that someday is today

In June of 2012, a couple months after publishing Martuk the Holy, I found myself still haunted by those people in the pages. Having created monsters, I really wanted to strip them of their cruelty and discover their humanity. Figure out the Whys to their Whats. See who they were before they became nightmares.

So, with my own life at the time incredibly dark and difficult, I sat down and, giving voice to that darkness, wrote The Wounded King, the first in what I hoped would be an ongoing series of short fiction. Though unspoken at the time, my ultimate goal was to someday, hopefully, compile these books into a collection.

Today, with the release of The Martuk Series, Vol. 1, A Collection of Short Fiction, that someday is today.

And that’s kinda cool.

“Powerful and brutally honest. Assassin’s Creed meets a darker and more ancient mythology. Winn sees the world like no other author I’ve ever read.” – Joe Mynhardt, Publisher/Founder, award-winning Crystal Lake Publishing

“Equal parts deceptive beauty, haunting darkness and shocking brutality. Jonathan Winn’s prose drags you, the reader, through a gauntlet of experiences. It’s a horror reader’s nightmare come true.” – Zakk, The Eyes of Madness

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an easy lie

In the silence of the Temple, they spoke.

A murmur, a sigh, an awakening, a cry.

Mother …

Father …

King …

I moved my cheek from the stone, the pain of the whispers too great to bear.

Although night, the workers — slaves, prisoners of war, many of them mere boys — still pulled and pushed the immense blocks into place, the already overwhelming Temple forever expanding, a veritable mountain of stone at the edge of the city.

For many of them, this was all they knew, their lives after capture, after defeat, one of constant work, nonexistent sleep, and death, quick and inevitable.

Above them all, the Priests watched.

And here, under the light of an almost full moon, the pain, the rage, the powerless despair of all those trapped and troubled bones in the stone surrounded me like a fog.

In the quiet, safe in the dark, far from those who watched and those who worked, I pressed myself to the cool rock.

I would listen.

Cry …

Whimper …

Sob …

Yes, I feel you.

Wound …

Suffer …

Die …

I pulled away.

Die …

King …

Die …

“They know you.”

I turned.

A small woman stood behind me, her long hair as silver as the light bathing her, the years in her face softened by the glow of the moon.

I glanced around for my guards. But, no, I had left them hours ago, ordering them away before I climbed the hill to the Temple.

“Your guilt needed solitude,” she said. “Your shame too great to share, yes?”

She waited.

I nodded.

Yes.

“And this is why you, the Almost King, stand here now, at this hour, under the moon, listening.”

She stepped closer.

Though draped in woolen, the rough fabric scarred by clumsily mended rips and tears, her feet bare, her wiry frame alarmingly thin, she carried herself with an unapologetic sense of majesty and dignity and strength as she moved near.

“Is your power worth all that death?”

“No.” The answer came from me, quick and unthinking. “No.”

“And yet it is not something you can deny, this power. This crown. It will be yours regardless of what you want or what you do. Or what I do. Born into this, you are as trapped as those in the stone.”

The tears threatened to come. I blinked. And blinked again.

“The most powerful of men,” she said, her voice gentle and kind, “utterly powerless to change what must be changed.”

Watching me, she grew silent as if she, too, were listening.

She turned her head, her gaze on the workers in the distance, the sweat on their skin shining under the glow of torchlight.

“Your mother is one with the Dark Gods, yes?”

I hesitated.

“There’s no need to answer.” She continued to watch the nameless who toiled under the gaze of the constant moon. “It’s commonly known, understood. We barbarians, as she calls us, here in the city talk of her and the Priests and their ancient religion. Those beliefs from the Time of the Moon. Of their worshipping those who must be paid in blood, in flesh, in fear. In the tears and cries of those they slaughter.”

“This is known?”

Looking at me, she continued.

“It is also known, and spoken of, that once these souls are bled and lifeless and useless, they burn –”

“Stop. Please.”

She stopped.

It was my turn to watch the strangers pull and push, the thick, braided rope threatening to split and shred under the weight of the stone.

“The gift you must give,” she said, my mother’s words echoed in hers.

“Is something I regret.” I refused to look this stranger in the eye. “Something I wish I didn’t have to do. Something I wish I had never done.”

“But it’s done.”

I looked at her.

“She’s a very powerful woman, your mother. Not many can deny her. Not many dare. Those who do …. ”

She grew quiet, the thought unfinished.

“And the Priests?” I asked. “What of them? Do the people talk about the Priests?”

“Yes, they do. And they understand what you and your mother do not: these men, these Priests, are more powerful than you know.”

“She believes she’s a God.”

“An easy lie for them to feed her. And her mind …”

Hesitating, she looked for the words.

“Her mind is wounded and hungry. Desperate for comfort, the grief, the guilt, the horror of what she’s done still at war with the tender delusion of her immortality.”

“She struggles.”

“And eats.”

Confused, I watched her, her eyes almost silver under the light of the moon.

“The bones are in the stones, yes?” she asked.

I waited.

“And what of the flesh? The flesh you burn before they grind these bones?”

She stopped, watching me before asking again.

“What of the flesh?”

— an excerpt from The Martuk Series, A Collection of Short Fiction, Vol. 1

COMING SOON

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nightmare come true

The Martuk Series: A Collection of Short Fiction, Vol. 1

“Equal parts deceptive beauty, haunting darkness, and shocking brutality. Jonathan Winn’s prose drags you, the reader, through a gauntlet of experiences. It’s a horror reader’s nightmare come true.” — Zakk, The Eyes of Madness

The-Martuk-Series-cover-CROP-2

COMING SOON

powerful and brutally honest

The Martuk Series: A Collection of Short Fiction, Vol. 1

“Powerful and brutally honest. Assassin’s Creed meets a darker and more ancient mythology. Winn sees the world like no other author I’ve ever read.” – Joe Mynhardt, Publisher, Crystal Lake Publishing

COMING SOON

The-Martuk-Series-Cover-CROP

borne by the consequences of choice

From the blood drenched depravity of The Wounded King, the ancient curses of The Elder, the sadistic betrayal of Red and Gold and the cruel heartbreak of The Tall Priest, we now follow The Magi as he begins his descent into destruction and madness.

It begins with doubt.

Blessed with powerful magic, shrouded in savage infamy in a land one thousand years before  Christ, the immortal Magi is feared and revered. The counsel to shamans and kings. His authority unquestioned. But when faced with a dangerous choice, he stumbles.

Driven by false hope, he walks into the darkest of magic. Encouraged by the whispered promises of an impossible priest, he’s witness to monstrous sights. Ignoring the dire warnings of an ancient witch, he kneels, the goal at hand but his soul broken. And, the journey at an end, the most dangerous of deeds having been done, he stumbles again, burdened by a regret that follows him for millennia.

A man battered beyond repair. An immortal desperate to reclaim his darkness. A legend trapped in a nightmare without end borne by the consequences of choice.

This is…The Magi.
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Coming Soon.

it is dark, it is brutal

In all honesty, I’m not big on reviews. I mean, obviously it’s nice when you get great ones – and I’ve been extremely lucky to get more than my fair share – but I’ve also gotten some not-so-nice ones. So, eh, it’s all a crapshoot, right? Best to not take it too seriously or let it define you or what you can do.

I just keep on writing.

But sometimes, only sometimes, does a review come in that makes me sit up and pay attention. That makes me break my standard “don’t read reviews” policy and actually sit down and – gulp – read the review. And sometimes, only sometimes, do I get an opinion of my work from someone who is becoming one of the preeminent voices when it comes to reviewing horror.

And that’s what happened recently. That it happened for Martuk…the Holy, the first book that started this whole writer journey for me way back in 2012 makes it just that much more special.

Intrigued? Here’s a snippet:

I love this world, I love this writer. It is dark, it is brutal … I found it all too easy to be whisked away by the sands of this world. Martuk is a must-read.

You can read the rest right over here.

And the book? Why, here you go! 

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