The Desert: The Blood Spell Chronicles – Book I

By J. Radbourne

In the shadowed recesses of the Eastern Lands’ mines, Jade is regarded as an outsider, her luminous eyes setting her apart. Yet, unbeknownst to her, these eyes are a beacon to a legacy untapped – one that spans realms of hidden castles, blood-bound fates, and spellbinding mysteries.

The spark of a single murder ignites a whirlwind journey. Joining Jade are Talken, a fierce tribal warrior, and Samuel, a reclusive yet gifted sorcerer. Their destinies become further intertwined when Jade crosses paths with Sasha, the warrior born to shield her. Sasha, scarred by a tumultuous history, tries to resist the undeniable magnetism drawing him to Jade. Yet, fate has its designs, weaving their lives ever closer.

Together, the quartet faces a cascade of challenges: a throne steeped in ancient intrigue, Samuel’s potent blood magic, a village under the siege of relentless mercenaries, and the unraveling enigma of Jade’s true heritage. In a world teetering on the edge, can the bonds of fate and the stirrings of the heart overcome the odds, restoring tranquility to the Eastern Lands?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685623562

J. Radbourne

J. Radbourne is a Toronto-based powerhouse—Mom, wife, and executive who is one of the few women to attain a C-level title in tech. With her debut novel, Radbourne adds ‘author’ to her already-impressive list of accomplishments. Having always found solace in writing, and embracing her natural instinct for storytelling, Radbourne demonstrates a talent for breathing life into memorable and sympathetic characters. The Desert gives us something deeper—a rare glimpse into Radbourne’s own inner life and unique ability to inspire. A gifted woman, Radbourne inspires everyone she meets to live vibrantly, elegantly, and to the fullest. Like the author herself, here are characters who seek to grow, develop, and remain open to surprises in their journey.

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About the Author

J. Radbourne is a Toronto-based powerhouse—Mom, wife, and executive who is one of the few women to attain a C-level title in tech. With her debut novel, Radbourne adds ‘author’ to her already-impressive list of accomplishments. Having always found solace in writing, and embracing her natural instinct for storytelling, Radbourne demonstrates a talent for breathing life into memorable and sympathetic characters.

The Desert gives us something deeper—a rare glimpse into Radbourne’s own inner life and unique ability to inspire. A gifted woman, Radbourne inspires everyone she meets to live vibrantly, elegantly, and to the fullest. Like the author herself, here are characters who seek to grow, develop, and remain open to surprises in their journey.

Dedication

To my children, it is with your love that my imagination soars.

To my husband, my everything.

Copyright Information ©

J. Radbourne 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Radbourne, J.

The Desert

ISBN 9781685623555 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781685623562 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916855

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I would like to extend my gratitude to my parents and my sister for their unwavering love and support of all my dreams. You are the best. To my niece for giving the best hugs ever. To my cousin Janet, for her constant encouragement.

I would like to express my heartfelt acknowledgment to my family; the best son and daughter a mother could ask for. To my son, my muse for staying up late and talking through another character, and to my daughter for her unwavering belief and encouragement – you are my rock. And to my amazing husband, for giving me the courage to write this book and taking care of everything else while I did.

Prologue

Jade squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply as she stepped into her father’s tent. A cloud of dust kicked up as she parted the thick fabric curtain. She waded through the mass of men, all of them under her father’s command. The stench of sweat, alcohol, and sex assaulted her, a reminder of all the ways her father kept his control of this mining camp. If power had a scent, this was surely it. Her stomach churned as she continued forward.

He summoned her, and she came. He owned the camp, he owned her. There was simply no choice. Fortunately, there is no pesky father-daughter love to get in the way of their mutual dislike. With her eyes closed, she took one step forward and then another. Facing off alone, unarmed, against tribal warriors, had more appeal than where she was now. For weeks, the journey across the desert to sell the mined ore was a welcome relief. Unfortunately, this return to reality was almost too much to take.

Living in the close confines of the desert mining camp was more than a grind; it was hell. Literally; hot, smelly and full of evil people.

Jade knew better than to show fear. She raised her chin and faced her audience, seeing her own reflection in their eyes. Her long black hair hung around her curvaceous body with her unblemished skin radiating a golden hue. Everything a man could want—until they met her stare. They looked away, they always did. It was her eyes. Her haunting yellow eyes had an incandescent that was beyond unnatural. They actually glowed in the dark. Wolf eyes, witch eyes, ghost eyes; Jade heard every insult in the book.

Come here, her father commanded, not bothering to hide his disdain. Jade sighed as the tent fell silent as everyone watched her.

The half-naked woman straddling her father dismounted. Red burned across her face as her father pulled up his pants. The men scoffed and chuckled as the woman gathered herself and hurried away.

Great, now Jade was the entertainment. Jade felt the men’s eager anticipation for the humiliation her father would subject her to, nothing was ever enough for him, not since her birth resulted in the death of his beloved wife. The men parted, creating a path to her father, and Jade swallowed hard as she walked toward him.

He sat on a raised, plush chair with a full cup of wine and a lavish plate of meat beside him. The plate had enough food to feed a family in the mining camp for a week, more than Jade ate in days. Your pay, he said, tossing a small bag of coins at her feet. She looked down and had two choices: either bow down and pick up each coin or not eat for a week. She glared at him, wishing that for once all the vicious things people said about her eyes were actually true. She turned and walked away, leaving the coins exactly where he threw them.

Chapter 1

Let death come as a friend, Cil’s grandmother used to say and so Cil sat with death, deadlocked in a staring competition. For days, death chuckled as Cil approached each meal with optimism, savoring the first bite and willing himself to eat the plateful of food his son made for him to regain his strength. But each attempt ended in the same way, with a plate left untouched. After all these years, his mind had finally lost favor with his body, and there was no way to coax his mouth into consuming the choice pieces of food his son reserved for him.

He now understood why older people moved the way they did. His limbs just moved at a different pace than his intentions. His son held out a steady arm, and Cil’s shoulders slumped forward with gratitude for the patience his son showed him; a patience he never had for his own father. Rowan helped him into the chair and left the room. Cil nodded as he looked around the sparsely furnished cottage: a full bookshelf, a warm blanket lying on mismatched pillows, and a bottle of good whiskey sitting next to chipped glasses. Everything as it should be.

As he wrapped the warm blanket around his shoulders, Cil couldn’t help, but wonder if he still heard the roar of the ocean or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him after all these years of listening to it. Eyeing Death, he shuffled himself over to the bookshelf, where his old, beaten journal always sat.

As he flipped through the pages, memories flooded back to him. His mind fixated on memories of past adventures, the people he met and the adventures they had. But there was still one more thing he wanted to do before his time came to an end. He reached for a pen and began to write, putting down on paper his final thoughts, his last ask to his son.

With the envelope sealed and the journal in his lap, his fingers traced the worn leather cover, and he thought of the secrets and memories lay hidden within its pages. The musty scent of the cave surrounded him once again, the darkness still called out to him.

He expected that after living as long as he did in the Eastern Lands he’d know who those words on the cave wall were written about. But he’d die ignorant of one more thing. He closed his eyes and recited the words:

Love or hate her, but be not indifferent to this exquisite creature. The Phoenix of Fire stands as she brings the revelation of old. In our darkest hour, her reign will be our breath and blood.

He thought that alone in the middle of the night, in this small room, in his little cottage with Death at his side that he was alone hearing those words. He was wrong.

Chapter 2

Jade stood on the eastern cliff unseen from the mining camp below. Her skin blended into windswept desert rocks. A scorpion scurried from under one rock to the next. The ugly, vicious desert creature barely warranted a glance. She rubbed at the dirt trapped in the crevices of her cracked skin wanting to remove the lines that broke her honey colored skin.

As a baby, the midwife said that her heartbeat had a murmur. A gentle gushing sound after each beat, the result of the blood moving the wrong way. Every time she came out to the outcrop, she heard the stones make that same sound.

Before the miners came, the monks inhabited the desert enclave. They sat motionless on these rocks, their gaunt bodies exposed to the scorching sun. They slowed their heartbeats until they were on the brink of death. Despite their fragility, they resonated with more vitality than most she knew. Did the monks also hear the murmurs from the rocks? Her father forbade her from speaking to them, and when he finally drove them away, she wept for days. Her father sent them to cross the desert with nothing, but what they could carry, a death sentence that everyone knew too well. But the old monk wiped a tear from her cheek with a bony finger and gave her a toothless grin that extended to his eyes. He said, In a million dreams, the most unreal dream is the one we live.

Even now, she wasn’t sure what he meant. The sound from the rocks resonated deeply, like it originated from the belly of the earth itself. Perhaps it was in protest to what the miners did to the land. Who truly knew what a rock in agony sounded like. Each day, the miners hacked away at the earth with picks and fire, and their spoils filled the caravans bound for the surrounding towns. She knelt down and placed her hand on the rock, feeling its warmth and listening to its murmurs. It seemed that even the rock couldn’t forget that faith once dwelled here.

Jade sat down on the hard ground and saw the blood stains that covered most of her shirt. It was a miracle that it wasn’t hers. By now, her father would have heard about her stunt and the thought of his reaction made her heart race. She slowly exhaled knowing her isolation. It all started when the mine collapsed for the third time that month. After more than two days of digging, the crew finally pulled out the six trapped miners. Two were bodies and the other four hung on by a thread. They brought them to the infirmary. They were dehydrated and covered in cuts and bruises, their worst injuries not seen with the naked eye. Night came and the desert temperature plummeted. Jade knew a few of the workers well and went to comfort their families. The old doctor gave them blankets and tea, but it wasn’t enough. Finally, the old doctor went to light a fire. Everyone gasped. Immediately, the crew was there, their presence reminding everyone about the camp rules of using the fire wood. Firewood could only be used to signal an attack or to burn the dead. The doctor pleaded with the man. They will die if we don’t warm them.

The henchman’s expression remained unchanged. Jade thought about doing it herself. Her father would love a reason to flog her and then the thug would just put out the fire anyway. She actually understood her father’s hatred of her. If her birth meant her mother’s death, then she should have been more. But getting a whipping wasn’t going to bring her mother back or help the injured. The old doctor’s spiteful eyes told her he would start the fire. The flogging would kill him, then on top of everything else, the camp wouldn’t have a doctor. Just before the good doctor lit that flame, Jade put herself between the thug and the doctor.

She stared straight at the henchman. We are going to burn the bodies now. She had him on a technicality since firewood could be used for cremation. So, he called her a cunt and then left. She got a few of the relatives to help her move the two bodies. Then with the crematorium lit, they moved the injured about the burning bodies. The warmth provided enough to give the injured a fighting chance.

The next morning, the camp went on as if nothing happened. The workers brought in their chisels and hauled out the rocks, this would continue until another section of the mine gave way. Then, they would burn the dead, rinse and repeat. The faces never changed, just the people as time moved the monotony forward.

She shivered and looked around.

Alone at night in the desert, danger lurked. She knew most by name and face as well. But Jade refused to lose control. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and willed her thoughts to change, remembering an afternoon spent with Seth.

The tent was so hot when she walked in. Seth said nothing, he just watched as she undressed. He was hard by the time she stood naked in front of him. He took off his shirt, undid his pants. She tasted the salt on his skin. He took her from behind; she was so wet and he pulled her hard against him. They never lay down, she said nothing after it was over. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. She smiled and left relaxed. She was getting wet just thinking about it now. Jade stood and turned toward the camp when her attention snapped to the desert floor. Someone came toward the camp. An elongated shadow stretched out on the desert. Jade eyes locked onto the approaching figure of the man and horse. As he drew closer, she couldn’t help but puzzle over the horse needing a lead. In these parts, a horse was a prized possession. Anyone fortunate enough to have one, would not need a lead to walk it in the emptiness.

She hunched down to examine the figure. He wore a tribal head covering. A tribal man walking into camp alone, either it was a death wish or a show of insanity. The tribe was neither. She took her knives out and found her footing down the rocky outcrop.

As the horse and man came closer, she could see that there was a body flung over the horse.

Keeping her knives ready, she called out, Who’s there?

The man looked up, continuing his slow pace. It took her a minute to recognize Gabe.

Gabe’s posture told his story. He strained to put one foot in front of the other. His lips cracked with dehydration, his tanned skin burned from the unrelenting desert sun. His head hung, his shoulders hunched, his arms fell limply at his side. A crucified scarecrow had more life than he did.

The horse took careful prodding steps, snapping his knee forward with each step. The horse did a sideways shift every few minutes trying to shake the body off, but the ropes held the body in place.

Jade took a physical step back as she realized what Gabe was doing. Below her lookout was the other funeral pyre. He’d risked his and his horse’s life dragging the body across the desert to give whoever lay flung over his horse a proper cremation.

She felt the sting from her father’s slap. Stop crying, he yelled at her seven-year-old self. He didn’t hide his hatred of her childish outburst. She could still see her only doll torn into pieces in front of her. Her father stood over her, not caring about the cruel act a child would remember for a lifetime.

Gabe looked up at Jade to see yet another stone face. This boy’s death did not register a care. She started to speak, but he forced his words over hers.

You don’t want to see this. The dehydration made his voice raspy.

He was right, she didn’t. Even if she had a mother to teach her how to utter soothing words, language wasn’t designed for such horrors. She offered him only what she knew, silence.

He and the horse moved forward. Bile rose as the first wave of smell hit her. Whenever Gabe found him, the vultures and sun got to him first. They started on his eyes. She looked away and swallowed again. Life hadn’t offered her the courtesy to be a stranger to death. But the depravity of this was on a whole new level. Between her and Gabe, they knew everybody in camp. Her stomach turned again.

This version of Gabe didn’t fit. In the camp, he was the embodiment of calm working at his bar, always ready with an easy smile and a friendly conversation.

Gabe exhaled. Wondering why he didn’t walk away. Walk away when the note was left for him. Walk away when he found the body. Someone knew he cared, he still believed they could be better. His father used to say better to take ten men with belief than a thousand for silver.

His father never lived here.

He looked up at her, ready with his anger. But her enormous, incandescent eyes were wet as she looked back. They glow, he said. She looked down.

Don’t look away, the words came out before he realized he said them. She gave a shy smile and he took the lifeline.

Her skin was so smooth, her breathing controlled—a contrived stillness. He wanted to rip apart anything and everything.

More than anything, he wanted to make those that did this pay. Not in a clean and neat way. Not like them sitting in a jail cell. He wanted to take their skulls into the palm of his hand and smash them on these very rocks. Blood spilled—an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Her words forced his eyes open. Her voice was quiet and tender, Jade stopped speaking, waiting for a response. He had none. She repeated.

She was talking about the horse. The ropes that tethered the body to the horse were now tangled around the horse’s legs. Gabe tried to undo the knots, but the horse’s movements hampered him. Jade walked to the front of the horse, placed her hands on either side of the harness, and put her face to the animals. She allowed him to smell her breath and spoke quietly as she rubbed behind his ears. The horse responded immediately and stood still. Gabe freed the horse from the ropes. She led the horse away from the body and gave him water from her canteen.

She turned her attention back to Gabe who stood over the body as the horse drank.

Did you know him? She asked, nodding at the body, trying to keep a good distance between her and the smell.

No, he replied, shaking his head for emphasis.

Jade gave him a second canteen and he sat down on a small stone bench as he drank it. Jade sat beside him, Gabe passed the canteen back. She took a drink and grimaced as it went down.

Haden gave it to me, she stated. He said it was the only thing that made being on watch passable.

Gabe gave her a small smile.

Are you like everyone else in camp who worships Haden and his horses? There was no animosity in his voice.

No, Jade said with defiance. Then she laughed a little.

Maybe, I was eighteen when he came to the camp. He was the first person I met who grew up somewhere else. I’ll never forget the day he came into camp with those beautiful horses. For years, I worked in the stable taking care of his horses and breeding them with my father’s. When he wasn’t teaching me about horses, he taught me to throw.

I’m sure it was the horses you noticed first. She blushed. Haden was a rugged handsome that appealed to all women.

He is why I ride.

So, you’re here on watch? Gabe asked as he drank.

She nodded. Gabe looked back to the body and stiffened. Death offered nothing to the living.

Gabe walked to the corpse. Reverence, she thought, was the word for the way he searched the boy.

He has no face, said Gabe. By the time I got to him, the buzzards already found him.

Gabe’s gaze was fixated on the boy. Jade couldn’t look. His voice now sounded as if it was coming from someone else. He pressed his hands together.

Another senseless death. The anger seeped out.

Jade looked up. He wasn’t wrong. The vultures were up there, wanting to finish the job they started. They are vile creatures, Gabe spat out the words.

The people who did this, the birds that live off the dead. Gabe needed to be more specific. Their isolation made her cold. The people in the camp may as well be on the other side of the world.

Why do they always take the eyes first? Nature’s way isn’t for man’s understanding. Death was nature’s necessity, murder was man’s choice. The monk’s words echoed in her mind.

Ungrateful? Jade offered. Where did you find him?

Ungrateful—it resonated strangely against the old rocks.

Gabe fists were clenched so tightly his hands turned white. She saw that before, so many in the camp wore their anger the same way. He needed to remember the softer realities. She moved closer to him.

Gabe swallowed. Someone left me a note. I went out and found him at the first pillar.

The first pillar was a broken column alone in the desert. The tribes believed it was the start of the dark magic. The desert was littered with pillars, but this one was almost twice as high as the others. No one knew why. The miners used them as markers when traveling across the desert. This one was only a day’s ride from the camp. Being left there without a horse and water was a death sentence.

Gabe stood up and motioned for his horse to leave. Unburdened, it didn’t hesitate. Despite the lawlessness of the area, horses were sacred. Found guilty of stealing a horse meant death. No ceremony or pity. The Callais, the mountain dwellers, the tribe, and coastal dwellers all had the same law. Gabe’s horse would find its way safely back to the stables.

Gabe started to drag the body in the direction of the camp.

No, Jade stood up.

His anger focused on her. He let the body fall to the ground. He stood defiant, and sexy as hell. Wow, Jade checked herself, was this ever the wrong time for that thought.

You know how my father feels about making festival joyous, she added with a little desperation, and, how he feels about you. Gabe wasn’t going to be dissuaded.

People need to see this. He wanted a fight.

Festival is the one night of the year that everyone can celebrate. She tried another tack.

They will see this, he said and started dragging the body again.

Gabe, you can’t just walk into camp, with a half decomposed body, the night before festival. She really didn’t need to explain that.

They can’t keep killing with no one caring. How old is this boy? So many times, she’d felt the same anger.

What are you going to do, drag him around camp and ask who did this?

What am I supposed to do? He was just so mad he couldn’t stop even though he knew he should.

You want the vultures to have him? She sighed.

Having her father’s goons beat up Gabe wasn’t going to make that world better.

Gabe looked up again. He needed to forget about the damn birds. They stared at each other. His heart told him she was right. His shirt was wet with sweat, and his pants carried the dust from the desert. His usually clean-shaven face was rough with stubble. His hair was tied back and covered with a linen cloth. He looked so different from his everyday self. His vulnerability was so disarming.

She offered him more to drink. His face told her just how awful it tasted.

Look at him, not even a man yet, he said. He wanted to say something deep and meaningful. But his mind was blank.

There was something about sharing this horrific scene that made the situation between them take on an air of intimacy.

Stop dragging him around. She placed her hand flat over his heart. Take what you can from him. We can use that to identify him. We’ll burn him tonight. She couldn’t help the desperation in her voice.

All Gabe heard was ‘we’. Gabe exhaled. Where are the people that are supposed to care for him?

Knowing that between them, they had shared a drink with everybody in the camp. The sheer number of people who could have or would have was beyond disturbing. She took a big gulp from the canteen.

Seeing Gabe like this was the crack of light beneath the door. True goodness was knowing the darkness they carried and still caring.

She sat down next to him and leaned her head back on the stone wall. Only a hint of sunlight remained. Gabe followed her lead and looked up. Words couldn’t do justice to the swirling color ripping across the sky so he didn’t bother trying.

In a strange way, the evening turned out better than she’d expected. At least, she was not alone.

As he negotiated the deals in the camp, he avoided exactly what lay at their feet. Whatever commission he earned, it wasn’t enough.

He took off of his head covering. His hair now unbounded stood straight up. Each strain was like a perfect miniature wave. Jade laughed in