From ‘Dying to be Fleeced’ one of the bonus short stories in The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus  by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago which is FREE to download 6 – 10 May 2020.

“Sheep.”
Dai pointed to the tussock pocked hillside that veered up sharply from the bottom of the valley. These sheep were a hardy local breed with grey-white fleeces and small curling horns. They moved with agility over the rocky slope, their flock spread out into groups, pairs and singletons.
It was early morning and the report of a new theft had them driving through the wild country that formed the hinterland between Viriconium and the coast.
“The first question I have,” Bryn said, his own gaze firmly on the narrow road ahead as it wound along beside a stream at the bottom of the valley, “is how do you take sheep from a hillside like that? I mean it’s not like they are in a field and you can just wave your arms at them and back up a trailer to the gate. You couldn’t bring something big enough to carry all those along a road like this anyway.”
They were heading out to the small crofting farm which had been the victim of the last sheep rustling incident, in the hope of gaining some insight into who might have known where the flock was when it was stolen.
“Dogs,” Dai said, wondering if he was right. “Or maybe people on quads?”
“At night?” Bryn sounded doubtful. “And over this terrain?” He gestured with one hand to the high-lifting hills on either side.
“Drones, then maybe? Though no one seems to have seen any around that shouldn’t be there, I did the checks. It does make you wonder.”
They reached the main farm buildings after a bumpy journey over a potholed mud and gravel track that led up from the road. Two skinny herding dogs with lolling tongues and high lifted tails followed the woman who owned the croft out of the door of the small cottage, built from local stone. She stayed by the house as Dai and Bryn parked up and got out, the dogs now sitting beside her. For a moment Dai was reminded of Canis and Lupo sitting beside Julia. These dogs had an owner not much taller than Julia was, but maybe a decade older. She stood, back held stiffly straight and chin lifted with an almost defensive pride, brown eyes fierce, her dark blonde hair half hidden under a woolly hat.
Bryn gave her a friendly nod as she looked between them. “You’ll be Hyla Edris, I’m SI Bryn Cartivel. We’re here…”
“About last night?” The woman’s voice sounded taut.
“That’s right. I was hoping you could help me understand a few things about what happened and then we might be able to get your sheep back more easily.”
Hyla Edris shook her head, and Dai was sure he could see an extra brightness of moisture in her eyes.
“No. You won’t be bringing my girls home. They’ll all be dead by now. But the fools that took them have no idea what they did.”
“What they..?”
“My girls weren’t bred for eating They were all bred for their wool. Five different rare breeds I had in my flock, from three different provinces. They were worth a lot, lot more than just meat on the hoof.”
“You’ll have insurance for them?”
“Oh, for sure, there is a man due out tomorrow to talk to me about it. Seems there was some problem with my paperwork. But that won’t bring my girls back, will it? And even though the money will help, my business is ruined.”
“You can get more sheep,” Dai said. “Surely even rare ones?”
The woman shook her head as if he was missing the point. Then she gestured towards a recently re-roofed outbuilding. “My business is spinning and weaving. I keep the sheep because I can’t buy in the wool I need. It’s not so simple as you think. But then you lot from Viriconium, you know next to nothing of what life is like for us here in the hill farms. We’re not all inbred yokels chasing round a few sheep, there’s some of us with a bit more going on.”
Dai spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “I promise we will do our best to bring those who took your sheep to justice.”
Which was when she saw the silver band of Citizenship on his finger and her face changed. A quickly hidden mix of fear and anger.
“Roman justice. Killing people for entertainment. That’s not going to help me… dominus.” She made the honorific sound more like an insult.
Bryn cleared his throat.
“I need to ask you a few questions about what happened. Where were the sheep last night?”
The woman drew a tight breath as if to get herself back under control.
“I had them in the low field because I was supposed to have them microchipped today.”
“So it would have been relatively straightforward for someone to steal them? No need to go all over the hills for them?”
“Very.”
“Who would have known they were in that particular field?” Dai asked and almost winced at the ferocity of the look the question earned him.
“Most everyone in the area.”
“Local gossip is that good?”
This time there was more of contempt than anger in her face. She put a hand into the pocket of the long coat she was wearing and pulled out a much-folded sheet of paper which she thrust into Dai’s hand. He opened it out noting the Demetae and Cornovii administrative area official logo at the top. It was a notice of compulsory microchipping of all sheep in the district. It included a list of names and dates for all the farms in the locality.
Dai passed the letter to Bryn who read it quickly.
“At least one other farm on this list has had their flock stolen,” he said.
“Now isn’t that just the coincidence.” Hyla Edris sounded bitter.

The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus  by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago which is FREE to download 6 – 10 May 2020.

The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into limerick form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…

It’s amazing how tarmac and gravel
Can muck up your holiday travel 
On a motorway an
Overturned caravan
Will cause all of your plans to unravel

©️jj

Star Divers: Dungeons of Bane by Stephen Landry at its core is about losing a friend and finding faith in others. It tells the story of Breq a 17 year old kid living in the 2070s who works as a ‘Corpse Diver’ in a VRMMO called Bane. It’s a story of trust and vengeance.

The walk back to the shuttle was silent. Neither Nel nor I said a word to one another as I strapped myself in and programmed a course back to the planet Apus where the other Corpse Divers would be waiting for me. I already had a call from Cass asking me where the hell I had been. I lied and said I went to explore Alpha-3 Euthenia in quadrant 2, a low-level dungeon where newer players went to grind. When I first started it was a requirement to spend several days a week levelling up your character and traversing different environments. In the beginning it was a blast. The game world felt fluid and the enemies were over- whelming. Each kill was a rush. I can still remember having chills the first time I slayed a Wraith boss. I would have to hack the shuttle’s navigation and history before I logged out but that was easy. Hacking was one of the few skills I had that I was actually good at.
It would be another twenty minutes before the shuttle was close to Apus in Alpha-1…I had to speak to Damien. Nel had to be lying.
Logout
There was no one waiting for me outside my pod. No interns, no doctors, not even security marching up and down the halls. I unstrapped myself and pushed my headgear to the side. ‘How did Damien die?’ I wondered aloud, standing up, ready to ask him where it was he had gotten himself killed.
Next to me was an empty pod with a ‘Do Not Use’ sign taped on the front of it. I walked down the hall. I felt alone as I felt the cold air brush against my cheeks. I was wearing normal clothes…a graphic tee and some cargo pants. Nothing warm, even though the weather outside was changing. Anyway, Keen Industries were supposed to deliver me a jacket with their logo, so I didn’t see the point in buying anything new. Each of us were given what we needed and even assigned specific pods to use. They were ours, paid for by the corporation as another incentive for us to hand over everything we found in the game. Technically they didn’t have to pay for us to have our own pods but as much as they made selling artefacts it was cheaper for them than having players not able to login from broken dives at home.
Damien played for the love of the game. He didn’t need it like I did. He had a loving family, a home to go back to while I stayed in the shelter at the complex with several of the others, sleeping on a dirty cot. Sometimes I crashed at his place. He had his own personal pod too…maybe he had stayed home. Corporate were always doing maintenance on the pods, so maybe he had tried to come to work and couldn’t. No. It was rare if ever he would use his pod at home for anything other than personal gaming.
As I continued to wander through the complex my mind began to fill with terrible ideas. Nel couldn’t have been serious. Damien couldn’t be dead. Not really. He was already level 52 and had just purchased his own personal fighter with a bonus he made during Operation Two to Tango.
‘SIR!’ I yelled, finally spotting someone.
‘Kid? What are you doing wandering around here?’ said the attendant. It was a security officer. I could see he had a small fire- arm attached to his hip and he was wearing a bulletproof jacket over a t-shirt and name tag.
‘Do you know if Damien Walker came in today?’ I asked.
The security officer looked at me and down at the floor. ‘You’re on his team aren’t you,’ he said at last. His eyes looked hollow.
‘Yes sir, I’m a Corpse Diver, zeta-one-nine,’ I told him my in-game profession and call sign, as if that would mean something to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ the officer said, ‘it was heart failure about half an hour ago.’
You can only imagine my reaction. Damien was gone.

A Bite of… Stephen Landry

Why do you write? Money is an acceptable answer.

To create. To explore the unknown. As an escape from my own depression. I wrote my first little book when I was 12 and called it ‘Avalon’ it was bad sci-fi with superpowers and mechs. Not much has changed but my writing style has gotten a bit better. I’ve also been writing poems and song lyrics since I can remember. I’v always had a big love for cinema, books, and video games.

Facing your demons? How much of what you write could be classed as therapy?

Funny enough ‘Face your demons’ is something I have written in several of my novels. Every novel is therapy, without creativity I wouldn’t be able to function. I have poured my heart into every novel, every story, even the smaller ones are sprinkled with themes of hope, issues with depression, fear.

How much of your writing is autobiographical?

Since all of it takes place in the future none of it really but events, emotions, those are all real. Almost all of my main characters are musicians because I am as well. Music actually plays a huge role in my novels even if it’s subtle. Breq my main character in Star Divers also has a familiar names Aiko whose personality is a combo of my German Shepherd TT and Rottweiler Sadie.

Have you ever written somebody you love into a book?

Yes. Sleepers, a novel I wrote for NaMoWriMo is based on myself, my fiancée, her brother, and several of my friends.

Stephen Landry is a science fiction / LitRPG author known best for Star Divers: Dungeons of Bane and the sci-fi/survival horror series Deep Darkness! He is also a graphic designer, artist, musician, and film producer. He lives in Nashville with the love of his life, two rescue dogs, and a cat named Neelix. In his spare time he enjoys films, reading, hiking, kayaking, and playing video games. You can catch him on Twitter, support him through Patreon, or find him at home on his blog.

The kitten was sitting in the gutter, in the pouring rain, crying piteously. It was the work of a moment to pick her up and slide her inside his coat.

Once home he handed the dripping thing to his wife.

Once dry, warm and fed, the kitten climbed into his lap and looked adoringly into his eyes.

“I think I’ll call her Dearest,” he spoke with rare gentleness and his wife sighed.

In bed that night he was tender. 

They never discovered what suffocated his young wife in her sleep, although the post mortem found ginger hairs in her throat.

©️jj 2020

Maybe by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook . Sometimes we walk the edges of realty…

A scream went up which penetrated soul-deep, the sound shaking the very foundations of the underworld and the roof of the cavern began to fall. Stones, dropping around her and the low rumble that presaged its final collapse. Then Annis was there, gripping her wrist..

“How did you know?”

Something was gone from her, as if a horror had passed and she looked more child again than feral being. Jessica pulled her close into an embrace, as if her own weak flesh could protect the child from the collapsing cavern. Eyes closed they clung together.

“It’s alright,” Annis was saying, her voice almost happy.

The rumble faded like summer thunder and Jessica became aware of a slight breeze on her face. She was standing with Annis and the two huge cats in an empty field, under the fading stars as dawn was breaking. Her car was pulled up nearby, beside an open gate. Jessica’s phone played a few bars from Dvorak’s ‘New World’ and she reached to answer it without thinking.

“Jess, I’ve been worried about you.” Uncle David’s voice sounded as if it belonged to another life, in another galaxy. 

“It’s – it’s alright. I’m alright,” 

“Your Aunt was sure you were in trouble, you know how she is. Ever since that Roald didn’t show up for dinner.”

“Yes, Look, I’m coming home. I had engine trouble. I’ll be back soon.”

“Long as you’re alright, lass.”

She put the phone away and looked back at Annis. The girl was bending down, grabbing at something gleaming in the grass.

“I think you should keep this,” she said, holding out the necklace of silver ammonites.

Jessica took it and for a moment she had the fleeting sense of Hild, smiling and she realised she felt whole again at last, more fully herself than she had done for a long, long time. She undid the catch and slipped the necklace around her neck to lie on her breasts, Then she turned her attention back to Annis, her indomitable young friend.

“Thank you, I don’t know how you got us out of there.”

Annis shook her head.

“You not understand, we not there. Never. It never happen. You – unmade it.” She reached out and kissed Jessica quickly on the cheek.

“I thank you. You take demon from me – free me. Make it never happen.”

“I – I am not sure I understand,” Jessica said, but then she was not sure she understood any of it. “What happens to you now?”

Annis smiled and it was the saddest thing Jessica had ever seen,

“Nothing happens to us Jess. We died before we were born. Only we never knew we was dead…I am just a dream of hope in the darkness.”

As Jessica watched, Annis and her cats grew more and more insubstantial until she could see them no longer. She thought she felt small fingers and a rough tongue on her cheek until the morning breeze blew even that away.

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

There will be a new Sunday Serial on the Working Title Blog from next week…

Getting on with getting on
Work until the fear is gone
Or at least that’s the idea
In the morning bright and clear
But before it’s time for tea
The raised hand of anxiety 
Says surely you can see that you
Are unworthy, stupid too
So just assume a foetal state
Beneath the griping claws of fate
But wait. A hero strong and dear 
Brings smiles, and chocolate cake, and beer
And maybe just one shining day
We’ll send anxiety away
And dance beneath the setting sun
You. Me. And a job well done

©️Jane Jago 2020

Aaspa’s Imps have all grown up and are ready to take on the worlds in this sequel to the highly original fantasy, Aaspa’s Eyes by Jane Jago.

My earliest memories are of misery and darkness. In those days I had no name and no voice. I was constantly hungry, and alone save for the chained slaves around me and the hellhound puppy whose fur kept me from freezing to death at night. 
    All that changed at the moment Mother found me in that stinking prison and picked me up in her tender arms. From then on Puppy and I had love to fill our hearts and food to fill our bellies. We became members of Aascko and Aaspa’s big rambling family, and I acquired a name. I became Silver, the beloved child of a high status household, and I and my brothers and sisters were given every advantage that wealth, privilege, and, above all, love can give.
    At the time of my adoption Mother and Father already had three imps. First there was Owlet, whose mama was Owl and whose papa was unknown. After him Mother and Father adopted Tiger and Puma, whose mama was Small Cat and whose papa was Aanjo which died in prison. Not too long after me there came Tawny and Eagle, whose mama was Owl and whose papa was our Father, Aascko. Later, Mother and Father were to adopt Oak and Willow, whose papa was a cousin of our Father and whose mama poisoned her Mate to steal his money. When she was caught she was permitted to kill herself, and Oak and Willow became our nest siblings. Those were the imps of Aaspa’s family.
    Not long after I joined the household, there came a change in the family circumstances when our GreatFather Aasgo, whom we all call Papa, became the Master Hunter and we moved to the citadel. This move could have been hard on me, because I have weak legs as a result of near starvation when I was tiny and the citadel is ancient and rambling with many staircases, and corridors with worn stone floors. But my family had no intention of allowing me to suffer any inconvenience because of my disability and we lived in a pleasant set of modern ground floor rooms opening onto their own enclosed garden. 
    For the first ten winters of our life in the citadel I learned my lessons with the drone Branwen, swam daily in the warm waters of the hot springs, and played with my siblings. I don’t think any of us had any idea how important our family was and we were the happier for not knowing. 
    It is my thought that Mother and Father would have kept us in innocence longer had there not been an attempt to kidnap Puma.
    It happened on a warm spring morning when we eight, and our teacher, were taking a gentle walk in the meadows where the earliest flowers were already blooming. We had no inkling of trouble ahead, and had not Puppy sensed the reception committee and set up a tremendous barking we would have walked into a carefully laid trap. As it was, my hellhound scented trouble and she herded us away from the defile where the bad people were hidden, all the while keeping up her ferocious barking. Branwen firmed its chin and grasped Tawny and Eagle, but I thought it looked afraid, while Tiger took hold of Puma, Oak held Willow, and Owl put his arms about me with the obvious intention of protecting us from whatever had so disturbed Puppy. As the would-be kidnappers rose up out of the long grass and rushed towards us, we heard the snap of leathery wings and Mother, Father and a group of our fighters landed between us and the assorted elves, vampires and orcs who had thought to take us unawares.
    “Keep one to talk to,” Father said tautly as half the fighters formed a protective ring around us while the other half engaged the poorly disciplined rabble with savage efficiency. 
    Tiger put his hands over Puma’s eyes, and Oak did the same for Willow, but Owlet knew better than to try and protect me from the reality of our situation so I watched as our attackers were summarily dealt with. When the last but one fell to Mother’s expertly wielded blade I took a deep breath.
    “What did they want?”
    “I don’t know,” Owlet was grave. “But I suspect that Mother and Father will find out.”
    Father looked at us. “You should go home.”
    Mother placed a hand on his arm. “Too late for that, love, they need to see this through.”
    “Why?” Father sounded almost immeasurably weary. “Didn’t we work to protect them from even knowing about this sort of treachery.”
    “We did. And we have. But we can do that no longer. They are none of them babies any more. If we let them see precisely what happened and what we will do to protect them it will be better than trying to push the events of this morning to the backs of their minds where such memories could fester.”
Father pulled her into his arms and laid his cheek briefly against the glossy black curls of her crest.
    “You are only right, love,” then his voice changed. “Bring that here, Aanda.”
    The grizzled fighter dragged a surly-looking male elf over to where Mother and Father stood.
    “Talk,” Mother said softly.
    “Make me,” the elf hissed. 
    Mother laughed and tossed her curls. “You will talk renegade elf, you will even sing should I so choose.” She turned her face to Father. “Would you invite Witness Aanan to join us.”
    He grinned grimly before throwing back his head and roaring. 
    Our honorary uncle arrived swiftly and with no ceremony. He walked over to Mother who pulled his head down and whispered in his ear. He chuckled mirthlessly.
    I could see the flaw in the air as he formed a portal.  A familiar figure strolled out onto the warm grass with a metal-studded oaken club balanced negligently on one shoulder. It was the alpha female troll, Mabel. She grinned as us before turning her countenance on the by now shrinking elf in Aanda’s grasp.

To keep reading, just snag a copy of Aaspa’s Imps by Jane Jago.

The road forever runs never passing by my home
I walk the way it wends but I always walk alone
And every hill I climb and every vale I delve
I have to find the way and walk it myself.

I’ve ne’er found someone to walk along the road with me
Though now and then I’ll have a companion that I see
Who walks along the same way and maybe shares a smile
To make the way seem smoother, less lonely for a while.

But always comes that hill too steep or that path too far
Then they take another way to follow their own star.
The road is always winding and beckoning ahead
And all I am is shaped by the way that it has led.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Why all the fuss about the first day of May? 

It’s the 122nd day of 366, and is steeped in the history of labour relations. But of course, that doesn’t interest you lot a bit, now does it?

Oh no, you airheads want the ‘Obby ‘Oss, the Morris Dancers, children whose mothers have confiscated their phones clomping gracelessly around the Maypole, some prim child all tricked out as The May Queen, and strange songs with incomprehensible lyrics, and so on. You really do worry me…

Before you abuse me as a miserable old bag with no sense of tradition, perhaps you might consider taking a closer look at the May Day traditions that charm you so.

The ‘Obby ‘Oss is probably a leftover from the Beltane Sacrifices of pre Christian faiths, thus symbolising the poor animal (or human) being led to the slaughter.

Morris Dancing is a generally harmless excuse for men to go from pub to pub in the hope of free beer. Though I would dispute any suggestion it’s entertainment.

The Maypole Dance, on the other side of the coin, is a fertility ritual and, as such, extremely unsuitable for children. 

Ditto the May Queen who is either a fertility symbol or, even more worryingly, The Maiden who would be sacrificed to ensure a good harvest. (Think on this very carefully before you engage in a fistfight with twenty other yummy mummies in order that little Susquehanna can wear the diadem.)

Need I continue?

In conclusion, get your heads out of whatever orifices you currently have them in and think about International Labour Day and how much all you miserable little so and so’s owe to the trade union movement.

Now buzz off. You are making my brandy curdle.

*throws dog ends and dried cow turds at departing readership*

While Yannis put the clock forward an hour I lay and watched the play of muscle and sinew under his skin.

“It would be nice,” I said idly, “if we could turn the clocks far enough forward to bypass corona virus.”

“Be careful what you wish for. Have you never heard of Rip Van Winkle?”

I laughed and snuggled into his broad back.

I awoke at daylight, and looked over at Yannis – finding in his stead an old white-haired man.  I reached a wrinkled hand out to him.

He clasped it and smiled.

“That virus lasted a long time.”

©️jj 2020