All Eyes on Martuk

So, with Martuk … the Holy: Proseuche, the sequel to Martuk … the Holy, almost finished, I’m doing a bit of marketing via a great, big two week Blog Tour.

Try not to get too excited, guys.

Baltimore concert

If you haven’t had enough of me by now, no doubt you’ll most certainly have your fill by the 15th of October.  😉

That being said, check out the tour dates:

 

October 1
Interview with Fang-tastic Books
http://www.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com

October 2
Interview with BookwormBridgette’s World
http://bookwormbridgette.blogspot.com/

October 2
A Guest Blog for Rose & Beps Blog –
http://rosebeps.blogspot.it/

October 3
A Spotlight over at Eclipse Reviews
http://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com

October 4
Interview with Dalene’s Book Reviews
http://dalenesbookreviews.blogspot.com/

October 7
Interview with Pembroke Sinclair
http://www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com

October 7
A Spotlight and a review from Deb Sanders
http://debsanders.com

October 8
Interview with Author Karen Swart
http://authorkarenswart.blogspot.com

October 9
A Guest Blog for So Much TO Write So Little Time
http://somuchtowritesolittletime.com

October 9
A Spotlight on Mommasez…blog
http://ccclubbs.com/

October 10
A Guest Blog and a review from Roxanne’s REalm
http://www.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com

October 11
A Spotlight over at Fae Books
http://www.FaeBooks.co.uk

October 14
A Guest Blog for Simply Infatuated
http://www.simplyinfatuated.com/

October 15
A Guest Blog for Cloey’s Book Reviews and Other Stuff
http://cloeyk.blogspot.com

October 15
A review from Bookworm Babblings –
http://inspirationsbysimone.blogspot.com

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… silent and never ending

A small snippet from Martuk … the Holy:  Proseuche, the sequel to Martuk … the Holy:

 

I cared not for them.

They wanted words of comfort.  Wise words.  Words that would guide them and still their nervous hearts and quiet their many fears.  They wanted their teacher and I wanted their blood.

I took the bread and shoved it in my mouth.  It was easier that way.  It stopped their annoying kindness and halted the screams waiting in my throat.

A great desert, I thought.  Yes, I wanted to be in a great empty desert far from life and people.  A desert where I could scream and sob and no one would care because I would be known to none.  A desert that could swallow me and my pain.

I looked at them again, these men.  Looked into their eyes and saw nothing.  Looked into their hearts and saw even less.

I wanted to go.

Take me away, my angels, I silently prayed as I chewed and chewed and chewed the bread, my fingers ripping away more and shoving the stale dough into my mouth.  Take me away from these people who know me not.  Take me far, far away.

Behind me, they stood.  The innocents sitting before me scrambled back at the sight of my angels, these winged ones.  Words were being said, but I listened not.  Perhaps there were tears, but I cared not.  I just wanted to be no more.

Take me, I begged, my voice and my tears and my rage silent and never ending.

Take me.

And they did, these angels, the world going dark as their wings closed around me and the disciples screamed.

It begins with a whisper …

From the blood drenched depravity of The Wounded King and the ancient curses of The Elder, we now follow a young man in his journey to the coveted red and gold robes of a Priest in Red and Gold, the third installment in The Martuk Series, Jonathan Winn’s ongoing collection of short fiction inspired by his award-winning novel Martuk … the Holy.

It begins with a whisper.

The words a warning, silently spoken to the heart of this innocent kneeling in the mighty Temple of Uruk one thousand years before the birth of Christ. A young one who dreams of being wrapped in the red and gold robes of a priest.

But this warning whispered by a mysterious Magi leads to doubt. And then to fear. This stranger who wields magic from the anonymity of shadow forcing this initiate to look beyond the power of the Temple into the frightening black hearts of those who rule.

Haunted by the cries of those Bones in the Stones, his kindness stumbling under the weight of a young boy he leads to slaughter, all while trapped in this life he’s chosen and now can never escape, this is the story of how horrible truths and bloody betrayals destroy the dreams of innocent hearts.

This is … Red and Gold.

— available now —

the names that killed me

a small excerpt from Martuk … the Holy:  Proseuche  (Nov 2013) the sequel to Martuk … the Holy

Son of Mary.  Messiah.  King of the Jews.

I was all of these and none of these.

Jesus bar Joseph was forgotten.  As was Jesus, their friend, their brother, their son.  Perhaps even Jesus, the man who was loved and kissed and held close.

They forgot the man I was so Son of Mary, Messiah, King of the Jews could live.  And die.  These are the names that dragged me onto Gol’gotha, that put the lash to my back, the nails in my hands, the spear in my side.

These are the names that killed me.

These are the lies.

Proseuche_Ebook-1-rough

the air thick with secrets

Doing a final polish on Red and Gold, the latest installment in The Martuk Series, and should have it Live on Amazon, etc. in a day or two.  🙂

Until then, here’s the cover.

Red & Gold Final-cover

 

Tip of a grateful cap to my cover artist, Timothy Burch.  He’s kinda awesome.  🙂

And, yeah, why the hell not?  Here’s a brief excerpt:

 

Listen well …

The voice, the whisper, came again.

I listened.

The Elder was passing me.  He moved by, calm and quick.  I did not exist to him.  I was no one.  A stranger to ignore.  An initiate who had yet to earn the priesthood, my thick hair damning me to ignominy on sight.

Ah, but this stranger, the one with the cloak ringed with the dull white of bone, he was not one to ignore.  I could sense fear in the old man, The Elder.  I could feel the air thick with secrets and shame and an utter sense of powerlessness.

The Elder stopped.

I glanced at his bare feet.

They were covered in blood.  And bits of flesh?   Yes, that’s what it looked like, his long toes smeared in discarded shards of torn flesh.  And the hem of his red and gold robe, it, too, was covered in blood.  It was dripping, small drops of blood staining the stone beneath his feet.

Dripping.

The blood was fresh.

And they, the two of them, The Elder and this stranger who could whisper to the darkest depths of my soul, both smelled of smoke and raging fire and torn flesh.

But The Elder had stopped.  Could he hear my thoughts?  Could he read my soul?  Did he know I had linked his name, his greatness, with words like shame and powerlessness?

If so, I would incur his wrath.

No …

The stranger grew close.  Looked at me.  He, too, was covered in blood.  His robe dripping fresh blood.  His feet stained red.  More so than The Elder’s.  As if this stranger, whose toes almost squished with fresh blood, had waded through an ocean of red to stand before me.

Yes …

I raised my eyes, slowly, so, so slowly.

His chest was bare.  It was covered in blood.

His head was shaved smooth.  It was covered in blood.

His eyes, peering from beneath a layer of red, were looking at mine.

A small smile grew on his thin lips.

Young priest …

came the whisper.

Listen well and I will give you the world.