Probably the most popular character in Fortune's Fools, this is the first glimpse a reader gets of Durban Chola in Transgressor in The Fated Sky.

Just before they entered the plaza, Caer noticed a figure leaning in the doorway of a tavern that had yet to open for business. The man wore a cloak of subtly embroidered, dark, felt cloth which trailed to the heels of his boots. His bright, golden hair was uncovered and exploded in uncontrollable curls over his collar and shoulders. His eyes gleamed with a brilliant intelligence and, as their party approached, there was a delighted smile warming the contours of his square face.

Caer had never met Durban Chola before but knew in an instant from every description he had ever heard that this was he. So Caer looked away quickly and fixed his gaze between the ears of his pony, hoping against hope that they were not the reason for Chola’s early morning outing.

But the cloaked figure detached itself almost lazily from the doorway and moved to stand in their path. Behind, Caer heard the slight rasp as one of the soldiers drew a sword. His own Zoukai reined in, hands on their pistols. Durban Chola made a sweeping bow in the middle of the road.

“Good morning, Most Honoured One. The city of Alfor is graced with the presence of QabalVyazin this Fairtide.” He managed to make the compliment sound sincere and as he rose from the inappropriate act of respect, his gaze was clear and guileless. “The Castellan of Lynaz must be distraught I am sure at your absence from his city. Unless, of course, the Black Vavasor remains there to keep him company in your absence and assure him of your continuing invested interest?”

If Qabal was angered by this insolence he gave no sign of it. His narrow face remained expressionless. “Step aside, Chola,” he returned quietly, “or I will have you removed.”

Chola’s eyes, the colour of freshly gathered honey, suddenly danced with mischief and swept across the two soldiers, pausing there as if appreciating an excellent joke, before their gaze briefly embraced Caer. “But of course, Most Honoured One. How inconsiderate of me to delay you. You must be eager to see the cargo Alexa the Fair has rescued from the Wastelands.”

Caer felt the nobleman stiffen in his saddle.

“And what is your interest in that? Tell me,” the Warlord demanded, his voice low, but crisp as with frost.

The amber eyes glittered, holding something that could have been mockery and belying Chola’s disarming smile.

“I have no interest, Most Honoured One. The cargo is way too rich for me, although I would think it well suited for your needs and your purse. But be sure to view it all and don’t forget to ask to see the kashlihk fighting-slave. I have heard he is better in hand-to-hand combat than the Vavasor Jariq himself,” the blond man said, his gaze moving to rest on a point somewhere behind Caer with an expression of sublime innocence. “I am sure the Vavasor would be deeply disappointed to miss out on a chance to put that to the trial.”

Caer felt a chill of apprehension. He did not understand what Chola was trying to do, but instinctively felt it was dangerous in some way. He could not think of any reason why either Qabal or Chola should be interested in the Kashlihk and it worried him that they were. The blond man made another overdone flourishing bow and stepped aside leaving the road clear.

“I do hope the Castellan of Lynaz does not pine away in your absence, Most Honoured One, but Lynaz’s loss is doubtless Alfor’s gain. And please give my sincerest regards to the Black Vavasor – when you return to Lynaz of course.” The honeyed eyes were lit with secret mirth as he turned and sauntered away to vanish around the street corner.

Qabal watched him go with hooded eyes and an expression that made Caer feel very glad that he was not a friend to Durban Chola.

From Transgressor 1: The Fated Sky by E.M. Swift-Hook.

Lying hands, untruthful fingers
Truth may die
Dissembling lingers
Smiling eyes, with hate beneath
Chew through lives
With sharpened teeth
Lying kisses, cold caresses
Love denied
The heart distresses
Lying hands that grip and hold
Steal the warmth
And leave the cold

© jane jago 2017

Dystopic Directives, Deceit and Double-Crosses.

“You human, you are the problem. A miserable, short life is your just reward for your species treatment of this planet.”

The world has died, murdered by humanity and the Temple never lets those who still live on the Mother, crushed physically and psychologically into the crowded Plena to forget that and forget the guilt debt they owe to Her. Valko Gangleri is a Moderator, a sort of policeman but more along the lines of Judge Dredd, harsh, callous and uncaring – unless he is under the influence of the NOTT drug that unlocks his empathy. When a sequence of murders and the subsequent investigations lead Valko to some disturbing discoveries about himself, the phrase ‘all is not what it seems’ springs to mind in huge neon letters.

This is a dystopian sci-fi set in a post-apocalyptic world – but one in which there seem to have been numerous causes of the final apocalyptic event. It has all the classic hallmarks of the genre – enclosed humanity, uninhabitable world, oppression by a faceless elite that dominate all aspects of life. It also has something unique which only clicks in half-way through the book and from then on expands into strange and unpredictable pathways. Imagine Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil’ meeting ‘Logan’s Run’ and you have a good idea of what to expect.

‘The wind had become Death’s steed: on it rode humanity’s suicide machines, now registering at one part per billion.’

The strength of this book is in its worldbuilding. You get the impression that the author walked the streets and breathed the polluted air himself, making notes and mapping as he went. It is that good. However, sometimes it is also a bit overwhelming and it slows the opening of the book to a very turgid pace. There are frequent digressions to explain how something came about, which are usually handled well, but occasionally the reader is left with a sense of being lectured by an unseen authorial voice.

The characters are very well drawn and engaging, especially Valko and the transformation of his personality is crafted impeccably. The supporting cast is well written too, though I did feel Davidson in his deeds did not live up to what we were continually being told about the man. The pace is never really full on action speed, even in the tensest moment and sometimes slipped to slow.

“Oshi, there have been too many lies – too much manipulation of both our minds.”

For me, the book was too long – and it is a long book. The story doesn’t really get into ‘meaningful’ until the half-way mark. Before that, there is an excessive – possibly obsessive – amount of set-up and world-building IMO. The story itself could have been better told in fewer words, IMO. Although I enjoyed the reading, I will admit to wanting to skip forwards quite often and undoubtedly I wound up skimming over parts where the plot was not being progressed, excessive flashbacks, which added nothing much I could find of value, for example.

Overall I enjoyed this book a lot and would recommend it to anyone who loves detailed world-building and a different twist to the dystopian sci-fi genre.

Review by E.M. Swift-Hook. Mercury's Son is written by Luke E.T. Hindmarsh.

 

A spectral figure in a mist-grey coat,
running on soundless feet
A silent scream rent from a broken throat,
a life now incomplete
Whose feet and legs still know the ground,
whose body no substance feels
The storm that blew the forest down,
yet snapping at her heels
Pity the Dryad who lost her tree,
the dragon who lost her egg
Pity the one who runs foolishly,
who stops by the wayside to beg
Pity them all yet stay away
from the jagged stumps and mosses
He who enters the forest today
may not live to count his losses

© jane jago 2017

 

When the last thing you remember is something that feels like a bee sting on the side of your neck, and you open your eyes to see a skeleton sitting in a wing-backed chair, apparently reading what looks like a very dog-eared copy of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ by the light of a hissing Tilley lamp, the temptation has to be to close your eyes and wait for it to go away. So I tried that. But it was no manner of use. All that happened was that I heard a dry bone-ish sort of chuckle inside my head.

I opened my eyes again and regarded the ossified one with some dissatisfaction. Then I noticed the spectacles – and that was the moment when hysteria almost overtook me. In order to wear spectacles the frames have to rest on your nose and your ears. Of course, a skeleton has neither but, nevertheless, these horn-rimmed spectacles hovered in approximately the correct position and hideously magnified a pair of bloodshot eyeballs, which seemed to be studying me in much the way a schoolboy studies a bug on a pin.

In an effort at nonchalance I snorted indelicately and sat up.

Bones averted its gaze, which alerted me to the fact I was completely naked.
“Can you cover yourself please?” The voice in my head was almost plaintive. “Normally I wouldn’t care, but I’ve been reading this…”
I laughed and pulled the bedclothes up to my armpits.

Bedclothes? At this point, my hair all but stood on end and it was only iron self-control, and the discipline of years, that enabled me to pull myself together.

I looked around me to discover I was in an enormous barrel-vaulted chamber – windowless except for one narrow slit high on the ceiling which threw a line of light on a clock face equally high on the opposite wall. This would seem to be suggesting that it was three o’clock in the afternoon. I registered that piece of information and filed it in my brain for future reference, before carrying on with the catalogue of my situation. I was sitting on what was possibly a tomb or, more likely, some sort of an altar, on a thick soft mattress and I had a downy coverlet pulled over me. At the side of my ‘bed’ there was a small pile of clothing: not mine. There was also a leather satchel – which was mine, and which I was very pleased to behold.

A deep, cool voice from behind me all but had me snapping my head around in surprise.
“Is there aught you require, lady?”
I turned around with calculated slowness to find myself looking into the eyes of an obviously female stone sphinx.
“My own clothes” I said coolly “and food”.
The creature met my stare head on for a moment before inclining her cranium ironically. She whistled shrilly, and a troupe of fauns clattered into view, bearing various items of clothing and a basket from which the scent of new bread oozed its enchantment. I inclined my own head as the little males disposed their burdens on the coverlet at my feet.
“Right boys” I said briskly “everyone turn away so I can dress in peace.”
They all turned, except the sphinx.
“You too sister. I have no desire to wring your little marble heart with my beauty.”
She snarled, but turned to face outward.

Once I was dressed in leather trousers and a form-fitting multi-pocketed weskit I opened the basket to find bread, bacon, honey, and a flask of wine.
“You can turn back now thank you” I remarked “and can somebody please take the bacon. I don’t eat flesh.”
One of the fauns trotted over and showed me its sharp little teeth in a feral grin as it took the lump of fat bacon out of the basket….

This is an extract from ‘The Nature of the Beast’. Just one of the stories in ‘Pulling the Rug 2’ by Jane Jago. Out today.

 

These are the cobbles
The paved pathway of your life
Mourn each stone unturned.

These are the strong bones,
The skeleton of your life,
Each one shapes your form.

These are the waters
The ebb and flow of your life
The tides of tears shed.

These are the zephyrs
The very breath of your life
Soft hope-bearing winds.

These are the embers
The sustenance of your life
The courageous flame.

These are the moments
The measurement of your life
Each a priceless gem.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

A limerick’s good as a pet
I doesn’t need feeding, and yet
It will come to your aid
When you’re sad or afraid
And I’ve never been bit by one yet

© jane jago

When her phone rang she answered absent-mindedly, then sat up and took notice.

“Oh hi, Pats. Yes. They’ve just arrived. He seems fine. This Sam has a good way of handling him. He makes everything seem normal. What’s he like? I didn’t look that close. They are all in the bath together now. You want me to sneak a peek? Right. I’ll behave. He’s nearly big enough to be a Cracksman, just not quite as hefty. Dark hair and skin. Not your regular middle-class Caucasian doctor. Do I like him? I dunno. I have barely exchanged two words with him. I don’t not like him, and Rod and Bill like him a great deal. The jumper? Oh yeah, I get that. It’s a symbol. Bill was disoriented, nauseated, and still a bit scared. Sam gave him something soft and warm, the added bonus being that Sam obviously uses Eau Sauvage too, so it smells like Jim. It’s about being safe, so he gets to keep it. Yeah. That makes me inclined to like Sam too. When they’ve had a nice bath, I’ll feed them and we’ll put Bill to bed in the camper and hit the road home. There’s three of us to share the driving. But don’t expect us until tomorrow evening at the earliest. Firstly, because I’m guessing we’ll be taking it cautious and going for the vibe of a pleasure trip for the little man’s benefit. And secondly, because Rod and Sam are absolutely exhausted, and I ain’t much better. So we may not get far tonight. Yeah. Safe is better than fast, even if you are dying to see him. Are you OK? Jim and Jamie? Yeah. I’ll have Bill call his Dad soon. Now have a big glass of wine, and relax. All is well.”

She ended the call just as Rod appeared with a towel tied around his waist. She noticed, not for the first time, what a magnificent specimen of man flesh he was, and wondered idly why she didn’t find him sexually attractive. He grinned at her speculatively.

“Me neither,” he said “though you are a belting looking woman. I think we’re too much like brother and sister.”

“Maybe,” she grinned back, “or maybe I like my men with more brain and less brawn.”

“Cheeky cow. Now. Clothes. I need to pick up me and Sam’s bags. But what have you got for Bill?”

Anna picked up a neatly folded pile of small garments.

“Got the requested jammies plus day gear. Which do you want now?”

“Sam said day gear. Let’s try for as normal as possible.”

Then his face hardened.

“Sam is in the bathroom treating the poor little sod for assorted scrapes and bruises. Them bastards treated him very roughly. I ain’t sorry for what happened to them.”

“Why did they mistreat him? Didn’t they realise that Jim would kill them for hurting one of his kids.”

“They never meant for Jim to get him back alive. And it would have gotten much worse for the poor little sod before they ended him if the cavalry hadn’t been close at hand.”

Anna sat down with a bump, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Oh Rod. How can people be so evil?”

Bonnie came and rested a concerned face on her lap.

“Easily, love. But I’m sorry for dropping that one so tactlessly.”

“Never mind. I’ve figured it out for myself sooner or later. Do Jim and Pats know?”

“Aye. They’re dealing. But I’d better get the clothes to Sam before he comes looking. And he ain’t your brother…”

He grabbed two suitcases in one hand, and the child-sized clothes in the other, and scooted off. As he opened the bathroom door, Anna heard giggles, and silently called down blessings on the head of Rod’s big dark friend. She wiped her face and blew her nose, then stroked Bonnie.

“Would you credit it Bon Bon,” she said softly, “people willing to kill a child. No? Me neither. But I’d better pull myself together hadn’t I?”

Bonnie waved her tail in agreement.

“I’ll get the table ready for supper, shall I?”

The tail waved again, and Anna stroked the soft ears.

By the time Bill erupted from the bathroom, followed closely by Rod and Sam, Anna had herself together and was just finishing laying the table. Bill launched himself at her legs.

“Just have a sniff, Anna,” he said proudly. “I smell like Daddy now. Sam gave me a dab of his stuff.”

Anna bent to sniff the curly head.

“You do indeed. Did Sam tell you what the smelly stuff is called?”

“No.”

“It’s Eau Sauvage. That’s French and it means wild water.”

Bill giggled.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Of course I’m sure. Since when did I bullshit you?”

“Since never. But it’s a very silly name.” Then he thought for a minute. “But I guess I should have expected that. Mummy’s special smell is just called number five…”

“It is indeed perplexing,” Rod agreed. “My stuff is called Aqua de Parma. That’s Italian and it means water of Parma. Just as silly.”

Bill grinned.

“What’s your special smell called Anna?”

“Poison. That’s English and it means poison.”

Bill’s small face was alight with laughter.

“Are you poisonous Anna?”

“Only to people I don’t like. Food is nearly ready, but I promised Daddy you’d call him before we eat. He’d like to hear your voice.”

“I’d like to hear him, too.”

Anna handed the small boy her iPhone. He smiled and sat on the floor next to Bonnie before making the call.

“Hello Daddy. It’s me. I’m very fine now. I have had a big bubbly bath and I smell like you, because Sam gave me a dab of his smelly stuff. Yes. He is very kind, and he understands stuff without me telling him. I wish you were here, too. You and Mummy. But I have Uncle Rod, and Anna, and Sam, and Bonnie. In a minute we are going to have our tea. And then we are driving home in the campervan. I get to sleep in Anna’s bed. Maybe even with Bonnie. I love you too Daddy. Bye bye.”

He handed the phone back to Anna.

“Daddy’s voice sounds a bit like he might cry. I hope he is all right. But he will be, because he has Mummy to take care of him. I’m glad he has her, because I don’t know what I would do without you guys taking care of me.”

Then he burst into tears and turned to bury his head in Bonnie’s fur. When Anna would have bent down to him, Sam stopped her with an upraised hand.

“Let him cry for a bit. If he doesn’t stop in a while you can cuddle him, but he needs to get it out.”

After a couple of minutes, the small figure on the floor gulped and sniffed, and Sam handed him a large handkerchief. He sat up and blew his nose loudly.

“Better?” Sam asked.

“Yes. But why did crying make it better?”

“Because you have been through a horrid experience, and now you are safe you will feel a bit wobbly sometimes. It’s human, and nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You sure? Because I bet the twins wouldn’t cry.”

“Maybe not,” Rod said, “but the twins ain’t hardly human.”

Bill giggled at this sally.

“Thank you. I do feel better now. Less scrunched up inside.”

Sam crouched down beside him.

“Good man. Now listen carefully. If you feel like a cry, you have one. If you feel like you need to run and jump and shout swear words, you tell us and we’ll make it happen. If you want to talk about what happened to you, we’ll listen. You did have a very horrid time, and we’re here to help you get over it as well as to keep you safe. You got that?”

Bill hurled himself into Sam’s arms.

“It’s like I told Daddy. You understand. Thank you.”

Sam stood up with his arms full of Bill.

“You are entirely welcome, little man.”

He smiled at Anna and Rod.

“Group hug?”

Jane Jago

You are old, so at home is your place
Just counting the lines on your face
But you party all night
Crawling home when it’s light
Your whole life is a bloody disgrace

© jane jago 2017

 

 

Holly dragged a couple of very heavy bags out of the back of the Land Rover and hauled them into the kitchen. She went back for a second load, and as she was passing the staircase Alan’s voice floated down.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Bring it here and let me see it before you wrap it up.”

“As soon as I’ve finished hauling groceries.”

There was the sound of movement overhead and for one delirious moment Holly actually thought he was coming down to help. But then she heard a door slam. Her slender shoulders drooped, and she soldiered on alone.

Some half an hour later, she trudged up the stairs holding a small box in her left hand. Walking into Alan’s office she placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. He looked up from his computer screen.

“At last. Knowing how much I want to see this, I’d have thought you could have brought it to me before now.”

“I could. But then the groceries wouldn’t have been put away before the twins get home from school.”

He opened his mouth to make a scathing retort, but his wife was already on her way out of the room. Instead, he opened the box and looked gloatingly at the heavy gold bangle in its layers of tissue paper. It had cost a great deal of money and meant he wouldn’t be buying his wife or his twin sons Christmas presents this year, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the image of his daughter with the bangle clasped around one slender wrist. She was going to love it.

Downstairs Holly got on with preparing the evening meal, presenting the world with her usual face of calm good sense. Inside, however, she was far from being serene and happy. Not for the first time in the ten years of her marriage, she wondered what maggot had entered Alan’s brain. How could a man who was constantly bewailing his own poverty possibly justify spending four thousand pounds on a bracelet? She allowed herself one small kitten-like snarl, before popping a huge shepherd’s pie in the oven. She was just putting the kettle on when the back door slammed.

“Paddy, Sean, shoes,” she shouted. “And before anyone considers arguing, I have fresh doughnuts.”

There was the sound of masculine laughter, and a couple of minutes later the kitchen door opened and two huge young men all but fell in. They surrounded her and subjected her to a certain amount or good natured rumpling, before sitting down at the scarred wooden table.

“You are,” Sean said, “very possibly the nicest stepmother in the world.”

“She is,” his twin concurred. “Which begs the question of how the miserable miser upstairs ever persuaded her to marry him.”

“Behave, you pair,” Holly couldn’t help laughing, as she put a huge mug of very strong tea in front of each and a plate of doughnuts between them.

While they were eating, Holly looked at their broad, good natured features and did her own wondering. She wondered exactly how two such self-centred people as Alan and Corinne, came to have produced a matched pair of nice sons. Paddy grinned at her.

“Stop frowning Stepmama, you’ll put wrinkles in your pretty forehead.”

She smiled at him, and he shoved a whole doughnut in his mouth.

“He’s been practicing,” Sean explained with simple pride. “That’s school over until January. So what now?”

“Tomorrow. Nothing. Unless you’d like to go shooting.”

“We would,” the boys chorused. “How did you swing that?”

“I have my methods.”

“And after tomorrow? What are you softening us up for?” Sean was the quicker on the uptake of the duo, although Paddy was the leader.

“Sunday your mother arrives.”
The boys groaned. “And what else?”

“Christmas Eve, Anna and Christabel will be here. Staying until the day after Boxing Day.”

“Oh won’t that be fun. The two ex-wives at each other’s throats except for when they join forces to have a go at you. Plus the most spoilt young woman on the planet, Daddy’s darling Christabel, expecting to be waited on hand and foot.” Paddy looked at Holly. “I dunno how you stick it. And don’t say it’s for love of our despicable father, because you aren’t that stupid.”

“I stick it because I promised myself I’d be here for you two until you were old enough to leave home. When that happens…”

The boys looked at her with round eyes before getting up from the table and enveloping her in a group hug.

“I’d give a great deal,” Sean said, “to know what the old bastard has done that’s gotten you rattled enough to admit that.”

Holly waved her hands distractedly. “I shouldn’t have said it. And I don’t want you two to be thinking about it…”

“Okay. We won’t.”

Team Holly a short by Jane Jago is now available for Pre-Order.