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It’s been a while since I’ve talked about my own books, so guess what I’m doing today? That’s right. Talking about my own books. I postponed the release of my next book Divinity for quite a few months as I planed my move and marriage and focused more on my blog and business. But now I’m gearing up for the release of my next book, Divinity, and I decided to celebrate by combining End of Imperium and Chieftess into one great big 2-book set so that readers who are new to my work can get the two of them in one.
Want to know more about the two amazing books in this set?
For thousands of years the seemingly immortal Alluran have ruled their empire in their little corner of the cosmos. Eternity the mother, Angel the older sister, and Oracle the youngest have been the absolute rulers of thousands of planets for thousands of years of blissful peace. Until one day a long lost divine sibling decides he doesn’t want to share the universe any more and sets out to destroy them all. That’s where the story starts. As her existence is being torn apart around her. Oracle’s lone surviving bodyguard helps his Goddess to escape to safety. But what is the cost? And are they really safe?
I’ve gotten a couple of nice reviews for this book on Amazon and have a solid 5 star rating. So far it seems like everyone who has read this book has enjoyed it. If you like fast paced science fiction with a hint of mysticism, magic, and just a dash of romance, this is the perfect book for you.
Read an Excerpt of End of Imperium
Shoulder deep in the mechanics of the wall access panel Marcus cursed, and then grunted in triumph. With a click and a hiss the door unlocked. Extricating himself from the innards of the base the guard joined Haka as she tugged on the manual lever to open the heavy blast proof door.
“What about a temporal jump? We could do a backwards jump into the Chronos Vault. By sacrificing some of our own personal timeline it would be possible to briefly displace ourselves into an alternate reality and then jump from there.” With a great heave the door inched aside. First Haka and then Marcus squeezed through the opening sideways rather than trying to fight the warped door frame.
“I can do that!” Exhilaration that they had possibly found a way to safety caused the exclamation to come out as a shout. The capsule for the emergency transport was small. Designed to be large enough for four people and a pilot, they fit without difficulty. There wasn’t time to program the coordinates. It wouldn’t have worked even if there had been time. Programming required two separate jumps.
For their plan to work, Haka would have to catapult them backward in time and then ricochet off of an interdimensional barrier completely out of the known universe and into a pocket universe created from a portion of a previous existence. But she wasn’t going to just be moving them back in time. This single jump would be powered with a portion of her timeline, her personal existence. One shot at this. And if she screwed it up then she would have never existed.
Taking the pilot’s position Haka shucked off the protective jacket she’d been wearing. Beneath was the skintight bodysuit characteristic of high level telepaths, empaths, and the psionically gifted. A garment designed from a fabric meant to interfere with stray thoughts and focus their powers. All it did was accentuate the fact that she was burned, exhausted, and disheveled; but she was surviving. The semi-sentient micro veil-ship sensed her presence.
As Haka tuned her mind to the same frequency as the organic computer which lived within their lifeboat, the various connection points along her suit began to glow. A blue-white light suffused the cabin and telepathic umbilical snaked out from the navigation console before her. Quickly, too quickly for comfort the cords shot into the open channels, orifices, along Haka’s nervous system.
Ship and pilot were linked now. Two bodies one mind. Being a ship was one of the hardest things a person could ever do. It was easy to lose one’s self and become overwhelmed in the emotions and sensations of a living ship. There was all of space and time flowing around her, and Haka could fly. The most perfect form of flight; immersed in everything. Sure there was a crazy tyrannical brother super-deity after her. But she could run, skipping over the surface of time forever. Okay. Not forever. But far enough for it to count.
An unpleasant sound kept annoying her and interrupting her concentration as she plotted out all the fantastical things she could do. It was insistent. Perpetual. Suddenly memory and reality came crashing back into Haka’s senses. The annoying sound was Marcus calling her name, urging her to go. Forcing her to remember what was happening around her and what she needed to do to survive.
Flight was brief, instantaneous. Most of the exhilaration was subdued because of the brevity of travel. Then Marcus was pulling her out of the pilot’s position. Yanking organic wires out of her flesh viciously when they would come and splitting them with an electromagnetic knife when necessary.
Moving was terrible. Every movement burned, her muscles screamed in agony. Fire raced through neurons. “Sabotaged!” Sounds came out in a weak croak. “Made it?” The Oracle had no idea if she had made it to her destination.
“No.” Her friend grunted as he carried her limp body through the open hatch and into a nightmare. Fires burned insolently on fetid lakes. At first Haka thought that she had sustained a head injury then realized that the red, desolate, landscape really was red. Hot blasts of air caught her in the throat. Had they landed on the surface of the burning planet they were trying to escape? “I’m not sure where we are. But there is a door here. I think it’s an entrance to the Vault.”
“What makes you think….?” Marcus turned around so that she could see over his shoulder the massive door he was carrying her toward, it stretched tall and wide enough to accommodate an Ark class battle cruiser, one of the largest ships of the original Alluran fleet. “Oh! You’re right!” Markings on the door were of the same ancient text that marked all the entrances to the Chronos Vault. If she’d been able to read it, it would have told her the door number and the location of the entrance.
Marcus carried the limp figure in his arms carefully. The effects of the journey hadn’t stopped yet. Years seemed to melt off her body as the minutes went by. By the time he reached the door with his cargo, she had gone from full grown woman to teen.
A scanning device flew out of the door and swooped around them. “Authorized DNA recognized.” At the foot of the giant door, a smaller people-sized portal opened for them. It slammed shut as soon as they were through. Marcus kept walking with his load getting lighter and lighter ever so imperceptibly.
The corridor was huge and angled down into the core of the planet. As he walked, he realized that he was traveling faster than could be accounted for by his movements between the smooth bright walls lit by some indeterminate source. Countless doors opened for their passage and clanged shut after the pair had passed through. Finally, they reached the core. The Chronos Vault.
“Welcome back to the Chronos Vault authorized DNA carrier!” The artificial intelligence which lived within the Chronos Vault greeted.
“Haka,” Nudging his living load Marcus tried to stir her to speak. “What does that mean; authorized DNA carrier?” She only moaned, and Marcus realized that Haka’s already slight frame had become even slimmer, shorter, and lighter in the timeless interval it had taken to reach the core from the exterior door.
Swinging Haka from his shoulder, Marcus carefully lowered her body to the floor. “Haka?” Gently he cupped her face, feeling her pulse; the physical and metaphysical ones. The mature and beautiful woman he had fallen in love with had physically regressed. She seemed to be about fourteen now. “Oh, darling what did you do?” His woman was now a child…however that had happened.
The government of the Eastern Isles, know as The Priestess Isles to the rest of Planet Olympus, has been in chaos for decades. The hereditary Chieftains trace inheritance through the female line and battle for control of the people from the Priestesses for the Goddess of Desire who once ruled supreme over their tropical paradise.
When an assassination attempt kills the ruling Chieftess and all of her immediate family, the line of inheritance jumps to a branch of the family which married into the monarchy of the neighboring country of Matriarchy. Leilana has spent the last twenty-five years studying to one day inherit the the ruling seat of the rich and powerful Matriarchy but know s that day will be far into the future as her grandmother and mother will rule a long time.
But the assassination which kills her cousins in the Priestess Isles also kills her mother while on a diplomatic visit. Leilana must take on the onerous duty of ruling a country which doesn’t want her, while learning a language and culture she barely understands. The people she relies on for help in this foreign land plot behind her back and usurp her claim to the throne. Meanwhile, her father leaves a train of blood and terror as he seeks those responsible for the death of his beloved.
Chieftess has some nice reviews on Goodreads but nothing on Amazon. This is the first book of my Maker of Fate series. It’s completely different from End of Imperium, featuring a determined young who have been thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Some of them thrive and some of them don’t. This book is all about magic and mythological beings. It’s got vampires and angels, surfing island babes and Imperial Mages, Necromancers and elves. Think of it like a toned down Game of Thrones set in a world similar to Tolkien’s Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. If you want to immerse yourself in a brand new fantasy world that you’ll be able to continue reading about years into the future as the series progresses, you should definitely pick up Chieftess.
Read an Excerpt of Chieftess
It gave Serriff a conceited kind of pleasure to notice that without their horns he was taller than the Minotaur. Yet, he was still shorter than the Angel born. Eight to nine-foot-tall towers of well-defined sinuous muscle and variable semi-tangible wings that flexed dangerously with any emotion they felt. The orderly chaos of the port quarter rippled and parted around them with a nervous tension, fearful of getting too close.
If he were honest with himself, Serriff understood their fear. The Angel born were top heavy, their shoulders, chest, and back muscles developed specifically for the purpose of carrying and controlling their completely functional wings. No one was certain if Angels could breed amongst themselves, but it was common knowledge that they chose to breed profusely with the mortal sentients of Olympus. Anything that was human shaped was fair game. The resulting offspring was an Angel born. It favored its mortal parent at first, gradually becoming more and more like its divine parent. It was said that one could determine how old an Angel born was by solidity of its wings.
They were everywhere. The city teeming with them. There were even the Pralas, the Messengers of Heaven. Empaths bound to the full angels who let their minds join with the worshipers and petitioners to carry prayers to their Lords in their palaces in the sky. Best not to get too close to one of them. To his left was one, a young boy dressed in the blue of the Lady of Prosperity his long locks braided into the elaborate beaded net hairstyle of his station; laying his hands upon a petitioner, entreating him to pray together. On a bridge a few levels ahead, a cluster of youth dressed in the white robes of the Lord of Healing, a priestess and priest together lecturing them on the properties of the native cavern lichen.
Off to his right, the Mage noticed a few voluptuous young women dressed in the red of the Temple of Desire. They called seductively to passersby of the pleasure to be gained by worshiping with the Goddess. The sweet scent of witch biology tantalizing his taste buds with promises of joy and satisfaction. Serriff’s throat tightening with the urge to go to them. His chaos magic calling him in the direction of the ordered magic wielded by the Priestess leading her apprentices and acolytes to their daily solicitations.
He was thankfully distracted by the flickering buzz of the electric lights above suddenly brightening one after another in a cascade effect which gradually revealed the magnificence of this hidden world. Stack upon stack, tier upon tier of elegant terraces, balconies, landings, and bridges were suddenly illuminated from above. No longer were only the ground level lit from street lamps lower than the first floor of the neighboring buildings lining the street.
“Daylight.” A booming multi-tonal voice cried out, filling the large chamber and surrounding Serriff with sound. He started nervously at first, looking around for the source of the shout and finding other foreigners like himself had startled also but noticing that locals didn’t seem perturbed at all. Serriff identified the source of the shout slightly behind him standing at a balcony looking over the street. It had been one of the Angel born. All around him natives echoed his shout, a chorus of accents and dialects. “Daylight!”.
Again, the first winged behemoth cried out, his deep chested shout bringing with it a symphony of sounds like bells, horns, and wind instruments all singing at once. “Daylight!” Serriff realized that it was more than just the one. Angel born all over the subterranean plaza he was currently milling through with all the others who’d had business in the port had joined in. He grinned at the spectacle and joined in on the second and third echoes of “Daylight!”.
He was unfamiliar with the phenomena yet already loved it. However, Mages weren’t exactly welcome in Angels’ Launch let alone the Undercity. Most of the Empire’s trade went through Landing Town by way of Thousand Stair to the South. It allowed for the caravans to travel through Imperial Lands all the way until they were loaded aboard ship. In theory, Angels’ Launch was still the Imperial city of Tuafit. Though it had been centuries since any Emperor had risked enforcing that claim.
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Home World Surface; Greater Euro-Merica Primary Ground Port of the Western Hemisphere, Cargo Launch Facilities Pedestrian Gate – 3481
Harsh grey-white light blinded Martha as she exited the surface-to-low-orbit shuttle. She choked on the unfiltered air and was already cursing the copious amount of scrubbing in a shower it would take to get the smog-smell out of her pores. Wretched as the world of grey-yellow-red she’d just stepped into was, the girl was still glad to get on the ground.
The joystick jockey who’d handled the craft on the way down was either poorly trained or made it a point of letting his passengers know that he was fighting gravity on their behalf. It might have been impressive to the tourists who frequented the leisure satellites or the Ministry of Colonization’s orbital facilities, however it did not impress someone who grew up on board a working ship.
Not that Martha couldn’t handle a few gees and rattling stabilizers, she’d just never had to do it while someone else was flying. Not in her memory at least. She’d always been in the cockpit with dad and once she’d was old enough for the practice permit, she was in the auxiliary-pilot’s chair with its non-surgical neural contacts for piloting. The pilot and co-pilot’s seat were off limits to anyone who hadn’t yet gotten their Channels implanted.
She squinted against the dusty bright and lifted her personal filter mask to her face as she started hacking on the exit ramp. There was supposed to be someone from Social Services here to meet her. Of course, they wouldn’t be out here on the scorched earth of the launch facility where the tarmac was so old it had cracked and crumbled into dust. The dust which was in the landing cradles had baked into a hard glaze. It was the no-man’s land which always developed in old planet-side ports.
The red dust common to this part of the continent swept through on gusts, rolling into and over the launch cradles and the flat surfaces of the port. Perpetual tendrils of fog the color of dried blood flowing in a bile-yellow haze beneath a sky of bright grey. A beautiful day for this part of Home World if she remembered correctly.
She straightened her Cerberus crew uniform making sure her Ancillary Pilot’s Apprentice insignia was clearly visible in case she was stopped on the tarmac. Pulling her brimmed cap from the loop of the epaulette on her shoulder she secured it smartly to her head, taming the riot of short red curls she’d contemplated shaving off more than once. Checking the contact security of the temporary telepathic suppressant patches on her temple, the teen decided that she was ready. Her uniform, cap, and duffle all bore the logo of the Ministry of Colonization’s moon-satellite-and-starship design as well as Cerberus’ three-headed-dog-and-starship crest.
Hefting her Cerberus crew duffle, she pulled it over her shoulder and set off down the ramp. Martha trudged across the packed earth and crumbled remnants of former launch cradles. Hundreds of years of history crunching beneath her feet. The way the next nine years of her life had turned to ash thanks to her mother’s demands. In her head the most depressing poem she could remember played itself over again in time with her trudging steps.
"Leave the shards of shattered dreams lying where they lay
For even the most calloused hand
Must surely bleed
Instead just let the sands of time
Blown by the winds of change
Erode them down to harmless dust
Which your deserts can reclaim"
Good grief, could she be any more depressingly teenagerish? Not ten minutes into her regular kid life and she was already morosely reciting poetry. But that’s what Martha needed to do right now. Be a desert. Make her mind accepting of the situation. Smooth out her anger and hatred into tiny little grains of sand which she could contain in an hourglass in her mind to count the years until she could let herself feel again. In the distance she could see the Social Worker who’d been promised to meet her craft waiting at the closest civilian access gate, waiving from the wrong side of the fence.
Good grief. Civilian bureaucracies were just a whole new level of stupid and incompetent, weren’t they? “Hey Rob.” Martha waved at the security guard whose daughters she was pen pals with. Dad had managed to get one of his old friends to agree to be on duty to make sure Martha at least got to the social worker like she was supposed to.
“Hey Martha.” Instead of opening the massive freight gate he held open the people-sized door to the guardhouse and let her walk through into filtered-air comfort. Seeing this, the Social Worker quickly hurried round to the outward facing door and tried to enter. Finding it locked, she shook the handle and knocked several times. “They’re not so bright over where ever they’re sending you are, they?” He walked to the front door, snagging a clipboard off the table.
Martha snorted and cracked a smile as the over dressed woman with the hair, and the nails, and the makeup bustled her way into the room. “Now Ma’am.” Rob was shoving a pen and a clipboard into the hand of the huffing woman before she could find words to berate him with. “I need you to sign for custody of this here precious cargo. Yep. And here, and there. Initial. Just a couple more…there, there, here. And show me your official photo identification afterwards.”
It wasn’t even written in Home World Standard Script after the first page. He’d just handed her a standard release of liability form and was making her sign random pages for fun. Yes, it was stupid, but it had given Martha some much needed time to adjust to being on Home World and knowledge that she was grounded. It also gave her time to collect a few bags from behind the counter which dad had purchased for her and had delivered to his friend, knowing that it would reach her. The only clothes she owned on shipboard were her uniforms and vacuum gear. Martha grew so much between journey’s that she had to buy new clothes every time she wanted to dress as a civilian.
“Is all of this really necessary?” The woman finally managed around Rob’s diversion.”
“Have you ever had to sign over custody of an Ancillary Pilot’s Apprentice First Class?” Rob scolded, and Martha almost lost her shit while rummaging through her new belongings and busted out with laughter which would have ruined the ploy. The Social Worker shook her head no and Rob continued. “Well just be glad that she hasn’t had her Navigator Compatibility rating officially tested. The paperwork for those kids is just…well…” The woman was hanging on his every word but now he’d faltered, his story petering out.
“It’s enormous. So much paperwork.” Martha chimed in saving Rob from further scrutiny. “I’ve had to sign for a few myself as an Ancillary Pilot and believe you me. Stacks of paper.” Rob nodded enthusiastically and gestured with his arms to indicate what was a formidable stack.
“I’d say it was more like reams.” He countered. “Anyways, you’re all done with these. Did you collect the rest of your luggage Ancillary Pilot’s Apprentice First Class Johnson? Nothing’s been lost has it?”
“Oh. Everything arrived quite fine.” She assured him. “Tell the girls I say ‘Hi’ and I’ll forward my address to Sofie as soon as I’m settled. Oh.” Martha turned to the Social Worker with concern. “I am allowed to let my friends know where I’m going to be living right? I’m allowed to have mail?”
“Of course. There’s no reason…” The Social Worker started but was interrupted yet again.
“Fabulous. Then I guess we’re off.” And just like that Martha was now a dirt-sider, planet-bound for better or for worse.
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