in a metropolis of pristine
platforms called lillipads, live the Graciles—the progeny of the
superrich, bio-engineered to resist the plague.
Mila Solokoff is a Robust who trades information in a world where knowing
too much can get you killed. Caught in a deal gone bad, she's forced to take
a high-risk job for a clandestine organization hell-bent on
revolution.
Demitri Stasevich is a Gracile with a dark secret—a sickness that, if
discovered, will get him Ax'd. His only relief is an illegal narcotic
produced by the Robusts, and his only means of obtaining it is a journey to
the arctic hell far below New Etyom.
Thrust together in the midst of a sinister plot that threatens all life
above and below the cloud line, Mila and Demitri must master their demons
and make a choice—one that will either salvage what's left of the
human race or doom it to extinction …
Bronze Medal Winner — 2019
Independent Publisher Book Awards — Science Fiction
The young man in the brown jacket spins, arms raised high, a blood-curdling
scream issuing from his lips. A few awkward steps and he falls, sprawling
headlong across a pile of slush and rubble. A crimson fan spreads out under
his corpse, staining the snow red. Another death, another friend of the
cause, gone.
He was seventeen.
All around the pop-whizz of gunfire followed by deafening explosions from
detonating grenades reminds us all the Kahangan stronghold of Nazal will not
fall easily. I slide farther into the frozen mud of the ditch and scrunch
into a ball.
“Mos.” Where the hell is he? “Mos, you with
me?”
“I'm here, Mila.” The barrel chested Kahangan with midnight
skin crawls up next to me, careful to keep his bulk below the rise.
“Who’s hit?”
“Mauricio.”
“Is he dead?”
“He's not moving.”
“Sniper?” Mos jerks his head in the direction of the building
before us. Politsiya in faded Cyrillic letters adorns the ruined
facade.
“Knows what they're doing too.” I pull a small mirror from the
arm pouch on my leather jacket and slowly raise it to get a better
view.
In the reflection is the form of a person, prone on the roof of the
palace—if you can call it that.
A glint of light bounces off the glass.
I snatch my hand down and pinch my eyes shut as a chunk of earth explodes
from the rim of the ditch, showering us with wet clods of cold mud. The
lingering crack of a rifle follows. He’s got a sarding scope and a
good, stable position. Guy definitely knows what he'sdoing.
“There's a way up to the roof on the back side,” Mos says.
“I can flank his position and approach from behind if you can keep his
attention.” He cocks his head. “That's probably stupid,
huh?”
“It's only stupid if it doesn't work.”
Mos, already shuffling away, motions to a few others hiding in another
ditch to follow.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Wait for my call.” Mos grins, revealing large, square, white
teeth, then creeps away and seems to vanish into thin air.
The cold seeps through my clothing, stealing the fading warmth of the sun.
My scarred Kalashnikov rifle feels like a cold, lead weight. I exchanged my
bean-bag propelling weapon for a death-dealing one some time ago. I
don’t even remember when that happened. Like everything else in this
forsaken city, it just sort of did. Yeos forgive me. I loose my canteen from
my satchel and take a shaky swallow of the nearly frozen water.
A bark, much like a wild dog.
The signal. “Now!”
I drop the canteen, roll to the left, and rise to one knee. Three more of
my fighters appear and the air ignites with the sounds of war. Dust and
stone billow around the sniper's nest. Our suppressive fire has the desired
effect: he’s blinded by debris.
“Ceasefire!” I kneel again, the Kalashnikov pressed into my
shoulder, watching as the dust clears. “Stand ready.”
We wait in silence, a bitter wind snapping at our scarf-covered
faces.
Another flash of light from the roof.
“Get down!” I flop into the muck.
This time there is no report. No exploding clump of earth. A cry of terror
fills the air, followed by the sounds of a struggle. I chance a glance. Mos
is standing tall and proud on the roof.
“Hold your fire!” I yell.
My comrades lower their weapons. Mos reaches down and plucks up a skinny
Kahangan who drops a long-barreled rifle. The little man screams, flailing
madly against my friend's superior strength.
“Traitor.” Mos bellows loud enough to be heard, even from down
here. With a single heave, the large Kahangan hurls the sniper over the
edge. The man's hollow scream is cut short as he strikes the frozen ground
some ten stories below.
I force myself to peer down at his mangled corpse, twisted like a broken
doll in the ice and mud below. The Kalashnikov drops to hang from its canvas
strap across my chest. My people follow suit, relaxing their guard, their
eyes glazed over in a mixture of relief and stress. They’re all good
soldiers. Committed to the cause—peace in Etyom, the last city. The
Kahangan civil war has been going on for too long. Kapka—who somehow
managed to survive the RPG blast on the platform four years
ago—continues his campaign against the followers of Yeos with renewed
vigor, but has so far not managed to take this Musul faction. Instead, in
this desolate place, power-hungry warlords fight over resources while the
people suffer. Here, it’s not Kapka who reigns, but Nazal.
Little is known of the origins of this despot. Some say, like all warlords,
he simply rode to power on the broken backs of the Kahangan people. That
there was nothing he wasn’t willing to do and no one he wasn’t
willing to betray to claim the power he felt was owed to him. Others seem to
whisper of his evil deeds like he’s some sort of phantom—a
terrible consequence of our own divisiveness. Whatever the case, Nazal is a
plague. He’s no Kapka, but the piles of corpses he’s left in his
wake can no longer be overlooked. The resistance will stop him because
someone must.
About Stu Jones
A veteran law enforcement officer, Stu Jones has worked as a beat cop, an
investigator, an instructor of firearms and police defensive tactics and as
a member and team leader of a multi-jurisdictional SWAT team.
About Gareth Worthington
Gareth Worthington BSc PhD EMBA is a trained marine biologist and holds a
doctorate in comparative endocrinology. Gareth works in the pharmaceutical
industry helping to educate the world's doctors on new cancer
therapies.
Roxy and Stumpy, two clever raccoons, are known for their dumpster diving
abilities. Most mornings, their bellies are full and sleep comes easy. Until
one day, they aren't so lucky. Tired and hungry, Roxy and Stumpy meet a
handful of unique animal friends who eat prickly pear cactus. Yes, that's
right - CACTUS! Join the raccoons as they decide whether or not this spiny
food is worth the trouble.
About the Author
A transplant from Massachusetts, Tina lives in Austin, TX, where she was
introduced to the prickly pear cactus! Having been a singer/songwriter for
years, Tina decided to put pen to paper and try her hand at picture book
writing. It was much harder than expected, but she loves it. When she
isn’t writing picture books, Tina spends her time working as an 8th
grade language arts teacher and keeping up with her family of 4 humans &
5 pets!
Friends since childhood, Logan Ritter and Hunter James are now only held
together by family ties and a history of codependency. Logan is a doctoral
student and teacher who wraps himself in work, Hunter's parents, and his
other long-time friend, Missy. Meanwhile, Hunter, struggling to balance his
summer undergraduate courses, a part-time job, and his ever-increasing
alcoholism, becomes obsessed with a misguided young woman he's never met. As
their university town experiences unprecedented fear in the summer of 2002,
each man’s life becomes blurred by self-absorption, assumptions, and
full-on delusions. When faced with some undeniable truths, Logan and Hunter
must decide how to untangle themselves from the false realities to which
they've been clinging.
Excerpt
Another mouthful of hoppy beer enriches my senses. Before I can even
swallow, I see he has finally made the connection in his brain, his eyes
opening twice as wide as I thought was possible. Logan lets out a breath and
contorts his face, as if he just caught me doing his precious Buffy, or
Cindy, or whatever, doggy style on their Egyptian cotton sheets.
"You're delivering pizzas? A pizza delivery boy? That's just fucking
fantastic. Good for you. Something to be proud of after spending a fifth of
your life in college." Logan is really great with literature and shit,
but he sucks at math.
"Well, like I said, I prefer to say I'm in transfers. I will transfer
the pizza from Pizza House to someone's living room," I say,
demonstrating the complexity of the gig with large gestures. "Without
me, thousands of people would starve. I'm a god-damned
humanitarian!"
Logan shakes his head, looks me up and down, and laughs. Not because he
finds humor in anything, but because he is mocking me. His judgemental stare
causes me to heat up with rage, with the amount of alcohol in my system
I’m already highly flammable. “I am not a fucking clown!”
I ignite and slap Logan's beer bottle off of the table. It hits the already
damaged wall and shatters making a loud, but not out of place, sound. No one
else in the bar seems to notice. Logan lets out a slow, controlled breath.
Now having a look of disapproval rather than shock, he pulls a fifty out of
his wallet, sets it on the table and walks through the bar, leaving me
alone.
About the Author
Lana Orndorff works as a freelance writer and lives in Chicago with her
husband and son. Missing Colors is her debut novel. As a reader and writer,
she prefers beautifully tragic stories that fracture her heart. Because of
this, her husband rarely takes her book recommendations.
More than a year after graduating from college, Nyra is beginning to wonder
when her life, professional and personal, gets started. Was it like this for
her mother? She doubts it, but things were different, then. Nyra's reality
is nothing like her mother's. Each generation confronts its own
challenges.
Still, she's tired of feeling like she's wading through waist-deep wet
cement. Buried somewhere deep in a future she can sense but not feel, Nyra
can hear the siren's song of hope and hypothetical options whispering to
her. She's so ready! But is the song she hears hope or just an
illusion?
Best Case Scenario is the first act in Nyra Westensee's journey from
student to self-aware, fully actualized woman.
EXCERPT
Chapter 2—The Face in the Mirror
The mirror in the women’s room offers no refuge from Nyra’s conflicted pride and dissatisfaction. Expressive green eyes set off by her light olive complexion get lots of second looks. A prominent hawk nose calls attention to high cheekbones and overall symmetry. Striking—even pretty, maybe. Time to tweeze her eyebrows, though.
Lips a taste too full for her thin “ish” face? A boyfriend from a couple years ago had called them “kissable.” He’d wanted to do more than kiss, but had moved on to the busty blond in their Mass Marketing class—just when Nyra’s simmering sexuality was about to overwhelm Sister Elise’s warnings against “promiscuity.”
The modest swell of her breasts is all but camouflaged by her flowy tunic. Turning sideways in the mirror, Nyra pulls it tight and pouts. Does anyone even notice? She twists and stands on tip toe, for an over-the-shoulder look at her stern. Does her slender waist make her ass look too wide?
She’d once overheard her brother’s best friend Mark commenting on her “sassy chassis.” Nyra’s all-through-high school crush on Mark dated from that off-hand remark. He’d flirted persistently, but nothing ever came of it. Had Kip warned him off?
The door swings open and in walks Toni, the IT Applications Manager. Nyra pivots hastily toward the mirror.
“Hey, Nyra!” Toni smiles, pulls plum-shaded lip stick from her purse and gets to work. “You look just fine leaving, if that’s what you were wondering. How goes it in the call center?”
“Nothing but a party.” Nyra fishes lip-gloss from her own purse and concentrates unnecessarily on applying it.
“One of those days, huh? I feel you… Had a few of those working the IT help desk before I got my certification.”
“Nothing I won’t get over,” Nyra says.
“That which does not kill us?” Toni’s lips twitch in irony.
Their eyes meet in the mirror and Nyra’s stomach twists. Toni has most of what Nyra wishes she had. Full, prominent breasts, perfect symmetry. Her mahogany skin seems to glow, calling attention to generous, kissable lips.
A light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks spills down both sides of her neck, inviting speculation. A thick cascade of glossy black curls frames her face, brushing her shoulders. And those liquid brown eyes…
Toni drops the lipstick in her purse and pulls out a cell phone chiming to a text message. Her brow furrows as she reads. “Gotta go.” She meets Nyra’s eyes again and smiles. “Keep the faith, Girlfriend.” Nyra follows Toni’s graceful departure until the closing door cuts her off.
About the Author
Dirk’s path to authorship wasn’t quite an accident, but almost.
It’s not that he didn’t write. He did. But through two previous
careers, first as a Marine officer and subsequently as a corporate trainer,
Dirk started way more stories than he finished.” But in the backwash
of the 2008 financial meltdown, his employer filed for Chapter 11. Cordially
invited to leave and not return, Dirk found himself out of work and
excuses.
Since then, Dirk has published West of Tomorrow, Best-Case Scenario and a
collection of short fiction entitled, Through the Windshield and Tier Zero,
Volume I of The Knolan Cycle, all available from Amazon in Kindle and
paperback formats. Works in progress include The Year of Maybe, sequel to
Best-Case Scenario, and Eryinath-5, Volume II of the Knolan Cycle.
We built a wall to keep the dangers of the world out...but was it actually
meant to keep us in?
Your every word is monitored. Your every movement watched.
If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.
And if you stay within the wall, the Loyalist Party will protect you.
Gideon Frome knows that safety is an illusion. Ten years ago, his perfect
life was shattered, and he left Washington DC in disgrace, sentenced to
serve on The Wall. He may be back, lauded as a hero, but he knows he’s
only traded one prison for another, assigned a position to the infamous
Secret Service.
Kate Buchanan uses her illegal predictive engine to monitor the
“chatter,” flagging perceived threats to America. When the
program suggests that nuclear war is imminent, and people around her start
to die, Kate can no longer hide. She needs help, and it comes from the most
unlikely place—Gideon Frome, a ghost from her past.
The American people thought they were safe, but it’s becoming
shockingly clear that the price of safety is too high. And somehow,
together, Kate and Gideon must tear down the walls that keep their country a
prisoner.
Excerpt
Gideon shifted the weight from his
left foot. His leg was beginning to ache, and he rubbed at his thigh. He’d
taken a piece of shrapnel there five years ago, at the same time he’d gotten
the scar on his face, and it still gave him problems.
How long until he could leave? Too
long, at a guess.
Christ, had he actually enjoyed these
events in the past? It seemed inconceivable. However, if he wanted his life
back, he was going to have to suck it up and look like he belonged. Act like he
belonged. And maybe if he did it long enough, he might actually feel like he
belonged.
The problem was, he couldn’t bring
himself to care.
The room was crowded. Anyone and
everyone had clamored for an invitation to the party of the year. Plus, there
were a large number of security agents. More than he remembered from the past.
Men in the black uniforms of the president’s personal bodyguards—selected from
the elite of the Secret Service—stood at the doors, while others mingled with
the crowd. There was even a sniper on the second-floor interior balcony,
covering the room.
Either Harry was paranoid, or there
was an elevated threat level. If so, no one had told Gideon about it. That was
hardly surprising; he suspected that no one, with maybe the exception of Harry
himself, actually wanted him there.
But he wanted answers, and this was
where he would find them.
Once he had those answers, then…
Who knew? Though revenge wasn’t the
solution.
Most of the time he believed that.
Harry was making the rounds, shaking
hands and smiling as he headed this way. Gideon wasn’t sure whether he would be
acknowledged, but the president halted in front of him. He was flanked by two
Secret Service officers, dressed in their black uniforms. Harry’s army, as they
were known within the service.
He took the proffered hand. Harry’s
grip was firm, and his smile was sparkling. Good dental work.
“Happy birthday, sir,” he said.
“Thank you. I’m glad you could make
it.”
“I was grateful for the invitation,
Mr. President.”
“We must all practice forgiveness.”
He could feel his muscles tightening.
He’d done nothing that needed fucking forgiving. Neither had his father. For a
second, he felt an echo of the dark anger that had been his companion for the
first few years after his father’s death. He pushed it down and forced a smile.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciated the chance to come home.”
“You’re a hero now, Gideon. You saved
America from invasion. The people love you. We need heroes at a time like
this.”
At a time like what? He’d seen the
polls. There was a good chance that Harry would keep his position when—or maybe
if—it came to an election. “Your approval ratings are higher than ever, sir.”
“Maybe,” the man mused. “But I’ve been
feeling lately that they don’t appreciate me. That needs to change.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must go now, but we’ll talk again.”
Harry smiled and patted Gideon on the shoulder, and his guards stiffened at the
contact. Christ, they were jumpy.
Gideon watched as the group walked
away. Harry had always needed constant approval. It came from growing up in his
father’s shadow; Harry Senior had been larger than life and an impossible act
to follow. Charismatic. People loved him and would follow him anywhere. No
doubt his son had always believed he was second-best.
Trouble was, he was right.
About the Author
After a number of years wandering the world in search of adventure, N.J.
Croft finally settled on a farm in the mountains and now lives off-grid,
growing almonds, drinking cold beer, taking in stray dogs, and writing
stories where the stakes are huge and absolutely anything can happen.
Eating the Forbidden Fruit is a gritty fiction novel loosely based on true
events in author Roland Sato Page life. The newcomer author delivers a
personal journey into his rise and demise as a St. Louis City Police
Officer. He takes the readers on a roller coaster ride of good old family
memories to the nightmarish reality of being a police officer indicted on
federal drug charges. During his trial, he wrote memoirs as a testimonial of
redemption. Roland's case stems from the conflict of his childhood
affiliation and his oath to uphold the law. What is certain one can't run
from sin for karma is much faster. The author actually wrote the novel years
ago however after battling Lupus he lost his motivation to complete it.
Promising his mother, Fumi Karasawa, who recently passed that he would
finish what he started. Roland opened his computer to complete telling his
story. He also would like to encourage others with determination they too
can reestablish position as a productive citizen.
Roland was a popular tattoo artist in the St. Louis area however once
diagnosed with Lupus he lost his hand and eye coordination bringing the body
art career to a halt. No other choice he had to reinvent himself
transforming visual art into literary art. Writing is quite therapeutic for
the newly ordained writer. The silver lining is his family support kept him
going. "With tragedy comes blessings".
About the Author
Author Roland Sato Page was born in Brooklyn New York in a military
household with a mother from Osaka Japan and a combat trainer father with
three war tours under his belt. He grew up in a well-disciplined home with
five other siblings. As he got older his family relocated to St. Louis where
the author planted his roots and also pursued a military life in the Army
Reserves.
Roland married his high school sweetheart and started a family of four.
Roland joined the St. Louis police department where his career was cut short
when he was convicted of federal crimes due to his childhood
affiliation.
After enduring his demise, Roland rebounded becoming a tattoo artist
opening Pearl Gallery Tattoos in downtown St. Louis Mo. The company grew
into a family business yet another unfortunate incident tested his fate. He
was diagnosed with Lupus which halted his body art career. However, with
tragedy comes blessings. Roland’s sons took over the business and
propelled the shop to a higher level. Consumed with depression, Roland began
writing to occupy the time. With a newfound passion, he traded visual art
for literary art.
