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MOONDOCK
By
Jewel Adams
Chosen by the High Council to
find the ancient Selams and save the Nemow race from
destruction, Melane melds the inherited magical
powers of her Syron birth mother and her training as
Captain of the Lamar Grand Guard, to confront the
men of childhood myths. Melane learns that neither
magic nor her warrior skills can protect her from
Wylan, King of Moondock, the man that now claims her
as his own in a ritual as old as time.
Fantasy Sensual
Romance
ISBN: 978-1-935048-07-7
1-935048-07-4
Word Count: 63,321
EBook $6.49
Trade Paperback
$14.49 plus shipping.
WHAT THEY ARE
SAYING ABOUT MOONDOCK
Ms. Jewel gives us suspense, love, an excellent
storyline, humor, great dialogue. I think Melane
scares the wits out of Wylan sometimes. Seems every
time he starts to weaken and admit his love he goes
running off to do some useless task to keep him away
from her. This tale is just fun and great
entertainment.
Overall rating: 5 Hearts
Sensuality rating: Very sensual
Reviewer: Dee Dailey
EXCERPT
MOONDOCK
Prologue
“Fools…” Icy air hissed past
the wrinkled blue lips. She ambled up the torch lit
caverns growling as her stilted form weaved in anger
from wall to moss caked wall.
“Spawn of her male twin! Should
have killed both of Sabrina’s monsters at
birth.” The cold eyes darted about the lifeless
caverns, Narmar’s traitorous lips pressed tight to
silence the condemning truth. Murdering the mother
and boy child had been necessary. If only she had
thought further to the girl and what might come.
Narmar cursed her failure. The fearful secret, which
only she carried these last burdensome years, was
seeking vengeance.
“Melane.” Her voice rattled
over the dangerous presence. Denying the child’s
birthright as a Syron and casting her as a Lamar
failed. Narmar did not foresee Shemon’s influence on
the girl as her foster mother. Though Melane never
openly questioned the casting, Narmar’s spies told
her of the inherent powers awakening in Melane.
Sabrina had been the strongest
of the Syron’s. Her mystical powers surpassed all
before her, even to bearing a male child! Now,
Melane possessed her birth mother’s powers, but
lacked the training to know their strengths and
weakness. Narmar insured Sabrina never bore another
child, male or female, to prevent the upheaval of
their society. The old priestess bore this shameful
burden. The false casting into service with the
Lamar Guard only served to place Melane beyond
Narmar’s influence. Shemon’s claim on the girl child
made Melane untouchable and until now, only a minor
threat. Narmar again cursed the girl and her success
where failure should have ruled.
The old cinder eyes went cold
as ash. Narmar still needed to complete the ugly
deed before ruin reached out and crush Nemow’s
society. “I will destroy the harlot’s spawn!”
MOONDOCK
By
Jewel Adams
CHAPTER One – The
Knowledge
ome
Melane, the council is about to convene.”
The
aquamarine eyes couldn’t leave the old Weaver
sitting among the children. The flowing yards of
pastel silk billowing under the gentle breeze lent a
mystical air to the common gathering. Cibrac—for the
most part—was a magical city of beauty and peace.
Like the children, Melane sat here many times to
hear the legends cast out by the Weavers on the
council square. Within the high white walled
compound the young ones remained ignorant of the
dangers lurking outside the fortress. As a captain
in the Lamar sect, Melane knew only too well of the
falsehoods surrounding the Nemow’s sheltered
existence.
“You go on Lilli, I’ll catch
up.” Drawn closer by the Weaver’s lyrical words,
Melane never saw her comrade’s frown.
Many small eyes gazed up in awe
at the warrior in their midst. The impressive
leather amour captured their fantastical imagination
away from the Weaver’s tale.
“…from this land the questors
will follow their hearts, but only one will succeed
in finding the truth and hope for her people.
Treachery and deceit will block this Nemow’s path to
her destiny. Evil will come in many forms. This
Syron’s powers are vast and unknown among her peers,
but they alone will not help the Nemow. Courage,
skills and the unknown power of…love…will guide her
quest.”
A small child spoke up. “Love
for the Nemows?”
“That and more, my child.” The
Weaver’s penetrating gaze lifted from her charges to
the warrior standing outside their circle. “The
ancient love…found only in the midst of the Selams.”
An expectant ‘ah’ escaped the
small petal mouths as if they knew exactly what the
Weaver spoke of.
Melane’s dark slender brows
crimped above her bright blue eyes. Though she
scoffed at the children’s story, something held her
in place before the graying gaze of the storyteller.
The elders of the Nemow sects were to be respected,
but Melane felt troubled by the mystical tale that
spoke of priestly visions, but held little
historical basis.
Years of training, instilled by
the fierce code of the Lamar Grand Guards, forbade
her to ignore the Weaver’s prophetical teachings.
And yet, the increasing presence of something
unknown, deep mysteries in her heart prevented the
call for reprimand.
Her sharp turn to leave the
group sent her long, silken ponytail rising from her
helmet, floating through the air in ebony waves.
“Doth the Grand Lamar Captain
find fault with Amelia’s telling of the prophecy?”
the Weaver asked.
Melane’s hand automatically
encircled the silver sword hilt at her waist. The
demonstration was unwarranted. The Weaver was hardly
the enemy she faced outside Cibrac’s pristine walls.
Trying to relax her defensive stance, Melane eased
about to face the old woman. “Your teachings hold
fantasies, not truth.”
“A Weaver strives to explore
all aspects of the Nemow’s lives. Is not the future
as dear to us as the past?”
Pressing her lips together,
Melane held back the argument. She was taught never
to dispute her elders. “Might the Weaver’s teachings
of the present benefit these children more than
fantasy?”
“The Lamar speaks from
knowledge most are blind to.”
Raising her proud head,
Melane’s eyes sparked in warning against the brutal
truth. “Take care, Weaver.”
“Open your heart, brave
Captain. Its truth is our salvation.”
The old woman’s words burned
against the light armor on Melane’s retreating back,
making it hard to dismiss what just transpired.
Already the council’s inner
hall was crowded with the various ruling sects.
Melane saw Lilli’s raised arm and maneuvered to join
her comrade and the other Lamars in attendance. As
with their fifteen, similar groups stood from each
sect around the chambers. The distinctions of the
many sect members were obvious, but they shared the
ingrained belief all sects were equal in merit and
deeds. Yet, all were aware of the differences that
set them apart.
By choice the Weavers, on the
whole, were a plain looking lot. They donned the
plainest materials in their garments. Melane always
wondered over the lack of finery. Did the absence of
silks and damask enhance academic knowledge? It was
a child’s question, the woman knew better. Teachings
passed down from one Weaver to another gave
knowledge.
The Begoné workers handed down
their skills, traditions and expertise of each
trade. Millers, merchants, smiths of weapons and
tools, the Begonés held sects within their class as
no others in the kindred of Cibrac.
Melane’s brilliant eyes left
the colorful group of Begonés resting admiringly
upon the group of Syrons. Ah, she felt her heart
race over her mother’s sect, and yes, the pang of
disappointment that came from seeing them always
instilled. That strange awareness that would not be
stilled rose inside her again. Sabrina was not even
a memory to hold to, but Melane held instinctive
feelings for her life bearer. All Nemow’s derived
from the sacred sect of the Syrons. Every class born
from the same beginnings. There should be no
disappointment held in her heart for being cast as
an honorable Lamar, protectors of the Nemows.
Melane rose through the ranks
to Captain of the grand guard because of her
abilities and deeds. At seventeen, her peers envied
her for her accomplishments, which did not come as
easy to her as to many of her friends. Lilli, at
nineteen, was a head taller than Melane, as were
most of the other officers. Their physical strengths
had never been Melane’s, but even as a child the
differences plagued the slender grace that enfolded
Melane. Everything she did took twice the effort,
but she conquered her inadequacies, earning her
foster mother Shemon’s approval. It was because of
this woman’s love and support that Melane strove to
succeed against the odds.
Proudly, she found her foster
mother at the center of the priestess council, a
regal beauty unmatched by any other. Failure as the
high priestess’ daughter had never been a choice for
Melane. Their gazes locked for a moment in mutual
understanding, the younger woman’s eyes lowering in
respect before the proud beacons.
Shemon’s strength and power
guided Melane to success. Shemon was first general
of the Lamar sect, chosen above all others as the
high priestess of the Nemow race. Sadly, Melane knew
the same admiration she held for the woman was a
silencing force against her young heart’s increasing
questions.
Always a shameful weight,
Melane learned early to hide the discoveries opening
inside her. So many times she wanted to ask Shemon
about the visions that left her weak and trembling
at dawn. Telling dreams were only for the Syrons. A
Lamar would be considered weak and useless to give
in to such failings. In the Syrons, it was strength,
but to Melane, it held hidden embarrassment that
left her confused. There were not supposed to be
error’s in the casting of sects! To believe her life
as a Lamar was a mistake would be traitorous.
Even against the denials, there
remained a difference in Melane beyond physical
appearance and dreams. Nothing stopped the
increasing feelings stirring to life inside her.
Pain and anger reigned beside the strange sense of
hidden powers outside her grasp. It was like a
hunger she could never sate.
The stillness settling through
the crowd pulled Melane’s thoughts back to the
council. Lilli leaned down towards her, in a
whisper. “They say the council has been closeted for
days over their coming announcement.”
Melane refused to give Lilli
the acknowledgement she sought. Shemon’s doings were
not for public disclosure, no matter how close the
friend. The rumors were only half truths fueled by
fearful debate. The priestess had been in heated
meetings for nearly a month trying to decide how to
combat the Kibra’s threat against their
civilization.
Melane’s jaw clenched over the
attacks launched this last week alone by the
monsters. Animals! Beasts of the night maintained
more morals than this enemy. It wasn’t only their
masculine strength that made them so dangerous, but
the savage cruelty in their acts against the Nemows.
The continued, useless slaughter of hundreds took
its toll on the populace. Nary a Begoné farm was
left untouched by the killings and devastation.
Lamar guards were held in force about the perimeters
to protect the harvest. Hunger loomed as a large
threat in the coming winter because of the Kibra’s
bloody destruction.
A hush followed Shemon’s rise
before the amassed sect representatives.
“Good citizens of Cibrac, your
council has come to a decision to destroy our enemy,
the Kibra. Hear me well, all sects of Nemows, ‘tis a
grave task we place before you.” Shemon let the
words race through the crowd, many a frown marred
the strong faces about the Lamar sect. Their own
were held fast against succumbing to the panic.
“From among each sect, we will
choose one of your group to go forth. This chosen
Nemow will seek out the ancient Selams.”
The voices before the priestess
raced in incredulous excitement. Shemon’s voice rose
in strength. “The Selams, once a part of our
ancestors’ lives, are again needed to insure our
race survives the forces trying to destroy us!”
More than one voice cried out
in frightened exclamation. “But they are males!”
Melane’s own face tightened
against the unspoken fear of the Nemows. The Kibra
were males! Did not the Selams carry the same brutal
danger?
Kibras attacked for only one
reason, to take Syrons to bear their vile offspring
and insure their race line continues. They killed
all others that stood in their way. Slavery to the
beasts was a fate all captives faced–bear the
unwanted spawns of a brutal race!
Unmoving, Melane struggled with
the priestess’ decree. Selams were only a myth…a
tale passed down by the Weavers…weren’t they? Could
they be real? If so, why had none shown themselves?
Thankfully, the Selams were never described as
enemies like the dreaded Kibra.
Her own tension increased with
the uneasiness in the crowd. In whispered
communication, Melane moved the other Captains out
across the front of the crowd to contain the unrest.
Finding Shemon’s gaze following her, she gave a nod
that all was in hand.
“Citizens of the sects! Are we
weaklings to be ruled by the irrational fears of our
ancestors? Do you not remember the Weaver’s teaching
of how our forbearers lived in harmony with the
Selams? Was not the greatest safety and peace in the
Nemow’s lives when the Selams were our partners?”
A silence filtered through the
mass, but Melane and the other captains kept their
backs to the council, and their attention on their
peers. Melane was actually relieved to have
something of importance to do, to override the
unlikable thoughts Shemon’s words invoked. Though
she would never voice her own doubts as to the
wisdom of the council, they screamed inside her head
all too loudly.
“Do not the sects hold the
wisdom to seek the very equal of our enemy to defeat
them?”
A voice called out to Melane’s
left making her move cautiously in that direction.
“And what if our saviors become
the same, or even a greater threat in the process?”
“Joyimar, the spokeswoman for
the Syron’s, has voiced the council’s own dilemma,”
Shemon answered.
Joyimar stepped beside Melane
to confront Shemon. Her fine satin and lace gown
swept the floor, in sharp contrast to Melane’s
leather breastplate and skirt that only touched her
thighs. On the Syron’s wrist were bands of silver
and gold, where Melane wore wide studded armbands
that protected her forearms.
“And what answers has the
council to combat the possibility? If the Selams
even exist, how could we expect them to defend us?
Would not they, like the Kibra beasts, want only to
rule and kill the Nemows?”
“Joyimar’s words are an echo of
the fears that have festered throughout the ages.
Should not we ask ourselves to remember how it was
with the Selams and trust our joining could again
bring safety into our lives?”
The priestess waited for the
representatives to talk among themselves. For the
Lamars standing guard, the outcome of the debate
mattered little, since protecting the Nemows
wouldn’t end at the decision found here today.
When all quieted, Shemon
motioned for the Weaver’s spokeswoman to step
forward. “Yes, Carril, what say the Weavers?”
“We, the Weavers, know the odes
and predictions…we say…seek the Selams in spite of
the dangers.”
“And you, Winfred of the
Begonés, what do you say?”
“We the Begonés want to know
how the council plans to find the mythical Selams?”
“Always the practical of our
civilization. Before I answer, the Syrons have not
given their opinion. Joyimar?”
“One threat for another is
unpalatable, but the chance that the Selams are
unlike the Kibras is one that tips the weights. We
too will listen.”
“The sect Lamar, has not
conferred. Will you choose a spokeswoman?”
Jenna stepped forward. She was
one of the older commanders, but she retained her
strength and admirable fair beauty. Without her
armor, the power in her tight limbs was evident and
Melane envied her size.
“The Lamars will stand by the
majority. To protect the kingdom from Kibra or
Selam, it matters not. Should the Selams defeat the
Kibra and remain friends to us, as to the ancients,
the peace will be welcomed.”
All of the priestesses, except
old Narmar, rose as one for Shemon’s next
announcement. “It is decided. We will seek the
Ancient Selams help. To do this we will choose one
representative from each sect. As requested, fifteen
of your peers are in attendance. One name will be
drawn from their midst for the quest.”
Melane stepped back to Lilli,
faltering over Shemon’s words that mirrored the
Weaver’s in the courtyard. She felt a chill pass up
her bare thighs, beneath the small skirt of her
gown, under the leather apron.
“…each will follow their
instincts to seek the Selams. Once found, they will
present our plight to the Selam rulers and strive in
every way to influence their decision to come to our
aide. Each of the questors will carry the authority
to speak for Nemows, this will include accepting any
terms necessary for the rejoining of our
civilizations.”
Four bowls were brought forth
before the priestess. The spokeswoman for each sect
was called forward.
“You will draw the name of your
peer, sending her on the quest.”
Joyimar picked first for the
Syrons, calling out the name from the folded
parchment. “Karla!”
A small girl with short blonde
curls in pink silks stepped forward. She looked
barely old enough to take up her birthing rites.
Melane wondered how Shemon expected the girl to
survive outside these walls, doubting that Karla had
ever stepped outside the guarded gates.
Next came the Weaver, Carril.
The woman was a familiar face among the Lamar
apprentice. She carried a serene gentleness in her
nature that the young ones loved.
“Selana!” The tall, plain
looking, older woman stepped forward, seeming
confident in her acceptance of the task ahead. The
Weavers were a guarded lot, always making people
believe they knew more than they shared in their
teachings. Melane felt their knowledge might help
this one succeed.
The Begonés choice pleased
Melane more than the others. Krista was one of the
farmers from the north fields. They spoke many times
when she rode guard over the land. The woman knew
the territory and what dangers to expect. She was
strong and never showed any weakness in her toiling
labors. Krista was also very beautiful, holding a
rare color of auburn in her hair. Most Nemows were
blonde and brown-haired women. Unconsciously,
Melane’s hand rose and touched her own striking
black locks.
“Melane!” Jenna’s voice
stiffened the girl in unspoken denial.
“Go up, Melane…always the lucky
one!”
Lilli would never have believed
how hateful Melane’s thoughts became towards her
friend at that moment. Pulling on all her
disciplined strength, she stepped unfaltering
towards Shemon. Her inner scream Why me?
never passed her tightly held lips.
“The chosen will go and prepare
for their journey, meeting back here tomorrow at
dawn.”
A strange feeling seeped over
Melane, drawing her towards the cold set eyes
driving into her own. Narmar! Ice set in her
young bones over the woman’s openly hateful sneer.
Many times she felt or saw the old priestess’ eyes
upon her, but this was the most blatant.
“Melane?” Shemon followed her
charge’s troubled attention; a dark curse marred the
regal features over the reason for Melane’s
distress. “Come Melane, we must talk…now!”
The unexpected sharpness cut
the old priestess’ grim hold, reddening the girl’s
face. Melane followed in the wake of Shemon’s tense
steps. Throughout the years, she learned to
recognize the emotional signs in her foster mother.
The woman’s anger was unsettling, increasing her own
dark emotions over what she had just been selected
to accomplish.
“Wait for me inside, Melane.”
Obeying the woman came as
easily to her as the defensive fighting skills
always a part of her existence. Just as she heard,
without thinking, Shemon’s orders to the Lamar guard
to take their positions outside her chambers. The
act was out of character for Shemon, but Melane only
registered the thought, not the questions it posed.
Her own concerns were too persistent.
“Do I detect disapproval in
those enticing eyes, or is it Narmar’s hatred that
worries you?” The door shut and locked behind her
words. “Sit down Melane, shed the armor, we have
much to discuss this last night before you leave.”
Doing as she requested, while
working to unfasten the buckles at her shoulders,
she spoke. “Only the Begoné’s, Krista, can survive
the wilds.”
“Do you doubt your own
abilities?”
Melane’s eyes blazed without
thinking at the insult.
“No, I thought not. You are
right of course, about the Syron and Weaver. They
have not the stamina to meet the task.” Shemon held
up her ringed hand, stopping the girl’s obvious
question. “All the sects have to be involved in
order to accept what the future could bring forth.”
Dropping the armor and weapons
into the cushioned chair, Melane’s sleek body
stretched out in freedom, raising the flimsy smock
up to her bare curved buttock.
“Shall we speak freely and
honestly this night, my daughter?”
“Have we not always?”
“No, my child.”
Melane’s eyes fell away from
the ones that looked too deep.
“You have never really hid your
troubles from me, Melane. Tonight I feel we should
speak of these worries you carry.” The dark thick
lashes raised slowly before the patient woman.
“Melane?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us start with,
Narmar.”
“She is a priestess.”
“She is an evil old witch! Her
fears have stolen her heart and fouled her mind to
what is good and decent. She is, and always has
been, your enemy!”
Dropping into the chair under
the force of Shemon’s unexpected vehemence, Melane
struggled to hold her composure. “But why? I have
never spoken a word to the woman—good or bad—yet, I
know your words are true.”
“The truth may never be
proven.” Shemon’s eyes dropped to the girl’s paling
knuckles. Melane always possessed a sense of things
and people. How many times had Shemon wished to
speak like this to her…daughter. Yes, in all but one
respect, she was that and more. Tonight all needed
to be said. Shemon hoped it would be enough. “Your
birth mother, Sabrina, died very shortly after your
birth. The cause was never discovered.”
“Narmar?” The dark mass of hair
shimmered in disgust. “Why?”
“It is a question I have asked
myself many times. Fear, but of what, I have never
learned. That Narmar killed Sabrina, I could not
prove, only believe. I also believe she would have
ended your life as well, but casting you as a Lamar
gave you into my protection before she could carry
out the rest of her evil.”
It was not so much Shemon’s
shocking revelation that struck Melane, but the
enormous implication concerning the casting. She
needed to know. “Am I truly a Lamar?”
“Dear Melane, the answer has
been known to both of us for sometime. For your
safety I held my silence, your own was held in the
pain I have seen. I am sorry for that, it was
unavoidable.”
Pushing out of the chair the
hurt became too great to keep smothered. “You never
would have told me if not for the quest?”
“I could lie and say I would
have stayed silent, but no Melane, it is I that has
chosen the time to tell you.”
All the adrenaline left her.
What she felt Shemon was admitting stunned Melane
into silence.
“Yes my daughter, I made sure
you were chosen tonight.”
She never expected this from
Shemon. Seeing how her mother shook over the
admission left Melane at a loss to refute the
underhanded event.
“Melane, please try and
understand; the ruse was necessary. You yourself
know how futile the efforts from the Syrons and
Weavers will be. The Begonés? It remains to be seen.
Child, you are a Lamar, by error is true, but by
training and thought you are all I could have wanted
for a daughter to follow in my steps. There is no
lie in the pride that I hold in my heart for you,
Melane. Against all the odds your have proven how
deserving you are to hold the rank of grand guard
captain.”
Melane’s own pride rose in
light of the just words. “I am a Lamar.”
“Yes.” The time had come. “And
Melane, you are also Sabrina’s daughter…in all
ways.” She waited for her breathless revelation to
brighten those crystal blue pools. “You are a Syron,
Melane, by birth and in gifts. The powers are
surging inside you, screaming for release—not
denials!”
“But…”
“No, do not speak of doubts,
only truths. Tonight the truth, you are a child of
two sects, two skills, two gifts. The combination
can reach further than any known to exist in the
Nemows. Lamar skills, together with Syron powers,
are an untouchable force!”
“Shemon stop, this cannot be.”
“It can and is! Melane, listen
to me, not all of the Nemows’ teachings and rules
are infallible. Some are derived out of need or
control, to benefit the mass, it does not make them
right, just necessary.” Her hand smoothed back the
soft bangs on her daughter’s beautiful face. “Oh
child, open your mind and heart to what is inside
you, let the powers come, stop fighting them. You
will need all the strength they can give you. Let
them help when your Lamar training fails. There will
be times when it will Melane, then you will see I am
right.”
“Sabrina had powers no other
Syron ever possessed. She could see things in
dreams. She had the power to stop or send objects at
will. There were others she never spoke of…forces
beyond comprehension. I think they frightened her
with their strength. She told me once, not even the
herbs could restore her own strength when she used
certain ones, and once used they were gone forever.
Some came naturally, without conscious thought or
loss of strength.”
Could it be true? Melane pulled
away from Shemon, needing to reflect on her own
feelings.
“Tell me Melane? What have you
felt?”
“Dreams…I have had the dreams
that leave me weak and trembling. Mostly of battles
to come. I tried to forget what my mind held, but
during the fights my moves came without thoughts,
already defending an unseen blow or delivering a
killing slash before theirs ended my life.”
“The blending of skills…the two
sects.”
Spinning on her, Melane
screamed, “But it is wrong!”
“Is it wrong that I saved you
from Narmar’s evil fate? Hmm? The woman still fears
your strengths, the power that passed from mother to
daughter. Oh yes, we have both given you all we
possess. Sabrina’s guidance is all that is lacking
in your knowledge. It is there—inside—waiting for
your call. Never deny what she gave you, listen to
Sabrina’s powers and let her help you fulfill the
quest.”
“If I go and seek the Selams,
do you honestly believe they are real?”
“All legends begin with fact.”
“They would be males?”
“The prospect frightens you?”
“Shouldn’t it?”
“You have faced the Kibra.”
“They are animals, beast before
all else. The Selams may be the same.”
“Only finding them will tell
you.”
“Should I succeed, can you
really think to obtain mutual rule?”
“That decision will have to be
faced. I do know, without them, we face annihilation
at the hands of those beasts out there. We are
losing Melane. The Syron’s numbers have dwindled
nearly to half. Without them we will slowly die.
Even worse is the suffering the raids are bringing
upon us. So many others have been needlessly killed.
The Begonés will eventually revolt, their death
counts are climbing each day.” Shemon stared into
the glaring denial shining in the girl’s gaze upon
her. “And the Lamars, dear Melane, you know the
losses we have suffered. Your own regiment is down
by a third and they are our best warriors. So you
see we have no options.”
“They could refuse.”
“Offer what ever it takes to
win their agreement. I give you the authority to act
and speak for me. What ever is asked, Melane.”
Did she really mean what Melane
believed, “Shemon?”
“Yes Melane, even the Syrons.
One sect for the whole civilization is a small
price. The civilization will flourish, if we rejoin
the Selams. We will just have to learn to tolerate
the males.”
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