The food they brought him, some kind of broth, was hot with a strongly spiced flavour. He ate it all and was given more. The two women sat together watching him as he was eating, until Avilon began to wonder if they saw him as an exhibit from some freak show. On the tail of the thought it struck him that they probably felt exactly that way about him. He set aside the crudely-made bowl and smiled at the dark haired woman.
“What is your name?”
She looked uncomfortable and flushed, as though embarrassed that he addressed her directly.
“They call my name Shemille.”
“And what is this world called, Shemille?”
“Temsevar.”
The name was not familiar and did nothing to enlighten him. In all probability it was only the local name and the one that would appear on any Coalition planetary charts of the region.
“Do many people on Temsevar speak Coalition Standard?”
The woman looked at him, puzzled, so he tried again: “Do many people here speak my language?”
Shemille’s face cleared and she shook her head. “No, Kashlihk. Few, very much few. Only in Keran.”
With much prompting he was able to learn that Keran was the capital of Temsevar – a large city which lay on another continent on the other side of the planet. It had some kind of spaceport and enjoyed the occasional visit by free traders.
Shemille explained that she had been born into slavery in Keran. When she had been little more than a child she had been bought by one such trader who had been stranded on Temsevar after landing with a damaged ship and no resources to repair it. When the trader eventually left, he sold Shemille to a merchant who had brought her with him to this continent. But with advancing years she had lost her value, been sold again and then again until she was purchased to serve as a domestic slave by the owner of this caravan.
“And how many Shemilles would it take to buy me?” he asked, cynically. But his tone was wasted on the literal Shemille.
“Tens. Many tens – a hundred,” she told him seriously.
Avilon felt a sudden desire to laugh. The Coalition had valued him at two million credits at the last count, but on Temsevar he was worth a hundred plump, slave girls.
“The Captain said you were to stay with me?”
“Yes, Kashlihk.”
“And how long will it be before we reach Alfor?”
“Long time. Over a moon. A moon and half.”
“And how many days in a moon?”
“Two tens and five days.”
Avilon rewarded her with a smile. “Good. Then you will have the time to teach me to speak your language.”
Shemille nodded uncertainly, her eyes troubled.
“The Captain -”
“The Captain will be very pleased. How can I do what he says if I can’t understand him?”
That seemed to satisfy her and her face brightened slightly, or at least the shadow of anxiety lifted by a fraction.
“You wish it, Kashlihk?”
“Yes, I wish it. And you can begin by telling me why you call me ‘carish-luck’.”
“Kashlihk,” she corrected, then looked at him nervously as if fearful at having spoken out of turn. Avilon repeated the word, copying her precise intonation of sounds.
“The Captain call you ‘Kashlihk’,” Shemille explained. “It is bad word – very bad. It mean one who do bad things. One who do what must not is done.”
Avilon felt his lips curve slightly into a slight, ironic, smile. “And what have I done that the Captain thinks must not be done, Shemille?”
“You fight Zoukai. No slave fight Zoukai.”
Avilon’s smile broadened fractionally.
“It seems I have a lot to learn.”
But his voice, like his thoughts, held no trace of remorse.

From The Fated Sky part one of Fortune’s Fools Transgressor Trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook

Aunt Artemisia had long been the repository for family secrets. Telling her something, was as safe as talking in your own head. A visit to her house. A nice cup of tea. Sharing the burden.

It even continued when she moved into residential care. Until one day, while sharing marital issues, Jack got a shock.

“Yes dear. Marianne hates you shouting at the telly.”

Secrets were no longer sacrosanct it seemed.

This changed the family, who started talking to each other.

“Such a shame. Her mind’s gone,” they said.

Artemisia smiled inwardly. She had wanted to do this for years.

E.M. Swift-Hook

And so, as I ride in tow, looking on at the man I’ve chosen to follow, I must confront myself. Is this, then, the life I will lead? Is this where I belong? Forever living on the frays of war. Forever attuned to the injustices I had once so desperately sought to amend…

Bloodline is a concept album about a young man caught up in the first English Civil War, the mercenary leader he comes to follow and that man’s mysterious heritage… It is the first album from Earth Forge which is the band created by Ian Bristow.

On We Ride

Beware these, the follies of men, lust and greed and treasons ascend
You can’t know the heart or the soul, you can’t see the sickness take hold.
Then when you’re cast away, you learn what it means to pay
The dues of a wounded land, can’t be what they all had planned

All had planned
All had planned

We do we can but do what we must
Life isn’t easy, life isn’t just
On we ride
On we ride

Like worms with a flesh meal, they twist and they vie
Shunned away from the light, they are shameless and blithe
They take just to have now, they’re taking all that they want
Playing life like a chess match, they’re moving their pawns
Get in the way at your own cost, and see their design
You’ll be what they said to be, or you’re dying this time

Promote these, the triumphs of men, truth and pride and friendships ascend
You can’t know the future till past, you can’t write your life in cast
And now that you’re here to stay, you’ve learned what it means to pay
The dues of a wounded land, can’t be what they all had planned

All had planned
All had planned

We do we can but do what we must
Life isn’t easy, life isn’t just
On we ride
On we ride

We do we can but do what we must
Life isn’t easy, life isn’t just
On we ride
On we ride

A Bite of… Ian Bristow

(1) What made you decide to write this concept album?
The drive to start writing this album came from the inspiration I got while reading Lord’s Legacy, an absolutely brilliant book series, which was written by the amazing author E.M. Swift-Hook. I was lucky enough to get an early look at the books, so I can’t offer a link to them, as they are not yet published, otherwise I would tell you all to drop what you’re doing and go get and read them this instant. I was still reading book one when the first song idea came to me, and by the middle of the six book series, I had too many other ideas to deny an album was what I really wanted to do. So, I set to work writing and recording tracks that would take the listener through what – to me – were key events within the story.

(2) So this is a solo project, but it sounds like an entire band, how is that?
Well, thanks to the sort of technology we have these days, I was able to write and record parts for each instrument. Then I took each of those tracks and mixed them as if it was a band playing and not just me all by me onesie.

(3) Which is your favourite track of the album musically, which was the hardest to bring off and which was the one you are proudest of?
Let’s see, favorite track off the album musically… Blimey, that’s tough, as they all mean a lot to me in their own ways. But if I had to say one, I think I’d go with The Covenant. The hardest is easy, that was Oath. Bloody track is 24 minutes long and was a beast to write and record. And being that Oath was the hardest track to bring off, it’s also the one I’m most proud of. There were times I thought that one would get the better of me. But I did finally manage to make it stick and I’m really happy with the outcome.

Ian Bristow has spent the majority of his life in love with music, studying almost every genre during his twenty-five year relationship with guitar. And while he primarily plays guitar, he also avidly explores bass, piano, drums and vocals. His music is released under the name Earth Forge and his debut album ‘Bloodline’ is available on all music streaming platforms. Check it out on Spotify or YouTube today.

The opening quotation is from Ride into Worcester, the opening piece of Oath, the one that follows is from Bonds Broken and Unbroken, the final part of Oath.

In the end, the pen holds true might.
Sets things wrong, sets them right...

She was lovely as moonlight, milk pale and slender, and tied to the cruel tree with her unbound hair as her only modesty.
Her knight protector sat firm astride his coal-black steed.
And waited.
The dragon came out of the sunset, shining like a golden spear. He set his scaly feet upon the earth, then frowned a draconian frown.
“Sheathe your sword, young knight.”
“Come but one step closer and I will sheathe it in your breast.”
The dragon laughed, it was a bitter sound.
“They have cheated us both,” he breathed, “that one is not my legal prey.”

©Jane Jago

Because life can be interesting when you are a character in a video game…

A group of four sinuous bodied females were skimming across the waters of the lake towards them, propelled by their finned serpentine tails,their long blue and green hair covering some of their upper torso and a diaphanous fabric crossed beneath their breasts into a kind of trailing skirt which outlined where they had human like bottoms and thighs before their legs became snakelike. Their expressions were of feral anger and they each wielded weapons – swords, daggers or staves
Milla was not surprised they were so angry. It must be terrible not having proper legs.
“And this,” Pew said as he held his own staff aloft, “is why we needed a tank and heals. We get two waves of four then the boss who comes with two more and can summon an add every ten percent.”
“By the power of My Skull!” Glory slashed out at the nearest of the Lamia as Pew sent a fireball over her shoulder and two of them exploded into stars.
“Got their healer,” Pew said with satisfaction, and then waded into the fray using his staff as a blunt weapon. The two remaining Lamia hissed and writhed. One clawed at Pew and Glory shouted “No you don’t you fat cow!” which enraged the Lamia so much she returned her attention to hitting Glory, who was looking a bit beaten up.
A few moments later it was over and the lake was tranquil once again. Glory moved her arms in a gesture of supplication and her injuries faded as if they had never been. Then pulled her bow from over her shoulder.
“If we can down one before they close it’ll be easier,” she said just as a new group of Lamia came over the lake towards them.
Two arrows and a spray of mini fireballs sank one, the other three were subjected to a mouthful of abuse from Glory, depreciating their physical characteristics, their philosophy and their parentage. Milla’s ears burned with it and she wondered how Glory could come up with such vile things. But it kept the Lamia fully focusing their ferocity on the elf as Pew sent spell after destructive spell into them doing far more damage than Glory was. This time Milla had to send the power from her pendant to stop Pew from exhausting his magical powers before the fight was done.
Then the two Visitors were breathing hard and the last of the Lamia had disappeared into thin air.
“Alright this is the big one,” Glory said, wiping a golden gauntleted hand ineffectually across her brow. “Milla you are going to have to be our off-tank. The encounter needs one or we won’t make it.”
“No!” Pew’s protest combined with Milla’s squeak of horror.
“We have to, Pew. You know that. Once in the fight the mob will charm whoever is holding aggro and make them useless. The only way to avoid that is to have someone to take the aggro. If you put your aggro transfer on Milla, then the moment I get charmed and stop taunting, it’ll drop to her and I’ll be back in the fight.”
“I’ll take the aggro.”
“No. You mustn’t. You’ve got to keep the damage going or the Queen’ll start to self heal. For fracks sake, that’s why the whole thing is set up this way. It’s meant for a full group not… not whatever we are.”
“But Milla could get hurt!”
“If she doesn’t do it we’ll all get dead!”
Milla held up a hand to silence them. She could already see the waters of the lake beginning to boil and was pretty sure that meant they were out of time.
“I’ll do it. And shut up Pew, it’s my choice not yours.”
She heard his mouth snap shut, but her eyes were fixed on the lake where the Lamia Queen had just appeared in a spume of mist and bubbles, her body about half as big again as her Lamia sisters, was clad in two thongs, one around her rather impressively large chest and one around her hips, that left almost nothing to the imagination.

We will return to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook next Sunday.

Return to Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Will you walk a little faster said a Mummy to a gran
I’ve Jemima and Sebastian and a very strict time plan
I’ve my iPhone on my shoulder and it’s saying beepy beep
And I have to get the toddlers home before they fall asleep
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you walk more fast
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you walk more fast

Granny looked around her at the blue sky and the sun
Thinking that the silly girl behind her never had much fun
But then she looked severely at the pushy one behind
I shall walk at my own pace, she said, and that’s if you don’t mind
I will not, shall not, will not, shall not, will not, shall not walk more fast
I will not, shall not, will not, shall not, will not, shall not walk more fast

Yummy mummy cried such tears that flooded all the way
Oh please be moving faster or we’ll mess up all today
I have to have my acupuncture visit my hairdresser
Instead I’m stuck behind a besom who is a distresser
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you walk more fast
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you walk more fast

©️Jane Jago

Saturday evening came, and she dressed with care, wanting to look good but also wishing to avoid anything that might be construed as ‘sexy’. Her taxi dropped her at the end of the pedestrianised street where Luigi’s restaurant was found. Almost at once she spotted Mike’s tall figure striding towards her. He reached her side and offered his arm in a strangely courtly gesture that made her smile.
“Hello Jenny. I’m very glad you’re here, because people are trying to get me to make choices and that really isn’t my long suit. I’m hoping for help.”
“Choices?”
“Yes. Would we like to sit inside or would we prefer a table outside by the river? Would we like antipasto on the table while we make our minds up about main courses? Would we like a bottle of wine on the table? If so what?”
Jenny found herself relaxing under the influence of his self-deprecating humour.
“Let’s break it down shall we? Would you like to sit outside?”
“Yes. But only of you would like it too.”
“I would and I’d also like antipasto. Though I’ll stab you with a fork if you take more than your share.”
He mugged extreme fear.
By this time they were at the restaurant and the hovering waiter recognised Jenny. He bowed effusively.
Mike waited until he straightened. “Riverside table please. With antipasto on the table.”
The waiter looked a question and Mike smote his forehead.
“Oh yes. What about wine Jenny?”
“Oh, why not? Bardolino?”
“Bardolino it is.”
When the waiter disappeared, Mike smiled down at Jenny. “Can I buy you an aperitif?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No. But should I be? Is that the way to your flinty heart?”
Jenny found herself grinning and hip bumped him. He affected agony and by the time she had stopped laughing they were at the bar.
“What would madam care to drink?”
“Surprise me.”
He beckoned to the barman and they had a low voiced conversation. Jenny was intrigued.
“What are we…”
“It’s a surprise.”
He steered her to an empty window seat before heading back to the bar. She watched as he passed over some money and accepted a tray, which he managed to screen with his body until he reached her. The drink he put in front of her was pale yellow, and bubbly, and it had raspberries floating in it. She took an experimental sip. The drink was citrusy and light, and quite delicious.
“What?”
He grinned. “My mother’s favourite when we used to come here. Prosecco, limoncello and frozen raspberries. I did cheat, though, noticing that the waiter knew you I guessed you were a regular so I asked the bartender if you like limoncello.”
“Just this once we can overlook the cheating.”
He winked and slid into the seat opposite her.
“When you used to come here?”
“Yes. This was my parents’ favourite restaurant and it became mine.”
“Was?”
“Yes. When Dad retired they moved back to Scotland.”
“Do you miss them?”
“I do, but they are happy. Mum hated living where they were after the rumour mill slaughtered me for losing my fiancée to a fat guy with a Jaguar.”
“I can get behind that. My parents got enough crap when my marriage failed, and it would’ve been worse if they weren’t deeply rooted in the land.”
“That about says it. Rooted in the land. Dad always managed wherever because he had an absorbing job. Mum missed Scotland really badly.”
“Absorbing job?” Jenny tilted her head to one side and lifted an enquiring eyebrow. “Is your father a doctor too.”
“Good grief no. He’s a meteorologist.”
“A weather man?”
“Yup. Worked in Exeter for the last few years before he retired. I know your parents are farmers, and you work here in in the city, but I don’t know what you do.”
“I’m an accountant.”
“I knew there was a reason you fascinated me.”
“Fascinated? Accountancy? Are you mad?”
“No. Just completely impressed by numeracy.”
She looked at him narrowly and was met by an apparently guileless pair of bright blue eyes. “You,” she said sternly, “are by way of being a dangerous lunatic. If I didn’t really, really like the food here I might have to run for my life.”
The waiter appeared, smiling.
“Your table is ready.”
They followed him to where a table for two was set with shining glassware and a tempting array of antipasto. It was beside a tall glass balustrade and commanded a view down the river. As it was high tide, the lights of all the quayside businesses blinked and swam in the blackness of the water.
“I’d forgotten how pretty this is,” Mike said.
“It’s gorgeous on a night like this.”
“My mum’s birthday is in January but she loves this view. So one year, Dad persuaded them to set a table out here for us. We ate in our puffa jackets and warmest boots. And just as we started our desserts it began to snow.”
“Oh. That sounds magical.”
He smiled. “It was. But. Food…”
Jenny dug in, miming threats with her fork as Mike heaped his own plate.
The evening flew past, with only one tiny bump, and even that was smoothed by Mike’s easy kindliness. Instead of a formal dessert they opted for a plate of tiny cakes, two of which were doughnuts. When Mike made to put one on her plate she recoiled. He made absolutely no comment – but by the time she had her head back together the doughnuts had disappeared.
Before Jenny was ready for their date to be over it was nearly midnight and the restaurant was closing. When he had paid the bill, Mike insisted on walking her to her taxi. It was waiting at the end of the cul de sac and he smiled down at her.
“That was fun. Wanna do it again?”
Jenny found herself nodding.
“I’m on call next weekend – joys of being the junior partner – so can we make a date for two weeks time? Pretty please.”
“Yes. Okay. I’ve always heard you should humour madmen, so it’s a date.”
He bent his head and for a second Jenny was afraid he was aiming for a goodnight kiss, but he did nothing so crass. Instead he touched the tip of his nose to hers.
“Goodnight Jenny.”
He handed her into the cab and placed a small, slender grey cardboard box in her hand.
“Rental for the phone I’m still borrowing,” he said gently and ambled off.
The taxi pulled away and Jenny looked at the thing in horror. It appeared to her to be a jeweller’s box, akin to those Graham had brought home his conscience gifts in. Just looking at it made her feel sick. In the end she shoved it in her handbag, thinking that she probably wouldn’t even open it.
At home in her own place, she badly wished for Meg’s warm weight against her leg, while a small voice in her head admonished her for cowardice. In the end, she poured herself a big drink and took the package out of her bag. Setting it on the coffee table she lifted the lid. There was no telltale gleam of precious metal or gemstone, instead, what lay on a bed of cotton was a pencil. Only it wasn’t a pencil. It was a pretend pencil made of some dark, smooth wood. Whatever was it?
There was a small piece of folded paper in the lid which she opened in some curiosity.
Kanzashi are Japanese hair sticks, which are, by tradition, both for adornment and protection against evil spirits. I saw this one and thought of you.
It was signed with a smiley face.
Jenny picked up the hair stick, enjoying its smoothness in her hand. This man was very surprising. On impulse she stuck the thing in her curly topknot and took a selfie which she sent to Mike before she could lose her nerve.
She got a text back immediately.
‘Colour me relieved. Sleep well.’.
Jenny finished her drink and went to bed smiling.

Jenny is the latest book from Jane Jago

If I look through my window
I can see the world outside
Where children play and workers work
And lovers love and chide.
A world where trees have leaves of green
And sky has clouds of white,
A world whose day is lit by sun
And then by moon at night.
A world I see behind the glass
A world that seems so true
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

And if you hear me speaking
Of the times that were before
Of ‘yesteryear’, the ‘good old days’
And even ‘days of yore’,
Then please don’t you remind me
That those times have long since fled.
To me, they are as much today
As in that history book you read.
The sands of time have drifted by
And drifted right past me,
So much has changed, but I’m the same
Beneath the skin you see.

So when I get to sit outside,
My moment in the sun,
You’ll understand if I don’t stand
That I can’t walk or run.
I used to storm the barricades
Then dance until the dawn,
I let my lips be kissed so much
But left them all lovelorn.
I love the world with all my heart
My world, when it was new,
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Namaste you wonderful, desirable and aspiring individual! This bijou blog is here to help you achieve your best ever ‘you’. Here, I offer my help and assistance in reshaping your shape and doctoring your decor internally and externally, to bring your lifestyle into line with your aspirations.

Colours

Colour – or color for those blessed individuals who dwell in the land of eggplants and zucchinis – is not just something surface and insignificant. It is the electromagnetic radiation of a certain range of wavelengths visible to the human eye. A form of radiation that affects you visually. And as we all know radiation can be very dangerous if it is not handled carefully.
The first step is to find your keynote colour – that which resonates with your very soul. The colour that will make you the very best you simply by surrounding yourself with it, and bathing in its ethereal radiance.
A simple task, you might think. But such soul-deep searching is seldom simple. Your true soul colour is not going to be what you might imagine, or even what you might wish.
Everyone knows that we are all drawn to that which is bad for us. We crave the things we are allergic to and yearn for those that make us fat and ugly. The same is true with your colour choice.
You love blue so you wear blue and have blue furnishings. Oh please no! Do not do that to yourself! My heart is breaking here just thinking of the harm you are wreaking upon the most delicate corners of your pure essence with such behaviour.
Your soul colour, the one you need to bathe in to balance and restore your precious inner being, is the one colour you most loathe and despise. The one frequency your conscious mind is seeking to deny and deprive you of so as to entrap you in its coils of materialism! Each time you give in to the urge for your favourite hue, you are allowing a little more poison to seep in.
You must stop.
Now.
Reverse the process before it is too late.
Throw out everything in your wardrobe that is your favourite shade and replace completely with the one you have heretofore not recognised as being the most benign and beneficial. And the brighter the better. If you despise pink, then salmon, carnation, flamingo and fuschia are your future! If you spurn yellow, then let beige, ochre, mustard and lemon fill your life!
And don’t stop with your wardrobe – revamp your entire life from wallpaper to desktop. Let everywhere you go and everything you see be of that hue you believe you hate!
Before you know it you will be vibrant and glowing with the powerful, colourful, radiation you are absorbing.

Namaste!
Lucida the Luscious Lifestyle Coach

She was okay until that bloody song came on the radio. The one where he used to take her in his arms and slow dance her around the old scrubbed kitchen table, while whispering how he would love her forever.
Then one day he just never came home. Got hisself shot in a drive-by.
She did her best for the kids. Every day. And mostly she managed.
But that one song…
She couldn’t believe it when she felt his beloved hands, and turned her face to his broad chest.
Dancing with a ghost solves nothing, but it beats crying…

©Jane Jago