I have been slowly getting my second book in the series put into a 5 inch by 8 inch format and ready for publication both for a paperback and a Kindle Edition. I thought I would add a photo and this is as close to a jungle or deep forest photo that I have so better than nothing, right?! Life tends to gets in the way, lol,
of the fun stuff and certainly the tedious part of that;) and my energy has limits but I get a bit done here and there and added excepts of the next two books, though I haven't gotten to them to rewrite yet. Their prologues are added to the end of the book for a bit of a tease;) Here they are here, just to give you an idea of what is coming (when I can find the time and push myself to see this to fruition - writing with both hands in splints right now so if that won't stop me, I think I have it covered! ha I had to copy and paste this in sections hopefully it is all there!
COMING SOON:
Sample chapter from the next adventure:
The Young lion and the castle curse
Book Three
PROLOGUE
12TH Century England
A shadow froze against the darkened wall as the chambermaid stirred the fire. She added another log, rearranged the embers with the iron poker, and pondered the flames a moment. They rose and roared and she decided she wasn't needed there anymore.
Clumsily, she rose to her feet, gathering her long skirts out of her way with one hand. She then smoothed the gray hair that went astray of the tight knot at the back of her neck and limped across the room to turn back the covers of the large canopy bed. After fluffing the feather pillows, she added another wool blanket to the foot of the bed. It was a cold and damp spring night, but the boy would be warm enough, she thought, until morning.
The shadow stepped out into the half-light as she shut the door quietly behind her. He made his way across the room, the firelight reflecting on the pewter flask he held. Slipping beside the bed, he began pouring the foul-smelling brew into the hot cup of tonic the old woman had left on the bed stand. He had only poured a small portion when the door opened and the room was flooded with the torchlight from the hallway.
The dark figure threw himself against the back wall in the room, hidden from the hated light by the large wardrobe near the bed. Leaning out around the closet, he saw who had entered. It was the boy! What is he doing back?! he cursed to himself. He did not expect the boy so soon on an evening such as this, an evening the knights were telling of their exploits. The child never came to bed early when they were spinning their yarns. He'd always sit by the fire in the great hall, totally enchanted by the fantastic tales they told, each knight trying to out-do the previous, each bent on being seen the bravest, the most adventurous. The feats of their courage, the accounts of their great deeds, became more and more like fairy-tales as the evening grew late, but the boy absorbed it all. He believed it all, every account of dragon slaying, every frightening tale of evil magicians, enchanted forests, and wicked witches. He believed and remembered every detail, remembered them better than those doing the telling. For liars, they needed much better memories.
The boy skipped into the room and jumped on the bed, bouncing up and down on the thick mattress. The shadow by the wardrobe fumed. He had not counted on this. He looked across the room to his only escape. It was blocked. The brat, he thought. The boy had even left the door to the hallway open. The light from the torches illuminated the entire room. He could not take the chance of being seen even if the child had his back turned. There might be someone walking by.
The child grew tired of bouncing and sat down on the bed. He noticed the steaming mug on his stand and took it to sniff. He grimaced. It smelled terrible. He remembered his governess telling him she expected him to drink the tonic or she would make him drink it. That prospect was worse than the stinking brew in his cup. He sipped. It was awful! He set it down and ran to the fire to spit. He couldn't get the taste from his mouth as he spit again and again.
Grimacing once more, he wondered how his old governess would know if he drank the cup's nasty contents or not. How would she know? She had gone to bed with a pain in her head and left orders for him to drink his tonic. She relied on his fear of her to make him do her bidding. Usually it worked. But how would she know this time?
He eyed the cup from across the room. He didn't need it. His cold was nearly gone. He only had the sniffles left. Besides, he didn't think the doctor knew how to cure colds. His tonics and leaches never seemed to cure any ills. All of his remedies seemed worse than the disease. This tonic was especially terrible. How would anyone know if he drank it? He smiled wryly. He could throw the tonic on the back of the fire. No one would know and he knew he could be a very convincing liar. He'd been practicing.
He bolted across the room to shut and latch his door. Just in case, he thought. The old woman had spies everywhere, but he wasn't drinking that tonic tonight. To be on the safe side, he stepped out into the hall first and checked. He ran down one way and then the next. There was no one in sight, not even the chambermaids. He was safe. He ran back into his room and bolted his door, turning just in time to see it.
It was dark and menacing as it hunched over his bed, half hidden in the shadows. It jumped back when he shrieked. Before he could get his hands on the latch to unbolt the door and run, the specter leapt over the bed and was on him.
The boy screamed again, but his pleas for help fell on empty halls. No one heard him. He was alone. Instinct took over and the boy brought his knee up, driving it hard between his attacker's legs. It brought the desired effect long enough for the boy to break free. The dark vision seemed solid enough for a ghost but the boy didn't question it. He'd heard too many tales of sinister spirits to take the time to wonder. He had to get away! He had to get out to the light! To other people!
He scrambled for the door again, but the shadow grabbed him from behind. He screamed and tried to reach his dagger on his belt. He couldn't move his arms. They were pinned. Even his mouth was now covered with this attacker's hand.
Panic cleared enough for instinct to take over again and he bit as hard as he could. Only the devil himself could have howled such unearthly wails, the boy was sure. Falling as he twisted away, he scurried on hands and knees, but by the time he was on his feet, his assailant was between him and door to the hallway. He was still trapped!
The dark figure of a man allowed himself a moment to grin at his frightened victim. With just the light of the fireplace, all that could be seen clearly was the gleam of perfect white teeth and the glint of cruel eyes. The rest of the figure was in black, even his face was blackened, everything blending into the shadows of the firelight.
The effect drove the child into a mindless panic. He ran to one side, then the other. The ghost dodged and blocked every path, laughing. It was all so easy.
Then it happened.
A large silver box, what looked to be some kind of wardrobe, magically appeared in a blaze of shimmering colors to come to rest in the corner of the bedchamber. Though the specter froze in stunned surprise, the child did not question it. This was the age of miracles and magic and as the son of a king; he fully expected to be saved from this cruel fate. The door to the magic box beckoned him to safety. He made a mad dash for it and was inside before anyone or anything could stop him.
BOOK FOUR- CAPTAIN BLACKHEART’S GOLD
Prologue
The Year 1750
Somewhere off the coast of Cuba
A square-rigger, the bark ‘Velona’, unfurled her sails and headed out of port into the open seas. The waters were calm, the evening tides slapping her sleek bow with gentle waves as she headed for the American colonies with her hold full of spices, molasses, and rum. It was one of the few times the ‘Velona’ actually carried legitimate cargo. Usually, her crew of questionable repute chose to ‘hunt’ for their living, preying on the many ships that made their way from Europe to the New World. But lately, pirating was becoming as dangerous for the hunters as it was for the hunted. Many a captain, some former outlaws themselves, had been hired to chase down the pirates. More and more vessels flying the ‘Jolly Roger’ fell prey to the cannons of these men, the survivors of their crews taken back to port for much celebrated public hangings.
On this particular night, the ‘Velona’s’ second mate manned the wheel on the late watch. He gazed up at the stars that were fast becoming obscured with heavy cloud cover and wondered if there would be a bad storm before the morning came. The wind had shifted, coming out of the Northeast, and he could taste the salty moisture on the breeze. Superstitious, he shivered at the thought of running into a storm the first day out. It surely was an evil omen.
He watched the horizon for any clue of the weather that lay ahead, always keeping a sharp eye for any silhouette that could be a pirate vessel hunting for easy cargo. As he scanned the seas, a shimmer of light appeared to the side of his vision. For only a moment, the entire deck was awash with color, lights more brilliant than any he’d seen in the skies over more northerly seas. They flickered and danced over one spot on the deck, not following the lines of the ship as the green St. Elmo’s fire would. But then, this was not any variety of lightning. Before he could call out to his mates, a stranger confronted him. There was no sound. The second-mate’s scream of terror was stopped midway in his throat. The intruder looked up from the sailor’s limp body in time to see another crewmate running up from below. He stopped him as easily, but not before his shouts of alert brought more sailors streaming up on deck, all armed with swords and knives. They surrounded the attacker. There would be no escape for him tonight, they were sure, but instead of showing fear or pleading for mercy, the intruder shocked them by grinning ear to ear and laughing out loud. With a maniacal cackle, he proceeded to point a small, cylindrical object at the nearest man, knocking him backwards with a burst of light and leaving a smoking burn in the center of his chest. The man he shot was barely flat on the deck when another sailor attacked from behind. Before he could plunge his long blade into his back, the tall, gray-eyed stranger spun around on one foot and kicked him in the head with the other. The force propelled the now unconscious man splashing into the sea below. Next, a huge bear of a man, thinking the slim attacker no match for his bulk, pushed his way through the others and lunged. The stranger simply pointed his weapon and fired, dropping him in his tracks. Another man burst from below deck and shouted. The others quickly parted way as he lowered his black-powder pistol at the attacker’s chest. That man was dead before the weapon could discharge. The men left standing stared speechless at the still smoking wounds over the dead men’s hearts. They knew this intruder was invincible. “Who is your Captain?” the stranger bellowed. “There,” he was told. The first mate, a red-haired man, pointed to the corpse with the pistol. “I ask you again,” he snapped impatiently. “Who is your Captain?” He smiled cordially at them now, but the politeness did not reach his eyes. They remained cold and menacing. The same man reluctantly met those eyes. At long last, he understood and nodded. “You are,” he said as he stroked his beard and looked around at what was left of the crew. “You are the captain, Sir.” The man smiled again as he put the weapon safely away in the breast pocket of his long, black leather coat. He patted it once as he said, “Don’t ever forget it. If you serve me and serve me well, you will be greatly rewarded. But, . . .,” he said, pausing as he looked into the eyes of each and every man, “if any one of you cross me, you will all join your crewmates at the bottom of the sea. Be very certain of that.” The men nodded their acceptance. Deep down, they shivered in the presence of this black-hearted man. His soul belonged to the devil himself, they were certain, but they were also certain of something else. This was the kind of man who could make the sea his own. With such a powerful man at the helm, they would capture riches beyond their wildest dreams. 1753 “I tell you, he’s the devil!” the black-haired man exclaimed. “No other could do what he does and get away with it!” He guzzled another ale, wiping his mouth with a filthy arm. “It can’t go on! He must be stopped, I tell you!” The tavern was nearly empty at this late hour. The five men sat huddled together in a corner off to themselves. “He shouldn’t have done them in like that,” he continued. “He killed, sure enough, when he took over the ship, but this was different! They had served him well! They did nothing to deserve a death in a savage land!” “He wanted no one alive to tell where he hid his gold,” the youngest said sadly. “We should have known better to sail with him,” another said, “a man with no name but the one given him by his enemies for his black-hearted ways! We should have known! We should have jumped ship the first port!” “I didn’t see you turning away your share of the profits,” a red-bearded man sneered. “He knew which ships carried the gold and which ships carried only sugar and flour. He knew when to take them and he took them quickly with that small, magic box of his AND without any help from us. We did little else but carry their cargo to our ship. No,” he growled as he slurped his ale and belched loudly, “you, Spencer McCaffey, you were pleased enough at the time to sail with the likes of him.” “I’ve always been afeared. He doesn’t care for any of us!” McCaffey shouted. The others hushed him and he quieted. “He doesn’t give us each a share and take double for himself, as any other captain does. We see precious little of what we take, O’Connor.” “And you do little for it, you coward,” the red-beard hissed. “He’s made our job easy and the profits far better than any other captain. You’ve nothing to whine about.” “He went into the caves with three good men and he came out alone. He wanted his secrets kept, there is no doubt, but there is something you do not know. I slipped overboard that night and I went into those caves.” He glanced around the table and swallowed hard, his eyes wild and fearful. “I went where they went. There was nothing! The men disappeared! Vanished into thin air!” The men gasped as he nodded. “How can that be?” the youngest asked. “I tell you there was no one there, dead or alive, nor no gold either in that cave,” McCaffey continued. “It was as if the earth swallowed them up. Our captain is the devil himself!” O’Connor groaned with disgust, “You talk like a frightened old woman. You just found the wrong cave.” “It was the right cave, sure enough,” he said, jumping to his feet in anger. “I know! And I know there was something strange about that place. To be certain there was no other way out, I went all the way to the back. A portion of the wall was hot! I could feel the heat coming from it! It was as if the wall rested against the very Gates of Hell! He is not of this world, I tell you! It is just a matter of time before he will do away with each and every one of us!” He sat back down and looked the first mate straight in the eyes, “Dugan was your friend, O’Connor. Can you sit there and tell me you feel nothing for his murder? Nothing for the others? Has your heart now turned to black stone like his?” O’Connor tipped his flask and downed the last of his ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked around the table at the others. “I’ve not been blind all this time. He told us we leave only when he tells us. We know we cannot jump ship. He promised to hunt down each and every one if we did and he’s madman enough to do it.” The others nodded and grunted their agreements. “That magic box of his,” he went on as he helped himself to the next man’s drink, “if you’ve noticed, he only used it twice on the last ship we plundered. He’s not used it at sea since for we’ve not gone to sea. We’ve only been harbor-hopping’, ducking in and out as if he’s afeared of being seen on the open water.” He let that thought sink in as he continued, “ I saw him put his weapon in the pocket of that long coat just before he had the men carry his stash ashore. “I’ve not seen it since. I believe the killing-box is useless to him now and he relies on fear alone to keep us in line. That is why we’ve not been hunting for any more gold. He’s lost his power.” “He still fights like the devil,” the youngest reminded him. “He’s as fast as lightning and can kill with one kick or the strike of a hand.” “Aye, but he prefers the blade,” McCaffey said with loathing. “He likes to get in close and watch the man’s eyes as he dies.” “What if there was an easy way to kill him?” O’Connor whispered. He drained the flask, setting it down hard as he belched. “What if he cannot get near us to do anything about it?” Watching the eyes of the men to be sure of their feelings, he continued. “We go to the hide-out on high tide. There he sleeps in that little house of his, alone, safe and sound as you please.” He studied the faces around the table and grinned wickedly. The ‘Velona’ and her crew were as good as his. The others shifted nervously in their seats, uncomfortable with the thoughts of killing their captain. It wasn’t moral outrage or the distaste for killing; they were killers, all. It was something far simpler than conscience. They feared Blackheart, feared him even beyond the grave. On a Tiny Island in the British West Indies Nearly every man on board the ‘Velona’ stood on shore this night. They crept silently over sand and stone as they made their way to surround the small cabin. One held his ear to the open window and motioned he could hear the breathing of the sleeping captain and all knew it would begin. A call of a bird from O’Connor was the signal of their attack. Each had a post. At the same moment, the storm shutters were slammed and nailed shut, torches were lit, and then tossed through the open door before boarding it shut, as well. There would be no chance for escape. They ran to the water’s edge to watch their handy-work from a safe distance and were rewarded with the yells and curses of their captain as he awoke to the flames. They exchanged nervous smiles. They knew their relief was premature when insane laughter pierced the tropical night air. It sent shivers up and down their spines and made the hairs bristle on the backs of their necks. It was the stuff of nightmares, the beginning of many they would all endure for the rest of their miserable days. They edged closer and stood silent guard, surrounding the building, watching it burn, watching the fire consume the thatched roof until, finally, they had to step back into the water, away from the heat and smoke that billowed up like a tornado into the star-studded sky. They stood with their hearts in their throats, their bodies paralyzed with fear, listening to the peals of laughter, laugher that should have long been silenced by the fierce inferno, laughter that seemed to come from the very bowels of Hell itself. “You fools!” he called. “Fools! You could have saved yourselves the trouble! I was done with you! I want no more of this life. I tire of it!” He laughed heartily, enjoying a private joke. Then suddenly, there was silence. The men could hear only the roars and crackles of the flames, the burning groans of the timbers, and finally, the collapse of the framework as it crashed in on itself. They inched closer, mesmerized by the dancing tongues of fire as they waited for the embers to die and cool. As soon as temperatures would allow, they poked and sifted through the ashes for Blackheart’s remains. They wanted to see his charred bones. They wanted to touch his ever-present jeweled dagger, now surely warped and twisted from the inferno. They had to be certain. They had to know. They found nothing.
ABOUT THE SERIES Originally published in a short run to get them in hands or reviewers and ready to market, it received great reviews and interest but the plan to publish in larger runs fell through. The Time Tripper Series has been rewritten and the series renamed for its new launch!