Week 24 of 2023
Greetings all
I’m sending this via the magic of scheduling. I’m at Lilies War, so instead of talking too much about my week, I’ll hit a couple of high points then give you the first chapter of Shadow, Ash, and Prophecy.
A Hope in Hell and A Lake Most Deep are in progress. Expect more details next week.
By the way, last week I typed July 24th instead of July 25th as the release date for A Lake Most Deep. To be clear, it comes out on the 25th, which is a Tuesday, not the 24th, which is not.
Also next week, I’ll be at LibertyCon. Here’s my schedule: libertycon.org/lc35pros/rob-howell. Come say “Hi!”
And with that, here’s the first chapter of Shadow, Ash, and Prophecy, book 2 in Trisha J. Wooldridge’s excellent Asian-themed epic fantasy series, The 27 Kingdoms.
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Chapter One – Things That Shouldn’t Be
In swirling darkness, fear redefined itself for Blessedhunter Koki.
Her insides twisted in one direction, her body the other. Images and memories—familiar and foreign—pelted her foggy awareness.
Byria, her Byria; Byria’s dragon; poisoned illness; mountains and giants’ magic; shaking, breaking earth.
Reflective black stone made by fire in a cave of boiling water.
Mokin’s spiritcall rune drawn in blood.
Years of muscle memory allowed Koki to land in a stable crouch that at least felt familiar. Her stomach heaved. She spit out burning bile. Smells assaulted her, smells she knew intimately, smells that carried yet a different fear.
Years of experience sharpened Koki’s mind and senses with her next breath. She was still in danger. This danger she knew well.
She was in Lakan’s home.
A particular room in Lakan’s home, though light hardly penetrated its walls—walls within walls, for it was a room hidden in the central strangler fig lattice within the Magicleader’s large hut. Blood of beast and person mingled with pre-storm air. Sticky, still, and prickly.
She needed to leave. Now. No. As soon as it was safe, as soon as she wouldn’t be discovered. Panic had its purpose in survival, but this wasn’t the place. Her heart beat faster than the wings of hummingbirds.
The cut on her hand from which she’d drawn Mokin’s spiritsigil pulsed. Not pain, but something through the tacky blood still seeping over her palm tugged at her attention. Like a thread or string. Pulling.
Like lightning, Mokin’s spiritcall rune flashed in her vision, illuminating the secret room.
Koki flinched deeper into a crouch, barely containing a gasp.
A person-sized reflective surface, like the stone the dragon had fired, balanced upright on a stand of Ancestor Wood. Her stomach twisted even more. Ancestor trees were never to be harmed. What had become of the souls entrusted to this tree?
Had Lakan always had such a thing?
It had always been after sundown, darker than now, when she’d pulled Mokin from this room. Tied, bleeding from the runes his father had carved into his flesh, and writhing from painful magic burning his blood. She’d observed their surroundings only to ensure their safety.
That sensation in her cut hand yanked at her heart. No, not quite. Like a string from her heart to her hand, something tugged her in the direction of the room’s hidden entry.
Koki crept closer to the hinged wall. Dizziness clung to her movement, forced her to focus more on moving her body than attending to her surroundings. The silence of the hut was more distracting than the loudest spring birdsong raucous.
Trembling climbed her limbs, and she had to stop and lower to a knee, lest she fall. I need to get out of here! Koki mentally shouted at her uncooperative body. I need to find Mokin! As if to confirm her intuition’s declaration, another pulse rippled from her heart to her hand toward the wall.
But she couldn’t move.
Koki shook as if from fever, or when she’d lost all that blood from the leopard fight. If she were discovered—and discovery was more likely if she tried to move in this state—she’d be in danger worse than that attack. What that danger was, she didn’t know, but she trusted her instincts.
“You know what you need to do.”
Mokin?
He’d spoken into her mind a few times when it had been necessary. This didn’t feel quite the same, though she perceived the thought in his voice.
The thought was correct.
Koki closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She willed herself to be unseen, unheard, undetected. Glamour rippled around her.
Breathing, breathing, she knelt on both knees, a more stable posture. The ground within this room was damp, almost muddy. She thanked her sharp senses for noticing such a detail and thought no further on the observation. It wasn’t immediately necessary for her survival.
Still no sounds.
Per the light that did filter in, it was daytime. Lakan’s hut was just outside the village, somewhat isolated, as was the home she and Mokin had built—as far from his father as possible. The sounds of the village wouldn’t reach the house. But…
There were no birds, no animal movement. Not even at a distance.
It was more silent than the barren lands heading toward the mountains. The silence swirled Koki’s nausea like a spoon stirring a pot.
Wrong.
Considering what Koki knew Lakan had done in this room, he’d likely glamoured it to buffer noise coming in or going out.
Ancestors and gods! Koki began the thought as a profanity. Then, like when instinct positioned her spear before she focused on a target, she gestured in prayer. Ancestors and gods, all blessed spirits and souls, please… Please, what? Just please, with my heart and spirit. Please…
The sting of tears and her bleeding palm impinged upon her awareness.
Pulling a cloth from a belt pouch, she wrapped her cut hand and got to her feet, doing her best to smooth the almost-mud and hide any blood she’d spilled. Proper washing could come later.
Her instincts spoke more primally, and Koki surrendered to them. As if she stalked prey, her feet found the quietest, most secure steps. Her bandaged hand slipped below her leopard tunic, palm pressing to where her heart beat behind her chest bone.
The beating slowed, as did her shaking, with each breath Koki took. She cracked open the secret room’s door, and sounds filtered in to her heightened senses.
Unfamiliar birds cooed nearby, as if from a coop. Odd, as Mokin’s family had never kept birds, but not immediately important. From farther away, she picked up the sounds of the village common.
Even considering the distance, the sounds of her people seemed… less. Not muted, but… fewer?
More worrisome than unexpected birds, but still not an urgent concern.
No one was nearby. She could leave unseen and unheard, so she did.
That string sensation pulled her heart and wrapped hand to the east, toward the Ritual Circle that held council and holy meeting huts, the Blessing Pools, and the speaking and ritual dais. Swallowing hard, Koki followed the call, trusting it like her hunting senses.
She cringed upon passing a pile of decomposed bamboo and branches—once the hut at which Mokin had apprenticed under Motherhealer Choli, his mother. Koki was surprised anything still remained of it—that Lakan had never removed it—after over a century of abandonment.
Reaching for her spear, Koki found only air and scowled. She vaguely remembered being unable to hold her spear after pulling the poisoned arrow from her shoulder and running. She cursed.
Then again, no weapons were permitted in the sacred areas.
Willing glamour to cover her, she broke into a jog with surprisingly less pain than she expected. Koki gave thanks that she’d lost her spear. The last thing she needed was to offend the gods and ancestors.
* * * * *
Have a great week everyone!
What I’m Listening To
The sound of singing around a campfire.
Quote of the Week
This is a line from one of my favorite campfire songs, Battle of Maldon by the amazing Rosalind Jehanne
For our hands shall be the harder, and our will shall be the wiser
And our hearts shall be bolder as our strength must end
Come and follow me to glory, so that when they tell the story
We shall not be forgotten in the halls of men
– Rosalind Jehanne
Rob’s Riddles
I have a Patreon where I write Old English style riddles and provide snippets of my work. You can find it here: patreon.com/rhodri2112, along with a sample riddle.
First Line of Next Riddle:
With fierce heart Defend I your soul
Latest Snippet: Chapter 1 of Shadow, Ash, and Prophecy
New Mythology Works in Progress
Rob’s Works in Progress
- Sowing Spring’s Wrath (3,213)
- Farewell, My Ugly (73,704)
- Rick Blaine (8,845)
- The Feasting of Vengeance (3,405)
Upcoming Events
- Lilies War, June 9-17th, Smithville, MO, lilieswar.org
- LibertyCon, June 23-25, Chattanooga, TN, libertycon.org
- Pennsic War, July 28 – August 13, Slippery Rock, PA, pennsicwar.org
New Releases
This week we have New Horizons by Chris Kennedy. This is a collection of sixteen of his best short stories. You don’t want to miss it. Get it here: amazon.com/dp/B0C7BP8PJ3.
Tracked Items
Today’s Weight: 351.8
Updated Word Count: 116,537
Firehall Sagas Archives: 737 entries
Have a great week, everyone.
Rob Howell
Creator of the Firehall Sagas Universe
- Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/-/e/B00X95LBB0
- Website: robhowell.org
- Blog: robhowell.org/blog
- The Firehall Sagas: firehallsagas.com/
- Facebook Author Page: facebook.com/robho
well.org/ - Twitter: twitter.com/Rhodri2112
