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Justyna Plichta Jendzio

Justyna Plichta-Jendzio, born in Koszalin (Poland) in 1974, still resident of that town or nearest area, married for 16 years, mother of one son and happy owner of two spoiled cats. Justyna was lucky to live at the turn of two ages: communism and capitalism. When she was fifteen the comunism fall in Poland. But that time allowed her to see different reality, incomprehensible for future generations. It was also the chance to “touch” the past and have a glimpse at the remains of XIX century life, which survivred especially at the Easts parts of Poland till the end of 80’s of last century.

Justyna’s works are very strongly influenced by her interest. The range of the interest is wide. She is fond of Ancient and Medieval history. She also improoves her knowledge of a history of two world’s main religions and their influence at societies, global and local policy and civilisation developement. she likes to know different and regarded as exotic cultures, booth present and ancient. She is fond of nature and geography. As a writer Justyna loves to read ancient legends, miths and misterious stories. All of this can be seen in her works.

Email : hydrotech35@wp.pl

Website : www.worldofnaor.com

Cursed Children of Naor

Written By: Justyna Plichta Jendzio
Published By: Devine Destinies
Heat Level:

It is never too late to save your soul and redeem yourself of your offenses. If you reject the darkness, you will...

In the hunters’ camp, there was a seeming peace. Most of the men, exhausted after their difficult travels, were sleeping. Some of them rested on leather beddings next to the small fires lit out of dry sticks collected from the remains of the bushes that jutted out into the snow. Others lay by the smoldering qudliks filled with seal oil. The rest were in the hurriedly constructed igloos carved of blocks of snow. Only those hunters who had large sleighs, the proper number of dogs or those who moved in groups rested in the tents, which were made of tanned leather scraped out of fur. The tent was a luxury—for many, a superfluous luxury. On small sleighs capable of holding only small loads of fur, were redundant ballasts that occupied a lot of valuable space that otherwise, meant for collected leathers. The hunters were able to sleep, covered with the leathers of the furbearing animals they killed.

Apart from the commodities, there also had to be room on the toboggans for the chests that contained food for the animals, weapons and other essential things necessary to survive in these extremely harsh conditions.

Near the tents, the dogs were sleeping, buried in the snow. Curled into a ball, they warmed the pits they dug themselves with the heat of their own bodies. They were gorged and sleeping peacefully, whimpering from time to time as if tormented by visions in their dreams. Nearby, the men who were supposed to watch the campsite were roasting fat slabs of meat on the small flames of the fires or on the kudliks. The men justly divided between themselves the seal they had caught that day. The dogs ate the tasty remains, together with the skin. After the end of the hunting season when they didn’t have fresh meat, they were satisfied with pieces of dried meat or rusks that were hard as wood. Therefore, they had eagerly shot the careless young seal. When they headed towards the northern countries covered with snow they took dried fruits and nuts with them, but those delicacies were quickly at an end.

When returning to the south a few days prior, they had crossed the border behind, which was the land of eternal snow. The land where they pitched their camp was free from the fetters of snow for several short weeks in late spring and summer.

As the men waited for the meat to roast, they shared their impressions from this year’s hunting, which had been successful. During the summer and mild winters, animals gathered a lot of fat and kept in excellent shape almost to the end of winter. The furs that the hunters carried were of excellent quality. Now, when it was getting warmer, the animals’ hair was thinning and there was no point in further hunting. Soon, the thawing would make the most of the routes impassable until late spring when the sun dried the ground.

In order to hunt on these terrains, they had to buy permission from the princes supervising these lands. Their castles were located on the fastest and the most convenient routes, and the princes’ soldiers checked people who were using them. Obviously, the magnates controlled the terrains that were closest to their properties while the rest belonged to the Inemarui tribes living there. The tribes lived in icehouses, leather tents, or dugouts depending on how far to the north they dwelled. They hunted seals, whales and furbearing animals, and possessed reindeer and dogs. Some of them lived in houses made of the bones of giant whales covered with leathers, branches, and mud. The others had houses on sleighs pulled by reindeer.

These people never submitted to the princes’ power. When the princes sent their armies to try to enslave the Inemarui tribes, the troops were resoundingly defeated.

The princes’ castles were dependent on the supplies of black rock used for warming the rocky buildings. The Inemarui cut off its supplies and the supplies of other products to the fortresses, which quickly froze, and the hunger forced their lords to surrender. Since then, peace reigned, and the princes themselves benefited from the services of the local scouts who controlled the people coming to these terrains. Both furs and gold often lured people. The mines of this valuable ore belonged to the princes, though various prowlers still came there to obtain this yellow metal. Runways from the south who wanted to escape justice hid on these broad terrains and attacked the fur hunters and gold seekers who rinsed the valuable ore from the rivers’ waters. The Inemarui, who knew these terrains perfectly, as well as how to survive there, quickly caught the runaways and delivered them to fortresses. Here, they were paid with products that made their survival easier, such as metal knives or arrowheads that replaced their flint and bone items.

Despite these people’s arrival, the lands remained unspoiled and wild. One could wander weeks and weeks without encountering another living soul apart from animals. There were no cities, and people didn’t settle there for good. After two or three years, they typically returned to the south, though rarely with larger savings. Although fur and gold provided quite good income, the costs were immeasurably bigger and absorbed the lion’s share of the property. Only a few hunters returned there for more than a dozen years. However, in order to make more money, the ability to survive in these extreme conditions wasn’t the only thing one had to possess. Being a perfect tracker, hunter, and favorite of the gods who guided the animals towards the hunters’ bows was just as important. On multiple occasions, animals wandered on different trails, and hunters didn’t see a single living creature. Then, when they ran out of food stocks, they starved to death. The bodies of these unfortunate hunters, who after eating their own dogs grew faint while walking south, were found later. However, the gods were graceful this year.

The hunters had managed to reach one of the fortresses, which was, at the same time a commercial and resting spot.

It is never too late to save your soul and redeem yourself of your offenses. If you reject the darkness, you will live forever in the lightness.
In the beginning, the highest god Onoris established laws governing Naor and gave the order for all to fight against the darkness. However, there are those deceived by the promises of Hodgorn, the lord of darkness, who let the darkness in their souls. They become cursed beings; the gods of lightness turn their faces away from them and close the gates of the bright palace upon them. The cursed ones are left in Naor and torment those who wish to protect their souls from eternal damnation.
However, evil does not want to let the lightness triumph, and it looks for its victims everywhere. It may chase a nobleman who is seeking his fortune in the severe lands of the far north; it may hide in the fog that envelops the mountains and the estates of a great lady. It can also wait patiently for centuries under the scorching desert sun for the opportunity to seize a weapon that will enable it to enslave the creatures of lightness.
But it all depends on Onoris’ creatures whether their souls will be devoured by the darkness or remain unblemished by evil.
Price: $5.99
Damned Children of Naor

Written By: Justyna Plichta Jendzio
Published By: Devine Destinies
Heat Level:

In the struggle between good and evil, no one remains neutral. Choose one of the sides and choose wisely because t...

Twenty-one-year-old Isilai, in the company of Ngami, her slave and maidservant, was coming back from the temple on Naynram Hill about half a day’s journey from Ganarra, the capital of the kingdom of Carandia. In this small temple Isilai had made a gift for the successful return of her younger sister, Dibari, from her pilgrimage to the city of Dassab. Eighteen-year-old Dibari had started to menstruate recently and also had a dream in which the goddess Finieri embraced her in her arms. A local priest and a fortune teller interpreted it as the goddess’s request to receive a sacrifice in her temple located far south in the city of Dassab. Sir Kiburu, Isilai and Dibari’s father—although not a very God-fearing man—had decided it was better not to underestimate the explicit will of the powerful goddess. Although it was a risky expedition, Sir Kiburu sent Dibari with gifts and guards to the temple. The girl was to spend a few days with her aunt and uncle who lived in that city, and she was supposed to return in three days.

Worried about her sister, Isilai had decided to beg for the mercy of Dibari’s happy return. Early in the morning she went to the temple on Naynram Hill, where she immolated satika shells and a casket of precious spices.

Late in the afternoon, Isilai returned to the city. She and Ngami walked on the footbridge leading from one temple hill to another. The footbridge was erected on high stone pillars, so that during the heavy inflows of water from the Lidangao River it constituted the only connection to the mainland. Now the plain was dry, but the water was supposed to come soon. They could have gone under the bridge and taken the shortcut, which would definitely shorten their way, but Isilai wanted to admire the views. She did not come here often, as she usually visited the city houses of the gods.

“The inflow of water should start any day now. The wells in the city are almost dry, and it is difficult to get fresh vegetables,” complained Ngami. “The palace buys the best produce, and it is hard to choose something suitable to eat from what is left.”

“It is the time of fasting. The gods purposefully gave us such a special time so that we could cleanse our bodies and souls,” Isilai reminded her.

Ngami snorted.

“Let the priests fast. It is their duty, they serve the gods. I have to eat to have the strength to work.”

Isilai just smiled. She was well aware of Ngami’s passion for good food. She could only guess what tortures Ngami suffered eating only cooked lentils and dried fish.

“Enjoy what nourishment you have in your bowl, Ngami. Many people are currently living on lizards or roots dug out near the drying ponds on the plain.”

After this remark, Ngami went silent. They walked in silence, passing groups of pilgrims heading to the temple.

Just before evening, when they were close to the city walls, Isilai felt strange. Her heart pounded vividly and a cold shiver went through her body. She was beset by a sudden anxiety that was rising with every passing moment. She stopped and looked around nervously.


* * * *


“Has something happened, ma’am?” Ngami asked.

Isilai did not answer. She gasped quickly as though in a panic, unable to breathe. She grabbed her head and staggered, barely able to stay on her feet.

“Catch your mistress, she is fainting!” Ngami said quickly, assessing the situation.

A nearby slave caught her in his arms, but suddenly froze.

As Ngami watched Isali, she saw that her eyes, open and gazing skyward, were unnaturally shiny. Blue sparks glittered on her hair and white fire lingered over her forehead, resembling streaks of mist rather than flames.

“My gods!” the slave violently lay Isilai on the ground and jumped away from her like a meerkat from an attacking snake.

Ngami was astounded as well. “Run to Sir Kiburu and tell him what has happened. I’ll stay with Isilai.”

The slave did not argue but rushed away immediately.

Ngami squatted nearby, looking at her charge with helplessness and despair. Isilai was lying motionless, her eyes still wide open. The whites of her eyes were now a light silver color and her pupils were narrowed. She did not move, did not even twitch. Her whole body was surrounded by something like white flames that looked as if they were woven from a very thin mist that floated upwards. She was breathing shallowly but quickly, almost like a panting dog. Ngami was afraid to touch her because she did not know what forces had seized her mistress. She could only pray for her and wait for the arrival of help from the home of Sir Kiburu.


* * * *


Far to the west of the kingdom of Carandia, in the foothills of the Mandruk Mountains, twenty-one-year-old Prince Tarragon watched with satisfaction as the servants brought slaughtered animals to his camp. His friend and cousin Prince Narsud, the son of the sister of the dead King Harubal, rode up to him and expertly dismounted.

“Good hunting,” Narsud said, assessing the results of the hunt.


In the struggle between good and evil, no one remains neutral. Choose one of the sides and choose wisely because the gods will weigh your soul.
Evil lurks everywhere and only waits for the opportunity to hunt down and devour the souls of its victims. It is all the same to the evil whether those souls belong to slaves, peasants, monks, nobles or kings. Every mortal must make a choice whether he wants to devote his soul to perdition or save it, even at the cost of life. This battle has been fought for millennia and its arena is every corner of Naor. Anyone can become a warrior and his main arms will not be a weapon forged by smiths’ hammers but faith given by the gods of lightness.
This time the goddess of fate chose Isilai, a merchant’s daughter from the far south, who was dreaming of traveling and leading a free life. The goddess’s finger also pointed to Sainal, a mercenary returning from wars to her lands. Valbern, an aide to a powerful lord Kolbren, has not been spared the test as well. Each of them had to face the evil. Did they decide to sacrifice what was the most precious in their lives to keep their souls away from hell?
Price: $5.99
Dark Children of Naor

Written By: Justyna Plichta Jendzio
Published By: Devine Destinies
Heat Level:

In a world where hunters become prey in the flash of an eye, where people you know and love betrays you--who can y...

Almost in the same moment, a knock on the door sounded and a man opened it.

Four overlords of the city, with whom she had talked five days earlier, shuffled in. When Nayana had first learned there was a reward for the dragon she was chasing, they had at first, ridiculed her. Not only was she not a dragon hunter, but she was a woman. However, when she’d repeated the question about the reward and brandished her javelin, they’d confirmed the rumors about the impressive reward.

An old town councilor, thin, hunched and dressed in dark robes, came closer to the bed she lay in. The unpleasant smell of dirt and sweat reached her and she forced back a gag.

“Supposedly, you killed the dragon, miss” he spoke with an unpleasant, gruff voice.

She pointed at the sack with her uninjured right hand. The skinny man approached the parcel and reached inside. He took out the blackened, slithery dragon’s tongue, clotted blood darkening the rough cut end. One of small group of councilors shuddered with apparent disgust. The skinny man couldn’t pull his eyes off the slab of meat for the longest time. He finally shrugged then put it in the sack again. He wiped his hand on his robes.

The black material of his robes masked the dirt well. To Nayana disgust, it seemed the town councilor attached little importance to cleanness or hygiene.

“Where is the carcass?”

“In the clearing a quarter day’s march to the east,” the man who’d rescued her replied.

The town councilor nodded, obvious satisfied. He reached deep into his coat and pulled out a purse that jingled with, she assumed, coins. Unceremoniously, he threw the thick purse on to her bed.

Nayana picked it up with her right hand and weighed it.

“Here’s the price we agreed on,” the town councilor said in his gruff, dismissive voice and turned toward the exit. To Nayana, the man’s contempt for her was obvious. A woman dealing in a male profession was someone he held little regard for.

The others followed him out. When the door closed behind them, Nayana took the purse to her rescuer. He waved his hand, rejecting her offer, and sat down on the low stool in the corner. She didn’t insist.

“Then, let me thank you once again, sir.”

“Why did you chase this dragon, miss?”

She didn’t want to reveal why she was hunting dragons. “I have my reasons, sir.”

In a world where hunters become prey in the flash of an eye, where people you know and love betrays you--who can you trust? Our dragon? Visit Naor and maybe you’ll find out.
What would you do if you changed from hunter to prey? What would you do if someone you’d just met turned out to be someone else? What would you do if a member of your family betrayed you?
The world of Naor is a world created by Ulse, the God of brightness, and is ruled by his rights and filled with creatures of his work. And yet it hides darkness—darkness created by Ulse’s brother, Hodgorn, the master of evil. This darkness infects human hearts, drives wars and diseases, and creates terrible beings—atrocities to gods of brightness and an insult to their work. They become rampant like a disease that must be exterminated.
What would you do in the face of an embodied evil?
Price: $5.99
Evil Children of Naor

Written By: Justyna Plichta Jendzio
Published By: Devine Destinies
Heat Level:

Standing at the crossroads of life, choose the path of light. If you step on the path of darkness, Evil devours yo...

Sitting in front of a mirror of polished copper, Namaris was critically contemplating her reflection. Earlier that morning she had heard her aunt mentioning something about giving her away in marriage, but Dignified Adeh had rejected her idea completely.

“She’s still too young.”

“Too young? She’s seventeen years old! And she caught the fancy of the governor’s son. He sent gifts...”

Her uncle made a puffing sound, and Namaris knew he wasn’t convinced.

“The decision doesn’t rest with us!”

“With whom, then?”

“Leave it alone, woman! But you know...” Her uncle paused and Namaris could only guess he tried to control himself in order not to say too much under the influence of his emotions. “Let’s wait one year more. I had a premonition.”

This time her aunt snapped back like an annoyed cat.

“She won’t bake bread for herself with your premonitions. She must find a good husband who will take care of her.”

The pattering of receding sandals informed the eavesdropping Namaris that her aunt had hastily turned and left towards the gardens. Namaris discreetly retreated to her chambers.

Namaris thought seriously about the subject of marriage for the first time. So far it had seemed to her like some distant, hazy future. She hadn’t felt the need to leave the family nest yet and go off to build one of her own. Men were interested in her, certainly. She even had a few admirers sighing at her, but she didn’t treat them seriously. She was much more interested in scholarly writings, horse riding and even gladiator fights, all things that were hardly useful when it came to housekeeping.

While her aunt grumbled about her interests, she was still a good, caring woman who acted as a substitute for Namaris’s mother. Since she died during childbirth, Namaris had never gotten to know her. Her father had gone off on a war expedition when she was very young, leaving her in the care of distant relatives living in Engaris to cultivate the traditions of the native life of Vallanor, an empire lying in the North behind the Gamenerian Sea. Her father never returned, and they never received any further messages from him. As a result, he was presumed most likely dead. A silver locket bearing a mystical griffon, hanging on Namaris’ neck, was the only keepsake from him. At her uncle’s request, she never took it off, wearing it around her neck day and night.

Her uncle was always saying it was part of her family legacy and a part of her identity she should respect because it was the only thing linking her with her past and ancestry; it was her family’s crest.

Namaris remained obedient to her uncle, a lawyer who was the administrator of one of the estates of the nomarch Bahume. The nomarch governed the provinicial second sepat of the Engaris Empire. Namaris had to admit the marriage proposal was extremely tempting. Her aunt wouldn’t consider an inappropriate or irresponsible candidacy, even though she’d rather her match was some other Vallanorish nobleman. However, the Engar, with his birth and position, was a great temptation, even though her aunt had attached great significance to doing things only by tradition. The language of Caesars was spoken at home, and all of the servants and slaves came from her family’s country.

It was the son of the nomarch himself who broke down her aunt’s resistance. Namaris had asked her relatives several times why they had settled in Engaris if her aunt loved her family’s country. When she never received a satisfying answer, she finally stopped enquiring.

In the evening, she went down to the main chamber of the homestead. Her aunt, Mrs. Salene, was lying on the sofa with a friend and both were listening to poems recited by the local poet. Namaris waited until the artist finished reading and the ladies applauded.

“Dignified Aunt,” she said, asking for the usual permission for conversation.

Everyone’s eyes turned to stare at her.

“Can I visit Amaniris tomorrow afternoon and stay with her for a week? I got an invitation by mail just yesterday.”

“Amaniris?” Salene paused for a moment. “Ah yes. Is this the daughter of the main architect of the building of the temple in Buher?”

“Yes, Aunt. I would like to take part in the procession in honour of Finieri.”

Dignified Salena thought for a moment. “I think your uncle will have nothing against it if you stay under the care of your friend’s family. Just remember, you come from a respectable family; don’t bring dishonor on us,” she warned.

Namaris knew her aunt was well aware that after formal celebrations, Engars would be celebrating and feasting in their houses. Finieri was the goddess of beauty, love and art, so young people used this holiday to satisfy their sexual urges and so-called fun. As a Vallanorian, Namaris wasn’t prudish, but she adhered to the image of the perfect woman being a faithful wife, not reveling on the feasts. Namaris promised to care for her respect, bowed gracefully and walked away.


Standing at the crossroads of life, choose the path of light. If you step on the path of darkness, Evil devours your soul.
There are many laws in the world of Naor, but all its creatures absolutely have to respect one: never let in, create or help the evil children of Hodgorn, the God of darkness. This is a sin that can never be forgotten or forgiven by the Gods of light. Other guilts can be redeemed and expiated. Yet, evil fights for the souls of Naor’s creatures. It hides everywhere, even buried deep in human nature, waiting for the moment to attack and possess its victims. No one is safe.
Namaris is a regular noblewoman living on the northern side of the Engaris Empire. She only desires to find a suitable husband and live a happy life. Tarion is a knight of Kemeid’s Order who carries a letter from his Grand Master to Ranidor Castle. Jansemi is a daughter of a leader of the Isher clan, living on the endless steppes of Elmor. None of them are aware that evil has chosen them for its victims. None of them expect that they will have to fight over their souls. Damnation or salvation is at stake.
Price: $5.99