Adrian Collins's Blog, page 219

REVIEW: A Time of Courage by John Gwynne

I received an advanced review copy of A Time of Courage in exchange for an honest review. I would like to thank John Gwynne and Tor for the opportunity.

A Time of Courage is the final entry in the Of Blood and Bone trilogy and the seventh story that takes place in Gwynne’s phenomenal fantasy world The Banished Lands. After completing and adoring all of Gwynne’s work I am running out of ways to describe how exceptional a writer he is. I will not say too much here regarding the actual storyline here as I don’t wish to spoil anything for people who are yet to read this or those fantasy fans who are yet to discover John’s work.

Wrath is one of my top five fantasy books of all time and A Time of Courage is very, very close to hitting those same lofty heights. One aspect exceeds all that the author has written before and that is the incredible battle sequences featured here. You won’t find many book reviews where the blogger doesn’t comment on how spectacular the fights and skirmishes are that Gwynne writes but what is presented here blows everything that has come previously away. Especially the final battle, the epic showdown of “good vs. evil” which has been seven books and millennia of history in the making. The finale takes up about twenty-five percent of the novel and I’m content to say that it is probably the greatest final battle I have ever read in fantasy.

When Gwynne writes I often feel completely like I am part of the world and events. During the battles it’s is as if I have been given an adrenaline shot – I read at seven-hundred miles an hour and I am sure my heart beats much faster than it normally does. This is heightened by the way the author often ends point of view chapters with a twist or a bang! This normally occurs when he switches POV scenes to numerous characters who are at the same meeting, event or battle to see different viewpoints which aids to build up the pace and excitement expertly. Gwynne’s writing is addictive and it’s always so easy to just read one more chapter and then look at the clock and realise it’s four hours later.

In addition to the action segments, these books shine because of the amazing characters, their relationships with each other, whether friendly or utterly bitter, and the presentation of hope – that good will succeed in this very violent and often brutally unfair environment.

There are five point of view perspectives that are presented. We will be familiar with following the half-breed warrior Riv, the horse-tribe King Bleda, the Demon King’s fiance and sorceress Fritha, and the tracker and revenge-seeking Drem. I had to chuckle quite often as the latter always finds himself right in the middle of scenarios and encounters and he seems to get saved at the last second by half a dozen different characters throughout the narrative! The new point of view perspective is from another player on the “evil” side. This is the viewpoint of Jin, Bleda’s ex-betrothed who has a vendetta that can only be settled when she murders him.

After falling in love with the characters in The Faithful and the Fallen, when I started this series I never believed I would care about this new ensemble as much as I did about Corban, Storm, Veradis, Maquin etc… By the end of A Time of Courage, I can confirm I shouldn’t have been worried. The whole ensemble is excellent. As well as the point of view characters standout players include the talented, charming yet cocky warrior Cullen, the legendary giant Balur One-Eye, and The Order of the Bright Star leader Brynne. I couldn’t finish a John Gwynne review without commending him on how excellent he presents animal characters. Talking crows, a loyal white bear, a half-woman/half-wyrm are just a few examples.

The finale and the way events are wrapped up is exquisite. There are extremely sad moments littered throughout the novel and some tragic events are presented as the conclusion approaches. Some of your favourite players will not see the final page, and some die in horrific fashion. Others die in the most shocking and unpredictable scenes I’ve seen for a while. I’m not embarrassed to say that I cried quite a few times and that shows Gwynne’s skill as an author to make me care so damn much!

There isn’t really anything else I need to say. A Time of Courage is bloody incredible and Gwynne will have a fan in me for life. I know it was only January when I completed this but I will be amazed if this isn’t the best fantasy book released in 2020.

Buy A Time of Courage by John Gynne

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Five Black Library authors to watch out for

In the Grimdark Fiction Readers and Writer’s Facebook group, there’s been a growing trend of seeing more of our favourite grimdark / dark fantasy and sci-fi authors being added to the Black Library stable of authors. For the moment, these authors seem to be restricted to short stories, as if Black Library is testing the waters with these authors to see if the style that is absolutely killing it in novels for publishers like HarperVoyager and Ace will result in the same kind of awesome stories–just in the grimdark 40K universe or the Warhammer / Age of Sigmar world.

So, here’s a quick spotlight on authors we think you 40K and Warhammer fans should be keeping an eye out for, and what else they’ve written (if you’re feeling adventurous).

Michael R. Fletcher

Fletcher is a magnificent author of all things gritty AF, with his barnstorming fantasy debut, Beyond Redemption being one of this publication’s favourite books of all time. It’s little wonder that Black Library have dipped the toe into Fletcher’s style, and I’d be pretty surprised if we didn’t see a lot more of him through Black Library publications.

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Other works from Fletcher outside of Age of Sigmar that you can check out include a myriad of short stories and novels of dark fantasy, noir SF, and one very different work about millennials.

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Peter McLean

With Peter McLean’s Priest of Bones depicting such magnificently damaged post-war characters it is absolutely no surprise that he’s written seven pieces for a franchise that revels in such stories.

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If you like these stories, then you just absolutely have to check out some of McLean’s other works such as the absolutely unmissable Priest of Lies.

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Richard Ford

Now Richard Ford is a bit more of an old hand for Black Library, with his stories coming out four-odd years ago, but his works are definitely worth checking out. Outside of his Black Library works Ford has a pair of magnificent fantasy series well worth your time.

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If his Black Library stories are your jam, then definitely check out his brilliant Steelhaven trilogy and the War of Archons trilogy.

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Rob J. Hayes

When it comes to indie authors, Hayes is pretty much the gold standard for grimdark fantasy. His gritty as all fuck style of writing with plenty of hard-bitten military characters makes him perfect for guard-style 40k characters, and I can’t wait to get my hands on Anarchy’s End.

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Hayes has a range of series for you to check out including everything from trilogies like The Ties that Bind and It Takes a Thief… to stand alones like Never Die, and collections of short stories like The Bound Folio.

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Filip Wiltgren

Filip’s publications so far seem to be focussed on short stories, and I’m a big fan of him having picked The Bed of the Crimson King up for publication a few years back. He’s been in two Inferno! issues so far, and I hope to see more of him.

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You can find more of Filip’s stories in a range of online magazines such as Future, Metamorphosis, and this here publication.

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There’s more coming

From what we hear on the grapevine, there are more and more of these dark fantasy and noir SF authors getting added to the Black Library stable (it’d be great to see authors like Anna Stephens, Deb Wolf, and M.L. Spencer writing for these guys), so keep an eye out for these new names, check out some of their other stuff, and here’s hoping they add some serious awesomeness to the 40K and Warhammer / Age of Sigmar verses and your reading experience.

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REVIEW: The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt

The Sisters Brothers is a tale of one man wanting to be better, a tale of the quirky realities of the Wild West and one that made me fall in love with this style of story-telling.

“…but I could not sleep without proper covering and spent the rest of the night rewriting lost arguments from my past, altering history so that I emerged victorious.”

I really must take my hat off to Patrick deWitt. His prose captivated me from the first chapter, only a few pages long, and took me on one of my favourite book experiences to date. This is the first western book I have read, though I am no stranger to the theme, through films, television and the games I have played, such as Red Dead Redemption 2. The Sisters Brothers however was something completely new and I implore anyone and everyone to at least try this book.

“…I am happy to welcome you to a town peopled in morons exclusively. Furthermore, I hope that your transformation to moron is not an unpleasant experience.”

Written in the 1st person we follow the journey of Eli Sisters alongside his brother, Charlie as they accept a new job from the man known as The Commodore. The Sisters Brothers are notorious hired killers in 1850’s America. Their journey takes them from Oregon to California and many places in-between as they head out to kill a Gold Rush prospector called Hermann Warm.

Charlie, the older and leader of the two is a drinker and a lover of violence with no other ambitions. He is paid more than Eli, gets the better horse, and makes the decisions.  Eli is a man who is wanting to change, seek a new occupation and generally be better than his previous self.

“Here is another miserable mental image I will have to catalog and make room for.”

The plot is simple and unique, with the appearance of a simple gun-job but the reality of a realistic job where characters think for themselves. What I loved about this book was how utterly bizarre it was alongside how it was completely believably. Every single word. It all caught me off guard but at the same time was expected. Read it! (The film is also good, but not quite near the level of the book).

There is dark humour and light humour and offbeat humour that made me laugh it was so ridiculous and humour that made me think of the sad truth. It is full of touching moments and sincerity that is rare to find in a book, especially one about guns for hire. There is death, lots of death, and brotherly squabbles and hurt feelings and a one-eyed horse. The animals in this book have a tough time of it to be honest.

“…things I had come to find humor in would make your honest man swoon.”

The language is what made this book one of my favourite ever reads. It feels so period but also thick with wit and full of careful thought and awareness of life. The characters are so real and Eli is one of my favourite PoVs ever. There are hilarious stories and strange encounters and well-written gunfights. The plot didn’t need to be spectacular, the writing took it to a whole new level on its own.

“I do not know what it was about that boy but just looking at him, even I wanted to clout him on the head. It was a head that invited violence.”

Even if westerns aren’t your thing, you’ll soon realise The Sisters Brothers is your thing. Take a gamble and read it because it is a masterpiece that begs you to read and savour each and every word. There are many relatable moments, which I found due mainly to the fact that I have two brothers and was able to appreciate the small details (though I could not relate to the arguments about whether to shoot someone or not…)!

“Returning his pen to its holder, he told us, ‘I will have him gutted with that scythe. I will hang him by his own intestines.’ At this piece of dramatic exposition, I could not help but roll my eyes. A length of intestines would not carry the weight of a child, much less a full-grown man.”

5/5 – The Sisters Brothers is unique, hilarious, heartbreaking and a triumph. A story that is seeping with heart and humour. It is one of the most quotable books I have read. Anyone who loves real characters with gritty and black humour will love it. Savour every word! This is a book that I will read many times over my life. I loved it.

Buy The Sisters Brothers by Patric deWitt

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REVIEW: The Unspoken Name by A. K. Larkwood

A.K Larkwood’s debut novel, The Unspoken Name, the first novel in The Serpent’s Gate series, is all about choice. There is absolute power in hitting bottom; you have faced death, the end, and come out on the other side. After that, the world is open to you choice-wise.

“By the touch of thy hand shall the black lotus bloom

Thus shall we know thee, handmaid of desolation

By the corruption of the seas

By the fading of all things

Thy name shall be forsaken and thou be my bride

Thus spake the Nameless One upon the plains of dust

            from The Book of Unmaking”

“You have looked your foretold death in the face and turned from it in defiance. Nothing in this world or any other deserves your fear.”

This is one of the main aspects of the lead protagonist Csorwe, and I think of The Unspoken Name in general. This story delves deeply into the nature of what choice actually is. Are our actions in this world truly choices? Or do we choose to do things based on what is expected of us?

Larkwood’s debut novel, the first of a grand new series aptly named The Serpents Gates stars the character Cswore. Csorwe is in a lot of ways unoriginal, at least at first. She grows up in what I can only think of as a cult where every 14 years, a girl child that has been groomed to become the bride of a god is devoured in sacrifice to appease the god. The first 14 years of her life have been entirely without choice. Choice, as a concept, is a wholly foreign concept. Csorwe has been brainwashed her entire life. This great honor that has been bestowed upon her by this wrathful god.

Her life’s only meaning is in its death. In the last hour of her life, she is approached by the wizard Sethennai, a wizard, he offers her a choice, “serve me, and I will save you. Don’t and accept your fate.” Csorwe, having never been offered a choice in anything, she is offered what could be the most pivotal choice of her life. She accepts life and defies a god. She takes her young life and runs for it. Sethennai needs Cswore to restore his position as ruler of a great city named Tlaanthothe. It is difficult as a reader to make the connection as to why Csorwe, basically a babe in the ways of the world, is essential in this great wizard’s quest to gain his city back. Especially since, again, Cswore is groomed as an assassin and bodyguard, and it takes years to get her ready. And, still, what looks like a choice and an opportunity to live her life finally on her own terms is not what she thinks it is. She is bound to Sethennai by obligation and her honor.

The narrative The Unspoken Name has two plot arcs. It is almost as if two novels were joined together, each could have stood on their own as a book in the series. The first arc is of Cswore’s escape, education, abduction, and finally, assistance in Sethennai’s quest of restoring his position as ruler of Tlaanthothe. This arc is exciting and encompasses the first 30 or so percent of the story. After this arc concludes, we jump forward five years. Cswore and Talasseres, who is a fascinating side character and is both Cswore’s foil and companion for much of the novel, are on the hunt for the Reliquary of Pentravesse for Sethennai. The Reliquary is an object of mystical and religious importance that Sethennai and Oranna are both searching for. Anyone who obtains the Reliquary will gain knowledge of the Pentravesse. A source of high power. Sethennai and Oranna are brutal and efficient characters in very different ways. Each stops at nothing to achieve their own goals. While Sethennai behaves like a razor blade cutting into and removing things in his search for the Reliquary, Oranna acts much like a cudgel and bashes into things and people with brutal raw force. Both Tal and Cswore get in the crossfire.

Another integral part of the second arc in The Unspoken Name is the developing romantic relationship that occurs. It becomes a complete expression of choice. The choice to live, to love, to die, and to protect. All vital and singular expressions of Cswore’s budding ability to make choices for her self and her future. Her choices, Whether it burns the world down or not, it is her choices to make. It helped create a strong second half to this book that saved the pace and brought the full reader speeding into the conclusion.

“The desert called the Speechless Sea was of black sand, scattered with shards of volcanic glass that sparkled like the stars. A chain of hills emerged from this desert, as though the night sky was punctured by a row of vertebrae. Built on these was the city of Tlaanthothe.”

World-building in this story is exceptional, although occasionally, it is just a little bit murky. The setting of this story is a series of worlds, an almost infinite amount of them, that are accessed through gates. Each setting is entirely different culturally and geographically. It is a heady mix of ever-shifting landscapes that are a serious nod to writer A.K Larkwood’s imagination. The part that was a bit murky to me was the character’s physical attributes. Csorwe is described as having tusks. Unless other descriptions are given, Cswore is immediately orc-like. The same goes for Sethennai. He is described as having pointed ears, which immediately makes me think of an elf. Maybe this is a function of my fantasy context from reading other books. But, it seemed like a missed opportunity for more complicated and exciting physical characteristics of the characters.

Is the power of choice enough to build a substantial epic series around?

The answer is a resounding, yes!

Choice is one of the most primal things humans can make. Your choices make or break your future. This debut novel is excellent and worth reading, even if it is just for the world-building alone. Is it perfect? No, there are plotting problems, and as I mentioned above, issues with suspended disbelief. But it is a great book that ended on a high note. This, in turn, will lead to the second book in the series perfectly.

You should absolutely check out this debut novel and jump into this world.

Buy The Unspoken Name by A.K. Larkwood

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REVIEW: The Vagabond King by Jodie Bond

In Jodie Bond’s debut novel, The Vagabond King, a devastating raid by an army of immortals leaves Prince Threon with a murdered family and a stolen kingdom. But when the deposed royal sets out to claim his vengeance, free his people, and restore himself to the throne, he discovers a struggle on two fronts: human and divine. While armies of men do battle, the gods wage a war of their own, pulling strings and playing cosmic chess with mortals as the pieces. In the midst of it all, the former prince is left with little but the clothes on his back, a handful of misfit allies, and the burning desire to take back what’s rightfully his.

The Vagabond King is told in the third person with Threon and a selection of others acting as its primary POV characters. One of these is Savanta, an inventor who dared to create a Da Vinci-esque flying machine and enter the domain of the sky god, Zenith. Transformed into a winged, grey skinned creature of the air and forced into Zenith’s service as punishment, Savanta desires little more than to end her divine indenture and return to the daughter she left behind. On the other end of the theological spectrum, Azzania is a priestess of the Void. While Azzania’s own religion refuses to acknowledge Zenith and his brethren as deities, she, Savanta, and Threon find common purpose in fomenting rebellion against the earth god Deyar’s aforementioned army of immortals and the empire it serves. Lleu, one of the undying soldiers in that legion, acts as the final POV character. Born to a father from the empire and a mother from Threon’s occupied kingdom, Lleu faces intense internal conflict and an addict’s struggle with the life-extending vish drug.

While I thought this was a solid and enjoyable fantasy tale in many regards, I felt like it didn’t do enough to break the mold and distinguish itself from the rest of the genre. What The Vagabond King does offer in good, solid (if slightly predictable) plot and steady pacing, it somewhat lacks in surprises and inventive worldbuilding concepts. Threon himself is a likable enough primary protagonist, but one of the major issues I have with him is the way the majority of his character development happens off-page. He begins the novel as a pampered noble on the night of the raid, and his narrow escape is followed by a five-year timeskip that glosses over his transition to such a radically different life.

That said, there was a lot I enjoyed about this book as well, particularly from the perspective of a grimdark reader. Bond’s gods are pleasingly ruthless and manipulative, and Zenith in particular has a way of stealing the scene and grabbing readers’ attention whenever he shows up with his acid wit and cloak of stars. The author also does a good job of depicting the ugly realities of war, even when it’s the protagonists doing the violence. At times, The Vagabond King felt like it had the aesthetics and feel of classic 80’s fantasy with its band of plucky underdogs going against a tyrannical empress (complete with a pair white tigers). These fantastical elements were juxtaposed nicely with the gritty realism of addiction, slavery, and the realities of resource scarcity. The novel’s ending is strong and surprising and closes the book on a high note. Overall, I would give this book a solid 3.5 stars. If you’re looking for a fun adventure in the vein of Dragonlance or the Forgotten Realms with a little more modern grit, this might be the book for you.

Buy The Vagabond King by Jodie King

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A Letter to the Editor from Michael R Fletcher

Dear Adrian,

There’s a whole bunch I need to get off my chest, and a lot I need to apologize for. Apparently, we’ve been friends for a bunch of years now, but I’ve been hiding some terrible secrets from you. I can’t do it anymore. You need to know the truth.

Dude, I know you’re like, Where the fuck is that short story serial you’re writing for the GdM Patreon account? I’m sorry about that, about how long it’s taken. But there is a really good reason. You ever tried to step in and finish someone else’s story? It’s fucking impossible! Like, what the fuck was he thinking?! Did he even have a bloody plot?! Sometimes I really wish I was one of those writers who wrote things down, who planned things and kept notes. Apparently, I never am, not in any universe. This is getting confusing. I have to explain.

I’ve dug through our history, trying to figure out where we stand. You and I, we’ve chatted, we’ve done interviews and talked about how I got into writing, about the journey. It was all lies. I mean, maybe some of it wasn’t, at the time, but now it is.

Man, this feels right. Getting this off my chest.

We’re all guilty of partitioning ourselves, of seeing exactly the same events differently depending on which side we’re on. Like when you’re caught in traffic and manage to bypass a long line of cars by cutting in at the last moment. When you’re doing it, you’re happy you didn’t get stuck in that line, you’re clever, maybe even a little proud for taking the initiative. But then, when you’re caught in a long line and someone cuts in front of you, they’re an asshole. Can both be true?

What I did was a lot worse than cutting into a line of traffic. Though, as a metaphor, it works rather well.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Dude, you know what it’s like trying to be a writer in this climate. The competition, the need to put out material at a steady pace that both works for the old fans and yet is fresh and new.

I’m stalling. Okay. Here goes.

As you know, back in 2008 I wrote a book called 88. You also know that it was published by a small Canadian press, and that this effectively launched my so-called career. But that’s a lie. The book I wrote didn’t sell at all. You see, back then I was a different me. Fuck hell, this is going to get confusing.

Okay, so I wasn’t an audio-engineer. Rather, I worked writing copy for the Institute of Particle Physics based out of the University of Victoria in British Columbia. It was a cool job. I lived in Toronto and emailed in my articles. Sometimes they’d send me around the world to see and write about various labs and companies doing cutting edge stuff in physics.

Anyway, I wrote this cyberpunk novel in my spare time, between dashing about on IPP business. I sent the book everywhere, to every agent and every publisher, and they all rejected it. All of them. It was never published. So there I was, a literary failure, when IPP sent me to the UK to write about yet another research lab working on something I didn’t understand. To say I was depressed is an understatement. I banged back whiskeys for the whole flight to Heathrow, kept drinking at the hotel, and was either still drunk or drunk again when I went in the next day to meet the scientists and listen to the nerds blather on about whatever the fuck it was they were working on.

I cruised through the day on autopilot, recording all the conversations so I could distil them to something useful once I got back home. At some point the scientists fucked off for ‘tea’, and I ended up in the lab with a mathematician. Like the fucking physicists weren’t difficult enough to understand! We got to talking and realized we were both very much into RPGs and would-be novelists. He’d written a fantasy novel called The Hundred War about some murderous teenager and, like me, had no luck selling it. We commiserated, and then he veered off into explaining the maths behind this thing the lab had built that he claimed was going to prove that there were multiple universes. I joked about how maybe we were successful authors in another universe, and he went off about how unlikely it was that the other universes were similar enough to our to maintain life. He said they’d already done some tests, sending inanimate objects to other universes, but there was no way to get it back, no way to know really happened to it.

I made some crack about how it was probably just incinerating the stuff and he explained the maths again (yawn!) and admitted they searched the area for dust, and no, it was really gone. And there I am, hungover all to ratshit, miserable about my failures, staring at this thing that either incinerates shit or snaps it off to some hostile universe. I had no plan. Maybe there was some thought that, if nothing else, I might be the first human to die in a different universe. I heard him gasp behind me as I stepped up to the thing and hit the big red button.

Nothing happened and I felt like an utter fucking idiot.

Even my attempt at suicide was a failure.

I turned to explain and found myself alone in the room.

Had he left? No way. It was an easy twenty meters to the door.

I will confess, I stood there for several minutes trying to figure out what the fuck?

Was there any way I’d used the device to pop into a neighbouring dimension and somehow survived? The idea was too ludicrous. And yet the math guy was gone. Unable to answer a single question, I let myself out of the lab. Visitors badge in place, no one paid me any attention as I cut through the lobby on my way out. I ran into the math guy near the exit.

“I thought you left already,” he said.

Not sure how to answer that, I shrugged.

“Congrats on 88,” he added.

At the time I figured he meant finishing the book.

Two hours later, and back at the airport, I discovered there’d been a fuck-up and someone else had got my seat. After much confusion, I was told I’d have to catch the next flight home.

Now I know I’ve babbled on for several pages but bear with me. This is where everything goes to shit.

This is where I realized I’d somehow got past all the traffic and cut into the lane.

After all the usual airport and customs joys and more Jameson and the result of what was effectively three days of binge-drinking, I got home to my condo in the Etobicoke part of Toronto, to find I was already there.

You see it now, right? I hopped universes. The reason my seat on the flight was taken was because I took it. The math guy was wrong, and this universe was basically identical to the one I came from. There was, I soon learned, one serious difference.

What would you do? There you are, having just let yourself into your condo to find you’ve come face to face with yourself?

We talked.

We joked.

We got drunk together and made plans how we’d take turns going to work while the other stayed home to write. I learned that he’d had moderately more success than I. 88 was to be published by a small Canadian press called Five Rivers. We compared notes, and I saw that he’d rewritten the ending, something I’d considered but hadn’t done.

It wasn’t much, but he had a publishing deal. Whiskey-fuelled envy grew in me. He’d done it! He had his foot in the door of the publishing world. Everyone knows that once you’ve got that first novel out, publishers take you more seriously. It might not get you out of the slush pile, but it certainly moved you up!

What would that be like, to know you might have a future as an author?

I wanted that so fucking bad.

Could I ride on his coat tails? With two of us writing, we could double our output, edit each other, make something truly amazing! He was disinterested, didn’t like the idea of working with others—even if that other was himself—and admitted he was too much of a control freak.

I knew it to be true. He was me. I’d never tolerate someone taking credit for my successes.

He wobbled off to bed and left me alone. Pouring myself another drink, I stared at the door. That was my fucking room, my fucking bed! He hadn’t even offered to grab a few blankets and a pillow so I could sleep on the sofa.

Of course, I knew exactly where the bedding was.

Still. Fucking rude.

I drank and I got angrier.

I’d almost rewritten the ending myself! One stupid little choice made a world of difference.

He had everything and I had nothing. This wasn’t my condo. My book hadn’t sold. This wasn’t even my fucking universe! What was I going to do? It wasn’t like I could go home. Could I book a flight to the UK? Would my credit cards work? Even if I got back to the lab and they let me in and I got near the device again, would it take me home?

Hadn’t the math guy said there was no way to get stuff back?

The more I drank, the more clearly I saw it. There was one way I could have everything I dreamed of.

So I killed him.

I don’t want to talk about it. It isn’t like the movies. It’s ugly and terrible and difficult. I puked after and cried in the bathroom for hours.

It wasn’t murder. It was suicide. I already tried to kill myself, this time I was just more successful.

I told myself all this shit as I rolled him up in a blanket and dragged him down twelve flights of stairs to the underground parking and my rusting shit-bucket of a car.

Had I stopped there, maybe some kind of redemption may have been possible. But this gets worse. A lot fucking worse.

I slotted myself into his life. It was easy as it was damned near identical to my own. And, of course, I started writing. I had two choices. I could write the sequel to 88, a book that was going to be soon published, or I could try something new. I had this idea for a fantasy novel where reality was literally shaped by the belief. As the publisher had already expressed interest in the sequel, that was the obvious choice. I’d finish the trilogy and earn my place alongside the greats of science fiction.

Time passed.

I wrote Ablation Cascade and I drank and I wrote shitty articles for the IPP.

Predictably, the universe didn’t cooperate. The publisher hated Ablation, called it a blatant Snow Crash rip-off, and 88 sold maybe thirty copies. I’m pretty sure my mom bought most of them. His mom, I guess.

There I was, no publishing deal. A failure.

As I once again contemplated ending my shit life, I was reminded of the last time I tried.

The lab.

The device.

The next morning I ran my credit card to the limit and booked a First Class return flight to the UK.

Getting in was easy. The receptionist already had my credentials on file, and I told them I was there for a follow-up article. I was shown around, told about all the exciting ground breaking progress they’d made, none of which I understood. Back in the lab I ran into that math guy again.

To be polite, I asked how things were going with The Hundred War.

He said he’d changed the title to Prince of Thorns, and had landed a big-time agent. I thought the original title was better, but kept that to myself. Swallowing my jealousy and wondering if there was any way I could kill him and live his life, I congratulated him.

He waved it off. “Doesn’t seem to be much interest,” he said, dejected. “Doesn’t look like it’ll sell.”

Is it wrong that I took some small pleasure in that?

And there it was. The device, that big red button.

“You remember how we joked about using this thing to hop through universes looking for the one where we were successful writers?” I asked.

If only I’d kept my big mouth shut.

He nodded in that polite way the English do when they haven’t a clue what you’re on about.

“Whoah,” he said, when I approached the device. “That’s dangerous. Don’t…” Seeing my grin, he hesitated.

I hit the button.

Once again I found myself alone in the lab.

Retuning to the airport I discovered no flight was booked under my name. It took a moment to understand. The me in this reality hadn’t flown to the UK and so hadn’t purchased a return ticket. If nothing else, that must mean our lives were different.

Once back in Canada, I Googled myself.

Jackpot! In this reality, I’d landed an agent, and she got me publishing deal with Harper Voyager, one of the biggest publishers in the world! Reading more, I learned that while I wrote Cascade Ablation, this me chased the other idea and wrote a book called Beyond Redemption.

In this reality, I’d met a woman and got married. Dark haired and dark eyed, she was utterly stunning. He didn’t work for IPP either. Instead, he’d dropped out of university after the first year and become an audio-engineer! What kind of life was that?!

Some Brittany Spears wanna-be was living in my condo, and it took me two days to track the other me to the condo he shared with his wife in the Lakeshore district of Toronto.

You already know how this goes.

I told myself that killing me would be easier the second time.

It wasn’t. It was much, much worse.

I wasn’t killing some lonely drunk in a shitty condo. This man had a life, people who cared about him. Killing him and stepping into his life would be no easy task. I knew nothing about his past, or this woman or about mixing shitty rock bands. But he had it, he had what I wanted. He had what I deserved!

It should have been mine!

I ambushed him as he left Clinton’s, the club where he worked as a soundguy. I killed him and I buried his body in Boyd Conservation Area. Then I drove his shitty rust-bucket car to meet my wife.

It was glorious. I had the love of an amazing woman and a publishing deal with a big-5 publisher. Beyond Redemption landed accolade after accolade, appearing on dozens of Best-of-the-Year lists, including Grimdark Magazine. I wrote the sequel, When Fargone Dead Return, in an orgy of creativity. Then I threw myself into a stand-alone set in the same world called The All Consuming.

That lasted about a year before life and the universe did what life and the universe does.

Beyond Redemption flopped as far as sales were concerned, and Harper Voyager passed on the other book. Day by day my dream of a career as a writer died a slow death. Somewhere I lost control. I killed a large bottle of Jameson every week, couldn’t sleep and couldn’t write. Apparently being a depressed alcoholic is somewhat less than attractive, and tensions grew between my wife and I.

You know exactly what I did.

Maybe I didn’t work for IPP in this reality, but they still existed and that research facility in the UK was still there. Being a clever monkey, this time I only paid for a First Class one-way ticket. No point in purchasing a return flight when it was unlikely the me in the next reality had flown to the UK.

I talked my way into the facility and learned that Mark—apparently that was the math guy’s name—had quit and not been heard from since. I told the receptionist I was there for a follow-up on their research into multiple-dimensions and soon after was getting the same fucking tour I’d had twice before. Long story short, as soon as I got near the device I slapped that big red button.

Heathrow Airport.

Flight home.

Google time.

While this me hadn’t achieved everything I’d dreamed of, he was still doing better. He’d changed the title of The All Consuming to Swarm and Steel (what a shitty title) and sold it to Skyhorse, a mid-sized publisher. On top of that, instead of wallowing in misery, he’d gone on to self-publish When Fargone Dead Return as The Mirror’s Truth, a title he’d clearly ripped off from an In Flames album. He’d changed representation, landed a big-time UK agent, and had a novel, Smoke and Stone, out on submission! He was on the verge of breaking huge!

This me had married the same woman and had a daughter. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like. A family!

While looking up my new agent, I spotted a familiar book title: This agent represented Mark, that math guy who wrote Prince of Thorns! On a whim I Googled him and learned that, in this universe, he’d become quite a successful author. I have to admit, that rankled. Like every fucking universe I went to, there he was, doing better.

Having killed myself twice, the third time was a breeze. I only puked a little, and didn’t cry for more than half an hour. After burying him in that same spot in Boyd Conservation Area, I inserted myself in his life. He’d been an audio-engineer like the other me, but had left that career to work as a Project Manager for a software firm. That gave me pause. I knew nothing about being a Project Manager.

I quit the damned job—I was going to be a famous author!—and threw myself into writing Bone and Stone, the sequel to Smoke and Stone. It’s weird, reading something you wrote but have no memory of writing because you didn’t actually write it. The style was all me, the sentence structure, the word choices, but I had no inkling what he planned. Writing the sequel to a book you didn’t write is a lot more difficult than I thought.

You know what’s coming.

My agent was unable to sell the books. I was dead in the water. I’d written a sequel to a book that hadn’t sold. I looked at the success the other me had managed in self-publishing, but that wasn’t me. I wanted a publisher! I wanted big advances and fame!

This time, instead of moping about, I flew straight back to the UK, made a mad dash past security, and into the lab.

Red button.

Bang.

Fuck that universe!

Another flight and I returned to Canada.

When I finally found his house, in the suburbs of Brampton, he wasn’t home. I broke in through the back door and searched around. Wedding pictures on the wall said I was married to the same woman. That was kind of nice. All these universes, and she was the one constant. It seemed that no matter how badly I fucked things up, she was the one thing I got right. I also now had a daughter who was apparently turning into quite the artist. I figured I’d learn her name later.

The new me hadn’t achieved the success I craved, but he was doing better. For reasons I can’t imagine, he’d embraced self-publishing and released Smoke and Stone and written another novel called Black Stone Heart due for release in a few months. On the down side, this me worked as a fucking forklift driver!

Digging through the files and documents the other me left on his computer, I found notes for three other novels, She Dreams in Blood, The Greatest Swordsman in the World, and messed up noir SF novel called A Home For Broken Dreams. To make matter worse, he’d taken on several commissions for short stories including something called Warhammer and, as you know, Grimdark Magazine. I scrambled to catch up with everything he had going on, but it was fucking impossible! I read the stories he and some Anna Smith Spark chick wrote together for the GdM Patreon (what the fuck is Patreon?!) serial project and had no idea what to write next.

Anyway, Mike came home and I ambushed him in the front lobby. The rusty old shit-bucket car had been replaced by a black Hyundai Santa Fe, which was handy as I now didn’t have to stuff his corpse into a too-small trunk.

I drove him out to the Boyd Conservation Area to bury him in the usual spot. I didn’t get far into digging his grave when I discovered a hastily buried body. Even with the back of the skull bashed in, I recognized that black t-shirt and ratty but oh-so-comfortable jeans.

Someone had already killed me and buried me out here.

It’s embarrassing, but I admit I stood there for several minutes wondering, What the fuck?!

But the answer was all too obvious. The me I just killed wasn’t from this reality. He’d come, just as I had, in search of authorial success. He killed and buried the me I was staring at in the dirt.

It hit me then. An infinite number of universes. An infinite number of Mikes, many of whom wanted to be successful writers. I wasn’t the only one hopping through universes. The beautiful forests of Boyd Park suddenly seemed a lot more threatening. I could be out there. I was out there, somewhere. If I found the perfect universe and killed the me with the perfect life and all the fame and success I craved, some other me would come along and smash my head in and claim it for their own.

It was sheerest fucking luck I hadn’t already murdered myself.

This, I realized, changed everything. I’d been going about this all wrong. Each time I popped into a new universe I’d been pleased at my successes, excited to build on them. Each time I thought, this is the one where I break big!

Instead, I should have stayed just long enough to determine how successful I was. If I wasn’t massively successful, I should have jumped straight to the next universe.

Oh. Fuck.

If I had this thought, then at least some of the other Mikes out there would be having it too.

Double fuck!

What if I wasn’t the first!?

I had to stop fucking around!

Not bothering to bury the body, I drove straight to Toronto International Airport and booked myself a First Class seat on the next flight to the UK. I jumped at shadows, twitched every time I saw a figure in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Fucking Christ there are a lot of them!

Heathrow Airport.

Back to the lab.

And I was fucked.

The device was gone.

Shit, most of the lab was gone.

There’d been a fire. It seemed to have been focussed around the area where the device was kept.

I stood there, staring at the ruin, thinking, No. No way. Just no fucking way.

I was trapped here. I’d effectively been taken out of commission. No longer would I jump from universe to universe looking for the right one.

Had I somehow done this? Had some other Mike destroyed the device to trap me here?

But wouldn’t that trap him here too?

Ohfuckingfuckingfuck!

I’d killed the other Mike and been in such a rush to flee this universe I hadn’t bothered to bury him! I left his fucking body lying in the dirt in Boyd Park alongside another half-buried corpse of the same man! I had to get back and bury them both before someone stumbled across them!

This was a disaster!

Was there some other way out?

Mark! That math guy! He’d been involved in making the device. Could he make another?

I found a pub and spent two hours searching for some way to contact him before discovering that, in this reality, he and Mike were friends on social media. I messaged him, asking about his educational background and the work he used to do, telling him it was research for a short story I was writing.

He messaged me back within minutes.

Hi Mike.

Remember when you told me we’d had a conversation about using the device to hop universes in search of the one where we were successful? Well, we’d never had that conversation. And then you smiled and hit the button and were gone. At first I thought you were insane, suicidal. But you didn’t hesitate, and I realized you knew exactly what you were doing. So I followed you.

I had to burn the lab. With the device destroyed, we’re effectively cut off from the other universes. That’s how it works. You can only move from a universe where this device exists to another universe with the same device.

This is the right universe for me.

I’m sorry for trapping you here, but I couldn’t chance another Mark coming to try and take what I have.

Look on the bright side. You’ve got a pretty decent following. With some hard work, you might even make a go of it!

Good luck!

Good luck? Good fucking luck!

With little choice, I flew back to Canada, suddenly wishing I hadn’t flown First Class to get here. My credit card bill was going to be insane. I was lucky, and managed to get the bodies buried before anyone found them.

Sorry for dragging this on, Adrian.

Look, I know this is the longest, Oh fuck I’m gonna be late on that story I promised letter you’ve probably ever gotten, but I’m gonna be fucking late. I’m trying to figure out what the other me had planned, and it ain’t easy.

Basically, it’s all Mark Lawrence’s fault.

The post A Letter to the Editor from Michael R Fletcher appeared first on Grimdark Magazine.

REVIEW: Lords of Asylum by Kevin Wright

Lords of Asylum by Kevin Wright is my first exposure to the author’s writings despite the fact that I’ve heard a huge amount about him. So, when I saw he had a new release with this book, I decided to pick it up. I should mention that I’m a big fan of grimdark fantasy and absolutely adore books where cynical antiheroes travel through the Dung Ages. I’m a fan of Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence, Rob J. Hayes, and other authors who have a bleak hellish worldview of medieval life. This definitely falls under that category and anyone who picks up this book should be prepared for an uncompromising R-rated story.

The protagonist, Sir Luther Slythe Krait, has been utterly beaten down by life. He has become a believer in nothing other than coin and his next hot meal. He doesn’t believe in the church, chivalry, justice, or even himself. Indeed, when he first meets his next employers, he says he’ll kill anyone for money even a child. However, the nobles who seek him out are individuals who want him to solve a murder rather than commit one. It is unfortunate for Luther because he’s much better at the latter.

Luther’s investigation takes him to the forsaken city of Asylum, which has been hit by plague and devastated by civil war. It is one of the most stark and uncompromising visions of a fantasy setting I’ve seen. Kevin Wright has a mastery of establishing a dark, gloomy, and almost apocalyptic atmosphere without invoking overtly supernatural elements. Those exist in the story but are not necessary. It felt like some of the better parts of The Witcher 3 and Dark Souls.

I liked the character of Luther Krait despite the fact he’s an appalling example of a human being. I liked further that he is not presented as unquestionably right in his view of the world. He’s embraced a nihilistic self-serving worldview that he thinks is correct but he’s often confronted with people who have suffered just as much but try to do good regardless. It is something not often seen in grimdark writing and makes the story better even as Luther finds nihilism, ironically, every bit as empty as other ideologies.

The atmosphere of the book is the best part of it by far and I think Kevin Wright deserves praise for being able to make everything feel like a Middle Ages horror movie. Luther is stalking something wholly unnatural but how does one compare a supernatural evil to all of the incredibly horrific mundane things going on around him? There’s mass graves, torture, pointless wars, and injustice beyond measure. It gets really to the heart of the existentialist dread that lies at the heart of good grimdark.

The supporting cast is quite solid in this book with my favorite characters being Lord Raachwald, Abraham the Moneylender, and Luther’s brother Stephen. No one is entirely who they seem to be and the story has several great moments where the characters just sit down to compare their worldviews. The action is pretty solid in the book as well.

In conclusion, I strongly recommend Lords of Asylum and think fans of dark fantasy will find it money well spent. It’s also available on Kindle Unlimited if you use that service. It is a dark, epic, and brooding tale that is sure to become a cult classic in the future.

Buy Lords of Asylum by Kevin Wright

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REVIEW: Bent Heavens by Daniel Kraus

Imagine that Stephen King wrote E.T., and you’ll have an idea of what’s it’s like to read Bent Heavens, the new science fiction horror novel by Daniel Kraus (co-author of the Shape of Water with Guillermo del Toro). It’s a fast-paced, somewhat horrifying story about teenage girl, Liv Fleming, whose father, Lee, disappears for good not long after returning from two years during which he claims to have been abducted by aliens. Despite the social, emotional, and psychological damage her father has done to his family in his little Iowa town, Liv and her best friend, Doug Monk, carry on his tradition of maintaining traps he set all around their yard, before his final disappearance, to catch any aliens that might come seeking to abduct him again. And hopefully, Liv can prove him right after all. When tension and conflict at high school become impossible for Liv, she decides it’s time to get over the loss of her father. She sets out to destroy the traps at last and end her living nightmare, and guess what she finds…

Bent Heavens is narrowed to so few characters for its 304 pages that it feels as claustrophobic as Liv’s father’s weapon-filled backyard shed. Aside from Liv and Doug, the story contains brief appearances by Liv’s mother, Liv’s love interest Bruno Mayorga (who happens to be an illegal “alien”), Liv’s English teacher (who has taken Liv’s father’s job at her school), a mysterious journalist named Carbajal, and few others. The characters are unique and well drawn, each with quirks that play into their roles in the story. Liv is kind and resourceful. Doug is a weird loner from a tough upbringing and loyal to a fault. Liv’s mother is battling an alcohol problem as a result of her husband’s insanity and final disappearance. Carbajal, the one person who might know something about Lee’s disappearance, is jaded and physically deformed. Together, they form an interesting ensemble, though at some points it seems they exist only to forward the intense plot.

The plot of Bent Heavens is very straightforward. Liv wants to find out what happened to her father so she can finally put the years’ long nightmare to bed. With some pretty effective jumping back and forth the plot covers the period beginning when Lee arrives naked at the town square after a two-year absence and proceeds through Liv’s desperate, harrowing, night-long quest to find out what happened to him after his second and final disappearance. Kraus does an excellent job of building tension throughout the novel by forcing Liv through a quick-hitting sequence of increasingly challenging complications, both physically and emotionally, from a fight with a teacher to a broken toe and more, until at last she must finally seek out answers on her own in the explosive—because what’s a big ending without some kind of explosions, right?—ending.

Kraus is an excellent writer, and what I most enjoyed about Bent Heavens is his ability, as story tension increased, to turn the most mundane of settings, an old and nearly forgotten Iowa farm town, into the creepiest collection of corn rows, woods, silos, and old farmhouses you would never want to be caught in alone. As Liv’s fear and horror increase, the settings, through her eyes, from Carbajal’s dark, stinking apartment in Nowheresville to the farmlands on the edge of America’s former self, become increasingly malignant and claustrophobic. The reader feels immersed not only in this backward, useless part of America’s erstwhile heartland, but also in Liv’s head, seeing things she really, really does not want to see but cannot avoid. It’s a gripping trip through a mind-boggling labyrinth that completely captures the intensity and strangeness of Liv’s quest.

Overall, I enjoyed Bent Heavens very much. If I had to complain about something (and I don’t but I will), much of the complexity of the plot (of which there isn’t much to begin with, which is okay) and its reveal is based on the kind of misunderstanding that happens in the telephone game. One person says something, and as it is passed on to others, the words get twisted and mistaken until the original meaning is lost. It’s a little bit gimmicky once, but more than once it becomes thematic, to what effect, I am still not sure. Perhaps, we live our lives thinking we understand things that we really don’t. I’m not sure if that’s what Kraus intended, but it fits.

Nevertheless, with regard to themes and authorial intention, Bent Heavens is fairly deep, exploring love and loss, family relationships, isolation, change, helplessness, revenge, brutality, and more. Though it may seem like a lot for a medium-length novel, the themes are deftly handled, thoughtful yet unobtrusive, with perhaps one exception. Bent Heavens is a cautionary tale, and the author even includes an explanation of such as an afterword. I won’t spoil it for those of you who might want to read this enjoyable and entertaining novel, but at some times, especially in the middle of the book, the skeletons of that cautionary tale can be seen a little too clearly through its skin and flesh. As such, Bent Heavens may make a better edge-of-your-seat paced movie, which I expect will follow, than a book in which the reader has time to dwell on each moment, each scene.

But is it grimdark? As the characters start to unravel the mystery of Lee’s disappearance, they definitely lose their moral compass, which lends itself to a major theme of the cautionary tale, which is probably why the publishers asked us to review it. The settings, even the mundane ones, are quite grim, and there is enough violence of sorts to be grimdark in a horror-novel sort of way. Overall, though, Liv never really loses her way. She is a hero, albeit one with plenty of regrets, but still a hero. So, if you’re looking for a very entertaining read that crosses the line between alien-contact science fiction and rural American horror, or even a fast-paced read with a strong female protagonist, Bent Heavens should be on your TBR. If you’re looking to stick to your traditional fighting fiction grimdark fantasy or sci-fi, this might not be it.

Bent Heavens is scheduled for release on 25 February 2020 in the US and 1 March 2020 in the UK and elsewhere.

This review was originally published in Grimdark Magazine #21

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EXCERPT: Blackest Spells anthology

Blackest Spells is an anthology put together by C.T. Phipps and the next installation in a series of anthologies released by a brilliant group of small and indie press authors. We last reviewed Blackest Knights in November 2018 and, as with most anthologies with names I know from the GFRW group, I am excited to check out this next edition. While I put together the review, have a quick look at an excerpt below!

Magic to make the sanest man go mad.

Dark wizardry. Witchcraft. Curses. Hexes. Evil Sorcerers. Fantasy has a long history of people wielding the forces of darkness for nefarious ends. Blackest Spells is a collection of eighteen short stories and novelettes detailing stories of shadowy figures wielding unholy power. The sequel to the Blackest Knights anthology contains stories ranging from the machinations of the fae to wishes gone wrong to wicked plots in space.

Contains fiction by: Michael R. Baker, Allan Batchelder, C. H. Baum, Matthew P. Gilbert, S. D. Howarth, Matthew Johnson, Christopher Keene, Paul Lavender, Ulff Lehmann, Frank Martin, Richard Nell, Martin Owton, C. T. Phipps, Michael Pogach, Jesse Teller, Damien Wilder, and David Niall Wilson

The Apprentice

By. C.H. Baum

Learning a trade is never easy.  It takes repetition and involves endless trial and error to finally learn through experience.  While a good mentor may speed the process, it really comes down to good, old-fashioned hard work and persistence.  Some may be driven in their youth; they know what they want to do.  Some may accidentally fall into their profession, finding an unknown talent and enjoying their trade.  But, usually, young men and women are forced by circumstance to practice whatever skill, good or bad, that opportunity throws in their path.  Jonathan was a quintessential example of the latter.

Salin was furious.  Again.  It seemed like he was always furious.  “Damnit boy, I told you to summon a demon for threshing!”  Jonathan dodged the blows from the Summoner’s staff and searched for safety under the giant, mahogany table stacked with scrolls.  The ritual beating wasn’t scheduled for another three hours, so he’d attempt to save his bruised back until it was mandated that he comply.  He immediately regretted his decision.  The dark nether regions under the table were the dominion of Guul, Salin’s pet demon.  Guul skipped over and sunk his teeth into Jonathan’s ear, leaving a semicircle of little pinpoints in his flesh.

“Owwww!  You stupid little son of a b—“  Guul giggled and jumped away before Jonathan could swat at him.  The demon’s laugh sounded like the tinkling of little bells as his leathery wings aided his escape.

“Boy, get up here.  NOW!  I asked for a Threshing Demon, and you summoned a Trashing Demon!  It destroyed the entire ritual and knocked over six of the summoning braziers before I could dispatch him.  How many times do I have to say it?  IT’S IN THE INTONATION! That monstrosity almost burned the tower down.  I rue the day that I agreed to take you on as an Apprentice.”

“You think I like this?  You think I had a choice?  You saw that I had some ability to summon, and knew my family was so poor they just wanted to be rid of the extra mouth.  They practically drooled over your four silvers and two coppers.  That’s barely the price of a stall mucking apprentice, and you swindled them out of my future.”

“That’s just it, boy.  You had no future.  A stall mucker would have been too good for the likes of you.  Now get up here.  Today’s beating has just been moved up on the schedule.  Over the barrel you go.”

Jonathan stood up straight, determined to take his beating like a man.  He walked over to the barrel, head held high right up until the point he had to bend over to grab the ceremonial handles.  Salin readied the staff while Guul took his position at his little piano.  That stupid, foot tall demon made a habit of playing his tiny piano while Jonathan received his daily beatings.  The music was always played in B-flat, ominous notes of eternal sadness and damnation.  He was a demon, after all.  The tiny piano music made it seem like Guul was almost sorry for him, but Jonathan knew better.  The tinkle of little bells accompanied the first burning strike across his back and continued for several minutes as Salin spent his overzealous fury.

A sweaty Salin finished the beating and dug his finger into one of the bloody lashings while breathing heavily.  “Don’t fail me again boy.  I will beat this in to you until my arms fall off, and then I’ll summon a Demon of Peeling to finish the job.”

Jonathan screamed in pain, first at the scraping nail inside and under his flayed skin, and then at the unexpected bite of Guul.  It left a matching semicircle of punctures on the opposite ear.

Salin laughed at his pet’s behavior and directed a command at Jonathan, “Get out of my tower.  I will call you tomorrow and you better not screw up again.”

Jonathan gathered up his pain and shuffled off towards his room over the barn.  At first, when he had been assigned the sleeping quarters, right after being purchased from his parents, he thought the smell of animal feces was unbearable.  But after a few days on his new job, it was the only solace he found to lick his wounds and plan his next move.

One of his first procurements, or thefts, really, had been a summoning book.  There were thousands upon thousands of demons and the book held some of the more popular summoning techniques.  But, fire was forbidden in the barn, so he had very little time to read before the light failed and he had to wait restlessly for the next beating.

Tonight, he let the book drop open at random, and Hell’s luck was with him.  It opened to the lesson on how to summon a Demon of Light.  If he had a small light, he would read into the night and learn ever faster between beatings.  Maybe even surprise his master with a particularly hard demon spell.  So, he scraped away the thrushes from the floor, drew a summoning circle, and put a tiny bit of onyx in the bottom point of his pentagram.  The smaller the onyx, the smaller the demon, and he was going for just a little bit of light to read by.  He didn’t want his master scrambling out to investigate unnatural daylight in the middle of the night.

He carefully reviewed the revisions to his circle, making the necessary adjustments to the lines and orientations, while squinting at the book to make sure it was drawn exactly as it was on the pages of the manual.  Once he was satisfied, Jonathan began his intonation, “Gall Folinge Hackmarem.  Bin Golish Bolemfaram.  Demonius de luznimbus, acklolum.”

The demon began to form in the pentagram, slowly materializing from the fires of Hell to kneel in the world of the flesh and blood.  It was not what he expected.  Black hair framed the most beautiful face he had ever seen.  The reddish tint to her skin seemed to reflect the sinuous, dancing flames of Hell, even though she was in the land of the living.  Her jet-black eyes glinted with evil knowledge and secrets.  “Why have you called me, master?”

“To be my light, but you do not look like a Demon of Light.”  Jonathan tried to mimic the confidence of his master when he first woke a demon, barely avoiding an adolescent squeak.

“I am not a Demon of Light.  Even better.  I am a Demon of Blight.”  She winked at him, sending a chill down his spine.  He was very grateful she was still confined in the summoning circle.

“That was not your purpose as summoned, demon.”  Jonathan sounded less sure of himself with each passing moment.  “I am your master, and you must obey, or return to Hell.”

Her wicked, beautiful smile shook him to the core.  “Make your attempt, Apprentice.  Send me home.”

Banishment was the only thing Jonathan had grasped quickly in his studies, so he made confident forms and signs with his hands while chanting, “Minik hollum DEMONIUS REDITUS!”

Nothing happened.

Plump lips split over fanged canines and she chuckled seductively.  “I am yours.  Forever.  I cannot be banished, Apprentice.  We will be inseparable for life as we are bonded in Hell.  While I am yours, you are also mine.”  She stood, a full three inches taller than Jonathan, and rolled her delicate neck.

Jonathan couldn’t help but notice her chest, the shape of her hips, and how sexy leather wings looked on a beautiful demon.  The tight leather strips that served as her clothing barely contained her curves.

“Jonathan, master…..do not look at me like that.  I am a Demon of Blight.  Everything I touch, withers and dies.  Would you choose to be impotent the rest of your days?”

“Ummm.  No.  I’d rather keep that as is.”  He glanced sheepishly at the floor, having been caught ogling a demon that wasn’t a succubus.  “What is your name?”

“Kaelish.  I was elfin before I was damned.”

“Well, it seems we are at an impasse.  I want to banish you, but my chant is not working.  You appear to want to stay, but you are stuck in the summoning circle until I give you orders and release you.  I will be forced to leave you in the circle until you choose to leave on your own.”

“Your master hasn’t told you yet?”  Her mirth shook her breasts as she laughed.

“Told me what?”  Jonathan could feel the terror rising in his voice.  Being the brunt of a very dangerous joke was not something he enjoyed.

“That each Summoner gets one demon familiar. But the pet chooses the master.  It is always done when they are an Apprentice, when the intonation is weakest.  I have chosen to be your familiar, and you my master.”  She began to trace the black acrylic of her nail along the summoning circle, dragging sparks and smoke where she touched it.

To Jonathan’s horror, the sparks and smoke erased the binding circle, and she stepped out to stretch in the loft.  The stretches gave Jonathan tantalizing views of the undersides of her breasts and he looked away against his baser instincts.

“It is time for you to sleep, Apprentice.  The morning will bring surprises.  Some desired, and some, ummm, not so much.”

* * *

Jonathan woke with the light of the newly risen sun sliding slowly across his face.  He stretched and started to climb down the ladder from his loft.  He caught the hem of his rough robe on the rung and fell straight down to land on his back, knocking the air from his lungs.  He blinked away unconsciousness and gasped for air while Kaelish stood over him laughing.  The inverted vision of her form left him conflicted between desire and pain.

He wheezed out, “I’m not in the mood to be laughed at, demon.”

“You should be excited to start your new life.”  She reached down, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet with an unexpected strength.

A horrendous stench of rotting meat got stronger as they walked towards the front of the barn.  Jonathan dry heaved from the smell, and asked, “What the hell is that?”

Kaelish pointed to the dairy cow’s pen, and whispered, “In order to keep my blight at bay, I must eat each night.  An animal sacrifice is required for my feast.”

Jonathan poked his head around the slats of the pen and retched.  The dairy cow had been obliterated.  All that remained was red gore smeared all over the inside of the pen.  It was like the cow had exploded and only liquified beef, hooves, and smatterings of hair remained.  The smell was overwhelming.  It smelled of rot, death, and methane.

Kaelish shrugged, “It was one of the unpleasant things I warned you about last night.  Let’s head to your master’s workshop for one of the more pleasant ones.  I am much more powerful that your master, or his pet, so we will have some vengeance.”

Jonathan covered his mouth, but even without breathing the stench, his eyes watered until they were outside in the light.  “So how does this work?  Can I kick him in the balls?  Can I strap him to the beating barrel?  Oh, even better, can you burn Guul’s piano?”

“We will let it play out and see what happens.  I need to warn you though.  Your master will be furious that you’ve been chosen by a powerful demon.  He will tell you all sorts of lies to get you to try and sever our bond, and to get you to stay as his apprentice.  Do not believe his lies, or you will miss your chance at greatness.”

“My chance at greatness?” Jonathan asked.

“Because of our bond, your bond to a powerful demon, you are no longer required to be an apprentice.  You are a full Summoner and are more powerful than your master.  He holds no dominion over you now.  In his jealous rage, he will try to destroy us.  But we will travel and offer our services to the Prince.  There are many that will pay a hefty price for a control of my blight; the Prince more than any other.  Prepare to live a life of luxury and hedonism as one of the Prince’s prized associates.”

Jonathan grinned more at the thought of hedonism than luxury as they walked the short distance to the Summoning Chambers.

Kaelish grinned as she reached the closed door and put a finger over her lips as a signal to remain quiet.  She slowly lifted the latch, opening the door to reveal Salin bent over some scroll, preparing for the day’s work.  Guul was at the piano, tickling the tiny keys and playing some ominous march.  The demon was the first to sense something was afoot and turned to take in Kaelish and Jonathan.  Salin wasn’t slow to react either, and turned around a second after Guul.

The vista of such a powerful demon must have been shocking, as Guul let out a high-pitched whine that sounded like a call to battle, while he half ran, half flew to the summoning circle drawn on the floor of the workshop.  Salin scrambled in a panic to join his pet in the circle, looking like a bumbling idiot in one of the passing mummer’s shows.  He tripped on his robe and fell face first into the fist sized quartz stone at one of his points.  He’d have a tender black eye tomorrow, for sure.

Salin gathered himself, straightened his robe, and asked, “What in the Hell have you done, boy?” His voice carried an indignant tone that belied his current position of cowering behind a summoning circle.

“I’m done with your beatings, I’m finished with Guul torturing my ears, and playing his stupid piano, and I’m done being your Apprentice.”  Jonathan spoke with more authority than he’d felt since being taken on in this miserable line of work.

Salin looked over Kaelish again, and responded, “You’re a damned fool.”

Jonathan knew his previous master was shaken and responded, “You only call me a fool because you are protected by your own summoning circle.  You would not be so brave to call me names if you had to face me on even terms.  This is my new pet, Kaelish.  She is brilliant, beautiful, and powerful.  When we are done here, we will be heading out of town to offer our services to Prince Torrek.

“You are a bigger idiot than I ever imagined.  Do you realize the danger you’re in?”  While pointing at Kaelish, he went on, “That is an abomination.  She is a Demon of Blight.  How many times have I told you it’s in the intonation?  I bet you tried to summon a demon a Light, or Fight, or maybe even Might.  But you got Blight.  Do you know what blight does?”

“Yes, but she can keep it at bay if she eats sacrifices.  So it’s a weapon that can be unleashed whenever she wants, against whoever she wants.  The Prince will pay through the nose for her services.”

“She is lying to you.  I warned you about never summoning a demon without using my summoning circle.  I can always banish, even the most powerful demon, if someone else uses my circle.  You must use your master’s circle to summon your first pet.  If it is too powerful, too dangerous to be unleashed, the master can send it back to Hell, and you can attempt to summon another.  If you had waited long enough to learn the process, we could send her back and ask for something more controllable.  Now that she’s here, you are tied for life.”  Salin wrung his hands and paced back and forth inside the scribed shapes of his circle.

“You’re lying to me.  You always have.  You saw that I had some talent to summon, cheated my parents out of an apprenticeship fee, and haven’t taught me anything but the pain of the lash, and the dread of bite marks on my ears!  The Summoner’s Council should send you to Hell.”  Jonathan had a full head of indignant steam as he raged on.  “I’m done here.  Cower in your circle old man.  I’m beginning my journey that starts the rest of my life.”

Kaelish had been quiet up until that point, leaning up against the doorframe.  “Guul, come to me.”

Guul’s eyes glazed over, and he shuffled outside the circle while Salin stared in horror.

“You, you shouldn’t be able to do that.  Guul, come back!”  Jonathan had never heard that level of panic in Salin’s voice.

Guul ignored his master, and skipped over to Kaelish, hopping on ungainly feet, and flapping his little wings.  The little demon was somehow susceptible to the compulsion, even while inside his master’s protections.  Kaelish reached down, picked him up by his neck, and bit off his entire ear.  She threw him violently back into his master, hitting Salin the chest, and knocking him to his ass.  Guul remained eerily quiet.

She pointed at the duo while chewing the ear, and said, “If you follow us, I will eat you both.”

Jonathan and Kaelish turned as one and walked out of the workshop.

Kaelish swayed her hips as they walked north and said, “You did well in there.  He did not deserve you.  You will be the most powerful Summoner in the Kingdom.  Maybe even the world.”

Jonathan smiled back.  “This is the best day of my life so far.”

* * *

Jonathan woke with a start, blinded by his small fire.  They had walked all day, putting as many miles between them and his old life as possible.  He had fallen into an exhausted sleep as soon as they found the small cave, and Kaelish told him she was going to hunt a sacrifice.  “Kaelish, is that you?”  He gripped a rock like a weapon and strained his eyes against the blackness at the cave mouth.

Salin stepped close enough to the mouth of the cave to be recognized.  “No, she’s off feeding on a farmer’s livestock a couple of miles from here.  It’s just me.”

Jonathan was suspicious of the visit and asked, “What do you want?  Why are you chasing me?”

“You have your pet now, bonded for life.  An extremely powerful and dangerous familiar.  No one will ever threaten you again, for fear of her reprisal.  Did I ever tell you the story of how I ended up with Guul?”

Jonathan felt like he was finally being treated like an equal, and so invited Salin in.  “Sit, tell me the story.”

Salin twisted his robes out of the way, sat down beside Jonathan, and warmed his hands against the flames.  The light danced against the ugly bruise forming around his eye.  “My master banished a couple of familars before I ended up with Guul.  You remember that I told you it was all in the intonation.  At first I tried to summon a Demon of Lust and got one that rusted everything within a few hundred feet.  That demon had to be banished, because we couldn’t keep any iron tools or braziers.  Then I tried to summon a Demon of Rage and got another pet that just smelled like sage.  My master explained that he would have made a fine pet, but that I was allergic to sage, and couldn’t keep him.  See?  The sage was easy enough to control, but I couldn’t concentrate with all the sneezing.”

Jonathan nodded his head.  “So the intonation comes out in our language as a word that rhymes, or sounds similar to what you’re trying to summon….”

Salin nodded his head. “Exactly.”

“So how did you get Guul?  He just plays the piano.”

Salin grinned, “I had a crush on a local girl and was trying to seduce her with my summoning prowess.  Let’s just say I was not trying to summon a twelve-inch demonic pianist.”

Jonathan’s eyes went wide with realization.  “There’s a spell for that?”

Salin used the distraction as an opening to shove a razor-sharp dagger in between Jonathan’s ribs, slicing a deep gash that punctured clear through the heart.  He gently leaned Jonathan back to the floor of the cave as his life bled into the ground and whispered, “The only way to dispatch her, before she kills everything in this world, is to kill her master.  And yes, my apprentice, yes.  There is a spell for that.”

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REVIEW: The Wise Friend by Ramsey Campbell

I received an advance reading copy of The Wise Friend in exchange for an honest review. I would like to thank Ramsey Campbell and Flame Tree Press for the opportunity.

This was the perfect example of why I love being a book reviewer. Being sent a novel I knew nothing about and randomly deciding to read it next. I hadn’t read a good horror tale in a while. I thought The Wise Friend was a stunning, dark, descriptive and magical character-focused horror tale. I adored it so much that I devoured it within 2 days. You know when Guillermo del Toro refers to an author as “an absolute master of modern horror” that he’s going to be pretty good.

“I could never have believed I would wish my son would love books less, let alone dread the consequences.”

Aunt Thelma was an amazing artist who people believed committed suicide. This was after a period where her paintings seemed to get darker, more warped, imaginative, and appeared to depict a shadowy individual who didn’t seem to have a face. Often her artwork seemed like it was living and breathing to the correct onlooker. Her nephew Patrick finds her diary in which she named numerous mysterious local places accompanied by lines of poetry. Patrick and his son Roy decide to visit a handful of these areas to see if they can shed light on what changed in Aunt Thelma and what led to her demise. What they witness at the sites is not what they expected and Patrick is fearful they’ve uncovered something that should have remained undisturbed. Roy persists wholeheartedly, especially after he meets a young lady called Bella. Is Patrick overanalysing or have they got themselves into a dilemma that they wish that they hadn’t?

We follow the first-person perspective viewpoint of Patrick. He is a university professor of English literature. He’s well-read, divorced, and seems like an excellent father to his teenage son Roy. The “lion’s share” of the narrative is set in a current-day England which mainly features Liverpool and Manchester. 10-15% of the book features flashbacks which relate to when Patrick spent time with his aunt when he was a teenager himself. He’s introduced at a young age to a peculiar gentleman called Abel.

I was gripped by The Wise Friend within 5 pages and not many books are able to get their hooks into me that promptly. One of the elements I really enjoyed is that as a reader we figure out puzzles or problems before the characters do, or at least see the hints that are there that they don’t. It was exciting to read knowing at one point they’d find out too. Maybe it made me feel superior as a reader but nonetheless it was one of the elements that made this novel unputdownable. Campbell is an incredible wordsmith. The descriptions of the environments, the imagery this led me to create in my mind, the intense, otherworldly hallucination-esque and thrilling nature of the scenes, sometimes in fairy tale environments the Brothers Grimm would have been excited to have envisaged. These are a few more highlights of this story.

To summarise, it’s the finest modern horror story I’ve read in a long time. It kept me guessing throughout even though I thought I sometimes knew what was going on. I really lost myself in some of the descriptive nature of the images presented. It’s suspenseful, eerie, haunting, harrowing, and features some amazing characters. You may notice a repetition of themes and phrases and this aids to paint the picture in your mind of exactly what you believe is going on. It is engaging, thrilling, and a horribly-addictive page-turning horror novel. Some of the imagery will have lasting effects. Will you see faces out of the corner of your eye that shouldn’t be there? The Wise Friend truly has a lasting after effect. Recommended.

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