"PORTALS"
By Sheri L. McGathy

(As is, And I really mean that
Copyright® - No part of this may be reproduced without permission)

Chapter One
"Dione Amber Clancy Blume–'Rest in Peace'"
 
The sun seemed dazzling, nearly blinding, after the dim light provided in the portals, causing them to shield their eyes against the glare. The warrior, Lance Davenhawkes, his stance menacing, scowled as he scanned the unfamiliar terrain stretching out lazily before him.

Colan, with the agility of youth, jumped to his feet and moved to the older man's side, and then stood rocking back and forth on his leather-clad soles. The man eyed him skeptically, yet nodded. "The area appears safe."

With a joyous shout the young prince ran down the hill and plunged deep into the beckoning waves of endless, cool grasses. His twin, Callie, caught up in the pleasure of his infectious mood, laughed as she quickly joined him, anxious to release the tension she had carried since entering the portals.

"Ah, youth." Aldous sighed as he watched their reckless play, grateful that he had arrived in time; thankful that they were still able to laugh and embrace life. One second later and they might not have managed so well.

"What now, Wizard?" Lance asked quietly, neither demanding, nor doubting.

The Sun Wizard, Aldous Ja Aval, looked expectantly to their other companion, standing apart from them, sniffing the air with interest while cradling a small globe within his large, hairy hands.

"What say you, Ovid Calador? Why has the Orb directed us here?"

The OrbWard turned steely yellow-flecked eyes toward them. Shaking a shaggy head, he shrugged as if to say, "Who knows," and then smiled sheepishly.

Mouths gaping open at his matter-a-fact reply, both Aldous and Lance turned stunned stares toward him, but it was the wizard who found his tongue first and erupted into the prevailing calm.

"You don't know? I thought you were attuned to that sun-deprived Orb. Are we now lost, adrift in the dimensions?" he complained, stretching silk clad arms outward away from his frail frame to encompass all, and nothing. His voice took on the tenor of a whine and his mouth swooped down in a horrendous scowl as he stared the OrbWard down.

Lance remained silent, massive arms folded across his broad chest, mouth held in a stern line.

Ovid whimpered and tugged nervously on a shaggy ear while mumbling, "Only the Orb knows why it has directed us here. As yet, it has not deemed me worthy of sharing its knowledge. We must wait and trust in its judgment."

"Phugh! Poppycock and balderdash," Aldous spat. "Give me a good incantation anytime over this nonsense of divine guidance. This whole affair sours my stomach." He raised his albino eyes upward in woeful agony, the blue tint to the irises clashing soundly with the fiery red of the pupils, and added, "After all, I am an old man. Too old for this foolishness!"

Davenhawkes allowed a small, skeptical grin to crack his disciplined composure.

"So," the wizard concluded, "I guess I'll just sit here and anticipate that silly Orb's audience," and lowered his lanky frame toward the awaiting ground, silk robes floating regally about him as he crossed skinny legs beneath him. Propping his chin stubbornly over the mound of his linked hands, he sighed expectantly and murmured, "Phugh and poppycock!"

"Please, Aldous? You really should not insult the Orb. All will be revealed in time. You must learn to trust in the light!" Ovid Calador implored.

"Poppycock, balderdash, and phugh!" the wizard mumbled again, content to ignore the large OrbWard.

"Ovid, where are we?" Callie suddenly called up to them, effectively breaking up some of the building tension. She pushed her auburn locks away from cheeks already ruddy from the winds constant bite, her small hands fighting gallantly with the tresses as they danced carelessly in the open breezes.

"Ah, I can say with a confident certainty that we are now standing on a planet so named Earth, a remote place really, with the natives proving too suspicion for us to establish an outpost," Calador replied smugly, showing a small measure of his former confidence.
 
Aldous mumbled louder, but didn't elaborate.

The OrbWard, likewise intent on ignoring him, straightened his spine and puffed his chest out far in front of him as he continued, "This is a planet that does not believe, nor rely on," he directed down at the slumped form of the wizard, "magic. Hardly anyone ventures here."

"La-de-da! Then I vote we leave. Now!" Aldous put out.

Lance sighed, resigning himself to the prospect of watching over not two, but four children. When he saw that the wizard was about to launch yet another volley of barbs, he quickly moved to intercept, his deep voice effectively silencing them. "We must wait, Ja Aval, Calador, for our questions to be answered. In the meantime, I suggest we find food, and mayhap, shelter. It appears we have no contacts on this world and have no way of knowing how long we'll be made to wait."

"Always the sensible one, Davenhawkes," Aldous chimed in, his tone less sarcastic. He rose stiffly, grunting as old bones popped, complaining of recent misuse.

Lance nodded once for answer before turning to march down the hill to join the children, his long legs quickly eating the distance that separated him from his charges.

The tall, wild grass rubbed against his exposed calves, the soft, silky caresses seemed somehow soothing to his taut nerves. The gently swaying stalks gave him silent comfort. The open fields seemed to dance at the winds command, beckoning even to his walled-off soul.

"Lance, isn't this place fantastic?" Colan called out, giggling as he spun his slight frame in small circles, arms held away from his sides in lighthearted abandonment. "It's so fresh, so untouched!"

So unlike Egressus, the solemn warrior thought ruefully.

"I believe, my young prince, that we have emerged in what is known here as the country," Ovid supplied, raising his voice to be heard from his lofty position at the top of the hill. "This particular planet has large pockets of civilizations…very large…it is fortunate that we emerged here in this tranquil valley instead."

"Well, Calador, I'm impressed," Ja Aval said, allowing the OrbWard to puff his chest out before adding, "it eases my fears some to know that you have a bit of knowledge hidden in that thick skull."

"Wizard, why do you persist? You know that all OrbWards are required to learn about civilizations that lay beyond the portals, just as you know that all apprentices, who would be wizards, must learn the spells that open the portals to those worlds. None dare risk the portals without the consent of the Bloodline, a learned OrbWard and an adept wizard. Why should you assume that I have not the required knowledge? Why do you call me different?" a wounded Ovid finished with a snarl.

Ja Aval, nonplused by the show of impassioned emotion from the otherwise gentle OrbWard, answered, "Hee, because you've not even experienced your first dual moon!"
"I may be young, but I am capable! You may count on that," Ovid retorted proudly.

"Oh, I shall. I shall indeed," Aldous Ja Aval replied cryptically. "You may count on it." Standing, he took his lanky frame down the hill to join the others.

For Ovid Calador, a noble-ranked Guardian of the Orb Order, there was nothing else to do but follow. Cradling the Orb Key against his chest, he waded down through the sea of grass to come up alongside Lance. Young Callie skipped over and eagerly grasped his hairy hand, granting him one of her brilliant smiles as she did so. He squeezed her hand and smiled back. Looking down into deep, brown eyes sparkling with heightened emotions, he forgot the sour comments of the dried-up old wizard. Her mood captured him; her excitement was highly contagious.

"Why, Princess Calliena Valathorn," he teased, lightly tapping the tip of her nose with a dark fingernail. "You appear mesmerized!"

"I am, I truly am," came her breathless reply. "Such pleasures!"

Before Ovid could comment, Colan's voice sang out, his small frame jumping up and down excitedly. His arms, raised above his head, lashed the air wildly before reversing to point downward into the tall grasses.

Lance was at the young prince's side immediately, sword drawn, pushing the overly curious lad back behind him, his body becoming a shield between Colan and the unseen something. The muscles in his forearms bulged as he held the sword steady above him, ready to swing in an instant.

The wizard stood apart, fingertips aglow with calm preparedness, no hint of emotion revealed on his ancient face. Yet all Ovid Calador felt was panic, sure that Lord Daytus had found them and had set his Spirit Raider upon them.

Callie pulled on the OrbWard's arm in an attempt to drag him forward, even as Lance held up a hand, silently ordering her to stay put.

And just when did orders stop either twin? Ovid wondered, before addressing the immediate tugging on his arm. "I swear, child, when will you and Col learn to show fear?" Although he was sure he felt enough for all of them. "Do you not think it would be prudent to remain here until Davenhawkes determines whether there is danger?"

She looked up at him. Amusement lit her eyes as she gave him a lopsided grin. Ovid knew at that moment that as determined as he was to keep her with him, Callie's determination would be stronger. Managing to break free, she ran to Col's side. Lance moved slightly, adjusting his body to shield them both. His scowl deepened, but his sword never wavered.
Ovid shrugged apologetically toward the warrior. He sniffed the air warily; every nerve in his body afire, yet his nose told him there was no danger. Deciding to join them, he moved cautiously, his hands still cradling the Orb Key where it rested against his chest, one hairy hand shielding it from view.

Drawing nearer, Ovid could see that the grasses had been beaten back and forced into a crude shelter of sorts. Closer still revealed what had formed it.

Ja Aval, standing behind him, looked down at the prone form and smirked loudly, "No need for magic here," and released his hold on his flow. "Phugh and poppycock!"

"Wizard," Ovid snapped, turning to confront the old man. He was tired of his complaining, and was about to tell him so, but was halted in mid-sentence as the Orb flared to life, bathing the sleeping form in a brilliant blue light.

All present knew what it meant, but Ovid proclaimed it out loud anyway. "The Orb has chosen. Here is the one we have been sent to collect."

"Phugh and poppycock, poppycock and phugh!" Aldous spat as he studied the sleeping form. "Doesn't look like much of a match for Xenos Daytus!"

Ovid nodded his shaggy head in nervous agreement.

"Regardless, Aldous," Lance said, giving his own doubtful look at the lithe form, "the Orb has chosen. I, for one, do not choose to doubt its wisdom…nor its selection," and lowered his sword.
 
As if on cue, the figure stirred, struggling sluggishly from deep sleep to restless slumber. It would only be a matter of minutes before arriving at the point of fully awake.

Moaning softly, she rolled from her back to her side, and back again, causing her face to suddenly become framed with an unruly mass of bobbed, ebony tresses. Completely awake, large, expressive eyes opened to the bright sun overhead . . . and the strange man standing above her.

Lance could see the alarm mirrored in her near black eyes, but her movements refused to show it. She sat up and yawned, acting as if his presence meant little to her. Extending her lean body into a long, relaxed stretch, she eyed him covertly through dark lashes.

Here is a shrewd one, Lance thought, discovering that he was being drawn to her in ways he did not yet understand. Carefully, she allowed herself a cursory glance about. Her eyes mirrored how quickly she summed up her situation, even as they betrayed her urge to bolt and run.Lance moved to block her.

Midnight orbs locked with the determined gray of his own, and he knew she understood flight would not be easy. With a sigh, she relinquished that scheme. He grinned in appreciation as he watched the birth of a new one cross those dark pools. It seemed that she shared his survival philosophy: If one portal closed, look for another . . . quickly.

He kept his gaze locked with hers, and waited for her to speak. He could tell she was tall, almost of a height with him, taller than any woman he had ever met. Her body fit her frame, firm but lean, exuding strength and power, even motionless. She seemed of an age with him. For that, he was grateful. The last thing he needed was another child to watch over.

Perhaps the Orb really did know what it was doing, he silently admitted. He never would have doubted its judgment openly, but in his mind, he often wondered.
 
Lance recognized the stubborn tilt of her chin, and the challenge that was building within her stare. Again, he felt drawn to her.

Slowly, almost casually, she rose to her feet, never once taking her gaze from his, and took one cautious step forward. Lance grinned, and brought his sword up. He gently palmed the blade, allowing the sun to gleam off its polished metal.

He heard her sharp intake of breath. Watched as she struggled inwardly to compose herself, and again felt that tug of admiration.

She brushed her hands against the sides of her hips and then she began her own curious study of Lance. If she was alarmed at his great stature, she no longer let Lance read it in her eyes. Satisfied, she allowed her gaze to wander away from him, and saw Aldous and Ovid. Alarm shown openly in her eyes as she swiftly swung her wide-eyed gaze back to him.

"Who are you guys?" she demanded. He could hear a slight quiver to her voice, but that was the only clue to her nervousness. He doubted if the others noticed. Her eyes were ablaze with questions, and some unknown emotion that Lance could only compare to relief.

It made no sense, but the woman seemed glad that they were there. Glad, but angry, too.
Lance wondered who had scared this woman so badly that she actually showed relief to be confronted by him and his unlikely crew. What monster did she flee that brought her proud being to cower within a field out in the middle of nowhere?

He found himself growing protective, wishing to face this unknown reprobate and ease her pain. At the moment, all he wanted was to see joy leap into her dark, liquid eyes.

Lance mentally shook himself. What was wrong with him? He shifted his stance and pushed such fancies from his thoughts.

Lowering his blade, he remained silent. Keeping his features bland, he waited, allowing her to show him how she wished to be treated. Women were not something he knew a great deal about.

A bird could be heard singing eloquently some distance away, its song blending sweetly with the soft breeze. The grass hissed, its voice answering the bird's melody as the stalks gently swayed to its tune.

The sun felt warm . . . comforting . . . but Lance noticed nothing but the strange, alluring woman before him. She stood with arms tucked neatly beneath her breasts, one leg slightly cocked with defiance, staring back at him.

The warrior aped her, folding his arms across his chest and carefully bringing his sword up to rest against a strong shoulder. He expected to hear, at the very least, another sharp intact of breath, or an unnerved hiss, for he was use to such reactions when he struck this pose, but wasn't prepared for the slow, lazy grin that spread effortlessly across her face.
"Who have we here?" she practically cooed, shifting her body to peer around Lance's bulk. "Are you two the reason the big guy here is so agitated?"

The wizard's cackle wafted through the air, joined by a muffled snicker that could only belong to Ovid. Confused, Lance followed her gaze.

"What the . . ." Sticking out from beneath his left elbow was Col's youthful head, while Callie mimicked her brother's actions beneath his right elbow. Two pairs of large brown eyes ogled the woman with unbridled curiosity, not a hint of fear present.

Her smile deepened.

Reaching out quickly, Lance grabbed the Twins by the scruff of their necks and hauled them away from the stranger.

With exasperation, he asked, "How have I instructed you to behave in matters such as this?" But gave them no time to reply before answering his own question with yet another. "Haven't I always told you that first I see to your safety, appraise the situation for danger? Then, when I say that it is safe, and only then, is not that when you show yourself?"

Two auburn heads nodded in unison. Lance did the same. "Am I not your Protector?" Again bowed heads nodded. "Good, then see that you remember these things before you reveal yourselves in the future."

Davenhawkes turned, half expecting the woman to have fled while the feeble OrbWard and cackling wizard looked on. She remained where he had left her, smirking at his discomfort.
 
Mumbling about children, women, and fools, he ordered, "Stay put!" before shouting, "Aldous, to me!" Giving the Twins a warning glare, he raised his finger in admonishment. "I mean it, little ones. Stay put or I'll tan your royal hides!" Then he stormed away.

"Phugh and poppycock," the Wizard muttered, hiking his silk robes up around his knees to reveal white, skinny shanks and rather large, awkward looking feet. "What am I now, a wet nurse?"

Lance ignored his complaints as they passed each other, and set his sights on the woman casually awaiting him.

As he neared, she extended her slender hand. Lance accepted absently, continuing to mumble about errant children and sour old men.

"Strong, silent type, right?" she said as she withdrew her hand. No reply. "Your kids, big guy?"

"Yes, they are my burden, my cross to bear," he grumbled.

She laughed, the tone rich and vibrant. "Kinda an odd way of putting it," she replied, eyeing him queerly before shrugging away any further questions she may have wished to ask.

"I'm Dione."

Lance had no time to acknowledge her, nor introduce himself before Ovid appeared and neatly ensconced himself between them.

"Pardon, pardon," the OrbWard said, keeping his back pointed to the larger man. Straightening his immaculate waistcoat with one hairy hand while extending the other toward Dione, he bowed. "Let me be the first to welcome you into our little fold."

Practically oozing charm, Ovid took one of her hands within his own and gently licked the top. "It is a pleasure to meet one so highly regarded by the Orb. I am at your service, dear lady."

Dione's features went from amusement to frank astonishment. Pulling her hand back, she wiped it against her leg, before demanding, "What's going on here?" Frowning at the creature before her, she continued, "You guys miss your costume party or something? Or do you always run around dressed like lunatics?"

"Oh, no, no," Ovid stammered. "Dear lady, you do not understand. We come not to harm, but to ask aid. We are here to serve you.""Speak for yourself, Guardian, I serve no one!"

"Wizard!" Lance warned.

Aldous mumbled, "Phugh and poppycock, Lance, you know it's true."

"Wizard, it may be true, but please, leave Ovid to his musings, he does no harm."

"Oh, balderdash!"

Dione grew silent, her stare long and steady. The silence was growing near unnerving. Then, with a shake to her head she said, "Sorry, chum, you've come to the wrong place if you're looking for help. I'm the wrong gal." Bending down, she groped for something hidden in the tall grass.

Lance moved before the OrbWard and drew his sword.

Looking up, Dione grinned at the large man with his very serious looking weapon. Showing her backpack as she stood, she said, "Easy, big guy, everything's cool here."

Lance raised an eyebrow, saw what she held, and then slowly lowered his blade.

"Well, look gang, I've gotta go. It's been interesting."

"No, no! Lance, she cannot leave us!" Ovid howled. "She is the one, the Orb has spoken! Wizard, do something…"

"Phugh and poppycock," Aldous mumbled. Eyeing the OrbWard acidly, he raised his hands as if to do as Ovid bid, seemed to think better of it, before spouting, "Oh, balderdash!" and hiked up his silk robes and ran after the retreating woman. "Madam," he huffed. "Really, will you not at least hear us out before rejecting us?"

Slinging her pack across one shoulder, she shrugged, "Talk."

"Can we stop? After all, I am an old man."

"Yeah, I'll give you that. Okay, let's go back; I'll hear you out, but only if you make it snappy." She then turned and scanned the area with a weary eye. Nodding, as if what she saw satisfied her, she followed Aldous back to where the others waited.

No sooner had she returned then Col and Callie erupted on the scene, each begging to be allowed to sit upon her lap.

"Children…to me. Now!" Lance's voice thundered, rising easily above the din.

Bowing their tiny heads, the children retreated to end up balanced, each upon one of the warrior's crossed legs.

Shrugging, Dione sank down into the tall grass and, folding her arms across her chest, waited.

"Thank you, dear lady," Ovid stated as a large toothy grin spread across his hairy face.

"Oh, do quit simpering, Ovid," Aldous spat. "She hasn't agreed to anything except to listen!"

"And your times running out," she reminded sternly. She looked over her shoulder, once again studying her surroundings. Turning back, she licked her lips and prompted, "Well?"

"Tell her, Wizard," Lance's deep voice gently intoned. "Let this matter be decided here and now."

"Phugh and poppycock! Always me . . . always," Aldous complained. Then drawing his robes about him, he sank down amidst the grass with a sigh. Folding his bony arms around even bonier knees, he said, "Ah, where to begin . . . well, first introductions. I am Aldous Ja Aval, Supreme Wizard of the High Sun Fellowship." Turning his strange eyes upon her, he nodded. "Now, the fellow holding the clear ball is OrbWard Ovid Calador, a noble-ranked Orb Guardian."

Ovid stood and bowed.

"Oh do sit down, Ovid! That big fellow is Lance Davenhawkes of Lolpaw Isle–the children's sworn Protector for life, and the two slips upon his lap are–stand, children, for your introduction…Lance, I thought you had taught them better–Prince Colan Valathorn and his twin sister, Princess Calliena Valathorn, affectionately called Col and Callie, for short."

Dione smiled as two brown-haired heads bowed in unison. She saw them exchange a knowing grin, and before they could completely rise from their formal bow, started to run toward her.

The warrior was quicker, grabbing each by their waist belts and hauling them back toward his awaiting lap.

"Ah, Lance," Col complained, stomping one foot defiantly.

The large man only shook his head and pointed back to his lap.

"Children, if you please, I am charged with telling this story and I would like to continue! Refrain yourselves from further antics," Aldous scolded. "Now, what next? Yes, the where and why. We have come through the portals to this planet, from our own world, Egressus, to beg you to lend your talents to aid us in overthrowing an existing plague upon our world–one Lord Xenos Daytus. You see, the Orb has picked you as our champion, so to speak."

"Okay, that's it! I'm outta here!" Dione said as she rose. "I don't believe in aliens from outer space, but, believe you me, if I did, you guys would fit the bill."

"Dear lady, it is all true," Ovid cried. "Just as the wizard has said. Please, we have great need of your talents."

"I don't have any talents, and times up! I'm outta here."

"But you do," Davenhawkes stated quietly, as he set each child on the ground next to him. He rose silently to stall her flight. "The Orb has chosen, it cannot be wrong."

"Look, you guys seem harmless enough. Well," she hesitated, eyeing the large man before continuing, "most of you do, but I've gotta go. You're not the only ones with problems, and mine ain't far, far away. Honestly, I'd like to help, but…"

"Oh dear," the OrbWard moaned, wringing his hairy hands before him as his champion walked away.
 
She turned and gazed back over her shoulder and waved farewell. Before her fleeting form a dust cloud could be seen rising, moving toward them at an ominous pace.

Lance hooked a child under each of his arms and ordered, "Open a portal, Wizard. It is time for us to leave."

Nodding, the wizard placed a thin, white hand upon the OrbWard's slumping shoulders and with uncharacteristic understanding said, "It cannot be helped, Ovid. Sometimes others don't hear a calling as clearly as we. Lance is right, we must go before Xenos locates us."

With one last, hopeful glance back toward the retreating woman, Ovid nodded. With both palms upturned, he held the Orb out before him and closed his eyes. At the same time, the wizard began to mumble as he took up a stance beside him. Ancient words, recognized, but their meaning unknown to the others, flowed from his parted lips and were quickly stolen from him to mingle with the howl of the now boisterous winds.

The Wizard's and the OrbWard's minds melded, allowing the Orb to become their consciousness. A light formed within the center of the clear ball, building in its intensity. Small waves of energy crisscrossed the smooth surface and flared outward, flashing into the empty air before them. A hazy spot emerged from the strike point, ripping the fragile air and solidifying it into a large quivering, gray puddle suspended above the ground. An opaque dot formed at its center and expanded, its touch melting the grayish veil, revealing a doorway at its core.

Lance shouldered aside lingering matter and stepped through, Twins in tow. In the distance, from the direction the woman had gone, he heard a loud popping, and then another. Someone screamed, but he was now too deep within the portal to see the land he had left. Aldous sprang through, followed quickly by the OrbWard.

Ovid turned to shield the Orb, and was practically knocked backwards by a figure leaping through after them.

Another loud pop cracked the air, and an object whizzed past them, its flight echoing deep within the tunnel.

"Quick, slam it shut!" Dione shouted.

Wide-eyed, the OrbWard moved quickly to comply, shielding the Orb completely. With its light extinguished, the portal sealed, leaving them standing between worlds in a dimly lit tunnel.

She looked around at her new companions. In answer to the large blond man standing before her, his brows raised in question, she shrugged, "I changed my mind. Never let it be said that Dione Amber Clancy Blume turned down an adventure!"

"No, never let it be said," Lance echoed dryly.

Copyright® - No part of this may be reproduced without permission)

I am very pleased to announce that Summersong, from the anthology TWICE UPON AN EVENTIDE has won an EPPIE for Best Anthology - Single Title Story/Novella!

Please join me in my Snoopy dance!

YOU DON'T WANT TO MISS THIS! 

In celebration of the grand opening of the new Books We Love Reader's group at Yahoo, we're inviting you to get acquainted with some of our BWL authors by participating in a fun scavenger hunt. We promise it isn't hard. You just need to join the group and then follow the provided links listed on the loop the morning of March 20th, answer some really easy questions, send them to Ginger and wait to see if you've won. The answers are all hiding in plain site at the various websites…you just have to find and collect them all to be entered into a drawing for one of eighteen books. Some will even be personally autographed. You'll have two days to hunt. The contest ends Saturday at midnight.

All entries must be received by Ginger Simpson at mizging@gmail.com by noon on Sunday, March 22, 2009. Winners will be announced shortly thereafter.       

Whether you come to play or not, we hope you will join us in celebrating the beginning of what we hope will be a stimulating and pleasant group experience. If you aren't familiar with us, please visit http://www.bookswelove.net to get an idea of who we are and what we're about.

I'm sure you may have already played in a contest or two there. If not, maybe you'd like to enter one while you're there.

Jude Pittman has assembled a wonderful group of talented authors, but without readers, that talent has no purpose. Remember, Saturday, March 20th.       

Come join us on the BWL Reader's group and help us welcome in Spring!  

Portals
By Sheri L. McGathy

Part One (As is, And I really mean that )
Copyright® - No part of this may be reproduced without permission)

Prologue

Lord Daytus forced his armor-clad hand tighter about the reins as he looked down from his lofty perch. The battle had gone as anticipated; he was victorious. Now, all he need do was claim his prize.

He allowed a covetous leer to replace the stern countenance he had maintained throughout the siege. The leer grew wider . . . eager . . . as he kneed his mount forward to begin his descent to the valley floor below and onward to the fortress.

The dual moons of Egressus peered lazily down at him from their regal perch in the darkening skies. Their waning faces lent an eerie light to his descent, amplifying his form to create a long, pale shadow that fouled the land as it passed over–an omen of pending doom.

Having reached the causeway, he kicked his mount into a fleet-footed prance and drew under the arched gateway to emerge within the outer bailey. His heart raced with his eagerness. He had waited a very long time for this precise moment . . . he intended to relish it.

Looking about, he saw that his men had already commandeered the area and were about administrating the law . . . his law.

Spying a Spirit Raider Commander, he waved him near. “Where are they? I would see them grovel.”

The man seemed to squirm, unable to meet his steely stare as he stammered, “My Lord, they have fled. The Wizard Ja Aval must have opened the portals and sent them through. There is no one of import left here.”

“What!” Lord Daytus bellowed, outrage turning his eyes a fiery red. He slammed his mailed fist against his leg and dismounted, causing many to drop their heads or lower their eyes as he passed.

“Follow me, and send word that I would have Tar-Varel brought here. The portals must be traced, no matter how long it takes, nor how exacting that task becomes.” Silently, he promised, They will not escape me so easily. I will know the direction they have fled, and then . . . then, they are mine!

Clinching his fists tightly to his sides, he entered the Hall, barely able to stifle a growl as he peered down at the shimmering pile of powdered residue left by the recently opened portal.

Throwing his head back, he howled into the dark, barren chamber, “Ja Aval, how did you know? Old man, if you can still hear me, know this: You will not fulfill your ambitions, not while I remain determined to thwart you. I concede the battle, for now, but the final victory shall be mine. It will be me controlling the Orb . . . me transforming the worlds…not your weak, chosen few. This, I promise you!”

A phantom breeze rose, whipped at his cloak, its breath sending the pile of gossamer residue leaping over his boots. A distant cackle echoed through the chamber, chasing the breeze, and he knew Ja Aval had heard.

Continued in Chapter One
"Dione Amber Clancy Blume–'Rest in Peace'"

Coming next month!

Please Note:

Copyright® - No part of this may be reproduced without permission)

Hi everyone!

Today I'm interviewing fantasy author Keta Diablo. I hope you enjoy learning a bit about her and her work.

Sheri

"Fantasy lives in all of us. We long to be carried away to an extraordinary world, contrary to the one we live in. In Dust and Moonlight I’ve tried to do just that. Join me in a journey where magical powers and true identities are concealed, where an ordinary woman is thrust into a mystical land that threatens her very existence. Kira must rely on conventional wisdom to stay alive in this alien kingdom where wizards, sorcerers and evil reside. Well, conventional wisdom and a wee bit of help from her deceased grandmother who practiced witchcraft in her day. When she meets Balion, Prince of Locke Cress, she discovers cosmic love, a love that crosses all boundaries and withstands the test of time. Live the fantasy, believe in the magic, and join Kira for the adventure of her life . . . and yours." ~Keta~

Please share with us your path to being published. How long did you write before your first book was published?

I wrote historical romance under a pen name for four years and was blessed to have my very first book accepted. It was a medium-sized e-publisher, but I’m still very grateful for the opportunity. One must struggle with angst and setbacks along the journey in order to enjoy the splendid view if they ever make it to the top of the mountain.

Have you ever finaled or won in a writing contest? If so, which contest(s), which book(s), and which year(s)? Do you feel contests are a good use of your energy and time? Would you recommend that writers enter them? Why or why not?

Again, the lucky stars aligned when I finaled in the Molly Contest this year for my novel, Decadent Deceptions. It was so thrilling to receive an e-mail that said, “Congratulations, Keta Diablo, you finaled in the Molly Contest.” I entered and then forgot all about it because it was the first contest I ever entered.

Yes, I feel contests are important for the aspiring writer and the established author. Although I didn’t win the Molly, the feedback I received was immensely helpful. A great learning experience.

What is your favorite animal, real or mythical, and why?

This is a toss-up between cats and dogs. I rescued my lovable, furry kitty from the animal shelter last year. I visited her about three times before I took her home, and she was so lost, so forlorn. Her family moved out of town and took their furniture, but left her behind. Go figure! The shelter was about to put her down so I adopted her. We’re bonded at the hip now, and she is most definitely “Queen” of the abode.

I lost my Sheltie, True Blue, last year after eleven years of faithful friendship. He used to lay behind my desk chair, and even now, I sometimes feel him there.

If you decided to no longer write, what would you do instead?

I can’t imagine not writing, but if I must say, I always wanted to be a singer. If only I had a voice. I think it would be the ultimate trip to walk on stage and have thousands of people scream, whistle, and pass out just because you showed up. Then I’d sit down at the piano and sing “Answer” like Sara McLachlan does. The quintessential high!

What are your best promotion tips for other writers? What works best for you?

Join as many writers’ groups that time permits and network with other writers. Contracting the book is only part of the journey. Marketing and promoting in this business is crucial. If you think of the thousands of books out there, what would make yours stand out? It’s up to you to convince people that your book is special, will knock their socks off. Then you cross your fingers and pray that it does.

Where do you get your ideas for your stories?

Many times from my dreams. I know that sounds corny, but people have very active imaginations while they sleep. Scary, vivid, over-the-top, these visions and dreams make for good material. For Dust and Moonlight, two friends talked me into writing an anthology with them. I told them I had never written fantasy before, but they insisted I could do it. Before the anthology was published, we sent out some pre-reviews and the feedback was phenomenal for Dust and Moonlight. I bowed out of the anthology as soon as they found a replacement and turned it into a full-length novel. Don’t ever tell yourself you can’t write sci-fi, horror, or even suspense. You don’t know until you try, and it was such a fun adventure creating the magical, mystical world in Dust and Moonlight.  

So, tell us a little about yourself? What is your typical day like?

Oh-oh. I bet some people think authors ride around in limos and eat chocolate bonbons all day. Truthfully, you can find me at the computer from early morning until late at night (and I do mean late) pounding away on the keyboard, answering e-mails, promoting, and marketing. I lead such an unglamorous life, it’s pathetic. Would I trade it for another occupation? Never.

When did you start to write, and how long did it take you to get published?

I was very blessed in this area. I have always written in one form or another. I worked as a newspaper reporter for years (and as a paralegal) and then the “romance” bug hit me about seven years ago. Once I started creating the stories that were rambling about my head, the rest was history. It took me about a year to get my first story published.

What influenced you to write?

 The creativity, the word-building and ability to tell a story from beginning to end and watch the characters morph into caring, loving human beings. Being your own boss ain’t too shabby either.

What inspired you to write romance?

Again, developing the relationship between the hero and the heroine, whether they live in the Old West or in another realm. Love is love and crosses all boundaries, forges all time.

What genre or sub-genre do you write? Why did you choose this genre?

Generally I lean toward historical because I love research. This goes back to my days as a paralegal and my love for genealogy. Yet many of my stories have a natural bent toward the paranormal, and I don’t know where that comes from.  

What difficulty does writing this genre present?

In historical you must be very accurate. Readers are astute and will call you on mistakes. For fantasy, readers are more lenient. Who is to say that unicorns didn’t exist in this mystical kingdom or that spotted cats had fangs as big as a thigh? Both genres have their challenges and their strong points.

Tell us about your other works, books, stories, etc.

Right now, I’m working on the sequel to Dust and Moonlight, Dust and Starlight, of course, due out in March through Siren. Wow, I best get going! And I always have about three novellas in the works since I write for four publishers: Phaze, Siren, Ravenous Romance, and Noble Romance. My historical, Land of Falling Stars just made the top ten bestseller list at Ravenous. I’m so proud!

How do you write? Are you a pantser or a plotter? Is it your characters or your plot that influences you the most?

I’m a "panster." I never start at the beginning of the story, but write a scene that might end up in the middle of the book. From there, I work backward or forward and let the characters lead me on the journey. I don’t do outlines or keep note cards . . . I know, unconventional, but it works for me.

How do you choose your characters' names?

Often from phone books, baby books, or from credits that roll at the end of movies. You’d be surprised how many combinations you can put together that always seem to fit one of your characters. If I’m stumped, I live with the character for a while and she/he names themselves based on their quirks, their habits.

What is the coolest thing about being an author?

Without question, independence and the ability to be your own boss. Of course, you must be disciplined and meet your deadlines, keep your promises, but there is no one standing over my shoulder telling me to get to work.

What has surprised you about being a published author?

I still have trouble believing that people actually take the time to e-mail me and tell me they loved my book. This is so rewarding and pushes me harder to keep on writing. There is nothing more rewarding than knowing that for a short time you transported someone to another world and they loved the visit.

What do you like to do when you aren't writing?

Sleep, garden, read, play with my furry friends and then sleep some more.

If you could spend an hour talking to anyone from any time in history, who would it be? And why?

Scarlett O’Hara (Vivian Leigh) and then beg her to teach me how to make all those fantastic facial expressions. With one raised eyebrow she could bring the strongest of heart to their knees, and her smile was absolutely devastating.

What is your all time favorite book?

The easiest question of all . . . To Kill A Mockingbird. I was transported to another world, could feel the old fence scrape against my pants, smell the hot southern air, and taste the prejudice. I was ten when I first read it and read it at least once a year. Harper Lee is one of the best writers ever!

What advice would you give aspiring writers today?

Persevere and if anyone tells you you’re wasting you’re time, ditch them. This would include family. Don’t listen to the naysayers, the negative people who tell you one in a million make it. What if the millionth one decided not to write that book?

Thank you so much for having me as your guest today, Sheri, and thanks to everyone for stopping by and reading my interview.

I’m holding a little contest until the end of February. Go to my web site and e-mail me the name of the kingdom Prince Balion rules. Put “contest” in the subject of your e-mail and I’ll draw a winner for a free copy of Dust and Moonlight on February 1st.

Fondly, Keta Diablo
Web site: http://www.ketadiablo.com
Author blog: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com/

Happy New Year!
 
This month I've been musing about everything, or so it seems! Mainly, I've been giving the coming year a bit of thought. The New Year is a time to reflect upon the old year as it departs and embrace the hope the new one offers. We look at it as a sort of changing of the guard, a new beginning.
 
Many people make resolutions. I don't anymore. I use to, but discovered I rarely kept the promises I made to myself and always felt like a failure when I did break the resolution. So, I guess, in a way I did make a resolution: I resolved to make no resolutions.
 
Having said all that, I have been musing about 2009 and what I want to accomplish. I'd like to find a comfortable medium between self-promotion and my conscience. While I realize it has to be done, it feels rather like I am begging, and well, that makes me uncomfortable. I'd like to finish a novel I started some time back. Hole in the Sky. I'd like to make time to read more of others work, not allow my energy to be so totally consumed by the day's events that I have nothing left, no spare energy to just read. Or to write.
 
Speaking of reading and writing. I did manage to finish a chapter about fairies for a paranormal guide. My fingers are crossed it is accepted. As to reading? I just finished The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Even though there were some things I felt could have been or should have been explained deeper, I truly enjoyed this book. The whole notion of a living boy being raised by the dead intrigued me. Imagine it…a living child given sanctuary by the dead and granted all the privileges of the graveyard. A living child who could, for all practical purposes, do things only spirits should be able to do.
 
Nobody Owens, Bod for short, raised from a toddler, protected from the outside world by the graveyard and hidden away from the man who killed Bod's family and still wants to kill him. The Graveyard Book made me ponder things and that isn't a bad thing at all. Pondering leads to notions, notions lead to ideas, and, hopefully, those ideas lead to stories.

Not a bad thing at all.

This is an excerpt from Summersong, originally posted for others to consider for the PEARL nominations, but I thought I'd share here. I hope you enjoy, Sheri

TWICE UPON AN EVENTIDE
By Shannah Biondine and Sheri L. McGathy
ISBN-10: 1554045738 / ISBN-13: 978-1554045730

Award-winning fantasy authors Shannah Biondine and Sheri L. McGathy team up again, delivering twice the mystical adventure in this enthralling duet, Twice Upon an Eventide. Here are faraway worlds of danger and intrigue, where dark mirrors hold strange and dark secrets.

A Varlet's Bond (Shannah Biondine)
Captain Praxis, wyvern rider, former slave turned royal reeve and bounty hunter, has never forgotten her brief partnership with Prince Zavend of Glacia. Years have passed and now find Praxis a wealthy woman and sometime comrade of Zavend's disreputable brother, Vitus. A twist of fate draws all three back to the heart of Glacia, where an evil is spreading across the land. Can anyone or any sworn oath be trusted? Will Praxis find her heart soaring higher than a wyvern or crushed once and for all?

Summersong (Sheri L. McGathy)
Summersong, a magical border Keep created to maintain the fragile peace between Man and Faery, has lost its glory, its grandeur, and its loyal guardians. The land is dark, filled with turmoil. Yet, one bright glimmer of hope still exists. Long ago, Myree, daughter of a proud nobleman, made a childish vow of undying love in a secluded garden to heroic young Connair. Now grown, Connair has not forgotten that pledge. When Myree is abducted into a realm of shadows, he risks everything in his quest to save her and recover the heart of Summersong.

Excerpt

Summersong By Sheri L. McGathy

Long after the wizard completed his tale, the old storyteller remained quiet. He stared into the fire, but his gaze was far away, focused on something only he could see. Firelight danced in his eyes as he finally spoke, his voice soft and wistful, "Once, long ago, there was an ancient border Keep that dwelled between the realms of Man and Faery.

"They called it Summersong–a place of light and heart, peopled by those born of stardust, a gift from the winds of forevermore. Yet, Summersong was also a place where shadows lingered just beyond your sight, ever waiting for a chance to swallow the light and silence the beating of its heart."

The old storyteller leaned back against a fallen tree trunk. As he stretched out his long legs, he added, "Few ever knew the secret that Summersong kept or the real purpose it served.

"But evil, as evil is wont to do, befell Summersong and the Keep's true intent was soon forgotten by even those few.

"This is Summersong's tale. . . ."

Prologue
Summersong Silenced

She stood motionless within the silent bailey, with only a tear to show her grief. Nothing stirred. No mournful cries reached her ears. Summersong had been abandoned. Death stalked its lifeless halls. The great bloodline of the Far-mura stood sentinel no longer. Now only shades guarded the border between Man and Faery. She would find no solace here.

The stench of death nearly choked her, yet she refused to look away. The barrenness of the place matched the emptiness of her soul. Summersong's sorrow mirrored her own. Each had lost much this day, their hearts torn asunder. Summersong's heart lay cold and still upon the bloodied cobblestones while hers lay locked away in a horse-drawn carriage with her child–a child taken from her before drawing a single breath.
 
"My lady." Her handmaiden laid a hand on her arm. "Death reigns here, 'tis no place for the living. Come away, now. Let us seek shelter elsewhere."

When the lady did not move, the handmaiden glanced nervously over her shoulder before renewing her urgings. "We must be gone before others arrive to lay claim. They will surely blame us for this massacre if we are found here. The fragile peace of our two peoples will shatter. They will no longer trust our kind. Please. My lady, come away."

"Trust is fleeting," the lady said, her voice flat and emotionless. "Allegiances change as quickly as the seasons and all memory of former ties easily forgotten with no thought given to those who may be harmed." She shook her head as she gazed out to the dead. "Yet, compassion should never be forgotten. It is what makes us whole."

She tightened her fingers over the handmaiden's still grasping her sleeve. "The Far-mura knew this. They showed our people great kindness at a time when few would. I cannot repay them by leaving their spirits to an earthly limbo. The death rites must be performed. Their spirits must be set free. No pure trueborn Far-mura remains to see this done, so I shall do it for them."

"My lady, the others, they–"

"They do not tolerate what they do not understand, nor will their nature allow them to seek beyond what is shown to the truth that lies beneath. If we leave now, they will bury the Far-mura within the earth as they do their own, thinking it a kindness. Yet, without the words to set their souls free from their now useless flesh, the spirit of each Far-mura will be bound to the earth, unable to touch the sky or blend their voices with the ancient song of the wind. The spirit of Summersong will be silenced forever."

A visible shiver raced along the handmaiden's arm.

"It is too risky, my lady, you are too weak. The chants will tax you further. You will surely perish–"

"Nay, it is the right thing to do, regardless of the risk involved. Do not question my judgment. I will sing the words. Then," she said, as she pulled her cloak tight about her, "I will seek out those who have done this dishonorable deed and exact revenge for those who cannot."

The handmaiden sighed before saying, "Then you must lean on me, my lady, I will give you what strength I possess." She signaled to two burly warriors standing near the gatehouse wall. "Come, our mistress requires your aid."

Not waiting for the strength of her warriors, the lady leaned heavily upon her handmaid's arm as she raised her face to the sky and sang, "Hear my pleas, Father Wind, spoken for those who no longer have voice. Come, carry their souls to the homelands of old so that their spirits may return to the night skies and shine anew."

A gentle caress from a warm western wind wiped the sweat from her brow and eased the song from her lips. The sacred words of the Far-mura death chant echoed throughout the Keep, the solemn notes made all the more lonely by the unnatural silence hanging over the place. Soon, her voice merged with the mournful wails of Far-mura spirits as they abandoned their earthly vessels and soared skyward to join the wind in its ethereal dance.
 
The sun had set by the time the last spirit was set free and silence claimed the Keep once again. Exhausted, she sank to her knees upon the still warm cobblestones and let the evening breeze cool her fevered skin. As her handmaid had warned, the task had nearly drained her of her life force. It would be many days before she recovered, if she found the will to recover at all. She was no longer sure she wished to live in the light.

Her thoughts strayed back to her lost child, to the pain that crippled her will. As a sob tore from her throat, a weak cry echoed across the bailey. A child's cry.

She struggled to her feet. "Did you hear that?"

The warriors and the handmaid nodded. One of the warrior's pointed toward the far end of the bailey. "The sound came from within the Keep."

She motioned for silence. At first, she heard only the eerie wail of the wind as it swooped down upon the lifeless bailey, and then, faintly, almost without hope that someone would hear, the cry came again.
She stretched her hands out. "Take me there, now."

One of the warriors scooped her into his arms and carried her into the Great Hall. Death greeted them, yet a spark of life lingered in its dark midst.

"There," she said, pointing toward the grand fireplace at the far end of the room.

As they drew closer, the truth was revealed. On the floor, covered in her own blood, lay a lady of Summersong, her newborn child suckling her lifeless breast while resting a hand against the dagger hilt that had pierced the mother's heart. Pieces of dark glass clung to them both. Near them, his body littered with more of the strange dark glass, lay a Far-mura guardian, dead by his own hand, his fingers still curled about the dagger's hilt. A smile haunted his pale lips.

With shaking fingers, she lifted the child from the dead mother's arms and offered her own milk-heavy breast to suckle. As the babe clung to her, the light of hope renewed within her grieving heart.

"I claim this foundling for my own," she whispered against the softness of the child's hair.

"My lady," her handmaid said, "if you take the child, those who sought to destroy the Far-mura down to the last man, woman, and child will know they have failed. When the child's body is not found, their evil gaze will turn toward us."

She wrapped the child in the hem of her skirt. "Then I shall offer my own child in exchange so none will be the wiser." She met her handmaid's concerned gaze. "And none save us shall know the truth. I will have your words on it. The truth will remain here with the dead for the dead know how to keep their secrets."
 
As each nodded in turn, she added, "This child I hold in my arms belongs to the living, while the child of my flesh now resides with the spirits. I do no more than leave behind a reflection of what could have been while offering to another the promise of what could one day be.

"Come," she said as she stood, the child nestled close to her heart. "Let us fade from this world until the memory of the Far-mura is but a distant dream."

This is a reprint of a musing I posted in 2006, with modifications. I thought it still fitting! Sheri

This month I've been musing about Samhain, pronounced "Sow-ain, Sow-en, or SAW in," more commonly known as Halloween or All Hallow's Eve though Samhain was believed to mark summer's end rather than signal our little spooks and goblins to run door to door giggling as they try to scream, "Trick-or-Treat."

There are many, MANY references alluding to Samhain, which, of course causes me to muse. I don't know the true origins of the Halloween we celebrate today though I've heard many different accounts. I've read that the ancient Celts believed Samhain was a time when the old year died and the new one was born again on November 1st. Samhain said goodbye to summer and ushered in winter.

The references I find the most fascinating are those that state that Samhain is a time of transition, from old to new, death to life/life to death, the known to the unknown. It is said that the veil that separates the world of the living from that of the dead is at its thinnest at this time . . . allowing the souls of the dead to cross back into the land of the living, if only for a short while. In preparation, the living would offer fruits and vegetables and light hilltop bonfires to serve as a guide for these souls. The bonfires were kept lit all night not only as beacons, but to frighten away evil spirits and protect the living from harm.

I've always believed Halloween a magical time, a moment when the impossible becomes plausible and reality blurs. Plus, it means November 1st isn't far behind, which never fails to make me smile. If you think you know why November 1st is special to me, post a reply to this blog before November 15th with your answer as well as why you like Halloween, and I'll place your name in a hat for a chance to win a signed copy of OMNIBUS.

Happy Halloween!

Sheri

As summer slowly ebbs, and fall looms, I find myself once again musing about beginnings and ends, life and death, and the mystery of it all. In fact, for the last few years, death has never been far from my thoughts. It sneaks into my musings when least expected; it haunts me. It could be the time of year that makes it sharper as September and October are months that remind me of my own personal losses.

I lost my dad in September 2005 to natural aging, and my only brother/sibling in October 2007 to cancer. For me, there was barely enough time to come to terms with one loss when another occurred. Dealing with my own beliefs, sadness, and loss, has forced me to face many of my hidden or unfaced fears about death. Thus, death haunts me.

In my mind, death is the ultimate journey, a step into the unknown, a journey that the living cannot follow. Many claim to know what lies beyond, some, actually from dying, if only for a moment, some because they have the ability to look beyond that mysterious veil that separates the living from the dead. Still others claim to have had loved ones return to reassure them that all was well. For most of us, there are no assurances.

Religious beliefs, I feel, ease some of the worry for their loved ones as they travel beyond this realm. Faith that they are in a better place helps the living accept their loss without trepidation. They still feel the grief, but they accept death with far better grace than those who hold the belief that it is, in truth, the end.

Many, confused and afraid of that loss, seek others who claim to be able to contact the departed, the living desperately needing to know that a loved one is fine, before the living can move on.

I recall worrying about my dad after he died. Was he okay? Comfortable? Happy? Did his mom and dad and all his siblings come to meet him? Did they embrace, shedding tears of joy even as the living shed their own tears of loss? Would he be reborn into a better life than the one he left behind? And my brother? Did the family once again gather to embrace him? Shed their tears? I hope so, I certainly want to believe it is true, but I don't know.

Death still scares me; it is a thief in the night, an unknown that defies answers, regardless of my personal beliefs. I recall as a child being carted off to some family member's funeral, where the departed actually was laid out in the family parlor and they had a wake. It was probably my earliest memory of death, and one that has never faded. I stood there, my eyes barely level with the table the departed had been laid out on, and as I pondered the whole notion of death through youthful curiosity, the man on the table actually sat up! No one in the room seemed to worry to awfully much about it, the man's wife just pushed him back down and the wake continued. At the cemetery, as they lowered him into the ground, I recall the horror I felt that they were burying this man alive though the adults in my life assured me they were not. Now that I am grown, I understand why he sat up, but it was that single moment in my young life that started my own quest for understanding knowing there would be no certainties until the day I myself must take that journey.

One thing I've learned and come to accept through my own personal losses is that death requires, no demands, your attention. You have to deal with it, come to terms with it, and face the reality of it regardless of your uncertainties and fears. I've learned that, in time, you do come to accept death, even though you never truly get over the pain of the loss.

You have to give death time, for the grieving, the sadness, the emptiness, and eventually the emergence of fond and even happy memories. And memories come, hitting you in waves of nostalgia easily summoned by a song, a smell, or a whispered word said just the right way. When this happens, the memory of the loss returns, in force, and you are swept up in emotions you thought you had finally laid to rest. No warning. It just happens. And for a time there, as the memories overcome you, both good and bad, those who have left us, live again.