Guest Post: SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING by O.R. Sykora

My guest for today is Olivia Sykora. She has always been fascinated by allegorical stories. C.S. Lewis sits on the top of her favorite authors list, and then George MacDonald with his glorious fairytales. Hannah Hurnard’s classic story, Hinds’ Feet on High Places, became a significant allegory in Olivia’s life and faith journey, and she searched for further books that could communicate spiritual truths through accessible, exciting stories. Now, Olivia has crafted a new allegorical fantasy for modern readers to enjoy. Son of the Mountain King, the first book in the Mountain King trilogy tells the greatest love and adventure story: the story of God’s love for His people. 

Check out Olivia's website at www.orsykora.com

Here is the back cover blurb for her new book, SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING.

     When an invasion threatens the land of the Mountain King, the fate of the people rests on the shoulders of young governor Judah. She has sworn to prove herself a skillful leader by protecting her kingdom from foes, but difficulty and danger surround her.

     Then Judah’s life is saved by two different men who divide her loyalty. One, a fascinating healer, captures the hearts of Judah and her people. The other, a mysterious shepherd, forces Judah to question what she believes to be true.

     When a conspiracy comes to light that could destroy Judah and her kingdom, a single choice might cost her people everything. Will the headstrong leader prove herself—or find herself trapped?

Now read an excerpt from the book!

That night, the familiar squeak of wood rent the air as Mesda shoved closed the old oak door. A shaft of light poured through a gap at the bottom. As this part of the castle was rarely visited after dark, she did not worry about being seen.  

        This story had begun long before.  

That night, an old woman spread a large piece of parchment on the rough table, unaware at that time of how many lives would be affected by what she was to record. A sense of urgency bade Mesda hurry the work that must be finished in the coming hours. Dragging the other two pieces of furniture in what she liked to call her “cell,” the woman arranged the tools of her trade on a plain cot and turned the three-legged stool until its worn seat faced the table. Time was short. She grumbled as the parchment persisted in rolling like a potato bug. Stones which had chipped from the crumbling walls finally solved the problem. Mesda then placed her two most important objects alongside the parchment: a stained, worn pot of black ink and a graceful quill. With one final critical look at the tip, she sighed and closed her eyes.  

Words came to the woman as they always did. Quietly, insistently. Her hand flew across the page. Strong, elegant, like a heron soaring over the Great River. Words poured out until precise black marks flooded the parchment. Her long braid brushed her back with furious rhythm. Hours slipped by, driven by the urgency within to complete the task given by the Master.  

The moon had risen high to send light through the tiny upper window before the woman finally paused. Only then did she lower her quill and allow her forehead to drop to the table as she listened.  

        It was complete.  

Mesda stretched her neck and shoulders slowly. Her hands were numb, but she knew pain would come soon, sharp and strong. Meanwhile, the moon gazed through the window, an ancient friend who surely would not tire of an old woman’s mumblings. “I am getting old.” She winced. Needlelike sensations were beginning at her fingertips. “I do not know why the Master thinks me still worthy of the work.” The cot groaned in harmony with her bones as she crawled onto it and lay with a grunt. Surely, her sister would tolerate waiting for a few minutes more.  

Her sister. 

Mesda stretched, watching the moon. Perhaps her sister was right to pursue a warrior’s life instead of a scholar’s path. She’d had her excitement, and now she gracefully doled out advice and justice like so many nuggets while the scholar-scribe had continued to work her neck into a spasm. Still. There was honor in all work assigned by the Master, warrior and scribe alike. 

Mesda smiled, grateful for her own part, awash with a moment of youth until a twinge in her shoulder brought her back. It was time to rise. By now, her sister would be impatiently waiting to receive the scroll and deliver it yet farther to the governors.

My Review of SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

     Judah, the governor of Marah, was betrothed to the son of the Mountain King before she was born. She never met him, but he sent her lovely gifts and wrote elegant letters to her. She is told that if she ever needs his aid, she has only to ask for it. But Judah is independent and believes she can handle her problems. When she becomes ill, she is reminded to ask for the help of the Mountain King, but instead she seeks out a healer who is called the Enlightened One. He cures her but she loses the hearing in one ear. It is Kiran, the Enlightened One, who tells her she is a princess and can become a queen by marriage. 

    Then one day shepherds arrive in Marah with wool. There had been no sheep or shepherds in Marah since the time of the Destruction before Judah was born. She befriends the shepherd, Abel, who teaches her the ways of a shepherd.

    Nevertheless, Judah has far more to learn in this story than the simple ways of a shepherd. She must realize who she can trust and who is a traitor. 

    This is a fascinating allegory which held my attention to the very end. 

This wonderful book is available at many book distributors.

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Apple

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Google

Pelican

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One Summer Long Ago

 The photo above shows my Uncle Robbie, my grandfather, my father, and my Uncle Gene--the baby my father is holding. In the summertime, my grandparents and, in fact, the entire Kierce clan who lived in Jersey City went to Belford, NJ, for the summer. That's where this picture was taken. They stayed in small bungalows, but it was better than being in the city. Those were the days of no air conditioning. From what my father said, my great-grandmother would serve up heaping mounds of potatoes with meat patties simmered in tomato sauce, which doesn't seem like an Irish dish, but that's what they ate. My father loved it and he asked my mother to make it frequently. Dad called it the "Belford Special." I still make it now and then, continuing to call it the "Belford Special." 😊

Last week, my Uncle Gene died. I will miss him. Everyone in that generation who stayed in the little bungalows during the summer in Belford has now passed away. The scary thought is that my sister, my cousins, and I are now the elders. We are the ones who are supposed to be wise. While our generation has experienced plenty of turmoil, I don't know whether any of us have all that much wisdom. We grew up in different times. But we have wonderful examples of fine folks to emulate and hopefully, that will help us. 

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UNCHAINED MELODY by Clare Revell

I've read several of Clare's books and enjoyed each of them. She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, two of their three grown children, unfriendly mini-panther, aka Tilly the cat and newest member Ty the dog. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.

Writing from an early childhood and encouraged by her teachers, she graduated from rewriting fairy stories through fan fiction to using her own original characters and enjoys writing an eclectic mix of romance, crime fiction and children's stories. When she's not writing, she can be found reading, crocheting or doing the many piles of laundry the occupants of her house manage to make.

Her books are based in the UK, with a couple of exceptions, thus, although the spelling may be American in some of them, the books contain British language and terminology and the more recent ones are written in UK English

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The first draft of every novel is hand written. By the way, she claims working from home is a myth and invented by someone who doesn't have a dog!

Clare's latest book is UNCHAINED MELODY.  The setting is Candlewick Lodge, the only home Raven Faulkner has ever known—one her family has run since 1820. When the bell—which according to legend, rings to warn of danger—chimes just before a tree falls on the lodge, Raven tells herself it’s a coincidence. Just as well, because Raven doesn’t have time to decipher supernatural messages. Her biggest worry is keeping her family’s legacy alive.
Fame and fortune are not all they’re cracked up to be. Just as well, after Isaiah Beringer’s meteoric music career nosedives. He’s sure God wants him on the mission field, but every mission society he’s applied to thinks otherwise. Needing someplace secluded and peaceful to lick his wounds and figure out what God wants of him, he books into Candlewick. The problem? The woman who runs the lodge turns out to be his biggest fan.
Rising repair costs and failing health make the future uncertain. Unless Raven and Isaiah can work together to write a new ending to the unchained melody of the Lodge.

I received an advanced copy of Unchained Melody. Read my review below.  

Raven Faulkner is saved by the bell—literally.  There’s a superstition about the old bell on the archway at the Candlewick Lodge, but when it rings one night during a thunderstorm, Raven gets out of bed before a tree falls on the roof.  The damage from the tree is extensive, but that’s not Raven’s only worry. Her grandfather wants to sell the lodge, which has been in the family for generations. 
Isaiah Beringer gave up his successful music career because it clashed with his faith. Despite his number one rock  hits, when he tried gospel music none of his fans liked it. He decides to hide out at the Candlewick Lodge. What he doesn’t know is that Raven is a huge fan. 
Though Raven is beset with enormous trouble, she switches rooms for her guests to a different wing in the lodge. While she is a fan of Isaiah, she acts professionally toward him. However, he is willing to help her. Her grandparents said guests should never do any work at the lodge, but she  is overwhelmed and accepts his aid. She has another guest at the lodge who is decidedly obnoxious, but she manages to deal politely with him.
Raven’s burdens mount. The family discussions about the lodge prove interesting but when Raven’s grandfather turns ill, things go from bad to worse. The twisted trail of clues that lead to why Raven’s grandfather is so intent on selling the historical property is complex and an intriguing part of the story. The gentle relationship that blooms between Raven and Isaiah is charming as this compelling tale winds through the history of the old lodge and the people who have called it home for so long.  

You can find Unchained Melody at:

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Check out Clare Revell's website at: https://clarerevell.com/

THE COMPANY YOU KEEP for $0.99

Halloween is coming! THE COMPANY YOU KEEP is at the rock bottom price of $0.99. It is now available as an audio book, too. This book features a ghost, a billionaire, plenty of evil entities, and a terrible secret. 

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It’s the perfect story for a dark, cold night in the month of October.

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Here are snippets of reviews from the past:

A reader on Goodreads said, "This book surprised me. I though it was just a romantic novel, but I was wrong. Besides romance, includes other genres like suspense , paranormal and crime. I couldn't put it down until I finished it. I really enjoyed the story!"

Diane Tugman of The Romance Studio said, "With each chapter you'll be drawn into a tangled web of the supernatural."

Anastasia Castella-Young of Mind Fog Reviews said, "I highly recommend this paranormal romance to those interested in demons, spirits, adventure and love. Penelope Marzec hits the mark dead on!"

The book tells the story of Jennifer Brant. She is focused on protecting the world from a cursed spirit who guards a deadly portal located on her farm. When a billionaire developer, haunted by the sins of his past, wants to buy her farm, she refuses, knowing the spirit will be released. When someone intent on controlling the demon kidnaps her brother in order to use the farm for his own evil deeds, Jennifer and the billionaire must unite to save her brother and destroy the portal. Can their union grow into a loving and safe lifetime for them and their future generations?

The following scene is in Nathan's point of view--he's the billionaire. While Jennifer sleeps after being involved in an accident, Michael, her brother, offers Nathan the land he wants. This comes as quite a surprise to the billionaire...

Nathan placed another log on the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Jennifer lay on the couch, bundled in a wealth of quilts. Her chest rose and fell softly in a steady rhythm. He sat in the chair and took a calming breath. Despite a variety of bruises and a mild concussion, she should be fine, especially since he had volunteered to watch her for the rest of the night.

Michael walked into the room with two brandy glasses. “Here, McDugan. It’s been a long night.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the glass.

Michael paced around the room with his brow deeply furrowed. The younger man was still revved up and running on adrenaline.

 “I want to thank you. I really panicked when I saw Jen’s truck up against that tree,” he admitted. “I’m usually cool on a call but it’s different when it’s one of your own...” After a pause, Michael continued in a raspy tone. “You see, our parents died in a car accident.”

He nodded. He’d felt the twist in his gut when he had heard the metal crumple in the crash, but when he saw Jennifer in that wreck it was as if his heart slipped out of gear. He sipped some of the brandy. The warmth of peaches tingled on his tongue and his control nearly crumbled. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he dared another taste. The sample reminded him so vividly of the flavor of Jennifer’s lips that he felt nearly possessed.

He drew in a great breath. For a moment tonight, he thought he had lost her. In that brief flash, raw grief sliced into him. Thinking about it later, he was stunned at his violent reaction. He told himself that simply visiting a wreck stirred up the old horror.

“The police said someone tampered with the brake hoses,” Michael blurted out. “But that’s ridiculous. I know it’s an old truck. But George—” He stopped his restless pacing and paled. “George always fixed it.”

“She said the brakes didn’t work.” He kept his voice low. He did not want to disturb her. She needed to rest.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know.” Michael downed a good portion of the brandy in one gulp. “How much land do you really need?”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had heard correctly.

“Your absolute minimum,” Michael reiterated.

Momentarily speechless with surprise, he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Did he see desperation in the hard lines around Michael’s mouth? “Your sister has led the fight and worked the hardest to keep me out of Marlpit. Won’t she consider you a traitor?”

“Everything has changed in the last few months. Everything.” Michael swore softly. “My wife is ill. We had another dry summer so we didn’t grow much produce.” He gave a small snort. “Except for peaches. We had plenty of peaches. Now with Jennifer’s truck destroyed, I don’t think there’s any way—” He didn’t finish the thought. A deep scowl creased his forehead and he balled up his fists.

Nathan cleared his throat. Warning gongs sounded in his brain but he ignored them. He had no reason to trust Michael Brant. However, after tonight, it seemed worth the gamble. “Forty acres.”

Michael sniffed. “Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”

“I padded my original proposal figuring it would get whittled down to nothing anyway.” Despite the heady liquor, his nerves seemed ready to snap. He’d wanted this for so long.

Michael set his glass on the mantle and stared into the fire, his back to Nathan. “What price?”

He realized he was about ready to crush the glass in his hand. He forced himself to relax. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to look casual. He didn’t want to get roped into a ridiculous deal.

“This is an unusual liqueur,” he said, taking another sip from his glass. “Do you make your own brew?”

Michael’s shoulders sagged. “Nah. That stuff is something Jen mixes up. Peach juice and vodka, I think.”

He glanced at her, still sound asleep on the couch. Wispy tendrils framed her serene face. She looked fragile—and enchanting. A pang of something like loneliness stabbed at his heart. Clearing his throat, he added. “Your sister is quite talented.”

“Yeah. Well, you have to do something with all those peaches before they rot,” Michael commented. He plopped down in the wingback chair and hung his head. He looked beaten.

Despite the smell of victory, a hollow space seemed to widen in Nathan’s heart. This had all become more than a simple business deal. While he had spent months arguing with Jennifer and the people of Marlpit, he would win only because fate and some crazed maniac had lent him a hand.

“Which forty acres are you willing to part with?” He stared into the sweet but potent liquor in his glass.

Silence hung in the air for several tense minutes before Michael answered. “You can have a portion of Abigail’s woods.”

He lifted his head and frowned. “It would take extra labor to clear it.”

Michael stood again as he spoke louder than before. “It’s well up on the ridge so you won’t have any drainage problems. In addition, it’s out of the DEP’s designated area.”

Then something sparked in Michael’s eyes as his voice reached a new crescendo. “Aside from that, the visitors to your fancy theater will have a sweeping view of feudal serfs living as they did in the dark ages! You should be able to raise the price of the tickets for that privilege!”

Jennifer moaned and stirred on the couch. Without conscious thought, Nathan sprang to her side. He touched her forehead. His hand shook. He wasn’t sure if she felt warm or hot. Dammit. She looked too pale.

“Should I wake her like the doctor said and ask her some questions? Do you think she’s all right? How does her forehead feel to you?” His heart hammered in his chest.

Michael rubbed the back of his callused hand on his sister’s cheek. “She’s okay. I should just keep my big mouth shut.”

Relief flowed through him. “She always tries to act so tough but she isn’t,” he mumbled, almost to himself. Then he glanced back at Michael, catching an odd puzzled look as it flitted across the younger man’s features.

“Yeah. Well. She’s flesh and blood, McDugan. Two hundred year old maple trees are a lot tougher,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll get a calculator. Let’s talk numbers.”

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You can find the book at many ebook distributors. 

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Why I Get My Flu Shot

      

     Enjoy listening to some madrigals. Whenever I think of madrigals, I think of my first year in college and the reason I always get my flu shot. I'm old and I'm supposed to get a flu shot, but having had the flu once, I never want to suffer through it again. The flu is a nasty virus--even for young people. I got the flu in my freshman year. I was in the prime of my life. But I got sick.

     The day I realized I was getting sick was the day I sang at the Jersey City Woman's Club with our college madrigal choir. I had signed up for the choir because I needed one more credit and I figured it would be fun to sing. We sang songs from the 1500s--all a cappella--in parts. There were lots of fa la la la la's. Our choir sounded great. 

     However, it was very, very hot in the Jersey City Woman's Club and I nearly fainted. The choir director led me to a chair and I sat through the rest of the performance. But I still had to get home, which meant taking a bus to Journal Square, then taking another bus to my hometown, and then walking a mile to the house. It wasn't difficult usually, but there was snow on the ground and it was cold. I was freezing. 

     By the next day, my entire body ached and eating wasn't particularly appealing. The one bright spot was that it was semester break, so I wouldn't miss any classes. 

     My mother mixed up a hot toddy for me, which consisted of some sort of alcohol, hot tea, lemon, and honey. She handed me her concoction every few hours. There wasn't much more she could do for me. I spent my entire semester break in bed and read Hawaii by James Michener whenever I felt like I could keep my eyes open.

     I recovered in time to begin the next semester and was fortunate that I didn't have any complications from the flu. 

    Vaccines are terrific. Doctors can't cure everything, but scientists are figuring out ways to prevent diseases. Get vaccinated!

Romance and Frog Prince

 Yesterday I saw the Frog Prince sitting beside the koi pond. He didn’t move. I wondered if he was afraid of the large koi swimming around the pond, but he wasn’t a small frog. I doubted if he would fit in the mouth of the koi. Maybe he just needed to dry off for a while and take in the sights of the world. Or maybe he was hoping to catch a few tasty bugs. He sat there for quite a while but I didn’t see him eat any bugs. Eventually, he jumped back into the pond, which was a good thing because I was worried that someone would accidentally step on him. 

Once I returned home, I started thinking of that old Grimm fairytale about the Frog Prince. Grimm's tales are, for the most part, quite dark and simply the idea of kissing a frog is repulsive. But then I recalled those long ago boyfriends and the kisses I received from them. 😂 Those kisses weren’t much better than kissing a frog. (Hint: Hubby was much better at kissing than all the old boyfriends.)

In truth, the Frog Prince is a romance which also contains a moral about keeping promises. The princess was a spoiled brat but the biggest obstacle to the romance was the fact that the prince was a frog. Nevertheless, he was a persistent frog for he knew his own salvation relied on the princess keeping her promise, which she did reluctantly. At the climax she throws him against the wall, but the spell on him was broken and love reigned.

There are many, many people who disdain romances because they believe the happy endings are unrealistic. They say that in the beginning the hero and the heroine hate each other and then inexplicably at the end they fall madly in love. 

I disagree with that stereotyped idea of the romance genre. In the beginning of a romance there are always obstacles to the relationship of the two protagonists. That is not an absurd notion. It happens in real life. While your future husband or wife may not be a frog, they may have a job in a different state. The hero may be a police officer while the heroine's father was a mean police officer and so she doesn't trust someone with that occupation. That's just the way things work in the world. Nevertheless, the couple can work things out. The magic in a romance is love. And love can change the world--even the very broken one we live in. There can be happy endings if we keep our promises, just as the princess had to keep her promise to the Frog Prince. 

Best of all, romances offer hope and leave readers with a positive feeling.

Maybe the frog I saw at the pond finds true love and eventually fathers thousands of little tadpoles that look just like him who spend their lives eating lots of mosquitoes and other annoying bugs. Isn’t that a realistic happy ending?

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Working On Another Historical

This is a photo of a Butterick pattern from 1918, which I found on Pinterest. I always look up what was fashionable in any time period when I write a historical. I like writing historicals because I truly enjoy digging into the past. So, this time around, I chose 1918 as the year. The book is set in New Jersey, which means I've had to do quite  a bit of research of what it was like here in NJ 107 years ago. It is quite intriguing. One popular soda fountain drink at that time was an Orange Crush. 

Most people know about the Spanish Flu, which occurred at that time. According to the Pan American Health Organization, "The United States lost 675,000 people to the Spanish flu in 1918-more casualties than World War I, World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War combined." (Hint: The flu is real and dangerous.)

However, one of the most devastating disease of all times was tuberculosis. According to historyofvaccines.org, "...tuberculosis claims the highest death toll across history, with an estimated 1 billion lives lost..."  My mother's cousin had tuberculosis and spent some time in a sanitorium. In 1918, there were sanitoriums in New Jersey, but a specific surgery was being used for TB patients. It didn't cure the disease but sometimes it helped the patient. Fortunately, antibiotics have successfully been used to control that terrible disease. But it is still with us. It has not been eradicated. 

Aside from diseases of the era, there was much being done in the US to help with the war effort. One odd thing I discovered was that people saved peach pits, nuts shells, and such. The pits were used to create activated carbon, which was used in gas masks. 

Both of my grandfathers served in World War 1. My paternal grandfather went to France and my maternal grandfather served along the Mexican border, watching out for Pancho Villa. I wish I had asked them more about their time in the service. My paternal grandfather never said anything about his experience and my maternal grandfather said very little. Of course, my grandmothers were in this country as the war went on. So, learning about that time period in more depth is a little like being in their company again. Though I so much wish I could have asked all the questions and written it down while they were still here. 

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