Tag Archives: Sci-fi Fantasy

Fall of Titan Blitz

 

Fall of Titan cover

Realm, Book 1

Sci-fi Fantasy

On Sale for Only $.99 March 25th – April 1st!!

 

Always FREE on Kindle Unlimited!!

 

In the twenty-fourth century, a sophisticated security system called the perimeter guards the outer rim of the solar system. Governed by Titan, a powerful space station, the perimeter is almost impenetrable. Emmeline Augury, an astrophysics cadet on Titan, believes in a family folklore about a mythical device with unlimited power. Her search uncovers an ancient plaque, which reveals a star map of a secret network of portals. But what begins as a scientific adventure turns into a dangerous manhunt when hostile aliens called Orias attacks Titan. Their queen threatens to slaughter everyone unless she is given the device. When the fate of Titan and the seven realms hangs in the balance, Emmeline must make a choice. Will she save her home or the device?

Praise for Fall of Titan:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️“I have no words… This novel is up there with the big boys especially if you enjoy any kind of startrek, starwars or stargate!”

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️“A Memorable Read”

Other Books in the Realm Series:

Poseidon cover

 

Poseidon

 

Realm, Book 2

After the Fall, all is left is blood and revenge.

The destruction of the perimeter, and the vanishing of Titan and Prometheus has left the Realm open to invaders. With a skeleton fleet guarding the outer rims of the solar system, all hopes of defeating the Orias queen have diminished. Now it’s about survival. But in a corner of cold dark space, hope lingers.

Emmeline Augury was born to break the rules, and now a fugitive who has nothing to lose and driven by revenge, she conquers all odds and locates the second piece of the mythical device.

The game is on. The pawns are set. As the power of the mythical device unravels itself, who will win? A young girl with her heart set on destroying a being as powerful as the gods themselves? Or the queen who was born to rule the seven realms? The answers lie in the wake of the Poseidon.

Amazon

Fall of Titan tablet, paperback, mobile


About the Author

H.G Ahedi

H.G Ahedi holds a PhD in biomedical sciences and is a fictional writer. She spends a lot of time writing and when she is bored of her desk; she wants to hop on a plane and travel the world. As that is not always possible she explores local Sydney beaches and parks and enjoys a nice cup of coffee.

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

BookBuzz

Purchase Links

Amazon

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Fall of Titan Blitz

Filed under BOOKS

Nobody’s Road Virtual Book Tour

Nobody's Road banner

 

Nobody's Road cover

Sci-fi fantasy

 

Date Published: 01-19-2022

Publisher: Indies United

In 2045 America is ruled by ‘The Brain’. It’s a country of dried-up rivers, computer project educations, holographs, and robots. Most species have died off and even fresh air is scarce. Children don’t form bonds and therefore can’t love. They become drones – dangerous killers. The answer lies on a road in Pindar Corners but to find it is to risk the loss of your soul.

In need of a hero, Harry Erin Cooper steps up to the plate and, along with his wife, Adina, they restore what should have been.

Nobody's Road tablet

EXCERPT

I applied for my wife in 2045. Since upper-class heterosexual women were a scarcity, I was lucky to have this option. I had graduated from Penn State Virtual five years earlier, and my parents had been requesting my marriage for years. The Brain finally gave permission for us to receive a file on potential wives for me. “Act fast, Harry,” Mother said. “Before all the good ones in your file get deleted.” I knew that details of many of the women in my file would also go to other men who had recently received permission to marry. As the women were selected, the file would be transferred back to The Brain and held on drives called “Appropriated Females.” If I didn’t act fast enough, I might not be able to fatten my file for another five years. I had always been close to my parents and didn’t object when they offered to help me find a wife. I lived at home because the only housing afforded single people were small three hundred square foot studios. I didn’t feel I needed to exert my independence. My parents had two floors right off Central Park West and my bedroom was on the second floor, all nine hundred square feet of it. I could easily escape to the privacy of my nine-hundred-square-foot apartment and play my ratkill music loud; my parents never heard it. We worked on the file together, well, at least, Mother and I did. My father was indifferent, just said he’d give me his blessing, which was a joke. There were no blessings in our world. Mother and I argued about the physical appearance of this one or that one, temperament and IQ, of course, which was far more important to Mother than to me. It was probably a mistake to allow my mother the liberty of helping me choose my bride. Undoubtedly, I should have kept her out of something so personal, but we didn’t have many friends in our society and I valued my parents. I had to stand my ground though, before Mother paired me off with one of the old ones. Old women had been in huge supply, ever since the popularity of female babies in the 2030s – when choosing the sex of one’s children was in vogue. “I want a brunette, tall, smart and extroverted,” I insisted. Mother disagreed. “I know redheads are rare, and therefore expensive, darling. But think how nice it would be to have children with candy-colored hair.” “I don’t want children with candy-colored hair,” I said and went back to my search. I heard Dad chuckle. Marriages cost the pairing couples huge donations to The Brain, and women with red hair, large breasts and little DNA potential for physical abnormalities were worth donations of several hundred thousand. The Brain had filled my file with fifty possibilities. Unfortunately, whatever taste in women The Brain had did not coincide with my own. I had already exhausted half the choices sent me, a bunch of ordinary-looking women behind the wheels of their Zippies, our popular sport cars powered by high-speed batteries. Or they looked like perfectly bored bimbos who had spent too much time with their plastic surgeons. Then I brought up an image that intrigued me. “Here, look at this one,” I shouted. I maximized the image and double-clicked on the digital features of Adina Cordova. Her face filled the sixty-inch screen while my heart pounded in overtime. Her smile was so captivating, as if she knew secrets I’d never be privy to. Her wavy dark hair ended at her chin. Her eyes were large, dark ovals, at once both sad and lively. “Beautiful,” I whispered. I refused to look at my mother. Instinctively, I knew she’d disapprove. I’d pulled up an esthetical angel, much too captivating for my mother’s idea of good wife material. I quickly brought up her résumé despite the argument that would follow. “Adina Cordova graduated from the Computer Project top of her class,” I said. “Adina Cordova?” Her name seemed to be of interest to my father. He jumped out of his chair and came to stand beside me. “She’s a knockout, Dad.” He didn’t answer me, his expression distressed. “Not really,” he finally said. Mother was immediately suspicious, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. “Smart women can be something of a bore,” Mother said. “Her degree was in journalism, Mother, not in the history and characteristics of the African Bat Bug.” My parents eyed one another, one of those looks between them I was always unable to interpret. “Uh-oh,” I thought I heard my mother utter. But I found Adina’s background extremely interesting. She had lived abroad during her teenage years while her father worked as a chef in Milan. It seems Europe treated Mr. Cordova like a king, extensively praised for his excellence in the culinary arts. Mrs. Cordova had been a dancer but had recently suffered a breakdown after The Brain’s subversion and erasure of the Arts in Europe. When the Cordovas protested the infiltration and dismissal of the arts by Britain and America’s Computer Educational system, they were deported and returned to the States in 2038. Admitted into Columbia, Adina had graduated with honors. As a child, she’d grown up not far from me, but she was three years younger, which might explain why we hadn’t come across each other on those rare occasions that The Brain allowed social integration. “Where is she from again, Harry?” Mother asked. “She’s American born. But her father lived and worked in Europe for a while. They were kicked out of Italy. She was raised not far from us, practically down the block.” “Sounds iffy to me, Harry. Her expectations might be extremely high, and the whole family are rabble-rousers. I know that for a fact.” It appeared to me that Dad was making a real pitch to keep me away from Adina. “Your father’s right,” Mother added quickly. “Don’t think with your penis, dear.” I heard Dad chuckle again as he returned to his chair on the other side of the room. Despite his chuckle, I sensed uneasiness. “But I like her,” I said to them. “She’s different. Something about her I just like.” “You don’t know her yet,” Mother said. “Look at her eyes,” I responded. “But are you compatible, darling?” Mother stared at the digital image before her. “I like the other one, with that engaging smile.” I shrugged. Mother liked the mousey one – heart surgeon, high IQ, and a face I’d seen in an old comic strip about cave people. I clicked back on Adina. “This one is more petite.” Drooling by now, I wiped my mouth inconspicuously. This gal was a knockout and Mother feared I wouldn’t attract her. I was Harry all right, but no handsome Harry, that was for sure. “Well, she is nice, maybe a bit too pretty though. Pretty women can be a bother.” Dad winked. “You can say that again.” I hadn’t expected my mother to get it. I threw up my hands. “Mother, do you want me to search the homely file? I mean, I know the dogs are cheaper, but I really don’t want an arf arf, if you don’t mind.” “No, of course not, darling. If you like this woman, ping her … get your compatibility tested … see if she likes you.” Mother’s eyes traveled back to my father. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but each seemed to be able to read the other’s thoughts. “You bet,” I said as I brought up her address file and sent out a quick imail to The Brain, requesting a date with her. Much to my surprise, my father knocked on my door later that evening. I was nearly asleep. “Son?” I sat up in bed and switched on the lamp. He sat on the edge of my bed and stared at me. “You know that I never want to see you hurt …” My father is a large man and I felt myself tipping from his weight. When I was a child, I fell out of bed a few times when he came to say goodnight, but that was before I learned to scurry to the middle before he sat. As if he sensed my discomfort, he rose to his feet and paced back and forth. I wondered what he had to say. “Father, I have a right to pick a woman of my choosing, not one that you and Mother prefer. We agreed to that. I said I’d ask for feedback, not ultimatums.” “It isn’t that, Harry. It’s this girl … she will be different.” I shook my head in disbelief. “What are you saying?” I heard him sigh and return to the edge of my bed. I tipped up again and slid to the middle of the mattress before he tossed me to the carpet. “She will corrupt you, son.” Unable to believe what I’d just heard, I jumped out of bed and paced around the room. My father stared at me wearily. “Just what the hell are you talking about, Father?” “She was raised believing in the absurd and the ridiculous. Her father is a real nut case. The whole family is trouble.” “What are the absurd and the ridiculous?” I asked, standing before him in defiance. My father leapt to his feet and the mattress nearly flew to the ceiling. He banged his hands together and the lamp on my nightstand rattled. “You can’t survive being a rebel, Harry. Not in this world anyway, not here.” “What?” I looked at him in disbelief. “I’m not a rebel.” “That girl is.” “What are you talking about, you don’t even know her.” It was at that point that my father went to the computer and turned it on. He typed in several logins and bypassed several codes before he arrived at a webpage. I almost fell asleep waiting for him to find what he wanted. “Listen to this,” he finally said, snapping me awake. He read aloud from what he had pulled, which appeared to be a newsletter: “‘One in five now is killing. The Brain is responsible. The Brain spreads a disease that must be eradicated. Our children are dying from that disease. What maggots will walk the earth tomorrow? What horror walks the earth today? Be strong and educate your children. Be strong and educate yourself. Conquer this malignancy. Our minds have atrophied, our philosophers are silenced, and machines that have no humanity murder our souls.’” My mouth fell open as I stared at him. “What the hell was that?” “It was written by Adina Cordova.” “So what?” I said. “She’s entitled to her opinion, though I’m not sure what it is.” “Harry, Harry,” My father grabbed me in his arms. “There isn’t room for truth. There is only room for self-preservation.” I broke from my father’s grasp. “Look, let’s just see if we like each other. You’re jumping the gun.” “Your mother is crying in her room,” my father said. “I’m sorry about that, but I don’t understand the great drama you two are embroiled in just because I have a physical attraction to Adina Cordova. Mother is overreacting, as are you.” “Perhaps.” “You want to marry me off to an arf, don’t you?” “No, no, no. It isn’t that at all, son. We want you to be safe.” “Look, I’ve requested a date with her. Let’s see how it goes. Maybe we won’t like each other. Perhaps it won’t be anything more than a rough fuck,” I said. He nodded quietly, kissed me on the cheek and left the room, but not before adding that he hoped we’d recoil from each other. Recoil? I wondered. Who would recoil from that face? I didn’t understand either of my parents’ reactions, and I was furious. But one thing for sure, it wouldn’t stop me from pursuing the only woman, out of a file of fifty, who didn’t look as though she’d just finished a foul lunch

 

About the Author

Vera Jane Cook

Vera Jane Cook was born in New York City and has been a city girl ever since. As an only child, she turned to reading novels at an early age and was deeply influenced by an eclectic group of authors. Before Jane became a writer, she worked in the professional theatre and appeared on television, in regional theatre, film and off Broadway.

At the age of fifty Jane began to write novels. Some of her titles include Dancing Backward in Paradise, winner of an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and an Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Reviews and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater was named a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards. She has published in ESL Magazine, Christopher Street Magazine and has written early childhood curriculum for Weekly Reader and McGraw Hill.

Jane still lives on the upper west side of Manhattan right near Riverside Park where she takes her delightful dogs for a jog, Peanut and Carly. She comes home to her spouse of thirty years and her two cats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Goodreads

Instagram

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Nobody’s Road Virtual Book Tour

Filed under BOOKS

Nobody’s Road Blitz

 

Nobody's Road cover

Sci-fi fantasy

 

Date Published: 01-19-2022

Publisher: Indies United

In 2045 America is ruled by ‘The Brain’. It’s a country of dried-up rivers, computer project educations, holographs, and robots. Most species have died off and even fresh air is scarce. Children don’t form bonds and therefore can’t love. They become drones – dangerous killers. The answer lies on a road in Pindar Corners but to find it is to risk the loss of your soul.

In need of a hero, Harry Erin Cooper steps up to the plate and, along with his wife, Adina, they restore what should have been.

About the Author

Vera Jane Cook

Vera Jane Cook was born in New York City and has been a city girl ever since. As an only child, she turned to reading novels at an early age and was deeply influenced by an eclectic group of authors. Before Jane became a writer, she worked in the professional theatre and appeared on television, in regional theatre, film and off Broadway.

At the age of fifty Jane began to write novels. Some of her titles include Dancing Backward in Paradise, winner of an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and an Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Reviews and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater was named a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards. She has published in ESL Magazine, Christopher Street Magazine and has written early childhood curriculum for Weekly Reader and McGraw Hill.

Jane still lives on the upper west side of Manhattan right near Riverside Park where she takes her delightful dogs for a jog, Peanut and Carly. She comes home to her spouse of thirty years and her two cats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Goodreads

Instagram

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Nobody’s Road Blitz

Filed under BOOKS

Nobody’s Road Teaser Tuesday

 

Nobody's Road cover

Sci-fi fantasy

 

Date Published: 01-19-2022

Publisher: Indies United

In 2045 America is ruled by ‘The Brain’. It’s a country of dried-up rivers, computer project educations, holographs, and robots. Most species have died off and even fresh air is scarce. Children don’t form bonds and therefore can’t love. They become drones – dangerous killers. The answer lies on a road in Pindar Corners but to find it is to risk the loss of your soul.

In need of a hero, Harry Erin Cooper steps up to the plate and, along with his wife, Adina, they restore what should have been.

Excerpt

My last memory from that time? That I was never to return to it. 

As I ran to the rhythm of my breath, the beat of my heart provided the music of being alive. I took a hill, not as bad as it looked; steep but short. Chestnut was a single-lane road that cut through the back of town and led me onto Bishop Farm, where I picked up Maple Lane. 

Dotted with sugar maples, Maple Lane wound out ahead of me, and like a lazy letter S, it snaked around for two long shaded miles. The sycamore trees had limbs that reached across the sky like Rorschach spills. The sweat on my back saturated my T-shirt, clinging like a second skin. The road had been nothing but dirt for over a hundred years; though the town kept threatening to pave it, they probably never will. A good part of the trail was a long narrow easement that took me past a mile of farmland. The dirt kicked up a gentle cloud of dust under my feet, soft and dry. The smell of freshly hoed hay and country pine lingered in the air. 

Maple Lane begins and ends at Pindar Corners, a fork in the road with a blinking light. I picked up Robin’s Nest Road from there, turning left at the traffic signal, as I always did. How many times? I’m not sure. But I do know this, or thought I did: Robin’s Nest is the road I lived on with my wife, Adina, and our children, Teddy, who was eight at the time and Lindsey, who hadn’t yet turned six. 

The scent of flower gardens hit me like a perfumed galaxy, overwhelmingly intense, from the abundance of flowers hidden behind picket fences and green bristly privacy bushes, odiferous and colorful. I saw irises, lilies and peonies that tilted in the breeze and slipped their scents toward me with flirtatious artistry. 

Hundreds of times, I have picked up fragrances whispering from the mountains. You see, for me, one of the pleasures of jogging on a country road was catching smells. Even running through traces of horse manure carried in the wind, or the mysterious scents of unrecognizable plants and animals just behind the weeds, scents like that thrilled me. Might be perceived as such a small thing but it isn’t, not when sweet, scented air was such a new thing for me. 

I breathed in deeply. I took in passionflower vines climbing up trellises, a cacophony of color. Sometimes I can catch freshly cut grass and the sizzled scent of meat lingering on a barbeque, whetting my appetite for lunch. 

Robin’s Nest Road is paved and wide, and I liked it because it dead-ends; the only drivers who take it know exactly where they’re going, and trucks are rare. Sometimes, I could run right down the middle with my arms outstretched. Feeling good for me was sweating hard … feeling good for me was pushing up the last half mile, knowing I’d make it. 

Jogging kept me centered ─ going at my own pace, my thoughts a free association of expression. No race to win, just moving through the silence of my mind, despite the rare chatter of birds or the occasional challenge of estival winds. 

The only smells picked up back in New York City were mornings drenched in the stench of garbage and the rancid, putrid odor of the homeless inhabitants who lined the streets of midtown. I tried not to think about that because I was one of the lucky ones: I wasn’t there. And I was where I was because of the foresight of a man a lot smarter than I am. I was in Pindar Corners. A place you might want to be a hundred years from now, or maybe a hell of a lot sooner. 

The reasons why I was there, in Pindar Corners, were too complex to fathom. Mistakes too great to lament. There was no sense dwelling on the past at all. Best to just breathe in deeply and try to let it go. Besides, there was nothing we could have done about it. No, nothing. Just concentrate on the aroma of gardenias, orchids and the delirium of lilac, and forget about everything else. We still had flowers, some species of birds, animals like skunks and rodents. We had life, and most of all, we had the solace and the surety of Pindar Corners. 

However, the luxury of forgetting was the one thing I couldn’t accomplish. I was a generation too late for that. And as I jogged that day, the sound of a distant gunshot jarred the aromatic titillation of my senses. So loud, it practically threw me off my feet. It certainly wasn’t hunting season. I knew that well enough, but there were those who didn’t give a damn about laws. Could have been someone wanting to frighten off a black bear. Then again, plenty of people liked target shooting in their back yards. It might have been some bored jerk shooting cans off a fence. Or it might have been one of the children. I don’t think I was able to let in that fear. As far as I knew, there had only been one murder in Pindar Corners committed by a child. Maybe the shot I heard was just random and unintentional. That was my thought that day: that was my prayer.

About the Author

Vera Jane Cook

Vera Jane Cook was born in New York City and has been a city girl ever since. As an only child, she turned to reading novels at an early age and was deeply influenced by an eclectic group of authors. Before Jane became a writer, she worked in the professional theatre and appeared on television, in regional theatre, film and off Broadway.

At the age of fifty Jane began to write novels. Some of her titles include Dancing Backward in Paradise, winner of an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and an Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Reviews and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater was named a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards. She has published in ESL Magazine, Christopher Street Magazine and has written early childhood curriculum for Weekly Reader and McGraw Hill.

Jane still lives on the upper west side of Manhattan right near Riverside Park where she takes her delightful dogs for a jog, Peanut and Carly. She comes home to her spouse of thirty years and her two cats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Goodreads

Pinterest

Instagram

Preorder Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

1 Comment

Filed under BOOKS

Armera Virtual Book Tour

Armera banner

Armera cover

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

 

Date Published: 12-09-2021

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Two unlikely companions search for a kidnapped wizard in this fantasy novel.
 
The land of Armera is orbited by the moons of Vesti, colonized long ago by wizards escaping the planet’s terrible wars. Armera survived these conflicts, and benevolent wizards have returned to the planet, forming a Wizards Council to broker relations between the two civilizations. But now, DeMartize—Vesti’s greatest wizard—has been kidnapped by the evil twins Kal and Sak, and the colony blames the council. With war threatening, the high wizard Mernes the Mad brings together his 14-year-old apprentice, Peterzik, and Cedric, a 14-year-old “hero rescuer and thief,” for the job of saving DeMartize. Peterzik’s knowledge and Cedric’s accomplished thievery make them the perfect pair. 
 
Guided by a vision from the council, the two set out on their long and dangerous journey across challenging terrain. They’re beset by many daunting creatures to fight, negotiate with, or trick to get past; these include the Snow King, a fire dragon, a water monster, and a kingdom of bats. And the duo will still have to defeat the powerful and wicked twins, hoping to rescue DeMartize before war is declared. 
 
 

 

Armera tablet

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Meeting

The first meeting of our two heroes. The happenings that took place after that, including an important basic lesson on baby dragons and a duel with a Toad Master.

Long, long ago, there stood a forest. As forests go, the oldest one on Armera. Its memory went back to the beginning of time. The trees recalled the first forming of the planet when they, as young saplings stood touched by the creative hand of God. An old group of trees, with deep thoughts. When man in his haste and ignorance, began to walk what he called Armera. In his stupidity, he taught the trees to talk. The trees explained their love of nature to man, and man gave the trees their names, and names for each type of plant, and animal, for man was the Namer of all things. Man, who couldn’t stand anything without a title, also titled the Forest Forgotten. The trees accepted the Namer’s name, content in the knowledge they shared with man, for the trees were very wise.

On the day when our tale starts in the Forest Forgotten, it was as always, a sunny day. On Armera it was never cloudy unless magic troubled the land. The flowers put on their brightest colors for spring. All the plants and animals looked happy to see new life again after a long cold winter, so they dressed accordingly. The older trees talked quietly to each other around the edge of a big clearing.

Cedric peered carefully from behind the branches of a huge walnut and felt clever for hiding. The old tree didn’t even snap at what in normal conditions he would have considered a “pushy human”. It looked much too involved in having an interesting conversation with a Laughing Lily Bush.

He wore a green and gold tunic with striped hose, green and yellow dotted gloves, and shoes and hat which contained a green and yellow feather. At fourteen, he was tall, handsome, and confident.

Hair of silver braided back from his high forehead and black eyes sparkled as he searched about the landscape. Stepping out from behind the oak, he walked cautiously around the area, then tripped over a short stump. The Lilly laughed. He stood and saw…nothing! How boring! For he was always ready to kill a dragon in the woods or slay a Toad Master. Now I am going to write about baby dragons, so if you already know about them, skip this next section.

 

A Brief History of Baby Dragons

At the time of this tale, dragons, or Toad Masters were high on the hunting list for any hunter or professional hero in the forest. They multiplied too quickly and were always hungry during early stages. This massive hunger caused them to eat defenseless young talking trees and laughing lilies. Baby dragons couldn’t  be hunted for it was the law. Babies needed to reach full-grown status to be hunted by man. They ate trees or flowering plants, full-grown dragons went after different game, they devoured treasure searchers, and anyone who were after their jewels, also dogs cats, and young children. No one in his right mind would search for a dragon alone. Dragons are well armored with gold and jewels on their bellies. They are like gigantic flying Galapagos iguana. Their wingspan can be up to forty feet, they range in color from yellow to silver and green. The gold dragons are the worst, for they are usually female and mothers. They are excellent hunters of people and a destroyer of towns, and they train their babies to be as cruel and mean as they are. Mothers show babies lots of gems. They take their favorites and these are added to their stomachs in a secret dragon ceremony. No human has ever seen this ceremony.

Diamond ones are considered valuable to hunters, as are dragons covered with any one gemstone. Gold dragons with rubies or emeralds are considered fierce. But every dragon is not worth the same amount of effort or money to kill. So, one learned to be picky. There are teams of professionals in Armera for such hunts, and they are well-paid, for such adventures are dangerous.

Hoards are protected by dragons in the hills, and they contain millions of gems. Such hoards are much too valuable for the average person to lose. They always try to find out where a dragon keeps their hoards before killing one. This way they can kill it, take the treasure, and become rich. Enough on the dragon subject, let’s get back to Cedric.

He hadn’t seen a dragon, grown or little in a while, and was quite disappointed. One wonders what Cedric was doing and on such a sunny morning. From his looks and clothes, he would never be mistaken for an average forest ranger or tourist, and he was neither. Curiosity drove Cedric to be in the woods that day. Curiosity, which can kill us all. An unusual piece of mail arrived at his home.

Mail was delivered twice a day, and on holidays three times a day. The postage rates were cheap, for telephones and pony express weren’t invented in Armera yet. The one-way people kept in touch with each other was by writing, and the service continued to be well-used by the citizens. As any self- respecting hero rescuer and thief would, Cedric always collected his the second it got dropped off. Many times, he spoke to the flying mailman as he arrived at his door. Like him, others also enjoyed the common sight of the mailman. Bad weather permitting, Cedric waited for him every day.

Well, on this one day, Cedric’s mail seemed more interesting than usual. In last evening’s mail, a weird message came. Now in Cedric’s line of work, as a thief, and rescuer he always got weird letters. So, what he received last night needed to be unusual indeed for him to notice its strangeness, if you get my meaning.

All thoughts turned to the packet again as he stood, and he took it from his cloak’s secret pocket in the lining. The letter and the map came folded into expensive red and green velvet envelopes, these envelopes, were not at all easy to purchase in Armera. Such paper needed to be designed by a wizard. Normal artists didn’t have the skill. He confirmed the location by opening the map. Yes, Cedric was in the right spot. Pulling out his trusty army green Armera Scout compass, and he checked his position. He had been an Armera Scout from the time he was six to ten. All thieves in training joined the Scouts to learn survival skills for the wild. “Yes,” he thought to himself, “This is the correct spot.” He reread it again, out loud, and under his breath. Here is what it said.

Sir:

You have offended a lady and my honor! So, I challenge you to a DUEL in the meadow twenty-seven northwest of the city Var. Meet me in the east center section of the Forest Forgotten, on the two hundred and twentieth Demark Day.

I am,

Petertik

Looking again at the spidery, refined signature he realized that at least he would be fighting an educated person. He refolded and placed it and the compass back in the lining in his cloak for safe keeping. From the first moment as Cedric studied the handwriting, he became curious. Searching his vast file of names and pictures of faces that he collected from his early childhood as a hobby, no such person was found. When he chose his profession of stealing, and rescuing he turned from hobby to profit therefore the file became important. But he found no Peterzik listed. As he sat before his homely fireplace, and he ran his memory over his few years of hazardous existence, and he could recall no one named Peterzik. Cedric asked his mother; she didn’t know a Peterzik. His father couldn’t be asked because he died in a meteor shower when Cedric was four.

The new cleaning person Cedric hired at the local trader’s market last week didn’t know a Peterzik. None of his fellow associates in the Thief Union of which Cedric was an important member, knew a Peterzik. So, Cedric wondered as his glance moved over the grass again, who’s this Peterzik? No one could tell him. Why is Cedric so interested dear reader in finding out? Because he wanted to fight him!

First, it had been the slowest tourist season anyone could remember on the planet of Armera. A rumor existed of war boiling off world, from the moons of Vesti, that did not encourage tourists. No sane person would take a vacation where war might start any minute. Hardly any of the off-worlders, who grew up on the moons of Vesti,or noble on-worlders who lived in the outskirts of Ver came into the city for pleasure. The rumors said that many of the wealthy houses stayed in the guardianship of house wardens, who guarded the homes until their masters’ return. Many of the homeowners left for off-world. The wealthy would not be coming back to Armera until the war ended, or peace reigned. The rich only waited for the first blow. And they were not the only people who sensed a feeling of doom for Armera. These thoughts were felt by almost everyone in the whole region, with money or not. No one could imagine how the rumors of impending war started.

Anyway, basically no one of importance remained in town who could be robbed. Even though Cedric reputed to be an excellent hero rescuer and thief, he needed someone to work on, he couldn’t rob air. One million thieves appeared registered in the city of Var. Over one half of them on layoff, the union unable to support its membership in this odd dry spell, which means it took drastic measures. More of them reported being laid off every day., He was the best purse cutter on the planet so Cedric ignored the layoffs. In fact, just a few days ago Cedric recently cut the purse off the Mayor of Var. The Mayor had been carrying ten thousand dollars and Cedric was now a little flush. The union became so very excited by Cedric’s robbery, last night they threw him a party, for being one of the best young robbers in the city, and he was proud to be a member.

The reason Cedric answered the letter was curiosity about this Peterzik. Besides, he needed some fresh air. Especially after his late night out last night. Air would help to clear his head. The cool air made Cedric yawn widely.

Last night of running around the streets with friends looking for someone to rob had caught up with him today. Too much running around entered his life lately, and he must slow down. He didn’t want to turn into a night owl at fourteen. He glanced up and noticed the sun marching toward its zenith. There were still had three hours until the appointed time mentioned in the letter. The whole group of trees and bushes seemed silent. Except for the Laughing Lily Bush and the Old Oak Tree.

“HA !” said the Laughing Lily, “Big old gorgeous Tree, don’t you flirt so much with me, or I will have to tell your old wife.”

“HO!” He replied, “You wouldn’t dare. You’re the one who started it.”

They both stared at each other in anger and silence returned.

Slipping to the ground and resting his back against the old friendly oak’s trunk, he  decided to take a nap. Time did not stand still while Cedric slept on. A few hours passed. Cedric turned in his sleep, and his body rolled near a happy fern.

“Be careful friend! Don’t crush my leaves,” said the fern as it moved a leaf away from Cedric’s head.

Suddenly behind a group of happy ferns, a twig snapped. A human foot trod softly there. A faint rustle of nervous laughter rang from the Laughing Lily near the old oak. Snoring he slept on.

Into the clearing stepped a striking teen, dressed in deep red and midnight black velvet. This was Peterzik, over six feet in height, thin, with straight long black hair cut neatly to his shoulders, eyes of a piercing blue, the type of eyes that have sharp intelligence in them. His coloring was white and pale. Yet the main thing that people remembered when they met Peterzik, was his grace. For he moved into any space with the ease of a dancer, a tango dancer, always smooth. The way he dealt with other people was smooth. Part of his charm was tact. Crossing into the middle of the grassy area, he didn’t trip over the stump like Cedric. His eyes fell on Cedric, who still sleeping peacefully. He coughed, every five seconds or so seeking Cedric’s response. There wasn’t one. He frowned more deeply, and gracefully, he walked closer to Cedric and coughed again louder. Cedric didn’t respond. Closer he stepped, until he stood above Cedric, Peterzik cleared his throat. Turning in his sleep, Cedric didn’t hear him. Peterzik briskly shook Cedric awake.

“Uh, What?” asked Cedric sleepily.

“I am Peterzik, wake up!” hissed Peterzik .

When he turned over, Cedric faced the strange voice with a degree of caution and opened one eye half-way. What he saw was a very tall teen, threatening above him, who looked to be alone. Stretching out a hand for support Cedric pushed himself to his feet. Upon rising, he rubbed his eyes. Then facing Peterzik squarely and looking into his steel blue eyes he asked, “How have I upset you sir?”  Cedric noticed that he had never seen Peterzik before today. Remembering people was his job, and such a memorable face he would have remembered.

“Sir,” answered Peterzik calmly using all the proper forms of address, (the proper forms of address being, to remove one’s hat, bow, and then proceed to talk to one’s opponent with you hat in your hand) “You have offended me by living and insulted a lady I love.”

Now Cedric stood quietly for a moment and thought about what Peterzik had said. Our Cedric had a reputation of being a teenage idol about town and prided himself on being dashing. Cedric knew one or two young girls who had given him much more than just a passing look . While he thought all this, his eyes strove over Peterzik’s appearance, he was rather handsome and intense. If things had been different, he quite possibly could be his friend. But staring at Peterzik’s face with the strong frown, he noted that he looked determined. Then Cedric realized that he would have to duel him. The look of concentration on Peterzik’s face made anything less than a duel impossible. The young girl in question Cedric hoped was worth the trouble. Because Peterzik standing there, looked to be to Cedric a true-hearted zealot.

Cedric slowly he drew his sword. Peterzik took a hair from his head he ran it along the edge of the blade. The one strand of hair parted in half. Cedric was quite impressed with Peterzik’s ability at sword sharpening. Stopping dead in front of Cedric, Peterizik screamed, “Die Blackguard!”

Cedric yelled, “Defend thyself accuser.” Then he took out his sword. Both opponents circled each other, looking for a way to begin to attack the other. Then they made eye contact. By mutual consent both stopped and proceeded with the basic fencing rules of defense.

Both saluted and took enough steps forward so each of their blades contacted for the first time. Then, something happened.

A huge golden thunderbolt of lightning hit the short space inches between our two heroes. All thought of a duel between them vanished from their minds as a cloud of black came up from the ground in the same space where the thunderbolt had struck. The trees, lilies, and ferns, who had been talking with marked interest and placing bets, as our heroes started their fight instantly stopped when the smoke arose. All trees and bushes stood unmoving and strangely silent. The whole area was bathed in eerie darkness.

Then out of the darkness, from what seemed to be all sides around them rose a voice. It was loud and spoke from stereo speakers. The sound was recognizable to all creatures. The voice was that of a Toad Master.

About the Author

Constance Meccarello-Gerson

Constance Meccarello-Gerson was born in Poughkeepsie N.Y. She is a graduate of Florida Southern College with a BA in Acting. She also attended the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. HB Studio, Actors Studio, in NYC. She is a member of SAG, Alpha Gamma Delta, Alpha Si Omega. Her MFA in Acting is from Brooklyn College. She has appeared on TV, film, and on stage in NYC. For 20 years she taught as a mentor and teacher of English and Theatre arts for the New York City Department of Education and for the University at Santa Cruz. She also taught for ten years as a Speech Coordinator at Touro College. She was an executive at Bloomingdales. Her writing as appeared in Reflections, also in the Best American Poets series. Currently she lives in NYC with her husband Alain, a parrot named Benji, and lots of fish.

Contact Link

Website

Purchase Link

Amazon

RABT Book Tours & PR

 

Comments Off on Armera Virtual Book Tour

Filed under BOOKS