Adrian Collins's Blog, page 240

Review: Cthulu Armageddon by C. T. Phipps

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Review: Cthulhu Armageddon by C.T.
Matthew Cropley

To begin the foreword to Cthulhu Armageddon, C.T. Phipps poses the question ‘what would you get if you crossed Mad Max with the Cthulhu Cycle?’ The book to follow well and truly delivers on the answer.

Cthulhu Armageddon follows the story of Captain John Henry Booth, a world-weary ranger in the ‘United States Remnant’ some two-hundred years after ‘The Rising’, the event in which the Great Old Ones such as Cthulhu rose from their ancient slumber beneath the Earth, ushering in the fall of civilisation and a new age of horror and magic. The world is a blasted desert, filled with mutants, gods and monsters, and Booth braves it all for vengeance upon the dark sorcerer that stole his life. Booth is accompanied by a reformed torturer, a little girl, a tribal priestess, and a trusted comrade.  It feels a lot like an old western, or King’s ‘The Gunslinger’, and there are clear influences from the Fallout and Wasteland game series.

The post-apocalyptic world, inhabited by the biggest and baddest creatures H.P. Lovecraft ever dreamed up, is definitely dark and hopeless. The nihilistic, horrifying reality of the Cthulhu Mythos has burst forth from the deeps and squashed humanity underfoot, and seeing the way in which the world has dealt with that is compellingly grim. There’s a lot of grit, and the level of violence feels appropriate. However, while the larger cast have their fair share of morally ambiguous traits, Booth himself is actually quite morally upstanding and righteous, despite his claims to the contrary. He’s the type of hero who seems to be the last good man in a world gone mad, and while he’s certainly violent and aggressive when prompted, he always tries to do the right thing, and values friendship, inclusiveness, and human life, and he often thinks things such as ‘cavalier disregard for human life bothered me more than their reverence for the Great Old Ones’. This means that, as a huge fan of grimdark, I didn’t find myself drawn to Booth as much as I would have liked, and there were occasional tropes, such as sparing the life of an enemy only for him to return and mess everything up, that grated.

Booth does have his share of badass moments, and he’s incredibly skilled with firearms, close-combat and explosives. He’s also a good leader, pilot, and even, when he needs to be, magic-user. While this often makes for good reading, at times he can seem almost too good to be realistic. For example, when confronted with six aggressive fish-men, he narrates that ‘the average hybrid possessed twice the strength of a normal man and was three times as durable. Sixty seconds later, they were all lying on the ground with broken kneecaps and shattered jaws.’ For me, this was one of a couple of instances where I would have liked to experience the blood, sweat and pain that should come with fighting against such overwhelming odds. It makes Booth a less human, sympathetic protagonist in these moments, and lowers the stakes. However, on other occasions the fights can be tense, edge-of-the seat affairs, and some readers appreciate larger than life heroes. Booth’s primary motivation in the story is his squad, and these characters are introduced at the beginning, and all succeed in feeling like genuine people, despite the fact that many of them appear only briefly. This ability to create attachment to a character is a great asset to the book, and little details such as one character’s seemingly feigned southern accent disappearing when she’s surprised endeared me to them. None of the side-characters are expendable cannon fodder, and one in particular, Richard the Hawaiian shirt-wearing ghoul, is a riot. One thing I found strange is that at certain points Booth claims to have ‘only one desire and one desire only: to return to [his] family’, yet he seems to dislike his wife, and his children never appear in the book except for one short vision at the end. As motivating elements, their absence felt odd. However, it doesn’t get in the way of the story, since Booth is already adequately motivated by his squad mates and anger at the world which has wronged him.

The world was, for me, the best part of the book. It’s like a crash-course in the Cthulhu Mythos, from shoggoths, to elder things, to the outer gods. I’d only read a few Lovecraft stories before reading Cthulhu Armageddon, but the book made me excited to delve deeper into the twisted world of nihilism and horror. Cosmic horror doesn’t seem like it would mesh well with a Mad Max style wasteland, but it actually fits perfectly, adding plenty of colour to the post-apocalyptic setting, many of which can often be too bland and boring. Post-apocalyptic stories are something we’ve seen a lot of lately, and the addition of the Cthulhu Mythos as the world-ending event and constant threat make it so much more interesting than the classic nuclear war or undead scenarios we’ve seen a thousand times. Even when Booth passes through areas that stray close to the generic wasteland of the pop-culture apocalypse, it differs with the inclusion of gigantic statues to honour the Great Old Ones, or an otherworldly cathedral. My favourite setting of the novel was Kingsport, a town reminiscent of something out of the Fallout game series, with cobbled together buildings made from mismatched fragments of the old world. A district of Kingsport is run by Deep Ones, humanoid fish-people who Phipps casts as gangsters involved in a turf-war. The transplantation of unknowable horrors from Lovecraft’s mind into the roles traditionally filled by seedy humans works well, and Phipps’ wasteland is positively teeming with splashes of colour and magic not present in others.

Structurally, the novel is solid, but I did feel as if the magic and mystery was emphasised too much at the end, at the expense of full comprehension. The ending happens quickly, and didn’t present as many answers as I would have liked. However, a sense of mystery is certainly a key part of Lovecraft’s work, and perhaps other would feel cheated if it wasn’t used liberally in Cthulhu Armageddon. The book isn’t a particularly long read, but doesn’t feel too short either. It’s the perfect length for the stand-alone, action-packed wasteland romp that it is.

It’s written in first-person, which is a form I feel there’s not enough of. As such, we get a lot of Booth’s world-weary inner monologue, which is an interesting lens through which to view an awe-inspiring pantheon of twisted creatures. Occasionally, things can be over-explained, and the writing could be more concise. I also would have preferred it if more emotion was revealed through dramatic action rather than internal monologue, although this is perhaps more about my personal tastes. The only other minor issue I had was that there are a couple of errors speckled throughout, but not enough to significantly interrupt the flow of reading. Aside from all this, however, there is a lot of good writing and tight, gripping action scenes underpinned by serious emotional themes.

Overall, Cthulhu Armageddon by C.T. Phipps is a unique book, and definitely worth checking out. It’s a good introduction to the Cthulhu Mythos for those unfamiliar, and is filled with references that veterans would no-doubt appreciate. So, what would you get if you crossed Mad Max with the Cthulhu Cycle? You’d have to read it to truly find out.

REVIEW: Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

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A Review of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo
Adrian Collins

I have a new addition to my list of favourite authors. Straight off the bat and clear over the fence for six, I'm going to set the tone of this review right there. Abercrombie, Lawrence, Weeks, Martin, Lynch, de Bodard, Fletcher, Marshall--add Bardugo to this list, immediately.

Six of Crows follows a group of criminals--the leader Kaz, Inej the wraith, Jesper the sharpshooter, Nina the grisha (mage), Wyland the rich kid thrill seeker and Matthias the witch hunter--as they attempt to pull off a heist big enough to wrench them all from the lap of poverty in the Barrel (the slums) and to far better, and far richer, lives. The story's primary protagonist, Kaz, really drives Six of Crows by being the mastermind behind the heist attempt and by hiding clues about the action from both his fellow characters and the reader.

One of the things I love about this book, and a primary reason for my recommendation, is how well fleshed out the characters are. Each has a well thought out primary drive and goal, and a genuine reason to keep that hidden from everyone else in the group. By providing that level of intimacy with each character, Bardugo really ensures you invest in each character. And not in the way you get with A Game of Thrones where you get obsessively invested in a few characters and just itch to completely skip other characters' chapters until they become more interesting three books in, but in a way you are genuinely invested in every point of view from the outset. Some of the highlights for me include, of course,Kaz--his shark-like way of looking at the world is thoroughly enjoyable, even more so when you find out the reason for him being the way he is and see a chink in his armour start to develop--and, even better, the story between Nina and Matthias. Their history and its effect on their ability to trust each other (especially when neither is able to tell each other the truth) is thoroughly enjoyable, especially in the way it ties to the central conflict of the story. Even delving into Jesper and Wyland, who seem like more secondary characters than the first three I mention here feels gripping and enjoyable and engaging.

The flashback scenes I had mixed feelings about. On the one hand, they added incredible depth to the characters. On the other hand they felt like they appeared near half way through the book when, for my tastes, I wanted them earlier. but those scenes added so much depth to the story that I can hardly fault the author here.

As far as the writing goes, Bardugo provides clean prose that's easy to rip through at a pace that sometimes has you forcing yourself to slow down and properly make sure you're picking up what she's putting down so you don't miss anything. At least it did for me, but I'm thoroughly excitable.

When the ending came, I saw a decent piece of it coming--I imagine most dark fantasy and grimdark fans did as we tend to be cynical buggers--but still, I loved every line of it. Bardugo has provided a thoroughly engaging cast of characters telling an un-put-downable story in a dark world I couldn't get enough of. She is a grimdark Scott Lynch and I'll be damned if I don't think this doesn't hit it out of the park on the same level--if not more--than The Lies of Locke Lamora, an all time favourite of mine.

I highly, highly, recommend Six of Crows. Do yourself a favour and grab this book bloody immediately using the links below:

 

ANNOUNCEMENT: Omnicide Publishing Joint Venture

Grimdark Magazine and Dirge Magazine are combining top-shelf dark fiction with 
the best in engaging new media to create Omnicide Publishing.
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The joint venture’s goal is to create something new in the fields of:


Genre fiction
Publishing methodology
Small publishing business models

Omnicide Publishing will be announcing its first major project in 2017, led by Richard Lee Byers. So far, our writing team includes Jesse Bullington (Alex Marshall) and Michael R. Fletcher working alongside specialists and members of Grimdark Magazine and Dirge Magazine seconded to Omnicide Publishing.

The Grimdark Magazine team look forward to working with the Dirge Magazine team, creating alongside some of our literary heroes, and to presenting you with something we believe you’ll love and get behind.

Follow Omnicide Publishing on Facebook for further announcements by clicking on the like button below. Let your mates know by sharing!

Review: Path of Flames by Phil Tucker

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Review: ‘The Path of Flames’ by Phil Tucker
Matthew Cropley

 

The Path of Flames by Phil Tucker, the first instalment of the Chronicles of the Exile, is a self-published book that’s been doing well recently in Mark Lawrence’s Self-Published Fantasy Blog-off. It’s a fun, escapist read that harkens back to traditional epic fantasy, while still providing subversive elements that move the genre forward.

The Path of Flames begins with a visceral cavalry charge from the perspective of a young squire, Asho, a member of the enslaved albino race known as ‘Bythians’. The world-shaking results of the charge give Asho hints that all may not be as it seems in his world of rigidly segregated races, floating cities and ancient magic. Asho journeys back home to Kyferin Castle and joins a rich cast of characters battling for survival in a world that’s been turned upside down. All the much-loved staples of traditional fantasy are present, such as tournaments, monsters and magic swords. Parallel to this is the story of Tharok, an orc-like creature called a kragh, and his struggle for dominance over his tribes. This plot doesn’t link in to the main story until the end, but it promises to become increasingly relevant over the next books. Overall, The Path of Flames is a fun read that presents classic epic fantasy reminiscent of David Eddings or Raymond E. Feist, in sleek modern packaging with subversive new elements. It may not be overtly grimdark, but it’s an enjoyable escapist read.

Not being grimdark doesn’t mean that The Path of Flames isn’t enjoyable to a grimdark fan. Many readers who appreciate grimdark fiction can also enjoy more traditional fantasy when it’s done well, and The Path of Flames is definitely an example where it is. It harkens back to more traditional fantasy with relatively clear ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’, with a few notable exceptions, in a high-magic yet subversive fantasy world. The fight scenes are visceral and gritty and several of the characters grapple with dark themes.

The two most central point-of-view characters are Asho and Kethe. Asho struggles with is background as a slave and bitterness over how he was mistreated in the past, and attempts to become a respected warrior despite prejudice. Kethe is his opposite, she’s the noble daughter of Kyferin Castle’s lord, with everything handed to her on a platter, yet she pours all her energy into becoming a warrior herself, while grappling with her mixed feelings about her murderous father. The progression and interaction of these two characters as the book progresses is just so damn cool. It’s the classic case of plucky youths discovering inner power and a magical destiny, but for Asho and Kethe it never feels derivative, and when they finally come into their own it feels earned. Both characters have light and shade to them, and succeed in feeling like real people. The other point-of-view characters all fulfil standard fantasy tropes, but manage to transcend them by being three-dimensional human beings. There’s Iskra, the troubled yet caring lady of the castle; Ser Tiron, the brutal knight with a dark past; Audsley, the bumbling yet well-meaning scholar, and Tharok, the noble yet brutal kragh. For grimdark fans, the standout will most likely be Ser Tiron, since he’s the darkest and most morally ambiguous character. Tharok’s cerebral, Machiavellian take on kragh politics is interesting, and something rare to fantasy ‘orcs’. A standout secondary character is Ser Wyland, the strong, charming epitome of chivalry and virtue. Such a character should rankle with a dedicated grimdark fan, yet I found myself liking him despite his seemingly clichéd knightly characteristics, and he genuinely feels like a real, nuanced person. Ser Wyland is the perfect example of how Phil Tucker has managed to take fantasy clichés and breathe new life into them.

The world of The Path of Flames seems, at first glance, to be a simplistic fantasy realm where one’s race and city of birth dictates status and basic characteristics. It’s reminiscent of The Lord of The Rings or something like Eddings’ Belgariad, where being born as part of the ‘evil’ race makes you evil, or being part of the ‘warrior’ race makes you strong. It follows the rules of ‘Ascendance’ where leading a good life means that you move up the chain towards the ‘better’ races, and vice versa. The interesting part about The Path of Flames, however, is that this racial system seems to be entirely fabricated by the ruling powers to more easily control the masses. This clever subversion of a fantasy trope adds an extra layer of complexity to the core narrative of the book, and makes the drip-fed discoveries as to the true nature and history of the world extremely interesting. The book also strikes a clever balance between high and low magic, and manages to reap the benefits of both with none of the detriments. Magic is common in the world, with portals, monsters, and ancient curses, but the characters know nearly nothing about how these almost commonplace things actually work, meaning that they retain their air of mystery. The frequent appearance of these magical elements brings an excitement and colour to the story. This world-building is always anchored to the characters and plot, and rarely becomes boring or superfluous.

The few times where the pace does slow down a bit too much come in the first third of the book, when the denizens of Kyferin Castle are being introduced. I found that a few of these chapters took too long and didn’t advance the plot much, such as the one where Audsley spends a great deal of time documenting a floating island of rock that is never mentioned again in the book. However, these chapters do introduce characters who become critical later on in the plot, and once the short period of character introductions is over, the pace picks right up again. Some readers do enjoy slower character-driven chapters, however, so their presence isn’t necessarily a detrimental factor. Conversely, there are several superb action scenes, such as a nail-biting chase with a demon. By the end of the book, nearly all of the characters, plot threads, and bits of lore that have been peppered throughout the story come together neatly, and Phil Tucker has done a great job of managing a relatively large cast as they operate in a world filled with complex lore. The end of a book can be the most important part, and by the end of The Path of Flames, you’ll be both satisfied with the story so far, and desperately hungry for the promised conflicts of the second book, ‘The Black Shriving’, which is already available on Amazon.

The writing style is the standard one would expect from most modern epic fantasy novels, with a limited third-person point-of-view that switches characters from chapter to chapter. The battle-scenes are a wonderful combination between tactically engaging and brutally visceral, for example: ‘Ser Hankel’s helm burst into molten metal and brains as a bolt caught him straight across the brow.’ Slower more emotional scenes filled with introspection are also well-written. There are a few minor spelling or formatting mistakes that can jolt the reader out of the story, but it doesn’t take much to be sucked back in again, and they’re not frequent enough to be an issue. Excluding this, the quality is great for a self-published novel, and it’s fantastic value for $5 AUD, a third or less of the price of a traditionally published fantasy novel.

If you want a magical story that brings you back to older fantasy while still adding to the genre, The Path of Flames by Phil Tucker is for you. If you’re still ravenous for stories that are as dark, gritty and morally ambiguous as it can get, then it’s probably not. If you’re like many grimdark fans and can appreciate both, try it out, chances are you’ll have a fun ride.

 

Review: The Last Quarrel by Duncan Lay

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Review: The Last Quarrel by Duncan Lay

Jewel Eliese 

The Last Quarrel is a fun, easy-to-read novel that hits you with some action-filled, staccato-paced chapters and a jolting end.

Our two protagonists and main viewpoints are Fallon and Prince Cavan. Fallon is a middle-aged, family man living in the seaport village of Baltimore who dreams of moving to Berry, the capital city of Gaelland. He hopes to one day fulfill his lifelong desire for military glory but his wife, Bridgit, feels the opposite. She wants to remain safe and raise their sickly son, Kerrin. In the political sphere, Crown Prince Cavan is a man trying to live a moral life but is pushed to do otherwise by his immoral family. His father, King Aidan, is brutal, unpredictable and mentally unstable, yet charismatic. He demands that Cavan be a royal figurehead, to simply give speeches and follow orders. His once-revolting but now handsome brother, Prince Swane, may be worshiping Zorva and cutting out human hearts to gain nearly unstoppable power. Children are being plucked from the streets of the capital and innocent women are burned as witches. Prince Cavan and Fallon end up working together to find the true culprit.

The setting is realistic and easy to picture. The distant lands of the Kotterman Empire seem to be taking over via trade and culture:including décor, perfume and strange foods like potatoes and lobster. Baltimore, often smelling of fish, is a self-sufficient village watched over by the fair and well-respected Duke of Lunster. The capital of Gaelland, Berry, is rotten and stinking, filled with riches, corruption and children begging in the streets. Similar to Hollywood, dreams are crushed in Berry.

The opening is gut wrenching as we follow a yet-unknown character’s viewpoint on his way to the gallows. Then the pace slows with the usual introductions and other background expositions before picking up again towards the end of the first chapter. Most of The Last Quarrel moves this way, like a Mayan Temple, with plateaus followed by sharp, exciting jumps. This kept me reading through to the last dramatic cliff-hanging surge but I wish that it had, like an Egyptian pyramid, built toward the end progressively before the final moment. This narrative structure may be due to the story being released in five separate episodes.

I find morally gray characters to be the most appealing aspect of the grimdark genre and you mostly don't see them here. Prince Cavan starts out as the well-intentioned authority figure and remained so. His brother and father are the opposite, and I would have liked to see more reasoning behind their evil. Perhaps it is too early to expect this in the trilogy, and I hope more will be revealed in the next book, The Bloody Quarrel. The other wonderful arcs nearly make up for the black and white characters. Initially, Fallon carries a bit of small town naïveté, but gains wisdom about life and his limits as his world is unexpectedly torn apart in the second act.  His washed-up wizard and father-in-law, Padraig, starts out as the foul-smelling drunk but slowly recovers himself and his gift. Fallon's weak son, Kerrin, discovers talent similar to his father’s, creating a stronger father-and-son bond.

My favourite character and arc is Fallon’s wife Bridgit. She is introduced as the paranoid, slightly depressed housewife. I love how The Last Quarrel delves into her mind, showing the cruel side of pregnancy and motherhood. You can feel her pain with the memory of each miscarriage and stillbirth, then empathise with her fear of losing her one surviving child. It was refreshing to watch Bridgit realise her courage and become a leader. She and the other female characters interact with each other, augmenting their own strengths that, at times, rivals the men. Such as the character, Sister Rosaleen. She is a priestess given power from the god, Aroaril, and is stronger than her male counterparts and even, at times, than Padriag.

There is plenty of action splattered throughout The Last Quarrel, which makes great fantasy, but, as I read it, I sometimes wondered when it was going to turn dark. I found that moment with the last sentence and it had me searching for The Bloody Quarrel. The climax is fast and suspenseful, and though it is open-ended, I was pleased with the amount of closure for the other main points. I feel there may be readers unhappy with the cliffhanger but, for me at least, it is the most grisly scene, and my favourite part.

Purchase Duncan Lay's The Last Quarrell on Kindle from Amazon.com!

Cthulu Armageddon excerpt

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Excerpt: Cthulu Armageddon by C.T. Phipps

Chapter One

The sun blasted against our environment-reinforced uniforms. We were moving through the Great Barrier Desert, a massive Tainted Zone larger than the New Arkham Dust Zone by several orders of magnitudes. Our dust masks and goggles kept the worst of the radioactive sand away but not all.

I was leading Gamma Squadron Rangers and carried a T-17 heavy assault rifle in my hands. We were on foot, having left our jeeps to recharge their solar batteries. All of us were carrying more equipment than usual, looking like a collection of walking arsenals. Recon and Extermination missions were usually the most dangerous and we were equipped accordingly, but there was something about this mission which made us double stock on weaponry.

Strangely, the thing I was most aware of was the weathered Stetson on top of my head and the leather duster around my back. The hat was my single most cherished possession, a legacy from my father. He’d been a member of Gamma Squadron before me and I’d requested the right to wear his hat. It was stupidly romantic of me, but I sometimes felt his ghost was looking out for us. I felt it was the least he could do after trying to murder me as a child.

“Look alive, Gammas.” I spoke into the microphone hidden in my mask. “We should be spotting this ‘Black Cathedral’ any time now.”

I remembered our mission now; it was an errand of mercy. We were performing a rogue operation the Council of Leaders never would have approved of. We were just supposed to scout the area, find out the local tribes’ numbers and armaments, but one of their chiefs had persuaded us to look into a series of mass kidnappings. Our team wasn’t at full strength, only the six of us remaining from our original eight-man squadron, but the Remnant had neglected to reinforce us. We’d just have to make do.

I’d exceeded our orders by taking us on this investigation, but there had been children involved. Children always changed things; they were the one universally precious thing to all of humanity. Whoever was taking slaves from the local villages wanted especially young captives. That was enough to melt even the hardest soldier’s heart.

Well, almost.

“I still don’t know why we’re looking into a bunch of illiterate savages having their brats stolen,” Joseph Stephens said behind me. A blond and blue-eyed man’s man, Stephens seemed to think he was a purer example of humanity than other members of the squadron, ludicrous as that may be. “If we manage to get them back, they’ll probably eat them. Then they’ll try and eat us.”

“You’re doing this because I ordered you too,” I said in response. In fact, that wasn’t strictly true. I’d asked for volunteers and Stephens was the only one to object.

“You’re a heartless bastard, Stephens,” Jessica spoke in a smooth southern drawl. She was a pretty, brown-haired girl underneath her mask and armor, something which many individuals had noticed on our treks across the Wasteland.

It was fruitless, though. Jessica wasn’t interested in a relationship. She might gently flirt but she’d lost her husband only a year ago during the “Color Incident.” I felt more than a little guilt for the fact I hadn’t been able to pull him out of it alive. There was also what had happened to her children. Frankly, I didn’t understand how she continued to function—much less joked around.

“It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people’s minds,” Jeremiah “Jimmy” Schmidt said, quoting some figure from Old Earth’s past.

Jimmy was the most educated of us despite being the youngest. I was a distant second, understanding roughly half of the references he made. Occasionally, he’d catch flak from Stephens for his African descent. It was one of the reasons why I’d made a number of requests for the latter’s re-assignment. Not the least because I was every bit as black as Jimmy.

“This whole cathedral is probably just a hoax. Don’t you think we would have noticed a huge stone temple sticking out in the middle of the desert?” Stephens was clearly more nervous than he was letting on; part of that had to be his own superstitious fear of the Wasteland.

I was of the mind that Stephens was more ignorant than actively malicious, but his manner had always grated on me. Still, he was a part of my squadron, and that meant he was closer than anyone but family.

“The Wastelands can hide a lot of things,” Jessica said, her voice hanging in the wind. “My grandmother once saw a dragon in the Wastelands.”

“Your grandmother didn’t see no god-damned dragon.” Stephens said. “There’s no such thing.”

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” Jessica asked.

“No!” Stephens snapped back. “I just said that’s impossible.”

“Then you can’t say they don’t exist.” Jessica stuck out her tongue, a childish gesture but one that made me chuckle.

“That makes no …” Stephens trailed off as he bumped into my back. Spread out before us was a particularly deep valley in the sands. In the center of the dusty wastes was a cathedral. Not just a temple or an old church but a genuine, honest-to-god cathedral with soaring towers and architecture like the kind humanity hadn’t been able to build since before the Rising.

The building stood alone, no surrounding infrastructure or community. It was a monument to its builders’ dedication and resourcefulness they’d been able to construct something like it in the middle of nowhere. Yet, I couldn’t admire them too much because the building was disturbing in a way no piece of Old Earth architecture could match.

On a very primal level, looking at the alien building made me sick. The color of the building was black, darker than obsidian, with stones seemingly formed from the very night itself. Grotesque statues lined the outside of its walls. The obscene statuary included both Great Old Ones and mutated humans, each more hideous than the last. Its cyclopean walls were covered with stained glass windows made of some twisted organic crystal.

The building itself seemed as much grown as constructed in some places. Every time I blinked, the building seemed slightly different, as though my eyes weren’t able to fully grasp its entirety. A disgusting black biomass was growing out of the ground and wrapping itself around the building’s towers.

“What the fuck is that?” Stephens said, summarizing the entire unit’s opinion.

“Who the hell builds a cathedral out in the middle of the fucking desert?” Jessica asked, staring. I hadn’t realized until now she hadn’t thought the name was literal.

“Mormons?” Jimmy suggested.

“Very funny,” Jessica muttered. “I don’t think they’ve changed that much since my great-grandpappy’s day.”

I would have guessed the cathedral to be Extra-Biological Entities (E.B.Es) in construction, possibly mutant or alien in origin, if not for the familiarity of the place. Despite how sickened I was to look at the place, I felt a definite sense of déjà vu as I stared upon it. Parts of the building were less inhuman than others, resembling the most ancient of human structures. Yet, its alien components dwarfed those familiar constructions, as if all I could recognize was a pale shadow of what this building’s mad architect had achieved. The Black Cathedral was magnificent; it was abominable.

“I can tell you what it is.” I loaded up another clip. “It’s our target.”

“Are you sure you want to continue, Captain?” Sergeant Misha Parker asked. Parker was a pale-skinned woman with half of her face badly damaged by acid but still-functioning sight. Parker was new to the group but someone I still trusted. She was a survivor of Alpha Squadron and came highly recommended from that now-defunct group.

Still, I hated when she questioned my orders. “Yes, Parker. I’m sure.”

“I’m ready, Sir. We’re all ready,” Private Thomas Garcia added, reminding me we were understaffed with only six soldiers. Garcia was a thin but tall man with glasses and a shaved head. He was openly gay, though received no flak from Stephens over it. I suspected that was because they were cousins.

“Speak for yourself, Garcia,” Jessica said. “This is weird even by our standards.”

Jimmy walked up beside me, pulling out a pair of binoculars to get a closer look. “Parts of it look Ancient Egyptian and other parts early Byzantine Empire. There are definitely influences of both Mayan and Medieval European architecture as well. A lot more of the influences I can’t place though, nor would I want to. For example: the semi-organic motif.”

“Thank you, Jimmy.” I glared at him.

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

“That was completely useless.” I rolled my eyes.

Jimmy grimaced. “Yes, Sir.”

I understood what he was saying, though. The place looked simultaneously influenced by seemingly every culture on Earth but none of them. Despite the fact it couldn’t have existed before the Rising, it almost seemed to predate humanity. There was a primordial feel to the place. I felt in my bones this building had seen the rise of humanity and would exist well past our extinction. That was impossible, though. Nothing like this had ever been constructed by Pre-Rising mankind, especially not in the middle of the Great Barrier Desert.

Taking out my binoculars, I did a quick survey of the terrain. “I don’t see any guards or sentries. But this place is huge, larger than some Old Earth skyscrapers. If the slavers are inside this, there could be hundreds of them.”

“They’re likely to be packing a lot less, Captain.” Jessica adjusted her cowboy hat, a relic similar to mine she wore with my blessing. She gave her heavy assault rifle a humorous slap, as if it were a gun from the Old West. Drawing from her courage, Jimmy and Stephens exchanged glances before nodding.

“We should go in,” Jimmy said. “This could be a threat to New Arkham and the United States Remnant.”

The Remnant consisted of New Arkham and some outlying villages so saying both was traditional but redundant.

I smiled, proud of Gamma’s dedication. “Very well, I suggest we go in quiet and see what we can see.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t radio headquarters? The General should know about this,” Parker said, looking nervous.

I took back what I’d said about their dedication.

“Kind of defeats the point of a secret mission, doesn’t it?” Stephens said, giving her a sideways look.

Parker looked down at the ground.

“Just shut up and keep a look out,” I said, feeling strangely drawn to the place. Even more than rescuing the children we’d been sent to find, who were very probably dead, I wanted to go inside. There was a terrible energy bubbling beneath the surface of the Black Cathedral’s walls. An energy which, despite how insane it was, felt familiar. Walking forward, my team traveled through the Black Cathedral’s broad open doors and we met no hostiles.

The insides were no less surreal than the exterior I’d earlier remembered seeing. It was a place bizarre in both subtle and grandiose ways. The doors, for example, were octagonal rather than square while the columns holding up the domed ceiling above our heads were made of an organic, stone-like coral. The chamber around us was illuminated by a mixture of diffused sunlight streaming in through bulbous windows and free-floating orbs of green crystal. I’d never seen anything like it in my two decades of exploring the Wasteland.

“Fascinating,” I could hear Jimmy say behind me.

“Yeah, if you like funhouses,” Stephens said.

“I wonder if this is a building belonging to the mythical Pre-Human Elder Things or Yithians,” Jimmy said. “It’s possible that some force, perhaps tremors from the Rising or deliberate human effort, forced this place up from the underworld where it was buried.”

“Jimmy, I love you but maybe you should stay focused,” Jessica said. “We’re hunting slavers.”

“Sorry,” Jimmy said, looking uncomfortable as he checked his heavy assault rifle. “I guess I’ve just always wanted to meet a genuinely intelligent E.B.E.—not the usual psychopathic killers we meet.”

“You already know Richard,” I said, leaning down to examine the smooth gray stone floor. There were signs of recent passage, human too, by the size and shape of the scuffmarks.

“May I say how uncomfortable I am with the fact the Captain knows a ghoul and hasn’t shot him yet?” Stephens said, raising a hand.

“Yes,” I said. “You may.”

“And if you ever tell anyone about Richard, I’d like to register your remaining life will be measured in minutes,” Jessica said, her eyes boring into Stephens. “He’s helped us a lot.”

“Be quiet, all of you. It’s not natural no one has come out to meet us. Even if the slavers aren’t based here, there should be some sign from the inhabitants. The best case scenario is they’re hiding, the worst …” I didn’t need to say the rest.

“Orders, Sir?” Jessica’s voice became very soft.

“We move in quiet,” I said, also lowering my tone. “Nice and quiet. No engaging of targets unless I say so. Our first objective is to establish if the missing children are here. If they are, getting them out becomes our top priority. Stick to the shadows and corners; avoid any and all places where ambushes seem likely. It’s possible the slavers saw us coming and moved further into the temple, so we need to be cautious. Any questions?”

“No sir,” they all said.

“Good,” I said, waving them forward.

Moving deeper into the Black Cathedral, I was immediately struck by how much the place reminded me of a museum. The rooms we passed through were filled with treasures from across the world, most of it Pre-Apocalyptic. It must have taken the owner years to loot enough historical sites and vaults to fill this place.

As we proceeded further towards the center, the treasures were gradually replaced by displays of historical sites and battles which grew darker and more perverse with each room visited. The first ones were merely chronicles of humanity’s wars but the final ones showed humanity’s slaughter by the Old Ones.

“Permission to make a comment, Sir,” Jessica said to me, hefting her heavy assault rifle before her.

“Granted,” I said, trying to hide my disgust.

“The man who owns this place is seriously fucked up,” Jessica said.

I had to agree, looking up. There, hanging like we were in some sort of Medieval castle, were a set of green-and-gold banners with the Elder Sign in a circle. The sideways pentagram and eye inside it filled me with a strange sense of unease.

“Take a look at what’s hanging over our heads,” I said. “Strange to see cultists using that.”

“Damned cultists,” Stephens grunted. “It’s them who brought the Old Ones.”

“We are pilgrims in an evil land,” Jimmy said.

“This is a lot more civilized than your typical set of Wasteland savages,” Parker said, looking around. “I mean, who collects antiques after the end of the world?”

“Maybe someone who was around before it,” Garcia said.

“Cut the chatter, we’ve got a job to do,” I said. I was feeling uneasy beyond belief. There was a sense of danger in the air. It only grew worse as we reached the central dome of the Black Cathedral, the place where we’d achieve access to the entire building.

The place was almost completely empty, not a soul in sight, which screamed trap. Nevertheless, as if supernaturally pulled in a certain direction, we proceeded into the center of the room—ignoring my earlier advice as if all military discipline couldn’t hold us back from taking in the sights around us.

The walls depicted a freshly painted mural of particular insanity, showing in blasphemous glory the fall of mankind to the Great Old Ones. It was just one of the hundreds of things on display as the room had artifacts of the various E.B.E species spread throughout the acre-sized chamber. The centerpiece of the room, however, dwarfed them all. There, one of humanity’s greatest foes had been put on display as a trophy.

In the heart of the room, propped up like a skeletal Tyrannosaurus Rex, was a collection of bones unlike any other I’d ever seen. Topped with a fish’s skull, it was the shape of a man but at least twenty feet tall. An aura of power encircled it, even as it was propped up with wires from the ceiling. At the foot of the great beast was a display stand covered in a little gold plaque reading, HERE LIES DAGON, LEAST OF THE GREAT OLD ONES.

Stephens shook his head. “Seriously, the guy who runs this place is utterly batshit.”

“The Wasteland has driven most of humanity’s survivors mad,” I muttered. “It’s why we exist: to protect the Remnant from the rest of them.”

Honestly, given how the Council reacted to encountering other groups of survivors, I wasn’t sure we were all that much better. Several small nations had emerged on the East Coast, and the Council was determined to pretend they didn’t exist or treat them as hostiles. I’d killed almost as many humans as E.B.Es during my two decades of service.

Jessica looked at the statue of Dagon with something approaching awe. “Do you think it’s really one of the Great Old Ones?”

“If it was one of the Great Old Ones, he wouldn’t have been able to kill it.” I said coldly, still unnerved by the sight. “It looks like nothing more than a particularly large Deep One. Chicanery, nothing more.”

“Chica what now?” Stephens asked.

“It means trickery.” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Stephens, you could use a couple more years in Re-education.”

“I’ve got other ways to amuse myself.” Stephens chuckled, giving a lewd look towards Jessica and Parker. “If you know what I mean.”

“You could never keep up with me, Stephens,” Jessica said, surveying the landscape for possible points of entry.

Stephens looked between me and Jimmy. “Aw, I’m just kidding. You girls are like sisters to me.”

“That says more about your family than I ever desired to know.” Jessica said, snorting. “And we’re women, Stephens. Learn to tell the difference and maybe your dating life will improve.”

Parker smiled at that.

So did I.

It was weird how casual everyone was being in a potential combat zone. That was when I realized what was going on: someone was asserting a psychic influence over us—forcing us to relax. Martha had tried it during a few arguments over the years, only managing to piss me off more whenever she did it.

“Everyone, shake it off,” I said, trying to warn everyone. “It’s too quiet for this not to be an ambush.”

“You just had to say it’s too quiet, didn’t you?” Jessica grunted.

“Sorry.”

That was when a dozen secret doors opened and a hundred armed Cthulhu cultists poured out.

 

 

Chapter Two

The Cthulhu cultists were a motley band of half-deranged psychotics, but Earth had never seen more fearless warriors. Armed with meat cleavers, baseball bats, makeshift spears, and whatever firearms they’d scavenged, the cultists were more of a mob than an army. Their clothing and armor was as eclectic as their weapons, consisting primarily of scavenged sports equipment and bits of scrap metal sewn together.

There were no tactics or strategy to their assault, only sheer numbers driven by mindless ferocity. I had heard legends the cults of Cthulhu used a combination of drugs and ecstatic rituals to drive all fear of death from their warriors. Seeing the way they whooped, hallowed, and rushed eagerly into the jaws of death, I believed it.

“Humans forever!” Stephens shouted one of the traditional battle cries of the R&E Rangers, cutting down several cultists with his heavy assault rifle as we sought cover. Overturning museum cases and knocking down the statue of Dagon, we brought the full force of our weapons to bear.

The first part of the battle, if battle you could call it, was little more than a slaughter. No matter how brave a warrior, how skilled, he was nothing more than a target for even a moderately skilled soldier armed with automatic weapons. We did not indiscriminately fire into their ranks but selected our targets.

It was a slight delay, one many commanders wouldn’t have encouraged their troopers to make, but one I’d drilled my team for often. This method, nicknamed “crowd control” by Stephens, guaranteed a kill every time. It slowed down the enemies’ charge and filled the room with corpses.

The tide of Cthulhu cultists managed to use weight of numbers to their advantage, however, getting close enough to engage us in hand-to-hand combat. Despite their reckless courage, this too failed them. Each of my team was more than a match for any five of the barbarians surrounding us. The trick was only engaging that many at a time, an increasing prospect as they came after us in ever-greater numbers.

“For the glory of great Cthul—” One tomahawk-wielding, punk-haired lunatic shouted, wearing an amulet which caused bullets to bounce right off of him like raindrops. He managed to charge right up to Jessica and swing at her head. She promptly clocked him across the face with the butt of her gun before shooting him on the ground and returning to fire into the crowd.

I was impressed.

“These guys are idiots!” Parker shouted so everyone could hear her over all the automatic gunfire.

Jessica pulled close to cover me. “How you handling yourself, Captain?”

“I’ve been better!” I shouted, cutting down more of the enemy combatants trying to swarm us. When one got close enough to stab me, I smashed his face in with the butt of my gun and shot him with the last rounds of my clip. Reloading, I brought to bear my weapon to mow down an additional five charging me.

“Fair enough!” Jessica laughed before slamming her machete’s edge square into one of the cultists’ heads before blasting another in the chest. Some might have called it psychotic glee, but I called it excellent soldiery.

In the Wasteland, you had to train your men to enjoy combat—to love it—in order to survive. I often wondered whether it was the right thing to do, but it was too late to change anything now. I, too, had been trained to get a thrill from battle.

Parker and Garcia covered each other and the two of them made sure none of the Cthulhu cultists got anywhere near as close as the one Jessica had to take down. Their style of fighting was different than the others as they focused on three-round bursts. Stephens and Jimmy fought side by side, the two ignoring their usual belligerence to concentrate on the enemy. By the end of five bloody minutes, both men had saved each other’s life a dozen times.

Our caution in bringing so much equipment proved well justified, as the extra ammunition proved the difference between life and death. Corpses were strewn across the ground by the dozens, some of them having fallen in piles as the horde kept coming over their own dead.

The battle was wearing but, tired and exhausted as we might be, we emerged victorious in that particular struggle. Not a single Cthulhu cultist chose to flee but we’d annihilated them nevertheless, all without a single casualty. Even by Ranger standards, it had been a tremendous victory.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Jimmy said, kicking a cultist’s corpse. “They just ran to their deaths.”

“Another triumph for New Arkham, freedom, and superior firepower,” Stephens said, giving his rifle a kiss.

“Do you think it’s over?” Jessica stared across the battlefield, looking at the corpses of well over a hundred slavers littering the ground. She visibly winced at the battle damage done to several of the display cases, the artifacts inside having been destroyed by gunfire or grenades.

“No,” I said under my breath. “No I don’t.”

The assault by the Cthulhu cultists had been too crude for the mastermind we were investigating. He or she had plotted the removal of hundreds of children from dozens of settlements. His or her minions had done so in an efficient, methodical, and thoroughly well-planned manner. This, by contrast, was the work of someone with no thought whatsoever to strategy.

“Even if we’ve destroyed the bulk of their fighting force, several hundred children were reported missing. They have to be here somewhere,” I said, looking around the room. The place had been devastated by our battle, symbolized by Dagon's bones being scattered about like so much refuse. “It’s our duty as members of the United States Remnant to secure their release.”

“Yeah, assuming any of the kids is still alive. These crazy psychos probably ate them,” Stephens muttered, rubbing the back of his head. Despite his words, I could sense the worry in his voice. Stephens wasn’t a sociopath and his disdainful treatment of our mission was a way of divorcing himself from the probable fate of those we sought to rescue. At least, that was what I believed. I had faith in him, despite our disagreements.

“Don’t even joke about that, Stephens.” Jessica looked at him with a disgusted expression on her face.

Stephens, in fact, was not looking at her. Instead, he was staring at a pile of corpses nearby. “Damn, some of those bastards are still alive.”

“That’s very … unlikely?” Jimmy started to say before turning his head to the bodies. Then I saw his head tilt in confusion. Following his gaze, I saw the corpses he was looking at were starting to move.

All of them were starting to move.

“Shit!” Parker said, stepping away from them and moving her gun down at the corpses around her.

“God dammit, West-boys! Shoot ’em in the head!” Stephens shouted, aiming at the various corpses’ skulls and unloading with ammunition.

For once, I believed Stephens had the right idea. “Everyone, we’ve got Reanimated-class undead! I want you all to fall back into a circle with covering fire on their remains. Aim for either the head or the spinal cord!”

“Yes, Sir!” My squadron shouted in unison, spraying the rising monsters with bullets. I just prayed it was enough.

The Reanimated, known as “West-boys” in Ranger lingo, were the single most deadly type of undead to emerge in the aftermath of the Rising. I had high enough clearance to know they were an evil the Remnant had brought down on itself. While I was too young to have participated in the fall of New Boston, I knew it had been the Remnant’s experiments which had resulted in the Reanimated becoming a self-propagating plague on humanity.

The “Herbert West Formula” created durable, semi-intelligent, and fearless creatures without any sense of morality or restraint. I’d never fought them before, but my grandfather had told me they were several times stronger than the ordinary “zombies” created by Wasteland sorcerers. There was no telling how the lunatic in charge of the Black Cathedral had gotten ahold of it.

“Captain, do we have enough ammunition to kill them all again?” Jessica asked, continuing to fire in short bursts.

“No,” I said, solemnly. “We don’t.”

All around us, the bodies of the Cthulhu cultists began to slowly pick themselves up and retrieve their weapons. Those who had been damaged in their legs moved slowly and awkwardly but the majority moved faster than they did alive. The fact they seemed to ignore gunfire anywhere but the most vital portions of their body made them nearly unstoppable, though.

We managed to shoot a number of them in the skull and spine before they rose, but there were at least sixty to eighty in front of us by the time we prepared for our exit. Worse, the Reanimated were between us and the entrance, leaving us effectively pinned down.

“Switch to flamer rounds!” I called. We had only one clip of flamer rounds each, so it was mostly a choice of when we were going to use it than if. However, fire might give us a short reprieve.

“You got it!” Jessica shouted, firing the bullets that caused the bodies of several charging Reanimated to catch fire. Jimmy and Stephens soon joined in, the flaming corpses coming at us until they collapsed from the nerve damage. The Reanimated who possessed some limited intelligence seemed to back away from the fire, even if only for a few moments. That bought us valuable seconds as I considered my options.

“How many grenades do we have left?” I asked, firing another spray of bullets into the skulls of a half-dozen Reanimated. Their bodies collapsed and caught fire as the undead behind them fell back only to eventually move around them with ruthless determination.

Jimmy and Jessica responded to my question by hurling a pair of grenades into their ranks. The resulting explosion was neither large nor spectacular but it blew several of our opponents to pieces and thinned their ranks enough to give us a little breathing room. Only a little, since the Reanimated were infinitely more dangerous foes than the cultists they’d been but minutes earlier.

“Those were the last of them, Captain!” Jessica said, right before she was bitten on the arm. “Son of a bitch!”

Parker shot the monster before the injury was anything more than a surface wound, Jessica smacking it across the chin with her rifle butt.

“Does that mean she’s going to turn!?” Stephens shouted, knocking another Reanimated away with the butt of his rifle before setting it aflame with the explosive ammunition in his gun. Kicking the flaming corpse away from him, Stephens created a protective barrier in front of him. He was surprisingly cunning when he remembered to use his brain.

“No, Stephens.” I sighed as we found ourselves pressed against the back of the central chamber. That was when I noticed a grand staircase was now behind us, a huge marble thing decorated with hanging chandeliers which had simply not been there before.

Taking a look at it, I shouted over the blare of gunfire, “Well that doesn’t look like a trap does it?”

“What do we do, Captain?” Jessica said, shooting a few of the Reanimated in the legs to slow down the ones behind them. It wouldn’t work in the long run but was the only option we had in such tight quarters. With only a few flamer rounds left between us, the Reanimated were going to overwhelm us within moments.

I didn’t have a chance to respond before the reanimated corpse of the bullet-immune cultist charged at Parker and then bit into her throat, tearing it out. Parker didn’t get a chance to scream before blood sprayed out and she went down.

I pulled out a machete my wife had blessed and charged forward, cutting the corpse’s head clean off before ripping away the amulet. The creature fell over in an instant and ceased to move before I tossed away the amulet and jogged back into formation, shooting the entire way.

“Jesus!” Garcia said, right before a Reanimated on the ground grabbed his leg and pulled him to the floor. It crawled up on him and gouged out both his eyes with its thumbs, tearing away his face with its teeth. Jessica managed to shoot it, as did Stephens, but it was a futile gesture since a half-dozen more Reanimated were already upon Garcia, tearing him apart. There was nothing that could be done for him and he had to be abandoned if we were going to survive.

“Up the staircase!” I ordered, sick to my stomach at our losses. “We’ll switch to pistols once we reach the top and try to take them out one by one.”

“Murderers!” Stephens cried out, tossing his heavy assault rifle on the ground. The last of his flamer ammunition was expended. He then pulled out a refurbished Desert Eagle and started shooting Reanimated after Reanimated in the head. This was a mission of revenge now for my teammate and I worried I’d lost him.

Jimmy was slower getting his pistol, instead getting overwhelmed by a horde of the creatures when his assault rifle ammunition ran out. Stephens didn’t hesitate to throw himself into Close Quarters Combat with Jimmy’s attackers, firing the gun into their faces at point blank range.

“No! Stephens … fall back!” I cried out, lifting up my own pistol as I watched Jimmy crawl out from under the mass of reanimated dead. What happened next was bloodcurdling; Stephens was ripped limb from limb as the monsters chopped away at his arms before pulling him to pieces.

“Son of a bitch!” Jimmy coughed, bleeding from the mouth as he crawled on the ground, pulling his own gun out to shoot a few avenging rounds at the individuals murdering his squad mate.

“I said fall back!” I repeated my order. I snapped the neck of a Reanimated coming with inches of me and fired a few shots into the heads of the ones between Jimmy and me. I’d not lost any squad mates since the Color Incident and it was painful to experience it again. Private Stephens hadn’t been my favorite trooper but he’d willingly laid down his life for Jimmy. It made me ashamed I’d ever doubted him.

Everyone, finally, moved back into formation as we were given breathing room by the burning corpses before us. The fire we’d set, plus all the Reanimated we’d shot in the spines, slowed down the thirty or forty undead remaining to give us time to get us up the staircase. We’d inflicted massive casualties on them but at a terrible price.

I was first up the stairs, almost to the top with Jessica behind me. Jimmy trailed behind us, possibly wounded. A number of Reanimated broke through the fiery barrier and charged up at him. Refusing to leave a man behind, I lifted my pistol up and descended down the stairs, shooting one after the other in the head. Five were down as Jimmy passed me. I, for a second, thought we were going to make it.

That was when a lone Reanimated assassin at the bottom of the staircase, a woman missing the lower portion of her jaw, lifted up a revolver and fired over my head three times. I didn’t even see her until it was too late. Clicking off a final round, I sent her spiraling down to the ground where she joined the ranks of her other forever-dead colleagues.

“Captain!” Jessica cried out.

Turning around, I saw Jimmy had been hit by all three rounds in the back of his head. Both of his eyes had been shot through and so had the back of his mouth.

“Dammit!” I spit, knowing we didn’t have time to mourn our losses. I’d gotten my entire team killed but forced that thought from my head. I needed to survive and get my sole remaining teammate to safety. I didn’t care if I got killed at this point but I had to cling to the idea I could salvage one of my brethren. “Jessica, keep up the stairs! We’ve got to get a move on!”

I didn’t have time to say more because black tendrils descended on us both, throwing us to the ground and sinking into our skin like leeches before lifting us up into the air. I was able to catch a brief glimpse of their source at the top of the stairs, a figure standing in front of the gigantic blob-like thing producing the tendrils. It was a white-haired man with skin the color of chalk dressed in a dirty suit leftover from centuries past. I recognized him as Alan Ward, my old teacher and one of the last human scientists left on the planet.

What the hell was he doing here?

I didn’t have time to think about it before I passed out.

END EXCERPT

If you're a Cthulu mythos, armageddon or C.T. Phipps fan, you can't miss this book from Crossroads Press. CLick on the link below and pick up a copy!

 

A Review of Fae – The Wild Hunt by Graham Austin-King

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Fae – The Wild Hunt by Graham Austin-King

Review by S.H. Mansouri

 

Graham Austin-King puts the bite back into the world of fairy tales with the first of the Riven Wyrde trilogy: Fae – The Wild Hunt. This story is told from the perspective of three main characters, though the viewpoints of the entire cast works to weave one fundamental tale.

We are first introduced to Miriam and her young son, Devin, who are in an all too familiar situation.  The father and husband drinks too much, is unemployed, and takes it out on his family. After a shocking opening scene – courtesy of a simple ladle – Miriam and Devin head out to find the only family they’ve ever known. Along the way, bandits attack, Miriam is wounded and Devin begins to wonder why his mother is acting so strange: reveling in the moonlight and singing and dancing between the stones of an ancient monolith in the depths of a dark forest.

This is when we get the first glimpse of the Fae creatures that Austin-King has so masterfully wrought. Held back from entering the world of man by the Wyrde (a failing druid seal), the Fae escape and pull Miriam into their world, leaving Devin abandoned in the forest. Reminiscent of Tolkien’s ring wraiths in their white, wispy form, Austin-King’s Fae are truly wolves in sheep’s clothing. They whisper half-truths and seem innocent enough, until the flash of human steel, or the burning sting of iron, send them into a man-hunting frenzy. So much for fairy dust.

Devin is then found and adopted by a couple living in the farm town of Widdengate, where myths and legends of the droos (a druid sect) are spun to scare little children. Widdengate is full of hard-working, hard-drinking folk and, amongst other details, Austin-King effectively renders a realistic and plausible setting.  Devin grows, is on the sour end of unrequited love, and occasionally gets pummeled by Artor, a bastard of a teenage character if I ever saw one. In one scene, Devin catches Artor forcing himself on a maiden. Rather than feeling ashamed, or trying to cover up his crime, Artor proclaims that Devin is in the wrong for being perverted enough to watch.

Although this is dark fantasy, Austin-King manages to create a world filled with characters conflicted and confronted with situations that all but the stoutest recluse would sympathize with. This adds a lot of punch when the Wyrde begins to fade and the absolutely sinister Satyrs’ begin oozing out into the world of man. These Satyrs’ are the goat-faced minions of the Fae, and Austin-King ramps up the stakes by adding chapters on their attempts to prod the barrier holding them back. Much like the looming invasion of the White Walkers in Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, the Satyrs’ go unnoticed while the people of Widdengate fight over religion and position. Even when a single Satyr seduces Devin’s adopted mother and traumatizes her in her own kitchen, the people of Widdengate refuse to believe in fairy tales.

Austin-King’s prose is detailed and sprawling; jumping from region to region and covering many minor characters. The pacing of the novel may seem slow at first- but this is because Austin-King is thorough in setting up the pieces. Once the board is set and the power of the Wyrde has faded, the action and the connectivity of every plot thread makes the pages fly. Austin-King’s use of the fairy tale within the fairy tale to reveal backstory and history reminds me a lot of Patrick Rothfuss’ style of storytelling in The Name of the Wind. Myth and legend, as told by many of Austin-King’s characters, become the only truth when faced with the absurd.

Meanwhile, Selena, the Duchess of Eastern Anlan, is unhappily married to Duke Freyton. He is absent from his duties as a ruler and husband and, if ever he managed to rise from his eternal drunken stupor, might produce an heir to the throne. While Freyton wastes the kingdom’s riches on alcoholic bliss and large donations to the New Dayers, an intolerant new religion sweeping the land, Selena goes full-on into boss mode and seizes the reigns of leadership.

Though quite intolerable herself, Selena manages to run the kingdom’s affairs through sheer willpower and title alone (think Daenerys Targaryen without the dragons).  The Bjornmen raids on the Farm Lands have become more frequent and Selena sets her mind to thwarting the “wild beasts” as she calls them. Though she is at first an unlikeable character, her progression from dainty trophy wife to military spearhead is fascinating, and one can’t help but root for her to lie, forge and intimidate her way into defending the land in which she finds herself a stranger. There is no sugar in the tea of Eastern Anlan- and, as the story progresses, we find a bittersweet end to Selena’s dilemma.

Last but not least of the three main viewpoint characters is Klӧss, who is conflicted between following in his father’s footsteps as a merchant – in his opinion, an altogether lazy pursuit – and following his uncle Frostbeard’s reavings across the sea. He is, in my opinion, the most morally gray character of the lot, and one who may cause readers to turn their backs on. Slightly younger than most of the reaving Bjornmen, Klӧss affirms his abilities by passing the oarsmen trial and becoming a full-fledged reaver.

This is not to say his journey is void of any complications. He is harassed and sabotaged, beat about by Verig, his trainer, and swept off his feet by a thief with a blade to his throat.  After realizing the Barren Isles can no longer support his people, Klӧss sets out across the Vorstelv, a stretch of sea so cold and merciless that only the islanders can bear to traverse it, in search of new lands to occupy. What better place than the lands surrounding Widdengate? While reaving, Klӧss murders, plunders, and takes on the responsibility of his entire people. While his arc is the meat and potatoes of the darker, grittier side of the entire narrative, it isn’t until all threads come together in the last quarter of the book that the Fae put his actions to shame.

Throughout the three main plot lines, Austin-King introduces Obair, the old druid responsible for keeping the Wyrde closed. But as the full moon grows, the Satyrs’ begin to push the limits of the Wyrde, slaughtering livestock and testing the boundaries of the old druid that holds the key to who they truly are. The Satyrs’ seduce, plot, and play eerie flute music while they leave those in their wake petrified with fear. Amidst Devin’s struggle to hold his new family together, Selena’s fortifications against an ever-encroaching occupation of Bjornmen, and Klӧss’ dreams of finding a new home for his people, the Fae and their minions emerge as an enemy overshadowing all. It’s a hell of a cliffhanger!

Satyrs’ maniacally ride the backs of men like horses and cut through their ranks with weapons unseen before the old droos (pay attention to the wonderful word play throughout) died out.

Out with the old and in with the new is a theme that runs throughout this story, and the transition from one to the other is paved with amber-eyed Fae in feather-light armor, dying lands and newly erected walls to keep the darkness from seeping in. Fae – The Wild Hunt runs at a steady boil that erupts in the final chapters and will keep grimdark fans wanting more of the sinister creatures that come out when the moon is full, and the Wyrde has faded.

 

A Review of Fae-The Wild Hunt by Graham Austin-King

[image error]

Fae-The Wild Hunt by Graham Austin-King

Review by S.H. Mansouri

 

Graham Austin-King puts the bite back into the world of fairy tales with the first of the Riven Wyrde trilogy: Fae-The Wild Hunt.  This story is told from the perspective of three main characters, though the viewpoints of the entire cast works to weave one fundamental tale.

We are first introduced to Miriam and her young son, Devin, who are in an all too familiar situation.  The father and husband drinks too much, is unemployed, and takes it out on his family. After a shocking opening scene -courtesy of a simple ladle- Miriam and Devin head out to find the only family they’ve ever known. Along the way, bandits attack, Miriam is wounded and Devin begins to wonder why his mother is acting so strange: reveling in the moonlight and singing and dancing between the stones of an ancient monolith in the depths of a dark forest.

This is when we get the first glimpse of the Fae creatures that Austin-King has so masterfully wrought. Held back from entering the world of man by the Wyrde (a failing druid seal), the Fae escape and pull Miriam into their world, leaving Devin abandoned in the forest. Reminiscent of Tolkien’s ring wraiths in their white, wispy form, Austin-King’s Fae are truly wolves in sheep’s clothing. They whisper half-truths and seem innocent enough, until the flash of human steel, or the burning sting of iron, send them into a man-hunting frenzy. So much for fairy dust.

Devin is then found and adopted by a couple living in the farm town of Widdengate, where myths and legends of the droos (a druid sect) are spun to scare little children. Widdengate is full of hard-working, hard-drinking folk and, amongst other details, Austin-King effectively renders a realistic and plausible setting.  Devin grows, is on the sour end of unrequited love, and occasionally gets pummeled by Artor, a bastard of a teenage character if I ever saw one. In one scene, Devin catches Artor forcing himself on a maiden. Rather than feeling ashamed, or trying to cover up his crime, Artor proclaims that Devin is in the wrong for being perverted enough to watch.

Although this is dark fantasy, Austin-King manages to create a world filled with characters conflicted and confronted with situations that all but the stoutest recluse would sympathize with. This adds a lot of punch when the Wyrde begins to fade and the absolutely sinister Satyrs’ begin oozing out into the world of man. These Satyrs’ are the goat-faced minions of the Fae, and Austin-King ramps up the stakes by adding chapters on their attempts to prod the barrier holding them back. Much like the looming invasion of the White Walkers in Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, the Satyrs’ go unnoticed while the people of Widdengate fight over religion and position. Even when a single Satyr seduces Devin’s adopted mother and traumatizes her in her own kitchen, the people of Widdengate refuse to believe in fairy tales.

Austin-King’s prose is detailed and sprawling; jumping from region to region and covering many minor characters. The pacing of the novel may seem slow at first- but this is because Austin-King is thorough in setting up the pieces. Once the board is set and the power of the Wyrde has faded, the action and the connectivity of every plot thread makes the pages fly. Austin-King’s use of the fairy tale within the fairy tale to reveal backstory and history reminds me a lot of Patrick Rothfuss’ style of storytelling in The Name of the Wind. Myth and legend, as told by many of Austin-King’s characters, become the only truth when faced with the absurd.

Meanwhile, Selena, the Duchess of Eastern Anlan, is unhappily married to Duke Freyton. He is absent from his duties as a ruler and husband and, if ever he managed to rise from his eternal drunken stupor, might produce an heir to the throne. While Freyton wastes the kingdom’s riches on alcoholic bliss and large donations to the New Dayers, an intolerant new religion sweeping the land, Selena goes full on into boss mode and seizes the reigns of leadership.

Though quite intolerable herself, Selena manages to run the kingdom’s affairs through sheer willpower and title alone (think Daenerys Targaryen without the dragons).  The Bjornmen raids on the Farm Lands have become more frequent -and Selena sets her mind to thwarting the “wild beasts-” as she calls them. Though she is at first an unlikeable character, her progression from dainty trophy wife to military spearhead is fascinating, and one can’t help but root for her to lie, forge and intimidate her way into defending the land in which she finds herself a stranger. There is no sugar in the tea of Eastern Anlan- and, as the story progresses, we find a bittersweet end to Selena’s dilemma.

Last but not least of the three main viewpoint characters is Klӧss, who is conflicted between following in his father’s footsteps as a merchant –in his opinion, an altogether lazy pursuit- and following his uncle Frostbeard’s reavings across the sea. He is, in my opinion, the most morally gray character of the lot, and one who may cause readers to turn their backs on. Slightly younger than most of the reaving Bjornmen, Klӧss affirms his abilities by passing the oarsmen trial and becoming a full-fledged reaver.

This is not to say his journey is void of any complications. He is harassed and sabotaged, beat about by Verig, his trainer, and swept off his feet by a thief with a blade to his throat.  After realizing the Barren Isles can no longer support his people, Klӧss sets out across the Vorstelv, a stretch of sea so cold and merciless that only the islanders can bear to traverse it, in search of new lands to occupy. What better place than the lands surrounding Widdengate? While reaving, Klӧss murders, plunders, and takes on the responsibility of his entire people. While his arc is the meat and potatoes of the darker, grittier side of the entire narrative, it isn’t until all threads come together in the last quarter of the book that the Fae put his actions to shame.

Throughout the three main plot lines, Austin-King introduces Obair, the old druid responsible for keeping the Wyrde closed. But as the full moon grows, the Satyrs’ begin to push the limits of the Wyrde, slaughtering livestock and testing the boundaries of the old druid that holds the key to who they truly are. The Satyrs’ seduce, plot, and play eerie flute music while they leave those in their wake petrified with fear. Amidst Devin’s struggle to hold his new family together, Selena’s fortifications against an ever-encroaching occupation of Bjornmen, and Klӧss’ dreams of finding a new home for his people, the Fae and their minions emerge as an enemy overshadowing all. It’s a hell of a cliffhanger!

Satyrs’ maniacally ride the backs of men like horses and cut through their ranks with weapons unseen before the old droos (pay attention to the wonderful word play throughout) died out.

Out with the old and in with the new is a theme that runs throughout this story, and the transition from one to the other is paved with amber-eyed Fae in feather-light armor, dying lands and newly erected walls to keep the darkness from seeping in. Fae-The Wild Hunt runs at a steady boil that erupts in the final chapters and will keep grimdark fans wanting more of the sinister creatures that come out when the moon is full, and the Wyrde has faded.

 

A Review of the brilliant Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey

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A Review of Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey
Review by Adrian Collins

I spotted Leviathan Wakes online touted as Game of Thrones in space. If I'm honest about it, I bought it on a whim based on that and a want to read more sci-fi of the same calibre as Richard Morgan's Altered Carbon. Do I think it's Game of Thrones in space? No. I don't feel that's accurate, but it was a nice piece of marketing, I suppose. Is it the best sci-fi book I've read in a really long time? It most certainly is.

Leviathan Wakes tells a near future story where humanity is divided into Earth, Mars and The Belt (Jupiter's mineral rich rings). Earth is humanity's cradle, and remains so with the other two factions not realistically able to survive indefinitely without it. Despite their far more advanced navy, Mars is still terraforming and relying on Earth to keep them alive. The Belt residents have almost become another human species, with entire generations never having lived inside a gravity well. Earth and Mars have the best of it, holding trade agreements and tariffs over the Belt, effectively keeping them destitute by comparison and pushing the rebellious Outer Planetary Alliance (OPA) into ever-growing acts of violence.

The story is placed in The Belt and told from two perspectives: Miller, a jaded cop searching for a young rich-kid rebel nobody really wants to find, and Holden, an ex-Earth navy officer in charge of a water hauler trying to do the righteous thing while not getting his crew killed at every turn. When Holden's ship The Canterbury finds a seemingly abandoned or pirated Scopuli floating out in the belt, what he finds on board will kick off a war that could destroy the whole system--and the entire time humanity could be pointing their guns in the wrong direction to save themselves.

I'll say it right out, this book is cleanly written, brilliantly paced and an absolute joy to read. One of the things that really makes it a gorgeous piece of fiction is the authors' attention to detail--the physics, man, the physics. Lateral acceleration gravity; the Coriolis affect; treatment of gravity; using 0.3g and 5g (for example) as speed as opposed to "Parrotdog Mach twelve jungle ocean speed"; the effects of those speeds on the human body; the way 80% of the problems the characters run into aren't resolved by some rather convenient piece of tech that's just written off to "it's sci-fi"; the list is as long as your arm. The sheer attention to detail, research and seamless implementation of that detail into the story and the way the science almost works like a fantasy magic system (in that there are early-set rules and the entire book sticks to those rules) makes this book worth reading before you've even met the characters. For those looking for a more "real" experience, this, right here, is your Huckleberry.

Apart from the politics, the setting and the overarching feel of hopelessness, grim determination and danger of The Belt, what will appeal to grimdark lovers are the two perspectives, Holden and Miller. These two are the perfect example of individual history creating opposing perspectives on what's right. Miller is a killer, his past as a cop (imagine pre-70s cops perfectly happy to make problems "disappear", but in this case through airlocks) has made him hard, more than a bit broken, and probably cold in the eyes of most. Holden, on the other hand, is righteous to the point of being reckless, where he acts before he thinks of the repercussions. This is most evident later in the book when Holden and Miller start to clash over the correct application of what is "right" when they are in the position of judge and jury. Together, these two are the perfect example of how learned morals and their application can be seen as good or evil from opposing perspectives--exactly the kind of thing us grimdark lovers enjoy getting our teeth in to.

The story ramps up like a deadset hollywood movie--probably why they made a series, The Expanse, out of it--and the wrap up and pay off at the end is brilliant. You won't guess the ending, and the lead in for Caliban's War, book two, has left me salivating for more.

From the grimdark reader perspective, if you demand a Jorg Ancrath or Logen Ninefingers for your grimdark anti-hero, you won't get it here. But if you're after detailed, believable, magnificent and un-put-downable characters who have the type of morally grey traits we at GdM know, love and publish, in a beautifully well thought out and imagined universe, then look no further than The Expanse. Click on the link below to buy it now and I pretty much guarantee you'll love it.

 

A review of Blaise Maximillian: Bitter Defeat

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Review of Matthew Sylvester’s Blaise Maximillian: Bitter Defeat

By Jeff Suwak 

Blaise Maximillian: Bitter Defeat tells the story of a British officer fighting in a diesel-punk version of World War I that sees the Germans rise victorious. Told in a series of sequential short stories, the book starts with historically recognizable trench warfare and slowly becomes more and more fantastic as it moves through time, leaving us in a grim alternate reality.  

As an American, I was drawn instantly into the setting. World War II gets much more airplay on this side of the pond, and the imaginary foray into that “other” World War was a fun one. The vivid descriptions of trench warfare, including such horrors as chemical weapons and swarms of rats, instill a sense of horror and fascination. Those foggy fields full of men in gas masks and the sound of rifle shot make for a nightmarishly beautiful stage upon which to tell a story.

Author Matthew Sylvester does not waste much time telling us how horrible Blaise finds all of the things he is forced to experience throughout the war. Instead, Sylvester makes it self-evident through vivid description. We are spared the moralizing and redundant over-explanation of emotion that has become so popular in some other genres these days.

Most of the limited moralizing that does exist comes at the start of the story. As things progress, Blaise becomes more practiced at dealing with the emotional impact of the violence and more proficient at dealing it out. Eventually, he even comes to enjoy the game of killing Germans. This is not to say that he loses all his higher virtues, however. Indeed, from start to finish Blaise maintains a respectable degree of loyalty. Really, loyalty seems to be his defining trait. He might be a stone-cold killer, but he is a stone-cold killer protecting what is left of his friends, family, and home.

The story is written with no-nonsense language well-suited to the atmosphere and theme, but still occasionally spits up some lines of grimy lyricism and gallows humor that are all the more entertaining for being so unexpected. One of my favorites came following the detonation of a bomb during one of the trench battles. Sylvester writes, “A couple riflemen assigned to protect the gun crew lay tangled together as if they were trying to re-enact the Kama Sutra but hadn’t quite got the gist of things.” If that image doesn’t make you crack a deranged smile, then you may want to find yourself another genre.  

The use of short, self-contained stories as “chapters” was interesting because it allowed the book to be read either in one continuous narrative or in smaller, yet still-complete chunks. My particular favorite of these stories-within-the-story was “Knights of the New,” which introduced a primitive sort of exoskeleton used by the Germans.  I was hoping the chapter would initiate a more serious leap into fantasy, but the narrative remains well-grounded in terms of technology and historical plausibility throughout. “The Sniper” was another particularly good tale. It posed an interesting moral dilemma as Blaise had to decide whether or not to use one of his troops as a decoy to flush out a sniper that has been taking down the men in the trench.

Blaise is the kind of officer that infantrymen want to serve under (I say this from personal experience). He much prefers bleeding beside his men to indulging in finery with his superiors. As suggested earlier, he portrays an unshakable loyalty to the men in his command, to his friend Thatcher, and to the cause of the British Empire itself. He is brave, as well, consistently putting himself in the way of danger without hesitation.

I enjoyed reading this story, which is probably why I abhor the preface. Here comes, then, my one major complaint against the book. There were a few places where I thought the writing could be tightened up a bit, and the blurbs before each chapter sometimes took me out of the overarching narrative, but these things were easily forgivable. I wanted more diesel punk machines of death and perhaps some other fantastical elements, but that was purely personal preference and nothing to hold against the author. The one thing that really irked me was that preface.

Before Blaise Maximilian proper starts, Sylvester spends a few paragraphs telling us about his writing process, which is fine, but then labors to justify Blaise’s violent character, which is not. Firstly, I found it completely unnecessary to validate the actions of a man thrust into such a horrific, morally impossible nightmare. Secondly, and more importantly, the preface felt like an apology in advance, as if the author lacked faith in his own work. It did not set a good tone for me. It is the audience’s place to decide whether they like Blaise and whether they do or do not find his violence morally justifiable. It’s the audience’s place to decide if they even care. The preface might fit fine in a later edition of a work, but didn’t fit work well in a first edition, in my opinion. If I spoke to the author before he published this book, I’d urge him to remove the preface entirely.

Ultimately, the reason the preface continues to irk me is probably because I enjoyed the rest of the book so much. I recommend Blaise Maximilian: Bitter Defeat to any reader who enjoys action-packed war stories, alternate-history narratives, and gritty heroes dispatching enemies by the most primitive and intimate means possible. Blaise shoots, hacks, and blasts his way from trench warfare to cloak-and-dagger games of assassination. He is always tough, usually violent, and sometimes a little cruel. At no point, though, does his heroism ever fade from view. Blaise doesn’t need to be apologised for. He stands just find on his own.

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