Here you will find my current projects. Introducing to you Jade Sorrows my broken warrior set on revenge and burning the world down around her. I hope you enjoy and feel free to send me feedback on what you enjoy or even which parts you don't like.
Jade Sorrows Book 1- They Call me Death
1
The stench of death and rot was a familiar odour in the dark streets of Midere, a small border town far from the protective walls of the city. That infamous, pulsing glow on the horizon was a painful, visual separation of those fortunate enough to live within the wards and those who could not come by enough coin to secure protection. Here men, women and children braved living with the nightly threat of attack from the creatures in the shadows.
Beyond those soft lights miles to the west, pacing those tall, white structures, were the city Guard. Their armour crafted of steel, layered and warded with runes, their swords sharpened to viscious edges. Gold lined their coin purses as those who lived in the Upper Provinces of Lalipia City paid well for the belief they were safe. I sneered at the thought. They were wealthy enough only to be privileged with ignorance and foolishness.
In Midere they could not afford such flippancy. The children learned the way of sword and dagger quickly, learned to fend for themselves with near blunted blades. Women were skilled with bow and arrow should any creature of the night trespass in to their homes. None left their meager shelters weaponless. To do so would mean death. A quick one, if they were lucky. The things writhing on the edges of the mortal lands had a penchant for playing with their victims, their prey. Once night came, the disturbing silence and rising stink of blood and decay settled over the small towns , signaling all to bolt their doors and Mark their windows. Every breath was held. Sleep hard to find. The underlying scent of fear would cling to this place until the first light of morning sent the creatures slinking off to whichever world they came from.
I walked the paths as the half-moon above highlighted the eerie gloom. Things scampered, leaving eddying mists in their wake. Flashes of inhuman eyes flickered towards me. They chittered in an unknown language, watching my journey. A woman out after dark. A woman alone. I smirked at their caution as they sniffed the air around the one who dared travel the night without the protection of a spelled amulet or trinket. The only weapons I carried were two long-bladed daggers, gently bumping against my thighs, hanging from a dark leather belt.
Movement caught my eye. I shifted subtly to the left, touching the hilt of a dagger. A hunched-back creature slipped from one shadow to another along the rudimentry houses. It met my glare briefly, near blind, red eyes darting in all directions. It's nostrils flared and a black tongue whipped out, tasting the air. I watched as it considered its chances against me, inhaling deeply. An understanding passed between us. An understanding that here, among the more inferior of its kind, I was the predator. Still, I slid the dagger in to my hand, fingers curling around the cool bone of its hilt.
“Not this night, creature,” I told it softly, my voice carrying on a soft breeze. “My business is elsewhere this night.”
It hissed, hesitating before it backed away and flitted from house to house until it vanished in to the darkness. Dagger resheathed, I continued my journey deeper in to the border town. Midere was small, one of the furthest away from the city. It was a perfect place to avoid soldiers and royal guardians. An ideal town to deal with business and my personal needs.
Tonight was personal.
I walked unhindered to the marketplace, moving past several stalls. The merchent's centre, during the sunlight hours, was the life of the town with traders calling to all to buy their wares. Some local; the baker with warm, fresh bread and pastries, the seamstress showing off her skills with simple fabrics, the young boy down the street, a talented carpenter, selling tables and chairs. Then there were the days when travelling vendors would stay for a time, showing off their foreign trinkets and spices, offering food that the townspeople rarely saw and coveted. They would seek shelter in Midere's only tavern where there were two guestrooms above. Even hours after the merchants had gone to bed, I could still catch the scent of paraffin and warm sweet rolls, the lingering remnants of wet fur and repugnant body odour. Beyond that was the aroma of wood burning and in the far distance, the muskiness of the farm animals huddled together in barns to wait out the night with soft lamps to protect them.
Slipping past the town's centre, I stepped on to a narrow dirt path and made my way to a small house with a crooked, wooden door and sloping roof that seemed to reach out for its neighbour, begging to be kept upright. At a glance it seemed unsafe, but it had stood this way since I could remember and I'd been coming here since I was a child.
Three taps of my knuckles against the wood and I waited. A dying fire could be seen through the narrow, dirty window. I drummed my fingers against the glass for a few moments before the door opened barely wide enough for me to slip inside. It was closed quickly and bolted tight against the night. I raised my eyebrows at the slight. The concern for safety was unnecessary. While I was here I would not let harm come to my oldest friend.
Letting the mild insult pass by, I shrugged off my rich, green travelling coat and glanced around the small room. Rows upon rows of ink vials cluttered the shelves lining the walls. Every shade of colour imaginable trapped inside the glass, each labeled carefully in neat script, organized from dark to light. Needles were lined up on a table along with several ink vials, ready for my arrival. In every other available space, pinned to walls and piled on the floor, were sketches, designs, symbols and maps. All drawn by hand in charcoal. Yet, through the colours and papers, instruments of the trade and mismatched furniture, one object demanded my attention. It always did.
Without meaning to, my hand reached out and I found myself running a finger along a sharp, curved blade and over the cool, rosewood hilt. The wood was worn, well used. Several nicks marred the varnish and the delicately carved flower petals. Flickering light from the fireplace danced along its surface. The sword was beautiful. My thumb slid over those three petals. Warmth burned low in my throat as I swallowed quickly and stepped away.
“It belongs to you,” said the grumbling voice of the one man I trusted with my life. “It always will be. When you’re ready.”
I tore my gaze away from the elegant sword and settled them on my friend. His eyes held no judgment, no pity. Just a certainty that one day I would take up the blade.
“I doubt that day will come, Faige.”
He shrugged his large shoulders, willing to let the old argument pass by peacefully. One of the many reasons I enjoyed Faige’s company, this man who sheltered me during times of trouble. He rarely questioned or pried in to my life. He offered advice and harsh truths but never once had he forced me in one direction or another.
Faige gestured towards a high backed chair in the centre of the room. “Get comfortable.” He grinned, “At least, as comfortable as you can.”
I nodded and removed the leather belt at my waist. The sheathed daggers clattered as I lowered them to the floor. Ignoring the emptiness I felt when the weapons left my body, I unbuttoned the white shirt I wore and lifted it over my head, draping it over the daggers. Last came my winter vest, joining the pile, and I stood, exposed from the waist up. The chill of the night and warmth of the fire battled against my skin, leaving it tight with gooseflesh. I straddled the chair the wrong way, my cheek resting against the wooden back and arms wrapped around it, fingers clasped together.
In that position I waited, listening to Faige drag a chair behind me and organize his instruments. My keen senses tracking his movements around the room, each breath he took, every crackle of flame licking against logs. After a moment Faige's fingers touched the bare skin of my back gently, adjusting me. There was no intimacy between my old friend and I. He was interested in only one thing; the craftsmanship of the tattoo drifting down my spine from the base of my skull to just above the swell of my backside. Lush green leaves swirled around pale pink orchids. It was unfinished, waiting for his artistic ingenuity. Petals would fall from the flowers. Three of them. Matching the symbol on the sword across the room.
Faige heated the tips of the needles above the flame of a candle until they glowed orange. Then, he carefully dipped the hot metal in to his inks. He glanced at me briefly before setting to work on the tattoo. I tensed as pain lashed the skin and pricked every nerve.
Gripping the back of the chair, knuckles white, I sighed heavily and let my mind travel far away from this small house, away from the strange sounds coming from otherworldly creatures outside. I gave myself over to the pain even as a tear stung beneath my eyelashes. I closed my eyes, allowing it to fall, remembering a time when pain did not give me relief. A time before the world I lived in became so dark.
1
The stench of death and rot was a familiar odour in the dark streets of Midere, a small border town far from the protective walls of the city. That infamous, pulsing glow on the horizon was a painful, visual separation of those fortunate enough to live within the wards and those who could not come by enough coin to secure protection. Here men, women and children braved living with the nightly threat of attack from the creatures in the shadows.
Beyond those soft lights miles to the west, pacing those tall, white structures, were the city Guard. Their armour crafted of steel, layered and warded with runes, their swords sharpened to viscious edges. Gold lined their coin purses as those who lived in the Upper Provinces of Lalipia City paid well for the belief they were safe. I sneered at the thought. They were wealthy enough only to be privileged with ignorance and foolishness.
In Midere they could not afford such flippancy. The children learned the way of sword and dagger quickly, learned to fend for themselves with near blunted blades. Women were skilled with bow and arrow should any creature of the night trespass in to their homes. None left their meager shelters weaponless. To do so would mean death. A quick one, if they were lucky. The things writhing on the edges of the mortal lands had a penchant for playing with their victims, their prey. Once night came, the disturbing silence and rising stink of blood and decay settled over the small towns , signaling all to bolt their doors and Mark their windows. Every breath was held. Sleep hard to find. The underlying scent of fear would cling to this place until the first light of morning sent the creatures slinking off to whichever world they came from.
I walked the paths as the half-moon above highlighted the eerie gloom. Things scampered, leaving eddying mists in their wake. Flashes of inhuman eyes flickered towards me. They chittered in an unknown language, watching my journey. A woman out after dark. A woman alone. I smirked at their caution as they sniffed the air around the one who dared travel the night without the protection of a spelled amulet or trinket. The only weapons I carried were two long-bladed daggers, gently bumping against my thighs, hanging from a dark leather belt.
Movement caught my eye. I shifted subtly to the left, touching the hilt of a dagger. A hunched-back creature slipped from one shadow to another along the rudimentry houses. It met my glare briefly, near blind, red eyes darting in all directions. It's nostrils flared and a black tongue whipped out, tasting the air. I watched as it considered its chances against me, inhaling deeply. An understanding passed between us. An understanding that here, among the more inferior of its kind, I was the predator. Still, I slid the dagger in to my hand, fingers curling around the cool bone of its hilt.
“Not this night, creature,” I told it softly, my voice carrying on a soft breeze. “My business is elsewhere this night.”
It hissed, hesitating before it backed away and flitted from house to house until it vanished in to the darkness. Dagger resheathed, I continued my journey deeper in to the border town. Midere was small, one of the furthest away from the city. It was a perfect place to avoid soldiers and royal guardians. An ideal town to deal with business and my personal needs.
Tonight was personal.
I walked unhindered to the marketplace, moving past several stalls. The merchent's centre, during the sunlight hours, was the life of the town with traders calling to all to buy their wares. Some local; the baker with warm, fresh bread and pastries, the seamstress showing off her skills with simple fabrics, the young boy down the street, a talented carpenter, selling tables and chairs. Then there were the days when travelling vendors would stay for a time, showing off their foreign trinkets and spices, offering food that the townspeople rarely saw and coveted. They would seek shelter in Midere's only tavern where there were two guestrooms above. Even hours after the merchants had gone to bed, I could still catch the scent of paraffin and warm sweet rolls, the lingering remnants of wet fur and repugnant body odour. Beyond that was the aroma of wood burning and in the far distance, the muskiness of the farm animals huddled together in barns to wait out the night with soft lamps to protect them.
Slipping past the town's centre, I stepped on to a narrow dirt path and made my way to a small house with a crooked, wooden door and sloping roof that seemed to reach out for its neighbour, begging to be kept upright. At a glance it seemed unsafe, but it had stood this way since I could remember and I'd been coming here since I was a child.
Three taps of my knuckles against the wood and I waited. A dying fire could be seen through the narrow, dirty window. I drummed my fingers against the glass for a few moments before the door opened barely wide enough for me to slip inside. It was closed quickly and bolted tight against the night. I raised my eyebrows at the slight. The concern for safety was unnecessary. While I was here I would not let harm come to my oldest friend.
Letting the mild insult pass by, I shrugged off my rich, green travelling coat and glanced around the small room. Rows upon rows of ink vials cluttered the shelves lining the walls. Every shade of colour imaginable trapped inside the glass, each labeled carefully in neat script, organized from dark to light. Needles were lined up on a table along with several ink vials, ready for my arrival. In every other available space, pinned to walls and piled on the floor, were sketches, designs, symbols and maps. All drawn by hand in charcoal. Yet, through the colours and papers, instruments of the trade and mismatched furniture, one object demanded my attention. It always did.
Without meaning to, my hand reached out and I found myself running a finger along a sharp, curved blade and over the cool, rosewood hilt. The wood was worn, well used. Several nicks marred the varnish and the delicately carved flower petals. Flickering light from the fireplace danced along its surface. The sword was beautiful. My thumb slid over those three petals. Warmth burned low in my throat as I swallowed quickly and stepped away.
“It belongs to you,” said the grumbling voice of the one man I trusted with my life. “It always will be. When you’re ready.”
I tore my gaze away from the elegant sword and settled them on my friend. His eyes held no judgment, no pity. Just a certainty that one day I would take up the blade.
“I doubt that day will come, Faige.”
He shrugged his large shoulders, willing to let the old argument pass by peacefully. One of the many reasons I enjoyed Faige’s company, this man who sheltered me during times of trouble. He rarely questioned or pried in to my life. He offered advice and harsh truths but never once had he forced me in one direction or another.
Faige gestured towards a high backed chair in the centre of the room. “Get comfortable.” He grinned, “At least, as comfortable as you can.”
I nodded and removed the leather belt at my waist. The sheathed daggers clattered as I lowered them to the floor. Ignoring the emptiness I felt when the weapons left my body, I unbuttoned the white shirt I wore and lifted it over my head, draping it over the daggers. Last came my winter vest, joining the pile, and I stood, exposed from the waist up. The chill of the night and warmth of the fire battled against my skin, leaving it tight with gooseflesh. I straddled the chair the wrong way, my cheek resting against the wooden back and arms wrapped around it, fingers clasped together.
In that position I waited, listening to Faige drag a chair behind me and organize his instruments. My keen senses tracking his movements around the room, each breath he took, every crackle of flame licking against logs. After a moment Faige's fingers touched the bare skin of my back gently, adjusting me. There was no intimacy between my old friend and I. He was interested in only one thing; the craftsmanship of the tattoo drifting down my spine from the base of my skull to just above the swell of my backside. Lush green leaves swirled around pale pink orchids. It was unfinished, waiting for his artistic ingenuity. Petals would fall from the flowers. Three of them. Matching the symbol on the sword across the room.
Faige heated the tips of the needles above the flame of a candle until they glowed orange. Then, he carefully dipped the hot metal in to his inks. He glanced at me briefly before setting to work on the tattoo. I tensed as pain lashed the skin and pricked every nerve.
Gripping the back of the chair, knuckles white, I sighed heavily and let my mind travel far away from this small house, away from the strange sounds coming from otherworldly creatures outside. I gave myself over to the pain even as a tear stung beneath my eyelashes. I closed my eyes, allowing it to fall, remembering a time when pain did not give me relief. A time before the world I lived in became so dark.
If you answered that you would like to read one of my Previous works, I would be happy to send you a MOBI. format copy of my first book Lilith-Twin Souls Book 1 via e-mail. You can send me your details privately through Twitter, Facebook or through the contact form on this Website. I hope you enjoyed the snippet above.