About Featured Book: The Pharaoh's Cat by Maria Luisa Lang Suddenly talking and walking upright, a stray tomcat in ancient Egypt becomes the young Pharaoh's intimate and, when accused of his murder, time travels to New York City and learns how to raise him from the...
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
About Featured Book: The Tempests of Time, Ages of Malice, Book IV by Lloyd Jeffries Ages of Malice Series Sale April 14 - May 14 @ $0.99ea. Time Turns Deadly. A mind-bending thriller with spiritual stakes. The world unravels in chaos, and for Emery Merrick and Rhyme...
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
Summer, 1277, deep in the rain forest of the Chivit Continent
It wasn’t my best day.
I tore through the curtain of cobwebs like they weren’t even there, then bolted for the doorway. The doors were still open, but the wood I had jammed between them and their doorframe wasn’t going to last long. A pathetic groan echoed through the ante-chamber around me, followed by the staccato sound of wood splintering.
Correction, those wooden braces weren’t going to last another few seconds. I ran faster.
Stone dust was like a fogbank. My clothes and hair were stiff with it and seeing past it felt like a bad joke. Specifically, on me. Gulping down air, I lengthened my stride, sprinting like a madwoman for the only way I knew out.
Then I was through. Past the stone dust, thick cobwebs, and pale-skinned, giggling, scrambling nightmares with too many arms. Little things that were all too eager for me to sit and stay awhile. I threw myself forward into the wall of heat and humidity that was part and parcel of Anestri’for, the ‘Great Jungle’ on Chivit.
Landing on my hands and knees, I drank in the smell of wet grass and foliage. The feel of damp earth was a delight. Best of all? The sound of the stone doors slamming shut on the writhing mass of bodies with too many arms trying to follow me. They weren’t giggling as the doors shut in their face, but snarling.
I hauled my aching body into a sitting position, then placed a dust-covered satchel in front of me. Thunder rolled around in the clouds overhead. I glanced up.
“Hourly thunderstorm. Right on time. At least it’s not a magic storm.”
“Good job, Tela.” I congratulated myself. “Alive, limbs in one piece, and you found it.”
Shaking my head, I reached for the flap on the bag to check the condition of my find. The last thing I needed was to get it back to Ishnanor in a thousand pieces. I didn’t manage to open the bag. A yell to my right gave me better things to think about.
A man dressed in mercenary leathers, and a belted tunic had shoved his way out of the underbrush. Dirty, mud-stained, he leered at me like a prize or fresh caught prey. I shot daggers back at him with a glare. Sad to say, he didn’t seem impressed.
“Here!” he bellowed. “She’s here! Tell Vargas! I’ve found the Windtracer! She’s got the relic!”
“Hells!”
I was on my feet and past a stand of briza-taeda ferns to my right before the mercenary took another step. Shouts filled the Anestri’for jungle air behind me. I ran faster.
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
When I first met the Pharaoh, he was sixteen, and I was a stray tomcat. I’d wandered into in a looted tomb and was kicked by the Vizier, his uncle. I spat a cat amulet at him, hitting him on the forehead. He accused me of trying to kill him. The High Priest arrived and tried to reason with him.
Then it happened. I suddenly had human powers! I stood upright, walked over to the Vizier, and debated with him. The Pharaoh entered the tomb to hear me wise-cracking and laughed for the first time since his parents’ death. He took me to live with him at court, and we became inseparable.
A year later the Vizier poisoned him and accused me of the murder. He was going to put me to death when the High Priest rescued me. We fled Egypt on the magic boat and ended up in Elena’s living room . . .
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
About Featured Book: Embers of Shadow, Ages of Malice, Book III by Lloyd Jeffries Ages of Malice Series Sale - April 14-May 14th @ 0.99 each. Unpredictable twists and intense climax reflect Jeffries’ mastery in creating an intricate and immersive world…a rollercoaster...
After what seemed like hours of applause and praise accompanied by waves of light, Jesus quieted the crowd. “For your listening pleasure and enjoyment, here is My beloved son. The one and only Johnny Cashlesslove!”
The former rock star of Age Past walked onto the stage. At the center of the stage, he and the King embraced for a long time.
Jerome noticed how young—and vibrant—the man appeared. He couldn’t place it. Yes, he looked healthy and whole and even somewhat like his old young self. But more than that—What’s the right word? He looked—humble. There, in the embrace of the King, the singer looked content. Like nothing except the King’s embrace matters.
Johnny trembled. “You’re worth every possession, my King. Everything.”
Jesus expressed His love and how much He enjoyed Johnny’s music and lyrics. Most importantly, He loved Johnny for who he was—period.
Johnny again tried to express his gratefulness, but only meaningless babble came out.
Jesus laughed. “I know. I know. I can’t wait, son. You were meant to sing it for Me—not speak it. Grab your guitar and get going.”
Jerome smiled over at his cousin, Sam, and the rest of his friends. “Here we go.”
As applause filled the atmosphere, visible praise and light reverberation reached out and struck the musician. Instead of being absorbed by Johnny’s body, the light ricocheted toward Jesus and the throne of God.
“Hi, I’m Johnny Cashlesslove.” His famous introduction sounded clunky with the longer last name. Everyone still laughed and applauded.
Johnny sang some of the popular songs from Age Past. Many of the lyrics he’d penned were dark and depressing—matching his life at the time. At one point, Cashlesslove peered at God’s throne. “I felt you there with me during those difficult times.”
Near the end of the concert, he dismissed the band and stood alone with his guitar under a single spotlight in the middle of the Articomb stage. With head down and the world watching, he picked his guitar strings. Overcome with emotion, the singer lifted his head and turned toward Jesus.
“I did thousands of concerts in my career in front of millions of screaming fans.” His voice broke. “I’ve been waiting a long time to sing this song to the only audience I care about, the only audience that really matters—You.”
Facing King Jesus, whose throne sat in perfect symmetry with the throne of God, he played and sang a beautiful rendition of You Are So Beautiful to Me. No one familiar with his music in Age Past had heard an emotional performance like this—so elegant and heartfelt.
About Featured Book: A Measure of Rhyme, Ages of Malice, Book II by Lloyd Jeffries Ages of Malice Series Sale - April 14-May 14th @ 0.99 each. "Heart-pounding...readers will not want to put it down." Publisher's Weekly BookLife Prize (9.5/10) An Explosive Tale of Love...
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