Separate Development is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Many names, places and timelines have been altered to provide anonymity to third parties. Character names do not reflect anyone, living or deceased, whom I have ever known. However, I would like to thank the real-life members of the family portrayed in this book for being part of my life, and for their understanding and acceptance. I recognise that their memories of the events described in the novel may be different from my own. There was never any intention to misrepresent anyone; in fact, I am honoured to have known them.
Blurb
At twenty-five, recently qualified Dr Jonathan Conner leaves his comfortable life and love in London, taking up a charitable post during the last months of South Africa's apartheid system. Weeks from a planned visit by his long-standing girlfriend, he falls in love with a young African man in the northern homeland of Venda.
Their passionate, heart-rending love story unfolds against the backdrop of conflict between social tolerances that lag behind political freedoms. Returning to England after eight years, he’s forced to confront the consequences of his decisions for those left behind in two very different worlds.
Through this story of love's endurance beyond society's acceptance and geographical separation, can the enduring power of the human heart overcome adversity?
Excerpt
The stark beauty of Venda’s voluptuous landscape could have replaced many an artist’s requirement for naked models of either sex. Rounded hills, writhing between cleaved valleys, yearned for lustful hands to caress their contours in pleasurable embraces. Admittedly, on that solemn day, it was not a mental image to dwell on. But I was to make the journey more than once.
The last twenty miles were dirt, dust dry, following the undulating curvature of parched hillsides. Rain was a distant memory, the last breath of summer’s bounty, yet portions of verdant green interspersed the struggling rampant growth of a forgotten season. Soon the skies would fill again with heat born clouds, storage towers of sustenance, destined to release daily torrents. Today, the brightest greens picked out pockets of humanity, cultivated patches and plots, tall stands of maize, fringed with bananas and peppered with papayas. Water was available for those who worked hard enough to find it, and the rich African soil rewarded those who took the trouble. These oases were increasing in frequency, many still surrounded by round, thatched, mud-wall huts or rondavels, some supplemented by larger rectangular versions, roofs still often traditional but occasionally replaced by bright or rusty zinc. Tracks worn by years of footfall fed the settlements. Vehicular access was rare, but where it existed, the residences built of brick, though often rendered: similar modern bungalows to mine.
As the frequency of dwellings increased, so did the appearance of structures clearly having other functions. Eventually we reached a broad flat plane. Gone were the patches of green, and in their place, the straggling thorn bushes — which conquered any area where humanity didn’t — had grown to tall spreading trees; all were bare of leaf, yet in the seasons of rain, broad panoplies of shade would provide protection from Capricorn’s sun. The space, ringed with buildings of a relatively modern construction, had occasional notices of printed or hand painted letters attached. Enclosing one side of the quadrangle stood a long dormitory style block of rough plastered walls, patched and peeling paint representing the faded choices of many years, or perhaps revealing the use of colours kindly donated at the time. Windows, placed only a few inches below the rusty corrugated overhang of the roof, in some sections without frame or glass, allowed light yet probably deterred its occupants from external distraction. Three well-worn steps led to broad double doors, also reflecting the indecision or availability of bygone supplies of colour. Only the signage appeared to have received regular maintenance. Bold black lettering, written with skilled hands on a fresh blue base, told me Sarah’s directions had led me to park in front of Ha-nthabalala Secondary School, Established 1972. Headmaster: Mr Joseph Ramanala. The name had a slightly deeper blue background, suggesting it represented the most recent promotion to the post.
About the Author
David Blyth was born in Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton Universities with a BSC.hon and a PGCE. He lived for many years in South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after apartheid.
His interests, apart from writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.
Separate Development, which is in fact, his second novel, was written at his home in the English Midlands. It is due to be published in the spring of 2023.
His first novel, The Scars of Life, was written during a two-year overland exploration of southern, central and east Africa. Much was achieved sitting under the shade of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at hand. It will be published during the summer of 2023.
Blurb Pitch and Sickle have survived enraged fae queens, murderous forest guardians, walking corpses, and ghosts turned monstrous by the Blight. They been tortured by sorcerers and made playthings by enemies who have sided with the Morrigan. The ankou and his daemon prince have been forced to confront awful secrets from their pasts. Both have made terrible sacrifices to keep the other safe. And would willingly do much more to protect the unimaginable bond that has grown between them.
In the midst of the chaos and carnage a deadman and a daemon have found each other.
Now, Prince Vassago will need his Pale Horseman more than ever before. With the escape from the Fulbourn comes the truth about what lies ahead.
The journey will be perilous. The great hunt has begun. And all is not as it should be for a beleagered daemon.
Can Silas and the Order outwit the Morrigan, and deliver Pitch to where Seraphiel's secrets lie?Or will the sorcerers' Herlequin succeed where all the rest have failed?
CHECK OUT THE OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
BOOK 1
Book Title: The Bandalore - Pitch & Sickle Book One
Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Designs
Release Date: February 25, 2021
Heat Rating: 2 flames
Length: 285 pages
Genre: Historical Fantasy MM
Tropes: Slow, slow burn, opposites attract
Themes: Loneliness and friendship
It is not a standalone book. This is the first book in the Gaslamp Fantasy series, The Diabolus Chronicles.
It has an unresolved storyline rather than an outright cliffhanger.
Life as a servant of death has its challenges. But the biggest one of all is Silas’s daemonic guardian, Pitch.
Blurb
Silas Mercer is a dead man walking.
And the mysterious Order of the Golden Dawn have big plans for their newest ankou and his deathly bandalore.
Life as a servant of death has its challenges.
But the biggest one of all is Silas’s daemonic guardian, Pitch.
He may look like heaven, but he’s making Silas's life all kinds of hell.
The daemon is arrogant, egotistical and his appetite for violence and tea cakes is fast outgrowing the small village where they have been recuperating since their run-in with Black Annis.
Now, the increasingly unstable Blight is causing new havoc, and fresh monstrosities are emerging.
Pitch and Sickle are back in the saddle, and on their way to the haunted Forest of Dean.
But can Silas rely on his guardian’s protection?
Or will Pitch prove to be the most dangerous encounter of all?
BOOK 3
Book Title: The Skriker - Pitch & Sickle Book Three
Length: 369 pages
Release Date: October 20, 2021
Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy
Silas Mercer has faced wily boggarts, mad faerie queens and enraged forest spirits. But can he withstand a daemon who is losing his mind?
Blurb
Silas Mercer has faced wily boggarts, mad faerie queens and enraged forest spirits.
But can he withstand a daemon who is losing his mind?
Pitch and Sickle are left bruised, battered and reeling after their confrontation with the Verderer.
They have learned a startling truth behind the arrowhead that wounded Silas, a truth that must be taken to the Lady Satine and the Order without delay.
But his encounters in the Forest of Dean have effected Pitch in alarming ways. The daemon’s body may have healed but his erratic behaviour and wildly unpredictable temper grow ever more concerning.
Silas owes his life to Pitch. Their experience in the forest has brought them a closeness he could not have imagined possible.
But what can he do for a daemon who is losing his way? And how long will Silas survive, if he must ride alone?
BOOK 4
Book Title: The Greensward - Pitch & Sickle Book Four
Length: 412 pages
Release Date: April 13, 2022
Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy
The Lady’s Horsemen are riding out once more. Carrying death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger.But what awaits them in a world where divine magick has returned?
Blurb
The Lady’s Horsemen are riding out once more. Carrying death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger.
But what awaits them in a world where divine magick has returned?
Pitch is recovered from the injuries he received in the Forest of Dean, and Silas won’t soon forget the part he played in setting his guardian back on his feet.
The ankou and the daemon have been reunited in a most unexpected and intimate way, but barely have they caught their breath when a new threat arises.
A tortured spirit is frightening both the living and the dead along the roads of Devon.
But is this soul a monster that must be stopped, or another pawn in the necromancer’s mysterious game?
With Azazel’s magick re-emerging after hundreds of years, maleficium plagues the world once more. But who is wielding the forbidden arcane magick of the angels?
Do they work alone?
And why are they so intent on harassing the Lady’s Horsemen?
Silas has never felt stronger, or more determined to live up to the Order’s high expectations. He’s faced the walking dead, outwitted the enchanted Hall, and gained an ally in the skriker.
But he’s not sure he’s equipped to handle his growing attraction to a troubled daemon.
And Silas fears that getting any closer to Pitch and his tragic secrets may prove as dangerous as the monsters they are riding to face.
BOOK 5
Book Title: The Fulbourn – Pitch & Sickle Book Five
Author: D K Girl
Publisher: Lucas Publishing
Length: 133Kwords/ 458 pages
Release Date: October 20, 2022
It is not a standalone story. While it does not end on a cliffhanger, there are some unresolved issues.
When the King of Daemonkind comes to call, be ready for hell to follow.
Blurb
After Lucifer’s disturbing visit, the quest to destroy the Blight takes on a desperate urgency.
Finding Lieutenant Edward Charters is paramount.
But what role does a mortal man play in Seraphiel’s dangerous game?
The angel has sent Pitch a talisman from beyond the grave, a seemingly innocuous watch that may be the key to ending the Watcher King’s dark legacy. But to learn its secret Pitch and Silas must find the man intended to carry it.
As the search for the lieutenant begins, the Horsemen find themselves gifted with something more precious than any angelic token. An evening of unexpected freedom. A night that will deepen their intimacy and bring long-stifled feelings to the fore.
But what price will they pay for choosing breathless pleasure over rigid duty?
The Morrigan have not forgiven the destruction at the greensward. They are prepared to do whatever it takes to rid themselves of the Horsemen and heed the Watcher King's ghostly call.
The Fulbourn is Pitch and Silas's greatest threat yet. A place that will drive them into the depths of their most terrible fears and seek to tear them apart.
They are closer than ever before but will that fragile new bond be enough to save them? Or have the daemon prince and his ankou found the nemesis that will destroy them once and for all?
Excerpt from ‘The Bandalore-Pitch & Sickle Book One’
A rather pretty gentleman, sharp featured, pale and fine, stepped into the room with a flourish of raised hands. His tousled light brown hair was wild about his shoulders, and his eyes so green it was as though emeralds had been pressed into the sockets. ‘Let the amusements begin…or should I say…continue.’
His velvet coat, a red almost as bold as the woman’s lips, was unbuttoned, revealing a black shirt with a silver brocade of Chinese dragons upon it. An elaborate ruffling of silk tumbled from the collar and covered a good portion of his chest. His choice of trousers was equally curious, a rather outdated fall-front style in black silk.
The baron groaned, but his smile was ever-present. ‘Good god, man, we thought you two would never be done.’
‘Perfection takes time, does it not?’
‘Take your seat, you rascal, and stop your showmanship, at least just for a moment.’
Silas scratched his right palm absently, attempting to stymie the prickle. Like many things about himself he wasn’t certain of his age, his late twenties was likely, much the same as the man who had just swept into the room.
Mr Astaroth tilted his head, pursing lips that held a near-perfect Cupid’s bow. ‘Am I to stand aside so another showman can perform?’
‘Exactly,’ the baron declared.
As Mr Astaroth made his way to his seat with his companion, he had a notable effect on those in attendance. The ladies all at once seemed incapable of deciding how they should adjust their gowns upon their seats, and the men were equally as fidgety. All of them were fixated on Mr Astaroth’s procession across the room. The man had not spared Silas a glance yet, even when he was deriding him, and Silas had no issue with that at all. He was not sure he’d enjoy the pierce of those green eyes upon him. But he could not deny there was indeed something mesmerising about the lad, the sway of his hips, the coiled tension in his body that gave the impression he might suddenly leap unannounced in any direction.
Mr Astaroth stopped to take a glass of champagne from the tray offered by a somewhat flustered young footman. The liquid wobbled in its crystal confines, and the boy’s eyes darted so quickly between the floor and the man before him, it was as though he’d lost control of his eyeballs.
‘Thank you, kind sir. What a wonderful job you do.’ Mr Astaroth’s smile was discomfortingly suggestive, his whispered appreciation of the boy’s offering far too intimate, and the serving boy nearly stumbled over his own feet to move away.
Mr Astaroth was slender, not remarkable in height, and the angles of his face were delicate to the point of being feminine, but he held a presence that quite overwhelmed the room. Silas’s gaze moved down the length of the man’s body to his feet. He wore heeled boots, which meant he was shorter than first impressions allowed. The glean of polished leather distracted Silas from what became startlingly obvious a moment later. He tensed and closed his eyes a second, as though that might change things. But alas it was not to be.
The ground at Tobias Astaroth’s feet held no shadow.
Whoever this man was, he was not, for all intents and purposes, human. Silas took hold of the arms of the chair, filled with the sudden desire to depart. No one had thought to instruct him on an encounter such as this.
‘Stop frightening the help and get your arse on a chair,’ declared the bespectacled man at Silas’s left. ‘We know how you hate to have attention diverted from you, so do try and behave, Pitch old boy.’
Evidently the group knew the man well enough to have endowed him with a nickname. Silas could only imagine its origins.
‘Oh Brenton,’ Victoria, Mr Astaroth’s companion, said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Tobias has been on his best behaviour all evening.’ She had taken her seat and leaned her elbows upon the table, utterly at ease.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ Mr Astaroth said. ‘You are as sensible as you are extremely talented in the art of, what were we calling it? Tarot reading.’ He tilted his glass towards her before turning to Silas. The air quite vanished from Silas’s lungs beneath the daggers of his emerald stare. ‘How very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr Mercer. I do hope we are in for a wonderful show.’
About the Author
Danielle K Girl is an Aussie who lives in stunning Tasmania with her three furkids, cats Luffy, Sweetie and Ren.
Her idea of heaven is a farm full of rescue animals, with a vegie garden that sprouts peanut M&M’s and chocolate wheaten biscuits.
When she’s not keyboard-deep in mysterious, beguiling worlds, she is binge watching K-Dramas, listening to K-Pop or hiking through the beautiful Tasmanian wilderness.
