A.L. Knorr's Blog, page 8

Transcendent Sneak Peek, Chapter Three

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Click here to read Chapter 1, and here for Chapter 2.

Transcendent, Chapter 3, Read by A.L. Knorr (not a professional recording)

https://www.alknorrbooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Transcendent-Chapter-3.m4a

 

Transcendent, Chapter Three (unedited)

“We take the cylinder with the blood we’ve extracted, like so,” Kehko demonstrated by dislodging the little glass reservoir from the needle, displaying it so Eohne could see it. “Then we put the blood in here.” Kehko brought the cylinder near to the dashboard inside the dome and a small orifice opened to accept the blood. “That’s it.”

“That can’t be it.” Eohne stared at the tired looking Nycht with a puzzled expression. “Where, when, how does the magic barrier kick in?”

Kehko shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person. Strix don’t have magic, that’s why we make deals with Light Elves. I assume the magic resides inside this.” She lay her hand on the simple gray dome, which looked as mundane as a boulder.

“Can you open it?” Eohne examined the dome for cracks but other than the small sliding door, there were none.

“It doesn’t open.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well I’ve never tried, but I’ve never had reason to.”

Eohne was now on her hands and knees, face close to the floor.

Kheko bent over to peer at the Elf. “What are you doing?”

“Does it go past the floor or is this where it stops?”

Kehko let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Eohne.”

The Elf got up and dusted her hands and knees off, frowning. Eohne had made the journey to one of the domes to see Kehko, the only border guard she knew. She’d had high hopes that a Nycht who worked at the border would be able to explain how it worked. So far, Eohne had been sorely disappointed.

“Why do you think the harpies were able to get through the barrier, but it is business as usual for everyone else?”

“It has to be the Light Elves.” Kehko spoke with certainty, slashing a confident hand through the air. “No one else has the ability to do such a thing. Think about it. In order for all of those harpies to get through the barrier, someone would have to go extract blood from each of them and then sneak it into the system. It’s a preposterous idea. Impossible. No one in their right mind would even attempt it. But Light Elves have astounding magic, this kind of trick would be easy for them.”

“Why would they do such a thing? What do they have to gain?”

Kehko looked stumped. “Who knows what is going on up at the palace. That’s where you should be poking your nose around, not down here. Border guards are at the bottom of the food-chain. If you ask me, you’re looking in the wrong place and talking to the wrong people.” Kehko leaned against the dome and examined her fingernails casually as Eohne continued to examine the dome. “Hey, have you seen much of Toth lately?” the Nycht kept her voice casual but her interest was still obvious.

Eohne kept her eyes on the dome’s fixtures and her expression composed. “Here and there. Why?”

“No reason.” Kehko’s cheeks acquired a girlish flush. “Just wondering.”

“You know,” Eohne came around to stand beside Kehko, “if you want to spend time with him, the best way to do that would be to join his combatants. It would get you out of this border control job you dislike so much. You’d be able to fly a lot more. You strike me as a woman who likes to be free.”

Kehko looked down at her booted feet. “I could never be a warrior. I’m not strong.”

“Don’t say that. Jordan didn’t know anything about combat a few months ago and she’s become one of Toth’s best students.”

The Nycht snorted with derision. “The blonde Arpak? Please. She’s a simpering fool around him.” She eyed the Elf suspiciously. “They’re not together are they?”

Eohne shook her head. “She’s with Sol.”

Kehko’s brows elevated. “The pretty one with the muscles and the bright blue eyes?” She smiled wolfishly. “Good. They deserve one another.”

Eohne turned her back on Kehko in a mock display of examining the scrolls in the shelving at the back of the dome. The Elf rolled her eyes. Yes, prejudice ran deep in Rodania, but it ran in both directions.

“Do the cylinders come back out again?”

“Sorry?”

“After you put the blood into the system, do the vials come back out?”

“Oh. Yes. I mean, I think so.” Kehko gestured to a small box which she pulled back to reveal was full of clean cylinders. “This box is never empty. We just take a fresh one from here whenever we need it.”

Eohne peered into the box. “May I?”

“Sure.”

She pulled a cylinder out and examined it. She hefted it in her hand and closed her eyes, tuning in to the natural resonance of the glass. It was pure. She couldn’t detect any biological matter which might have previously come into contact with it.

The sliding door of the dome hummed and Eohne turned to see two figures enter the dome.

“An Elf!” The words were sung and infused with genuine delight.

Eohne found herself under intense scrutiny by a tall slender Light Elf man. He beamed at her with crystal green eyes. He had waist-length wheat-blonde hair tied half-back and threaded with braids. His fine-boned face was dusted with brown markings, like freckles only shaped like dashes and running from ear to ear. He was as slender as a drinking straw with long elegant hands and fingers. Those same brown markings ran over the backs of his hands, growing more dense where they disappeared under his sleeves. He wore a white linen knee-length tunic, open at the throat. What started as pale skin at his forehead had shifted to tan by the time it vanished under his tunic. His overall presence was striking and ethereal, but his expression was ageless and guileless. He towered over Eohne by a full head, but couldn’t have weighed much more than her.

“An Elf yourself,” said Eohne, taking a step back from the stranger’s penetrating gaze.

“You must be from Charra-Rae! Is it true?” He seemed to remember himself. “Forgive me. My name is Linlett.” He pressed a long-fingered hand over his heart, digits splaying out like a big flower. “What is your name, you glorious creature, and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Eohne blinked at this, disarmed. No one had ever called her a ‘glorious creature’ before.

“I didn’t expect to find you here, Eohne,” said the Arpak behind Linlett.

At the sound of her name, Eohne finally tore her eyes from the magnetic Light-Elf man long enough to realize that his companion was Balroc, the Councilman.

“Balroc! Nice to see you again. I was just hoping to be useful.”

Balroc grunted and gave her an appreciative nod. “We can use all the help we can get,” he grumbled. “We’ve gotten no where so far.”

Kehko was eyeing Linlett dubiously. “She’s here trying to figure out how the harpies got past the magic barrier.”

Linlett took a large inhale, his face expanding with understanding. “That’s why I am here too,” he sang. “How wonderful.” His luminous green eyes never left Eohne’s face. They roamed the landscape of her features hungrily.

“You’re the Councilman who convinced Toth to start the military,” Kehko blurted.

“The very same.” Balroc smiled. “Tell us, what have you learned thus far?”

Eohne wouldn’t have given any intel away to people she’d just met, but the Elf didn’t have to lie. “Nothing. I’m just getting started.”

“Are you a magician?” Linlett’s eyes roamed her frame, taking in the interesting tools fastened to her belt, and the scythe-like blades fastened to her back.

“More of an inventor. Charra-Rae magic is based on frequency, it’s a hybrid of science and supernatural.”

“Marvelous,” breathed Linlett. “The Elves of Charra-Rae have evolved an entirely different kind of magic from our own,” he told Balroc. “Before Rahzdon, we were one and the same people, but after Firohne sabotaged King Keeriak, the Prophets gave him the forests of Charra-Rae as a reward. His descendants have lived there ever since.” He beamed at Eohne. “Their methods are completely unique in the world of magic.”

Eohne was shocked to the heels of her boots. “You know our history? You know who Firohne was?”

“Of course!” Linlett looked affronted, then waggled his head as if to admit he needed to amend. “I shouldn’t say it like that. Most Light Elves do not make a point of studying the Charra-Rae magic. They find it inferior.”

This was more in line with what Eohne understood to be true as well.

Linlett shook his head and made a single tsk sound, jerking his head once to the side. The movement was so expressive of his thoughts that he didn’t need to expand further, but the accompanying words clarified his position to the room. “It is foolish to assume a magic is ancillary just because you don’t understand it.”

“You are more open-minded than most of your kind,” Eohne murmured, now looking at the Light Elf with almost as much curiosity as he had displayed for her.

“It is to their loss and discredit,” Linlett added, his voice oscillating lyrically. “You have no idea how delighted I am to make your acquaintance.”

Eohne’s gut reaction to the adoration and enthusiasm of a stranger was normally suspicion. But the keen and intelligent eyes seemed so genuinely charmed that she found herself on the edge of a blush.

Balroc was watching this exchange with interest. Kehko was yawning and fiddling with the leather straps tying her vest together.

“How is it that you are still in Rodania, Eohne?” Balroc asked. “I thought nothing could keep the Elves of Charra-Rae from their wilderness home for very long.”

“I was preparing to go back, but I thought perhaps I could help get to the heart of how the magic failed.” Eohne shifted from one foot to another, painfully conscious of Linlett’s attentive stare. “I have friends here. I don’t want to leave without ensuring they are safe.”

“The magic can’t fail.” Linlett spoke matter-of-factly, holding up a long index finger.

“I beg to differ,” Balroc said with a chuckle. “The harpies were not figments of our imagination. Lost lives not withstanding, commerce in Rodania has slowed to a crawl. The infrastructure of dozens of villages has been heavily damaged. We cannot have such a disaster occur again. We simply will not survive it. The Council is divided about how to proceed, and I fear someone will behave rashly and cause a disagreement between Rodania and the Light Elves.” Balroc glowered. “We cannot have that either.”

Linlett was nodding. “Obviously something has gone wrong. But I was briefed before I left our Kingdom. The magical engineering of the Rodanian border is invulnerable. There is something else going on here.”

“Sabotage,” said Balroc bluntly.

Linlett agreed with this possibility with another waggle of his head.

Kehko was nodding too. She crossed her arms and regarded the Light Elf through half-closed lids, like she’d already decided he had something to do with it.

“Who could have pulled off such a feat?” Eohne posed the question to the group.

“That’s what I’m here to figure out,” Linlett’s bright gaze fell on Eohne again. “I propose we pool our resources.” He rubbed his hands together. “If you’re amenable, of course.”

“I am,” Eohne replied, somewhat dazedly. Learning more about Light Elf magic had been one of Eohne’s life-long goals. Thus far, there had never been anyone in her life to show her the magic of light, and Sohne had forbidden it.

“Excellent. That’s settled then,” Balroc turned to Kehko. “We’ll be shutting down your dome temporarily, young Miss. Consider yourself on leave, with pay of course.” He swept Kehko toward the door.

“But,” Kehko threw a glance over her shoulder at Eohne, unhappy to be leaving her dome in the hands of the potential enemy.

Eohne gave her a look of reassurance. “It’s alright, Kehko. I’ll be here.”

The young Nycht was sent on her way.

Balroc excused himself, leaving Linlett and Eohne alone in the dome to begin their work. The door slid shut, muting the sound of the Rodanian Sea and the cries of seabirds.

Eohne watched as Linlett approached the dashboard. “I’ve been wondering how to…” she began.

Linlett moved his hands in an elegant dance, fingers flicking outward in a symbolic inflection. There was a sound like steam blowing from a kettle.

“Open that,” Eohne finished, watching with fascination as the dome lifted away from the floor and hovered there. A bright light emanated from the crack beneath it, beaming outward in all directions. The light flickered and danced with all the colors of the rainbow. Eohne looked down at her own booted feet and discovered that they were completely invisible in the prismatic glare. “Wow,” she breathed.

Linlett had his palms together and was rubbing as if to warm them. “This magic was developed long before I was born by a company of brilliant elders. I have always wanted to see how it worked. The Light Elves have never engineered anything like it for any other species on Oriceran. It is completely unique.” He gave Eohne a warm smile. “So you see, Rodania is special to us. We would never do anything to harm her.”

“Then lets figure out who would,” the Elf countered.

“Indeed.” Linlett lifted his hands and held them poised in the air, preparing to proceed. “Are you ready for this?”

Eohne nodded, not sure what to expect but eager to begin.

“What you’ll see will only be visible to us, so don’t worry about Strix crashing into one another mid-flight, or ships going off course. I assure you, the optics for Rodanian’s citizens will remain unchanged.”

“What?” Eohne cocked her head, confused by this dialogue.

Linlett’s hands danced again and the dashboard lifted further, the light expanding and brightening. The Elf lifted the dashboard aside and let it fall with clang onto the floor.

Eohne’s mouth sagged as she was struck dumb by the beauty of the magic. Suddenly, she understood.

Optics indeed.

Her eyes filled with the flare of the border’s inner workings as it all became visible. The dome covering them disappeared in the glare. The Rodanian Sea and the horizon beyond vanished from sight.

Slender threads of light in every color of the rainbow shot from the single orb. The orb itself was such a bright light that it could not be looked at directly. The threads numbered in the hundreds of thousands, if not in the millions. The many strands originated from the star and shot outwards toward every other dome around Rodania, creating a network of criss-crossing lines. Threads arced high over Upper Rodania and Eohne could see how every border station was connected to every other one. A network of fine filaments wrapped over Rodania in an exquisite magic web. Rodania itself nearly vanished from view. The land masses became nothing more than blurry blobs, swallowed up by the radiance shooting from the star hovering near the Elves shins. The network was beautiful, mesmerizing, and fully intact.

“Hmmmm,” Linlett made a thoughtful sound as the two Elves took in the glory of the magical barrier, and all its perfection. The two of them appeared as though they were trapped inside a prism; the rainbow of filaments surrounded them and passed harmlessly through their bodies.

“What?” Eohne neck was creaking as she stared upward, her face filled with astonishment. She couldn’t look away from the complex network of magic and the perfect way it bound Rodania in safety. Never before had she seen work of such precision and elegance.

“There are no incomplete threads; no blights, holes, cankers or misconnections. There isn’t a tainted filament anywhere to be seen.” Linlett’s body was bathed in light, the threads penetrating and shooting out the other side.

Eohne’s eyes slowly adjusted and she was able to better make out the blurry-edges of Upper Rodania and Middle Rodania, rendered ghostly by the brightness of the network encasing them. Her eyes fell on Linlett with a new respect for he and his kind. It was going to take no small level of effort to set aside the awe she was feeling and wrestle her inventor’s mind into its usual professional place.

Linlett was frowning at the network, his brow creased with perplexity. He lifted his hands and Eohne saw that both of them were blue-white apparitions, rather than flesh and bone. His fingertips were illuminated and looked like ten small stars. Linlett plucked at one of the threads. It was the color of a sunflower at the height of summer. The filament twanged and snapped back into place. A yellow sparkle appeared in the thread and raced into the sky, following the filament along its length.

Eohne watched the sparkle race from view behind the shadow of Upper Rodania, reappear beneath the island and disappear again behind Middle Rodania before descending like a falling star behind the smudge on the horizon that was Lower Rodania. Eohne laughed with delight and looked at Linlett. She was about to express her joy at being allowed to witness the bones of this magic, but Linlett’s expression stopped her.

“What’s wrong? What are you thinking?” Eohne asked, the growing concern on Linlett’s face triggering her own inner alarm bells.

“I had barely dared hope,” Linlett began, without taking his eyes from the magic barrier and all its complexity, “for some clue to direct us where to look first. Alas, the magic is as I said, intact and perfect. If it is sabotage, it is masterfully done. Possibly by one of our own.” He added this last comment in a quiet tone, as though worried Kheko might be listening and he had just confirmed her worst suspicions.

Eohne’s eyes widened at this admission. Not only the acknowledgement that it could have been a Light Elf responsible, but that he was saying it out loud to her, a stranger. It showed a level of trust which disarmed her further and galvanized her faith in him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re wrong.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Me too.” Linlett gazed at his new partner in investigation and let out a breath through pursed lips. “This is going to take longer than I thought.”

Transcendent, Sneak Peek, Chapter 2

Preorder your copy of Transcendent, The Kacy Chronicles, Book 4 at these links:

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UK

CANADA

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Transcendent, Chapter 2, Read by A.L. Knorr. Not a professional recording.

https://www.alknorrbooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Transcendent-Chapter-2.m4a

Transcendent, Chapter Two (unedited)

The largest of the main parks on Middle Rodania was heaving with Strix. More arrived by the minute to attend the ceremony scheduled by the palace to honor the lost combatants of the harpy battle. Young and old, Arpak and Nycht, soldiers, servants, couriers, bankers, lawyers, doctors––whoever wished to attend was invited. It seemed to Jordan, jostled as she was and pressed in on all sides by flesh and feathers, that nearly every citizen of Rodania save for those on watch had turned out to pay their respects.

A low stage had been erected on the west side, facing the evening sunset. Shadows were already long and the air was cool. The sounds of a sober crowd filled the air; the sniffs of those on the edge of an emotional cliff, the low voices of conversation, the rustle of wings and the sounds of leather creaking. Black was the predominant color, Jordan noted, just the way it might be on earth for such a ceremony. Gathered on the stage and talking in small groups were Council members and important staff from the palace. Jordan craned her neck to look for King Konig but the weakened monarch and his strange glowing eyes were conspicuously absent.

Jordan’s fingers clutched at the small round whistle kept perpetually around her neck. There had thankfully been no reason to blow it in the last several weeks, but the memories of the battle still raged fresh in her mind. There would be no chances taken.

Sol spotted the silver hair of Toth glinting in the evening light and pointed him out to Jordan. They made their way through the crowd of their fellow warriors toward him.

“I’m surprised you’re not up on stage,” Jordan said to Toth as she and Sol fell into place beside him.

Toth looked down at Jordan with his usual inscrutable expression. “As am I,” he replied, his voice a soft rumble.

“You’re our military leader,” Sol huffed. “Did they not ask you to say a few words?”

“Balroc did, and I agreed.” Toth hesitated before going on, his eyes reflecting a kind of sceptical mystification. “It seems there was some change of plan at the last moment.” He tilted his chin down and his ice-grey eyes hardened. “At the Prince’s say so.”

Jordan’s brows arched. She lowered her voice. “What has the Prince got against you?”

Toth’s gaze wandered back to the stage as those in charge of the whole affair signalled a beginning to the proceedings. “I suspect my species has something to do with it, but…” his shoulder lifted a little.

“Not all?” Sol prodded.

“No, not all.”

“Is he up there?” Jordan stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the Strix on the stage. It was difficult enough to see over heads when in a crowd of humans, it was twice as difficult when high arches of wings and dewclaws jutted skyward, blocking the view. “What does he look like?”

“The one whose feathers are dusted with gold powder every morning,” Toth murmured, his voice laced with derision. “Hush now.”

Jordan didn’t have to crank her neck out of joint to find the prince. A set of golden wings, reflecting fine glitter in the evening light, spread wide and beat at the air, lifting their owner above the stage. A long-bodied, exquisitely dressed Arpak with a strong face and blond hair rose until he hovered high enough for all to see, like some self-proclaimed messiah.

Jordan’s breath hitched and her fingers went to her lips in surprise. She knew this Arpak. She had seen him before. Her eyes tightened as she struggled to place him.

Beside her, Toth was having his own reaction to the visual of the Rodanian prince. His body had gone taut, and little lightning bolts of anger spiked through his belly at the memory of their heated conflict at Balroc’s apartment.

When the prince began to speak, Jordan jumped. Diruk’s voice had been magically enhanced so it could be heard by all. The voice was not merely amplified, for it was not loud, but it had been transported somehow. It sounded exactly as though the prince himself was standing on either side of her, his words penetrating both eardrums clearly and equally.

“Rodanian citizens, distinguished Members of Council, guests and servants,” Prince Diruk began, his voice calm, deep, resonant. His wings beat almost soundlessly as he hovered seemingly without effort. His booted feet poised in a way which reminded Jordan of Superman, one leg slightly drawn up. It struck her as extremely contrived. Prince Diruk wore no cape, but the huge wingspan of his brilliant wings more than made up for its lack.

“I speak on behalf of my father the King, who sends his regrets that he cannot be with us as we gather to honor our fallen warriors. Not since the great war of Oriceran against Rahzdon over eight-hundred years ago has Rodania endured such insult, such a cowardly, brutal attack. While our violation manifested on the stinking wings and venomous talons of the harpies of Golpa, do not make the mistake of thinking that it is the harpies with which our quarrel lies.” These words hung in the air, echoing over Rodania like a righteous peal of thunder. “Our distinguished scientists have confirmed an organized attack of this scale was not simply a predatory move against us by a species seeking food and resources, but a calculated design! A nefarious scheme by an insidious faceless enemy. This premeditated invasion will not go unpunished, or unexposed.”

The crowd was sharing furtive glances; they were shifting, coughing, looking down at their feet and back up to the sky with bewilderment. They had been called together to honor the fallen warriors, but the prince was turning the event into a revenge speech.

Prince Diruk’s voice grew harder, louder, and was clearly laced with anger. “Rest assured, this enemy will not go faceless for long.” Diruk scanned the crowd from side to side, sliding forward in the air, his palms spreading wide, the fingers stiff and curling like claws.

Jordan stole a glance at Toth. The Nycht Captain was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. The muscles of his jaw flexed, his eyes were laser-focused on the prince. Anger rolled off him in waves at a magnitude Jordan had not felt before. She wondered what exactly he was angry at; being cut out of the ceremony, that Diruk had changed the focus of the gathering, or some other reason yet to reveal itself. She glanced at Sol on her other side and he looked down at her, his brow wrinkled with concern.

As she faced the hovering prince again, it struck her hard in the gut. She did remember him. He was the Arpak who had left her mother’s office the day she had tracked Jaclyn down to the island off the coast of Maticaw. Jordan’s jaw sagged and her eyes strained for a better view of the prince’s features. She was certain it had been him. The golden wings were enough proof; he was the only Arpak she’d ever seen with feathers that glittered. She glanced at Toth and almost said something, then bit her tongue as Diruk continued to speak into her ears, rattling the cage of her mind and fracturing her train of thought. What did the prince of Rodania have to do with Jaclyn Kacy?

“I now pass the torch to Councilman Darber Nighn as we remember both our fallen heroes as well as those living heroes who deserve special recognition for their acts of bravery during our hours of need.” Prince Diruk descended to the stage as another Arpak rose to take his place from the line of Council members across the back of the stage.

A wizened and wrinkled man with a hunchback and a monocle rose with labored strokes on brown wings laced with gray. Not strong enough to hover gracefully the way Diruk had, Darber’s short wings flapped laboriously as his body jounced and his voice hitched with the jarring of his torso. In his hand was a scroll, open and fluttering in the breeze. His monocle fell from his face and he fumbled to put it back into place, nearly dropping the scroll.

Jordan pinched her lips together and dropped her gaze to the ground, concerned for a moment that she might laugh inappropriately and embarrass herself. The overall effect was too comical for the seriousness of the occasion.

“I begin with our deceased comrades,” Darber’s throaty voice said into Jordan’s ears. And with that, began to list the names, slowly and solemnly.

Jordan’s unreleased humor vaporized as she listened to the names of Arpaks she had fought beside, and one she had seen die at the hands of the large female harpy in the streets of Crypsis. With every name spoken, Jordan’s memory delivered a face, a silhouette, or the sound of a voice. She knew every one. Her nose tingled and moisture began to gather along her lower lids. It was interesting to note, however, that every name uttered thus far belonged to an Arpak.

She took a side glance at Toth, who had gone still beside her, head down and eyes on the grass. Feeling her gaze, he looked down at his Arpak friend. Their eyes met and they listened together as Arpak names continued to be listed. They waited for the first Nycht to be mentioned. Jordan felt her cheeks grow hot as time ticked by. This was another way of keep the Strix segregated and ensuring the Nychts knew their place. Only when the final fallen Arpak was listed, did Darber mention a Nycht name. When it came, Jordan was run-through with the pain of it, though she’d been bracing herself.

“Caje Sazak.”

Toth’s eyelids drifted closed. When they eyes opened again, Jordan thought they looked as desolate as a winter wasteland. He looked away but didn’t lift his gaze to the Arpak who’d spoken his brother’s name. He looked out over Rodania, the country his brother had died for.

When the last of the Nychts were listed, Darber moved on to awarding those considered by King and Council to have gone above and beyond.

“Hivlin Girin,” said Darber.

An Arpak warrior Jordan knew to be excellent in battle and in fact had been part of her squadron, took to the sky from the crowd of warriors. He landed on the stage and bowed to Prince Diruk, who then fastened a medal to his clothing.

Thus the proceedings continued.

Names were called.

Medals were given.

Arpaks only.

Jordan shivered as the sun slipped behind the clouds, but it wasn’t from the cold. The insult to the Nychts had become an ugly beast slavering amid the crowd and growing larger with every name called.

“Jordan Kacy,” said Darber.

Jordan blinked with surprise. Her feet suddenly felt glued to the soil. When she didn’t take to the air, a hush fell over the crowd. Necks craned to look for the woman whom they thought commanded the dragons.

Toth’s head swivelled to her. “Jordan.” His voice was quiet, and while it was heavy with choler, there was no blame in it. “Go.”

Conflicted, Jordan moved to where a gap in the crowd allowed her to spread her wings. Warriors around her moved aside, many of them nodding deferentially. Jordan had felt an elevation of her status since the harpy battle that made her uncomfortable. Word had spread like wildfire––the blue dragon had imprinted on her (one of their own Arpak warriors) and the red dragon was attached to the blue one. Rumor had it that the blonde Arpak warrior had been able to summon the dragons to rescue the country. Jordan spread her wings and flew to the stage, feeling every eye on her as she landed in front of the prince. Her wings folded and she moved forward and bowed her head, the way the Arpaks before her had done.

“Thank you for your service to king and country,” said Prince Diruk as he fastened the medal to her vest, just above her heart. “The woman with the dragons,” he added, his lip curling with what could have been mirth, could have been disdain. “Rodania owes you a great deal. I shall see to it that you are rewarded far beyond this medal.” Something about the way he’d said rewarded made Jordan pause. She lifted her head and looked the Prince in the eye as he closed the pin. His fingers moved deftly, his blue eyes tracked to hers and held her gaze. She couldn’t tell if his words were laced with sarcasm or if they were genuine. Either way, a spider of revulsion crawled up her spine.

Jordan could not find her voice or the emotion to utter any words of gratitude. She felt her body grow damp with sweat and wondered if he recognized her from that day outside of Jaclyn’s office. She didn’t think so. His eyes did not acknowledge in any way that he’d seen her before.

“I could never have survived such a battle were it not for the coaching and leadership of Toth and Caje Sazak.” The words were out before Jordan could reel them in. And why should she keep them locked behind her teeth? The fact that Toth, their strategist and military leader, had been robbed of his chance to acknowledge his own fallen combatants raised an angry rash inside of Jordan. The insult of it was clearly intentional.

Prince Diruk did not look away and there was no shame in his expression. “Little Arpak woman,” he said quietly, letting go of the medal on her vest and laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, “choose your friends wisely. I speak out of care for you, perhaps our most important hero.” The Prince’s hand squeezed her shoulder hard, just shy of painfully so. He stepped back and dismissed her by turning to the Arpak next to him and plucking another medal from the box as the next name was called.

Jordan’s heart pounded hard in her chest as she returned to her place beside Toth and Sol. Sol gave her a questioning look and Jordan mouthed that she’d tell him what the prince had said to her later. She looked down at the medal on her vest and unpinned it, holding it in her palm so she could see it better. The medal depicted two disembodied feathered wings, opening outward away from one another and set inside a ring. The entire thing was rendered in gold. This was the Rodanian crest, their symbol to the rest of the world of Oriceran––a symbol that did not acknowledge the Nychts on whose backs much of Rodania had been built. Jordan half considered passing the wings to Toth, but the medal was as much an insult as it was a tribute. She dropped the pin into a small pocket in her vest.

The calling of Arpak names continued. Sometimes the Arpak would fly from the crowd to receive their medal, and other times, the names were answered only by silence.

Jordan expected the Nychts to receive their medals last, the same way the deceased had had their names called last. But the ceremony came to a close and not a single Nycht had been awarded a set of golden wings. As the palace staff at the front began to clean up and it became clear that Prince Diruk was finished handing out medals, the realization settled over the dismayed warriors like a heavy wet blanket.

Jordan, Sol and Toth stood there, mute and enraged. The warriors around them shared looks of hateful indignation. Some of them sent Toth questioning looks and some of those looks had an accusatory flavor. Jordan felt like she could read their minds. Why hadn’t their brave leader stood up and said something against the injustice of it? He was their Captain, shouldn’t he do something?

Jordan’s mouth twisted with the regret of having accepted the medal. If she had known how the proceedings were going to transpire she wouldn’t have flown to the stage in the first place. Juer had said that King Konig was sympathetic to the Nychts cause, so surely this offense had been manufactured by Prince Diruk.

Prince Diruk and the Council members in attendance milled about on stage, murmuring amongst themselves as they watched the crowd disband. Jordan glared at the prince from her place on the green, watching as his cold eyes scanned the crowd. They passed over Toth before bouncing back and freezing on the Nycht Captain. Jordan felt Sol take her hand as he too noticed the quiet confrontation taking place. It seemed as though someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the air as Diruk and Toth stared one another down.

Prince Diruk spread his wings with a snap, drawing attention to himself. He flew over the heads of the crowd and landed on a fast walk, closing up those golden feathers as he strode to where Toth, Jordan and Sol stood. Jordan had to work to prevent her hands from flying to the hilts of her weapons, so aggressive were the Prince’s movements.

Prince Diruk’s eyes were still locked on Toth and they were hard with a cold fury. His face seemed to be cut from some frozen metal.

Toth did not move a muscle or look away when the prince stopped in front of him.

For a moment, Jordan thought the prince was going to hit Toth. Sol squeezed her hand tighter and she suspected it was an unconscious and protective movement. Sol and Toth had had their differences, but the two of them had developed a mutual respect. Jordan could feel the anger baking off Sol on behalf of his Captain. She squeezed his hand back with empathy.

“I know,” seethed Diruk, rocking forward onto his toes and shoving his nose into Toth’s face. Diruk’s voice became a throaty whisper. “I know what you did.” His cold eyes then swung to Jordan, then to Sol.

Jordan was grateful for the steadying solid grip of Sol’s fingers around hers. It kept her from shoving the prince back and out of their faces, or worse, slapping him across the mouth.

“Soon I’ll be able to prove it. Your scheme,” his jaw popped and he pierced Toth with his gaze again, “it will not work.” With another snap of his wings, the Prince lit to the air and made for Upper Rodania without looking back.

Toth only moved when the Prince was a small figure against the distant backdrop of Upper Rodania. He uncrossed his arms. His expression was impenetrable and his face was pale and shining with moisture. He brought the fingertips of his right hand to his brow, as though there was a headache forming there.

“What just happened?” Sol’s voice broke like it had been under considerable strain. “What scheme?” When Toth didn’t answer, Sol put a hand on his arm. “Toth?”

The fingers resting on Toth’s forehead flexed open in a gesture which asked Sol not to pry. The Nycht turned away and took to the sky, leaving Jordan and Sol to watch him go in miserable confusion.

 

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Transcendent, Sneak Peek, Chapter 1

Preorder your copy of Transcendent, The Kacy Chronicles, Book 4 at these links:

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Transcendent, Chapter 1, Scene 1. Read by A.L. Knorr. Not a professional recording.

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Transcendent, Chapter 1, Scene 2. Read by A.L. Knorr. Not a professional recording.

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Transcendent, Chapter 1 (unedited and subject to minor changes)

Jordan and Sol stood on the apartment terrace, watching the tower shadows stretch long fingers over the landscape of Upper Rodania. Sol’s arm was looped under Jordan’s wings and around her waist. She leaned into his warmth as the late afternoon breeze tugged at her hair. A thin layer of fluffy cloud hung low over the roofs and peaks of the Rodanian towers and palaces. There were patches of blackened ruins where dragonfire had scorched buildings. Timbers and beams jutted from wreckage like broken ribs. It was going to take some time to restore Rodania to its pre-harpy glory. The peace of the scene before them masked a profound unrest among the citizens. No one knew when or if there might be another harpy attack.

The apartment had been cleaned, the extra mattresses removed from the bedroom and taken to the ground floor apartment they’d rented as a temporary lodging for Eohne and Allan. But there were still missing and broken tiles on the terrace, cracked and broken countertops in the kitchen, and gouges criss-crossing the hardwood floor from sharp harpy talons.

Sol pressed his lips to Jordan’s temple and gazed down at her. “Do you think Eohne and your dad will be happier down there? You’ve not just been saying that to make me feel better?”

“They’re practically family now,” Jordan replied. “It’ll be a lot easier for them to get around, too. I’m not really sure what Eohne’s plans are now that my dad is back to normal.” But a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I assume she’ll be heading back to Charra-Rae one of these days.”

Sol made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. He didn’t like the idea of losing their Elven friend either. Eohne had become so much a part of their lives, she would leave a gaping hole if she went back to her forest home.

“Look.” Sol squeezed Jordan and jutted his chin toward the cloud cover in the east.

A huge shadow darkened the sky and the clouds disintegrated as the colossal red dragon materialized over Upper Rodania. Her nearly incomprehensible wingspan blocked out the early evening night, casting a long dark shape over the hills and villages. As she approached, she seemed to grow without stopping until she filled half the sky. The red scales of her belly appeared the colour of dried blood. Her wings beat slowly, gracefully, almost lazily, even as her body appeared impossibly light for all its bulk and sinew.

Jordan’s heart beat faster as they watched her make one of her rare appearances in the skies over Rodania. Optics of the red dragon had been rare since the harpy battle, and Jordan had often wondered if the creature had left Rodania for good. Blue had come to visit every few days, but never staying long and always winging away to the west. Jordan figured the dragons had to be living somewhere north of Maticaw where the wilderness could sustain them.

Jordan briefly tore her eyes away from the dragon to skim the scene below where the skies had emptied of Strix. Everyone who had been traveling landed to watch with upturned faces. All movement had ceased save for the dragon herself, whose body tilted as she descended.

“They won’t be kicking her or Blue out anytime soon,” Sol said quietly into Jordan’s ear.

“Like they could even if they wanted to.” She felt Sol nod in agreement beside her.

“I heard the Council has already changed the law against dragons.” Sol chuckled. “No one ever expected one of the most dangerous predators of Oriceran to become Rodania’s saviour.”

They watched as the red dragon set her enormous clawed feet on the rounded mounds of grass of a vast park. Behind her, a tall ragged overhang of granite framed her shape and made a striking visual. The heavy head swung and the jaws opened as she turned to look up and back over her shoulder. Her white fangs glinted as she released a long roar, her ribs contracting. The thunderous sound filled the sky and seemed to shake the foundations of the buildings. There was an answering roar and Blue banked around their tower and drifted lazily toward his mate. He landed in the grass in a much more clumsy manner and ambled up to her with his nose low to the ground. Blue had not ceased to grow, and was larger than a transport but next to his mate he still seemed like a hatchling. The two dragons greeted one another. Blue lifted his head and seemed to look right at Jordan and Sol. His jaw clicked rapidly, his teeth rattling of a series of quick snaps followed by a snort.

“I think that was an invitation.” Jordan patted Sol on the forearm. “Shall we go down?”

“Think she’d let us approach her?” Sol stared at the red reptile with uncertainty.

“Only one way to find out.” Jordan grinned. “I’ve been wanting to say thank you to her. How about you?”

Sol nodded and the two Arpaks leapt from the tower in a dive. They let themselves drift slowly toward the waiting reptiles, giving them plenty of warning that visitors were coming. Landing in the grass not far away, Jordan and Sol closed their wings and walked slowly. Both sets of reptilian eyes locked on them, watching benignly as they crossed the field.

Blue let off a whistle in the back of his throat and ambled to meet Jordan, shoving his snout into her palm.

“Hi buddy. It’s been a while.” She stroked the scales along his neck. “Think you could introduce us to your girlfriend? We don’t really fancy being barbecued, so if you could put in a kind word it would be appreciated.”

Beyond Blue, and almost as if in answer, the red dragon lowered her belly to the grass and relaxed. The arch of her spine flattened and her sinewy tail lay still. Her broad face tilted to the side and she watched them through an eye the size of a tractor tire.

Blue wandered to the shallow cave created by the rock arching up behind his mate. He snuffed around in the shrubs and dirt, seemingly oblivious to the nerve-wracking introduction going on behind him.

Slowly, the Arpaks approached as the enormous reptile watched them come with her steady unblinking gaze. Jordan’s heart rate doubled and her breath hitched with awe. It was impossible to tear her eyes away from the red beast’s terrible beauty. So similar to Blue in shape and design, but where Blue was dog-like in his good-natured way, she was as smooth and elegant as a big cat. Her movements, heavy with bulk and muscle, cloaked an awful power.

Jordan’s eyes skimmed the smooth diamond-shaped scales, the way they glittered with an opalescent sheen in the diffused light. The red of her snout was a bright fire-engine shade which shifted to a blood-red along her neck, then to mottled and mixed shades of maroon, brick and scarlet.

Jordan heard Sol let out a long awe-laced sigh. “Aren’t you a beauty,” he said under his breath.

Two elegant black horns, not unlike the curved spikes that topped the female harpies they’d fought mere weeks before, crowned the dragon’s head. A row of bony spikes linked together by a membrane lay flat and folded like an accordian against her neck. Those spikes had stood erect during battle, jutting straight up from her spine as she’d exhaled fiery death. The vertical slashes of her eyes shifted from Jordan to Sol, her pupils narrowing as she focused on them. Her snout lowered slowly as Jordan approached first, her hand out.

Respectfully, Jordan lay her hand against the cool scales. Heart thudding like a drum, Jordan watched the nostrils flare, smelling her. Sol stood back, watching with some reticence. He didn’t think it would be possible to fully relax in the presence of such an immense and dangerous animal.

“Thank you,” said Jordan to the dragon, her palm resting against the reptile’s nose.

The red dragon’s eyes shifted a fraction and a hot breath issues from her nostrils.

“You know what we have to call her, right?”

Jordan glanced over her shoulder at Sol, a crooked grin on her face. “Yeah.”

“Red,” the two Arpaks said at once.

Jordan laughed and turned back to the dragon. “That okay with you, Mrs?”

A long clicking growl ending on a sigh emitted from the dragon’s throat.

“Does that mean yes?” Sol stepped a little closer.

“No idea, but I think it’s going to stick whether she likes it or not. I can’t imagine calling her anything else.”

Sol was gazing past the dragon and the borders of the park. “We’ve got quite an audience.”

Jordan looked up to see the distant shapes of Strix watching from terraces in the towers of Upper Rodania. “She’s not something you see everyday.”

“Especially here,” Sol added. “With the exception of miniatures, Rodania has always been a strictly no-dragon zone.”

A thought caught at Jordan’s mind and she frowned. She let her hand drop and stepped back from Red. “The border magic is still functional, right?”

“That’s right,” Sol nodded, “it’s only harpies that seem to have breached the magic barrier.” Then he frowned too as he realized what Jordan was driving at. His lips parted in wonderment. “Oh,” he breathed. His eyes drifted from Jordan to Red. “Why didn’t we think of it earlier?”

“I’m sure someone has asked the question,” replied Jordan, “we’ve just been so busy cleaning up after the battle and setting Rodania to rights that we haven’t had time to consider it. And no one wants the dragons to leave us exposed in case the harpies rally and return, so they’re not pressing the point.” Jordan chewed her lip. “If its only harpies that have broken through, and the border magic is still functional for everyone else…”

Sol stepped forward and finally set a hand on Red’s nose, finishing Jordan’s thought. “Then how did you get through?”

***

Even after Jordan and Sol returned home, Red and Blue hung out in the park. They lay in the grass, soaking up the last of the sun with their eyes closed, sometimes sprawling on their sides with their necks stretched out like a couple of overgrown dogs.

From time to time, Jordan and Sol would peer out of the terrace to see if the dragons were still there. The Strix of the surrounding area had gone on with their lives, but would return to watch the reptiles lolling about in their park. Word spread that the dragons were on Upper Rodania, and Strix who had the afternoon off made the journey from other islands to come have a look.

Word reached Toth’s ears and he cut his meeting with Balroc short to wing his way across Upper Rodania in hopes of catching a glimpse of the dragons before they took off again. The Nycht found them lounging on the grass not far from Sol’s apartment tower.

Blue raised his head from the ground as the Nycht landed closer than any Strix had dared since Jordan and Sol had left. Toth approached on foot, hands relaxed at his sides, his dewclaws pointing down in a nonthreatening position.

“Remember me?” Toth asked as Blue rolled over onto his belly.

Blue lifted his snout and gave three sharp throaty cries into the sky, making Toth blink with surprise and pause before moving forward again.

“What was that for? Don’t like being disturbed on your honeymoon?” Toth reached Blue and lay a hand on his neck. Blue’s jaws clicked together and the dragon got to his feet in one quick movement. He turned his back on Toth and disappeared into the cave behind the red dragon, who was still laying on her side.

Unafraid but moving with a deferential respect, Toth moved toward the red’s snout. She swung it in the grass toward him in an oddly playful manner. Toth crouched to look at her but did not touch her. The red dragon would forever be tied in Toth’s memory to that fateful battle, the day Rodania was nearly destroyed under a crush of harpy onslaught, and the day Toth lost a brother. A sudden wash of grief cut through him so cruelly it took his breath away. Toth’s eyes squeezed shut and he swallowed. When he opened his eyes, they were misty and red-rimmed.

Caje. My brother.

How many nights since the battle had he woken with a start, the image of Caje plummeting toward that stone tower with his fist down the throat of a devil-bird.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the Nycht said to the reptile, his voice hoarse and nearly inaudible. “I’m grateful.”

The huge red eyes blinked slowly shut and open again.

“But you couldn’t have come just ten minutes sooner?” Toth’s voice closed up on the last word and he let his head hang for a moment. Some days, it seemed too heavy to lift, his body too heavy to drag from his bed to face the day.

Had the Nycht brothers made the right call accepting Balroc’s deal? It had cost Caje his life, and the loss was tearing Toth apart. The vote had yet to be decided, so it was too early to say. Toth’s jaw clenched so hard he could hear his teeth grinding. If Caje’s loss was in vain…

It was too horrific to consider. Winning the vote for the Nychts was Toth’s priority. Only when that was done could the Nycht fly far away and mourn properly, away from the eyes of his soldiers and the rest of his family. Only then, could he let himself fall to pieces. Until then, his soul was tethered together by fraying cords.

The soft sound of claws on grass made Toth look up. Blue made a reappearance, approaching the Nycht with his head down. Something large and pale was clutched in the dragon’s jaws, cradled behind his sharp white teeth.

“What have you got there?”

Blue stopped at Toth’s side and lowered his snout to the earth, opening his jaw wide and with effort.

A dove-gray egg, mottled with black speckles, rolled onto the grass with a dull cracking sound. It was the size of a human ribcage and had fissures threading across it like forks of lightning. Toth covered his nose at the smell of death and decay that drifted up from the rotten egg.

“You shouldn’t have,” Toth said with a half-smile at the dragon’s disgusting offering. He toed the egg away as he stood, knees popping. He assumed perhaps the red female had lain a dud, though why Blue was presenting it to Toth was a mystery.

The egg rolled over, revealing a much larger crack in the shell. Toth dropped his hand in dismay as the egg’s contents became visible. It was not a dragon’s egg.

“Where did you get that?” Toth asked Blue, who had settled back and was looking up at the Nycht with expectation, his head cocked.

Toth fought down a wave of nausea and tore his eyes from the dead chick of his enemy, the offspring of his brother’s killer. The scabby head and beak were unmistakeable, already crimson in color and screaming the harpy’s gender. The lifeless eye was partially open and seemed to stare at the Nycht, mocking his pain.

Toth knew the answer; there was only one place that egg could have come from––the caves of Golpa.

***

AL Knorr & Martha Carr Talk The Kacy Chronicles

Martha Carr and I met in a virtual room and recorded a video talking up The Kacy Chronicles and the fourth and final book in the series, Transcendent, which is now up for pre-order and can be found at these links:

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https://www.alknorrbooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/kacy_chronicles_take_1.mp4

A.L. Knorr Update, January 2018

Where on Earth am I?

The HMS Belfast and London Bridge

I am currently in jolly old England. I arrived from Tuscany on December 21, and you can imagine that the transition from warm sunny Firenze to chilly sombre London was a bit of a shock. As I type this, rain is spattering against the panes of my windows and a thick blanket of clouds is nestled low over the chimneys of the city once known as The Big Smoke. London is a big, crowded, noisy, busy place – for this farm girl and Canadian, it can be a little overwhelming at times.

So why am I in London?

It’s a place rich with history, incredible architecture, and offers every opportunity of a big city  – museums, galleries, restaurants, theatre, libraries, parks. I’ll stop before I start to sound like a tourist leaflet. I also have some good friends here and am already enjoying time with them. And hey, 12 degrees and a bit of rain still beats a -30 cold snap on the prairies!

Lost in the National Portrait Gallery…as you do.

I’m also here for the 20 Books Conference which takes place in two weeks and which I am speaking at (eek!). I’m excited to finally be meeting my co-author Martha Carr, and my publisher Michael Anderle (in the flesh as opposed to over wires) as well as many other indie authors. I can’t wait! I’ve been doing this solo for two years now, its time to rub shoulders with my peers.

I plan to stay in London until at least April, but possibly beyond, I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

Combatant Sneak Peek : Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Jordan’s head broke free of the tunnel, and she took a huge breath of dank, warm air. Eohne’s hand wrapped around her wrist and helped pull onto a cold rock floor on her belly. The slimy, springy sensation of moss squished under her hands and against her cheek as she caught her breath. Her teeth chattered, and her fingers felt numb with the cold. She took a sniff of the air and wrinkled her nose. It smelled like death.

There was an intake of breath as Toth surfaced behind her, and the sounds of grunting as he pulled the weight of his bulk, his armor, and his weapons out of the hole. The sound of his dewclaws raking against stone echoed in the spacious cavern.

Another larger white-blue light illuminated Eohne’s face. “Wow, that’s bright,” Jordan whispered. She blinked and faced away to give her eyes time to adjust.

Eohne held the bright circle of light in her palm, lifted it to her lips, and breathed on it. The light floated into the air, illuminating the cave. “Too bright for the tunnel, but perfect for this cave,” Eohne explained.

“Everyone okay?” Toth’s voice was low. He got to his feet and helped Jordan up. They extinguished their torches and put them away since the Elflight was floating overhead like a small moon.

“All good.” Eohne was bent over the wormhole. There was the sound of water splashing as she collapsed it, which echoed through the cave.

“Here. Wherever here is,” added Jordan.

“If I calculated correctly,” began Eohne, crouched and drawing the string out of the pool where the wormhole had been. She wrapped it round and round her fingers. “We’re about eighty feet beneath the prison. According to the journal, the toxic magic starts just above the waterline.”

Jordan’s eyes had adjusted enough to take in her surroundings. “Whoa,” she breathed. “It’s a tomb.”

The white-blue light of Eohne’s light threw its glow out, illuminating huge wide steps covered in black moss.

“Look at the statues!” Jordan pointed at the massive stone sculptures of bearded men and imposing women.

“Yes, those would be the ancient Rakshaak kings and queens.” Eohne finished raveling her string and tucked it into her satchel.

Jordan crossed the wet stone floor to look up at the two statues guarding the steps: two huge and handsome bearded men, each with their hands crossed, one resting on the hilt of a sword. The swords alone were twice Jordan’s height.

“Do you think these are true to size?”

“I’d imagine so.” Toth stood beside her, neck bent. “Those stairs weren’t built for ordinary men, that’s for sure.” The steps leading up to the shadows beyond couldn’t be climbed by an ordinary person unless they pulled themselves up using their arms.

The natural structure of the cave was broken in places by huge flat plaques, each with a bearded head protruding from its base, as though the dead monarch inside had tried to crawl out of the resting place and turned to stone. The plaques had the remains of writing on them, but time had worn most of the words away. Black moss filled in the deepest crevices of the faces: between the lips, in the holes where the eyes should have been, and within the curls of beards and folds of fabric. Eohne’s light illuminated their foreheads, noses, and lips.

Huge weapons lay scattered on the floor and stood leaning against the cavern walls, rusted and broken. A sword with a missing pommel leaned against a plaque. It would take a man who was at least as tall as a harpy to wield it. The stone face above the broken sword glared down at the intruders, its eyebrows drawn down in anger and the lips twisted with a sneer.

Jordan shuddered. “Creepy. Feels like they’re watching us.” She looked up the steps. Her father was somewhere above them. “Paste first, then compass?”

Eohne nodded and pulled the bag of powder from her satchel. She dumped a pile of it into Jordan’s hand and added to it the prepared fluid containing the Arpak’s frequency. Eohne had collected both Jordan’s and Toth’s frequencies for this very moment before they left Maticaw.

“Mash it together with your thumb.”

Jordan followed Eohne’s instructions and watched as the paste darkened. Tiny particles reflected the light, the way minerals would.

“Sorry about the taste,” Eohne said. “This magic tastes like copper.”

“Better than the smell down here.” Jordan licked the paste off her palm, trying not to think about what she was eating. It stuck to the roof of her mouth and coated her back teeth.

“It’ll take a minute to swallow. Take your time.”

Eohne pulled out Toth’s fluid and dumped the powder into his palm, repeating the routine.

“You have very strange magic,” said Toth. “The Light Elves sing and flick their fingers or wave their arms.”

“True,” said Eohne, now dumping her own powder into her palm. “Our magic parted ways a long time ago and evolved very differently. But I trust the magic I make. Frequency is a language I understand; I don’t have the kind of power in my voice that a Light Elf has.”

“You might be wrong about that,” replied Toth, thinking about how every time Eohne spoke, it felt as though someone had plucked a string that ran through his body. He licked the paste off his palm and let it dissolve in his mouth.

“Yuck” Jordan shuddered, swallowing the last of her paste. “Tastes like blood.”

“Sorry.” Eohne was mashing up her own paste. “My magic can do a lot, but I haven’t figured out how to make it taste like honey yet.” She licked her palm and began to work on it.

Jordan felt her ears pop and watched as a film formed in the air around her. In the glow of the Elflight, it looked like a soap bubble was taking shape. The thin film stretched outward, looking first like a honeycomb, the holes shrinking as the edges met. Little popping sounds could be heard as the gaps closed. When the last of the edges came together, the film disappeared completely.

“Amazing.” Jordan’s voice echoed back at her softly. “This will keep the toxic magic from hurting us?”

“For a time, remember?” Eohne warned. “I’ve never been here before; I don’t know how long it will last. It will wrap around you and stay with your body but don’t make big sudden movements or it could break. The shield is invisible, but as it deteriorates, you’ll notice spots of dirt marring your vision. Eventually, your sightline will become so obscure, you’ll need the shield to break just so you can see.”

“Let’s get out of here before that happens,” said Toth with a moue of disgust as he swallowed the last of the paste. He looked at Eohne. “Shall I carry you up?”

“I’ll manage.” Eohne eyeballed the massive steps. She tackled the first with fluid grace, jumping and hooking her hands over the edge. She pulled herself up and smoothly stood, ready to take the next one.

Toth and Jordan flew, their wingbeats echoing dully in the cavernous space. The Elflight floated in the midst of them, keeping itself between the triad. The path behind Toth and Jordan was alight, rather than the path ahead, so they could only move as fast as Eohne anyway. The Elflight ascended the steps like an apparition, throwing eerie shadows in every direction.

At the top of the steps, three hallways yawned, tall and narrow. They led in three different directions. Eohne, barely puffing from her climb, produced a small disc, and her collection of vials strung together. Using the vial marked ‘human’ and the palm-sized disc, Eohne resurrected the small orange dot she had followed to find Toth in The Conca.

The dot slid to the right-hand side of the disc, directing the way. The threesome shared a look of relief. If there were no living humans on the island, the orange dot would not have appeared at all, indicating that Allan was already dead.

They proceeded down the dark hall, the Elflight illuminating the way. Row upon row of grave markers, much less elaborate than the ones below, sped by as they walked. Black moss crawled between the cracks of the stones beneath their feet. The faces protruding from each tomb were smaller and less imposing than the ones below.

Jordan rubbed her eyes as specks of dust appeared in the air before her. “Already?”

“The closer we get to the Rakshaaks, the faster the magic will deteriorate,” explained Eohne. “It will only get worse.”

As if a command was given telepathically, the trio began to jog. Jordan’s heart rate spiked, and not just from running; the speed at which their protection was wearing down was alarming. Already the specks of black were making her wish for a windshield wiper.

The orange disc bade them turn right two more times. There was a sudden end to the tombs, and a flash of dim light struck them as they passed by an empty one, its plaque cracked and falling apart.

Eohne held the disc up. The orange dot was telling them to go into the broken stone. Eohne pointed and shrugged. Jordan shared a doubtful look with Toth. Eohne might pass through the crack quite easily——she didn’t have a giant set of wings.

As though reading her mind, Toth’s wings pressed inward and seemed to shrink, his dewclaws coming closer to the top of his head. Jordan did her best to mimic this, like pulling her arms tight against her side.

Eohne crawled into the space and Jordan followed, tailed by Toth.

The Strix had to turn sideways to fit but Eohne was able to pass through without crouching or twisting. The most difficult part was their footing; a pathway of rugged stones, broken plaques, and clumps of dirt.

Their fields had deteriorated to the point of dirty glass.

The light filtering into the crack was dull, but bright enough that the Elflight was no longer needed. Eohne put her hand behind her back, and the Elflight flew into her palm and disappeared in her fist.

Toth tugged on one of Jordan’s feathers, and she paused to look back. Toth gestured to his ear and made a flat waving motion with his hand.

Jordan listened. There was the very faint sound of waves echoing through the crack. She nodded.

A tap on Jordan’s shoulder pulled her attention to the front where Eohne had halted. The crack had come to an end. The light was coming solely from the right, and unsurprisingly, the orange dot directed them to the right. Eohne stepped out into a large square depression. Three large steps led up and out of the hole. The walls were cracked and lined with broken tile, and the floor was covered in the rubble of more broken tiles. The Elf and the two Strix squeezed out of the crack and into this strange, square pocket and looked around.

Jordan looked at her companions and mimicked a breaststroke. Toth nodded, and Eohne’s brows shot up as she understood. They were standing in what had once been a swimming pool for giants. A huge crack connected the old pool to the hallway of tombs below.

Jordan took a step forward, and there was a loud snap as a tile broke under her foot. She froze and held her breath, shooting Eohne a look of horror. They became still and listened, breathless, each wrapped inside their own dirty bubble of protection. There was no sound, save their own breathing. It was unlikely this pool had been used anytime in the last five hundred years——longer, if the memoirs of Eohne’s ancestor were correct. The Rakshaaks had no reason to be lounging poolside.

Convinced it was safe enough to move and feeling the anxiety of working against the clock, Jordan peered at the disc that Eohne held. The orange dot now directed them to move left. Jordan and Toth flew from the pool and waited as Eohne crawled out.

Eohne jerked her chin left to where a cluster of pillars obscured their path. The film of black specks on their shields seemed to thicken dramatically as they passed these pillars. Jordan’s heart rate trebled in response; they needed to find Allan, now.

A huge dark shadow obscured the light ahead for a moment, and a big smudge of ruin appeared on Jordan’s field down near her knee.

On the other side of the pillars was a tall, covered walkway filled with broken tiles and rubble. Slat windows let in a muted gray light. The orange dot directed them to follow the shadow that had passed.

As they caught sight of the giant striding down the hallway ahead of them, Jordan’s hand flew to her mouth. The giant seemed to be made more of shade than any kind of flesh, even though its movements belied a heavy weight. The outline of the form was bony and long-limbed, moving almost gracefully. Long skeletal fingers trailed from the wrist joint, curling in and out, as though the giant was thoughtfully working something through. The head and neck were even more startling than they’d been in Eohne’s cartoon story: the head floated above the shoulders on a pillar of dark, wispy smoke. The giant had no visible hair, only the curve of a perfectly smooth skull. Jordan’s flesh iced over. She hoped the Rakshaak wouldn’t turn around. The giant wouldn’t be able to see them through their fields, but Jordan thought she might scream if she saw the thing’s face.

The giant rounded a corner, and the trio followed at a distance, skirting the piles of broken tile and rubble as best they could. Fresh air that smelled like salt and sea blew through the hallway, and the sound of waves crashing told them they were close to the ocean——though well above it.

A turn down the next rugged corridor revealed a body lying on the stones.

Allan’s body.

 

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Combatant Sneak Peek : Chapter Two

 

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Audio read by A.L. Knorr. Raw and unedited.

Click here for Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO (unedited)

“There you are.”

Toth turned from where he stood at the ship’s railing. His face was pale, quite an accomplishment for a man who already had the complexion of a viking.

Jordan and Eohne stepped to either side of Toth and leaned their elbows on the wood. They gazed into the fog. The rough seas had calmed and the ship’s prow now sliced through smooth but murky water.

“Nice view.” Jordan’s tone was laced with sarcasm. There was no view. The horizon was shrouded, the filtered light was flat and dim. She glanced at Toth, noticing his waxy cast. “Did you lose your breakfast?”

“In three instalments,” the Nycht groused. “Thank heavens the storm has eased. Strix are not meant to sail.” He shot Eohne a glare. “I could have carried you to Trevilsom.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Eohne’s expression was mild. “But if you had you’d be so exhausted by the time we arrived that we’d have to abandon you on some rock and go on without you.”

Toth grunted and his gaze drifted back to the water sliding by below them.

“Did Firohne write about how long the Rakshaaks wait before they give up on a human?” Jordan asked.

Eohne shook her head. “I’d guess a week because he wrote that it took a week for other non-human species to deteriorate to the point of being a food source for them.”

Toth voiced the fear that was burgeoning in Jordan’s own mind. “They must have had humans on the island before. Why would they give him even a week’s worth of time?”

“Firohne seemed to think that the Rakshaaks don’t distinguish an Elf from a human, or a human from a dwarf. They don’t have much in the way of functional logic, they are more like radars for fear. If that’s true, then they would give every prisoner the allotted week before keeping or discarding them.”

“Any idea how long my father has been on the island for?”

“I don’t know for certain,” answered Eohne, “but I know that a ship left Vischer five days ago. It’s a two-day journey by ship from Vischer to Trevilsom.”

“So you think he’s been there for three days?”

Eohne nodded. “That’s my best guess.”

The ship began to slow as sailors yanked on ropes and the sails shifted.

“Look.” Eohne pointed to dark underwater shapes not far from the ship. “We can’t go much further. There are too many islands to navigate these waters safely.”

“Correction.” The voice made them turn. The Captain they’d bought passage from in Maticaw was there. “We can’t go any further.”

The sound of a heavy chain running along wood and the splash of the anchor backed the serious look on his face. “Best grab the railing.”

They did so.

The ship lurched to a halt. Sailors stumbled forward and Eohne slid into Toth who slid into Jordan. Only the Captain, who hadn’t been clutching anything, managed to keep his footing.

“There’s nothing here.” Jordan peered through the fog at the surrounding waters.

“There’s a small island just beyond the fog where we’ll leave you.” The Captain took off his hat. “That is if you still want to pursue this lunacy. It’s not too late to change your minds. I can drop you off at Skillen if you like?” The old Captain, his brow lined with concern, seemed hopeful that his suggestion would take root.

Toth shook his head. “Thank you, but we’ve got someone to rescue.”

The Captain nodded. “Good luck to you then.” He gave a signal, and a rowboat was lowered to the water. Toth, Eohne, and Jordan joined two oarsmen in the dingy and waved to the Captain as they were rowed into the fog. The ship was rapidly swallowed up by the mist.

In short order, the rowboat bumped against a small barren island. The threesome was helped from the boat. One of the oarsmen shook his head at them as they rowed away.

“Let’s not waste any time,” muttered Toth. “This place is eerie.”

“Godforsaken,” Jordan added. “Do your magic, Elf.”

“A few things to cover, just briefly,” said Eohne, raising a finger. “I know I’ve already said this, but I’d like to reiterate that we have to get Allan out of there as quickly as possible. I’ve made a compass that will lead us to him. The shields should protect us from the toxic magic up to a point, and it will make us undetectable to the Rakshaaks. But we have to be off the island by the time the magic wears off or-“

“We’ll never leave,” finished Toth. “Got it.” Toth peered into the murky water. “Caves.” He gave a visible shudder.

“You’re a Nycht,” Jordan thwacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t your kind live in caves?”

“Yes, high off the ground,” Toth protested, hands out. “Not underwater!”

“I have a basic formula for underwater wormholes which I invented as part of my early training.” Eohne was rifling through one of her satchels. “Sohne dropped a jewel into one of our deepest lakes and challenged me to retrieve it without getting wet. I’ll adapt that magic to send the wormhole not towards a precious gem, but towards a pocket of oxygen.”

Jordan’s fingers and toes were freezing and her pulse felt light and fast. She and Toth were going to be putting their lives into Eohne’s hands. If the Elf’s magic failed them they would die. Jordan felt the desire to point out the obvious but clamped her lips shut. The Elf didn’t need to be reminded.

“So, to sum up,” said Toth. “We wormhole our way to the cave system, climb out following your compass to Allan. Snatch his unconscious form out from under the noses of vampiric Rakshaak guards twice our size and then fly to Rodania?”

“You make it sound as though you don’t face hideous flying monstrosities on a daily basis.” Eohne retrieved a sack, untied it and peered inside. “I have seen what you can do to a full-grown harpy female.”

A muscle in Toth’s jaw flexed. “Harpies wield toxic claws but they don’t leak toxic magic. I am always in control of my mental faculties when I’m faced with one.”

“Well, you’re right except for the flying to Rodania part. While you were rescuing Jordan from certain death back in Maticaw, I made a deal with a sailor named Thom–

“How did you know I was facing certain death by the way?” Jordan interrupted.

“You know that compass Eohne is going to make to find your dad?”

“She made one leading to me?”

Toth nodded.

Jordan gave the Elf an adoring look. “You are brilliant and gorgeous.”

“Thanks. Can I go on now?”

Jordan nodded. “Sorry.”

“Thom runs a regular delivery of goods to the east side of Lower Rodania. It’s the closest civilized land mass to Trevilsom. He’ll pick us up on the west side of the prison island when we’re ready.” Eohne looked at Toth. “You’ll only have to carry Allan for a short distance. And you,” Eohne looked at Jordan, “if you can manage it, will have to carry me for a short distance as well. Think you can?”

“No problem.” It wouldn’t have mattered if Eohne had asked her to carry a Cadillac, she would do her level best if its what was needed to rescue her father.

Toth raked a hand through his hair, standing the spikes on end. “This is madness.”

“Yes,” replied Eohne, simply. “Now I need a moment’s quiet, please.”

Eohne produced an empty cup. She knelt and scooped up seawater with it, setting it on the rock beside her knee. Next, she retrieved a coil of string, which she stuffed into her mouth.

Toth and Jordan shared a bemused glance and crouched to watch with interest. Watching Eohne work was like watching a street magician.

Eohne held the string in her mouth for several seconds to ensure it received a good bath in her saliva. She pulled out a small box. From it, Eohne poured a gray crystalline powder into the palm of her hand. She deposited the wet string into the powder and mushed it around with her finger. The Elf then produced a small glass cylinder. Pressing her thumb against the bottom of the cylinder caused a flame to burst from the top. She held her palm flat and touched the flame to the string. The string flared to a bright yellow and a series of popping sounds made Jordan jump.

“Whoa,” Jordan breathed. The string didn’t burn, it only flashed brightly in the palm of Eohne’s hand and slowly began to fade, looking much as it had before.

Eohne put away her Elven lighter. Keeping hold of one end of the string, she threw the rest of it into the sea. Her body froze and her face turned upward, her eyes taking on a faint glow.

Jordan and Toth shared an uneasy glance. It appeared Eohne had fallen into a trance.

Toth pointed and they watched as the string moved in the water, away from their small island platform. It was behaving as though a fish was attempting to swim away with it. A light source appeared small and distant under the water. It drew closer, and Jordan realized it was the string, lighting up and creeping back toward Eohne’s fingers.

The underwater environment was illuminated by the blue glow. Fish darted by, several of them alarmingly large. Waving fronds of kelp swayed back and forth and the rock walls below them came into view. What seemed like shallow water on the surface, was revealed to be so deep there was no visible bottom. The islands were long fingers of stone stretching up from the depths to  reach for the surface.

The blue glow traced the string all the way to Eohne’s fingers. The Elf took a deep and sudden breath and her eyes returned to normal, her chest rose and fell as though she was a little out of breath. She took her Elven lighter and touched the flame again to the end of the string.

There was a crack like the sound of thunder.

A hole appeared in the water where the string had been. Thunder echoed from the wormhole. It was loud but rapidly grew distant as the hole cleared a path, holding the water apart.

Jordan’s mouth went dry as she realized what they were about to do. This was their road, the tunnel that would lead them to the caves under Trevilsom. Jordan closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for strength as fear threatened to overwhelm her. She felt Toth’s hand squeeze her shoulder and the terror passed, leaving only tremors along her spine.

Eohne stood and reached for their hands. The three of them stood on the small island, the strange wide hole in the water just behind Eohne, hands clutched and squeezing. Jordan felt a burst of gratitude and strength come from the hands holding hers and she looked from one to the other and nodded.

Ready.

Eohne released their hands, turned, and with a graceful leap, jumped into the wormhole. She became a blurred shadow as the wormhole curved away from the island, then passed out of view. It was like watching someone descend a transparent waterslide.

Toth gestured that Jordan should go next.

Jordan took a small torch from her satchel. Eohne had given them each a small Elflight torch which they needed only to blow on to light.

“For you, dad,” she whispered, and leapt.

The underwater world became a blur as she slid along a surprisingly hard surface. Darkness closed overhead as she took the first sharp descent. The angle soon shallowed and she was able to get to her feet and run. Her heart was pounding and she gasped at the sensation of being on the edge of out of control. Jordan braced her legs in an effort to slow her momentum, but found herself sliding as though on an invisible skateboard.

The wormhole soon flattened enough for her to slow and light her torch. Jordan blew and as the light illuminated the wormhole, she gasped at the world which lit up around her.

Schools of fish swam past and there was a flash of long tentacles as some squid or octopus-like creature disappeared into a crack in a vertical stone wall just beyond their tube. The wormhole wound its way between rough stone pillars, always descending. She looked back as Toth blew his torch alight. His bulky silhouette was a blur through the walls of the tube above and behind her. Eohne was somewhere ahead of her and out of sight.

The angle of the wormhole sharpened again and Jordan lost her footing and slid. The underwater world whizzed by at a frightening speed. If the wormhole broke, there was no way she could surface in time to survive. She tried not to think about how many feet below the water’s surface they now were. Her breath echoed against the walls and her hair slapped against her face.

The wormhole flattened out again and she got to her feet with trembling knees.

Toth slid up behind her, his legs braced like a snowboarder.

“Alright?” Toth’s voice echoed like they were in a drainpipe. Jordan felt his hand on her lower back and she took strength from his warm touch, took a breath and got to her feet.

“It gets very dark here.” Eohne’s voice echoed up the wormhole to them as a light appeared ahead.

Toth and Jordan made their way along the wormhole, which was now flat enough to walk. Rounding a bend revealed Eohne standing in the tube. Her skin appeared blue in the underwater light. Her brunette hair seemed inky black.

Jordan gasped as a monstrous form drifted by over Eohne’s head. Something with way too many tentacles spiraled around the tube and passed into shadow. The wormhole beyond Eohne was a yawning black hole.

“This is where we enter the caves.” Eohne walked along the wormhole, her footsteps echoing. An inky blackness closed around her. Jordan and Toth followed her into the yawning maw of the cave. Even with their torchlights, all they could make out was each other. Their speed slowed as Eohne felt her way forward in the pitch dark.

“The wormhole climbs here. This will be a bit tricky.” Eohne bent and reached a hand down to feel the way the floor of the wormhole ascended. She put her torch between her teeth and reached out with both hands. Bracing herself on either side of the wormhole, she looked like she was suspended in space.

Eohne spread her booted feet and braced them against the wall, inching her way up the wormhole. Jordan thought she’d never seen anything so strange as Eohne’s form monkeying its way up in the dark, her feet and hands bracing themselves against what looked like nothing.

The Elf reached eyeball-height and was able to move forward again. She looked back and down at her friends. “It flattens out again.”

As Jordan’s eyes adjusted, she could make out cracks in the stone they were passing through and sea vegetables as they swayed. She took a leap up the wormhole but slid back with a sound like the squeak of skin on glass. Her wings flexed and flustered, trying to help, and for a moment, the tunnel was filled with feathers.

Eohne reached a hand down to Jordan. “Let me help you.”

Toth put his arms around Jordan’s knees and lifted her to where Eohne could clasp her hand and pull her up. She joined Eohne where the wormhole flattened. The Elf and the Arpak held out their hands to Toth but he only said: “Back up a little.”

They backed along the wormhole to give Toth room and held their torches up to light the way.

Toth took a short run. His wings shot forward, snaked around his body and his dewclaws and wings caught against the curving surface of the wormhole, pulling him up. He landed in a crouch and his wings folded themselves away.

“That was cool. I wish I had dewclaws.” Jordan whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because Rakshaaks?”

“They’re still far above us,” Eohne replied, already going on ahead.

They continued in this monkeying fashion for another hour as the wormhole snaked its way through the caves beneath Trevilsom. Only the sound of their breathing accompanied them, the wormholes were deathly silent. A chill entered Jordan’s bones in spite of her new jacket. The sound of her teeth chattering echoed around them from time to time.

After an hour of halting wormhole travel, Toth’s voice broke the silence. “Don’t suppose you have any magic for keeping Jordan warm, do you?”

“Sorry,” said Eohne over her shoulder.

“Y-you d-d-don’t s-seem c-c-cold,” chattered Jordan, her body tense and stiff from the chill. She felt she might shatter if someone flicked her hard enough.

“I’m chilly,” said Eohne, “but Elven bodies regulate better than Strix.”

“Maybe better than an Arpak,” countered Toth. “Nychts like the cold just fine. It’s the wet that we don’t like.”

“Shhh,” the Elf hushed them. “Listen.”

They froze, ears perked. The sound of droplets splashing into water echoed through the wormhole from somewhere up ahead.

“We’re close.”

They picked up speed, eager to escape the unfriendly pitch black of the underground.

 

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A Sneak Peek At COMBATANT! Launching Dec 24, 2017

Returning home is never easy, especially if you might not survive the trip.

Jordan’s father is in deep trouble. He’s trapped in the tombs of Trevilsom, and rescuing him is only the first of her challenges. When she, Toth and Eohne find him, Allan is a shadow of his former self and even Eohne isn’t sure how to help him.

Meanwhile, on the islands of Rodania, several attacks by harpies suggest sabotage. How else could they be getting through the magical protections? The Rodanian government has been arrogant enough to assume a military wouldn’t be necessary, leaving the nation vulnerable. This costly mistake could well spell catastrophe for Rodania’s citizens, unless action is taken, now. So, why is the King so slow to respond?

When Toth is commissioned to raise a Strix army, Jordan joins to train in weaponry and combat, but she can’t help wishing they all had guns. It would feel damn good to shoot a harpy in the face.

As if the imminent harpy threat wasn’t enough, it’s rapidly becoming evident that Jordan’s dragon, Blue, is not the Predoian Miniature they thought he was. How long before the dragon is banished from the Kingdom of Rodania for good?

When Jordan and Sol take on a dangerous assignment to return to Virginia and bring back something that may help revive Allan, she returns to the Elf Princes, Sohne–who is expecting her. Too late, Jordan learns that to succeed in helping her father, she’ll have to leave Blue behind and give up her wings.

Can Jordan revive her father and live through the harpy onslaught for long enough to fix her broken family?

Welcome to Oriceran. The veils between the worlds are thin. Come see what’s on the other side.

 

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Not a professional recording. Read by A.L. Knorr. Raw and unedited.

CHAPTER ONE (unedited)

The heels of Jordan’s boots clicked against the hardwood floor of the foyer. There was a squeak as her toe depressed the loose floor-board. The sound of a crackling fire drew her to the parlour. It was an inviting sound, a comforting sound given the maelstrom that whipped the leaves of the trees outside and threw pellets of rain against the glass of the windows.

Jordan paused in surprise. A strange dog was curled up on the carpet in front of the fire. A Greyhound, if she wasn’t mistaken, a racing breed with long limbs and powerful shoulders. He was curled into a ball with his back to her. White speckles dusted his ginger fur, and the fire threw his shadow long and soft against the carpet. The bones of his spine made a row of low mounds down his back. He was thin, this dog, the hallmark of his breed, she supposed.

The dog sensed Jordan’s approach and lifted his head, facing away from her, ears cocked. He got to his feet, slowly, stiffly, and padded in a small circle to face her. His jaw and mouth were dusted with gray, his once bright hazel eyes were milky with cataracts. A scar carved its way down the side of his face, just in front of his right ear. He had the noble face of the Greyhound breed, fine and sleek, but as they looked at one another, Jordan gasped.

This Greyhound was her father, Allan.

The fire blew out.

A wisp of smoke drifted from the blackened logs and disappeared up the chimney. Outside, the gale of wind and rain screamed on like a coven of vengeful witches. The shadows of the room turned blue and cold. These shadows were dead, the ones that lurk where fire doesn’t live. They were evil creeping shadows.

Jordan shivered. “Dad?” She took a hesitant step forward.

The Greyhound crossed the room on stiff hips and a limp. Jordan came to her knees, her heart pounding and her mouth dry with distress.

“Dad, don’t leave me.” Jordan’s voice trembled and her eyes pricked with tears. She put her hands on the dog’s withers. The Greyhound drew close and lifted a paw, resting it heavily on her knee. He whuffed out a sigh.

The Greyhound’s mind whispered to hers: I’m tired, Jordy. So tired.

“Dad, no. Don’t give up.” A tear tracked its way down Jordan’s cheek. “I’m coming for you.”

The Greyhound’s pink tongue licked the skin of Jordan’s chest, just under her left collarbone. She put her forehead against his. He licked her again, his tongue warm and slow.

“Dad, don’t leave me.”

He licked her again, always in the same spot, just above her heart. But moisture ran from the lick, up into the hollow of Jordan’s throat, against gravity. The droplet turned cold and spilled over her neck, into her hair. Jordan noticed only then, that the hair at the nape of her neck was damp. She shivered.

“Jordan.” The greyhound spoke in a woman’s voice, making her start and gasp.

Jordan flew awake like a small bird at the hoot of a Great-Horned Owl. Panting, her neck wet, her eyes darting from side to side. Where am I?

“You were dreaming, Jordan.” The whisper came from a dark shadow bent over her. It was accompanied by the pressure of a warm hand on her shoulder.

The sounds of the gale were real. Rain drove and whipped across the portholes, the creaks and groans of wood shifting and timbers rubbing against one another cleared Jordan’s memory. Another cold drop struck her below the collarbone and ran over her neck and into her hair.

The ship.

She was still on the ship. It had been a dream. Just a dream. She exhaled in relief.

One of her wings jutted out awkwardly to the side. Her feathers trailed in water as it slid across the wooden boards of the deck. The other wing, she couldn’t feel, it had gone numb beneath her.

“Are you okay?” Eohne whispered, sitting in the empty hammock next to Jordan’s. “You were mumbling.”

Jordan wiped at her wet neck as another droplet fell from the ceiling and hit her just above her heart. She sat up and three ratty old blankets fell away from her shoulders. “I dreamed my dad was a dog.” Jordan yanked her trapped wing from underneath her body, wincing as the blood rushed back into it and made the whole appendage tingle.

Eohne’s shadow was still as the Elf absorbed this. “How curious.”

“A racing animal,” Jordan explained, wiping her wet neck and chest with one of the blankets. She realized her face was also wet, but this moisture had come from her eyes. She swiped at her face and the smell of mouldy fabric made her pull back with a moue of disgust. “But old, and stiff. His racing days were long over.”

“Hmmmm.” Eohne made a contemplative sound.

The two women swayed back and forth with the rocking of the ship.

“Where’s Toth?” Jordan asked, searching for the Nycht.

“Up on deck.”

“In this weather?” Jordan pushed the pile of blankets aside and put her feet on the floor. She felt around in the dark for her boots. The floor was damp and downright splashy in some places. Vertigo swallowed her as the ship lurched and she gave a groan. “Nevermind, I get it.” Jordan pulled on her boots and fumbled around her hammock for the long-sleeved leather jacket Eohne had purchased for her before they’d left Maticaw. Jordan loved it. It was specially made to lace up underneath her wings so they could be free. But best of all it was warm, lined with something fuzzy and soft. Jordan hadn’t wanted to ask what kind of animal fur it was. She’d worked hard to reject Eohne’s buying her the jacket but the Elf insisted. Where they were going, it was going to be cold.

“Do you think we’re getting close?”

“We are. The fog is growing thick, that is a good sign under the circumstances.”

“Creepy,” Jordan muttered, putting her arms into the jacket’s holes. The fabric draped over the tops of Jordan’s wings and she turned so Eohne could lace the back of it closed above and below her wings. Jordan fastened the metal clasps that ran up the front and instantly felt warmer. She laced up her boots next.

The two women swung in the hammocks as the ship’s nose took a dive into a trough, sending their stomachs lurching. Loud voices from the deck of the ship yelled commands in a foreign tongue. Heavy footsteps ran overhead, waves slapped the hull, ropes were yanked and sails hoisted. The whole cacophony blended together into a tense soundtrack.

“Care to move somewhere more solid?” Eohne gestured to a wooden shelf at the rear of the hold. It might have been used for storage but was currently empty. The Elf’s voice was strained. She grabbed one of the blankets from Jordan’s bed and got up.

“Absolutely.” Jordan’s stomach flopped over as they staggered across the floor. Muscles in her back complained at having slept in a swinging hammock for several hours. She marvelled at how sailors could sleep in such uncomfortable beds for months at a time.

Eohne spread the blanket on the shelf and the two women sat with their backs to the rear-wall, facing the bow of the lurching ship. Steps leading up to the deck were directly behind them. A couple of empty bottles rolled across the floor as they settled themselves back and grasped the posts either side of the shelf to help keep still.

The ship tilted and swayed. Jordan loosed a groan from deep in her gut.

“The Captain said this part of the Rodanian Sea is always rough. It’ll pass.”

Jordan turned her head away from Eohne and covered her mouth with her fingertips, wondering if she was going to lose her last meal. She breathed deep and the nausea eased. She sat back, letting her head fall on Eohne’s shoulder. The Elf rested her own head on top of Jordan’s.

“Tell me again,” Jordan croaked. “Please? It’ll take my mind off vomit.”

“Tell you…”

“About the rickshaws. I want to be thoroughly informed before we get to Trevilsom.”

“The Rakshaaks?”

Jordan grunted in agreement. “I can never remember the name.”

“Trevilsom Prison sits on an island surrounded by a dangerous sea,” Eohne began, her voice soft. The Elf lifted a long tapered finger and ran it in a straight line in the air in front of Jordan’s face from the top of her forehead to her sternum. The finger curved to follow the shape of Jordan’s bent neck.

“Whoa!” Jordan’s head snapped up, her vision had gone foggy. Before her opened a misty cartoon scene: a large island, mostly rock. A huge stone building with no windows save for a few on the upper level, wavered in the picture. “How are you doing this?”

“We learn it young.” There was a smile in Eohne’s voice, though Jordan could no longer see the Elf. “I haven’t used Charra-Rae storytelling magic for a long time. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could still do it.”

“Your skills are intact, let me tell you.”

Small sea-birds wheeled in and out of the clouds hovering over the scene in front of Jordan. “Everything looks like its drawn by hand, it’s like a moving painting.” Jordan reached a blind hand forward into the scene, but she found nothing solid. Even her hand was not visible. “Keep going.” The lurching of the ship seemed to ease as Jordan’s senses were occupied by the story.

“Over eight-hundred years ago, the Kingdom of the Rakshaak giants was ruled by a selfish king named Keeriak.”

A tall bony giant of a man wearing long robes and a tall spiky crown appeared on the battlement of the ugly castle. His shape wavered there as though it was made of colored smoke.

“King Keeriak was a supporter of Rahzdon, a treacherous Atlantean who had plans to dominate your Earth. Rahdzon faced all other species in a battle for supremacy of Oriceran. Thankfully, he lost. The Prophets, including my ancestor, were the key to his defeat. Prophets still exist today to help ensure the treaty is upheld.”

“This is the treaty that prevents people from traveling back and forth between universes?” Jordan didn’t need to add that the treaty was only marginally successful at discouraging portal-hopping activities.

“That’s right, but that’s a story for another day. The island king was not only a follower of Rahzdon, he was obsessed with finding the secret to immortality.”

“Who isn’t?”

The scene wavered and changed. A cold stone room with a fire of green flames crackled behind the King as he bent over a stack of mouldering books. As Jordan watched, the giant got to his feet, swept a glass off the table with a hand the size of a car-tire and threw the goblet into the flames. A splash of thick red liquid sizzled against the hot stones behind the fire and ran down in streams, smoking as it went.

“Keeriak’s obsession took him abroad, even to the port-city of Maticaw.”

Jordan watched the giant disembark a huge ship, his enormous size making the dock sway and creak under his weight. Fish visible in the water beneath the dock darted away and Jordan thought she could hear the little creatures squeaking in the background, ‘Run for your lives! Swim away!’ Jordan chuckled at the cartoon silliness of the story.

The giant lumbered alone down the streets of Maticaw, while magical creatures darted into shops and dove under benches to escape his baleful gaze and clumsy footsteps.

“How do you know all this?”

The giant stopped lumbering, his expression went from malevolent to vacant.

“My ancestor, a Prophet named Firohne, left a journal,” came Eohne’s answer. “I’ve read it front to back several times over. The Elves of Charra-Rae know this history like they know their own faces because Firohne was given the forests of Charra-Rae as a reward for what he did. He was our pioneer, and as you know, Charra-Rae is our home even today.”

“Where were your people before that?”

“We were part of the Light Elves kingdom. We still bear some resemblance to them but we’ve had eight-hundred years to evolve our own magic.”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt. Please continue. The King looks bored.”

The King’s face was relaxed and good-natured, not unlike an expression Eohne wore most of the time. As Eohne resumed the tale, the giant re-engaged and snapped back into character. His bushy brows slammed together and his mouth twisted cruelly.

“Firohne sold King Keeriak an Elvish potion, which when drunk and allowed to course through the King’s veins at the passing of the full-moon, would turn the Rakshaak King immortal.”

The scene morphed into an indoor meeting between King Keeriak and a very handsome chestnut-haired male Elf wearing satin robes. The Elf and the giant sat together, heads bent in serious discussion. Firohne’s lips moved soundlessly and he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial. The greedy King snatched at the vial and threw a sack of coins at Firohne, who caught it with a secret smile.

“What the giant didn’t know, was that Firohne was part of the movement to stop Rahzdon and his cohorts from taking over Earth. The potion was a lie.”

“Your ancestor was a treacherous Elf,” Jordan murmured.

The cartoon Firohne made eye contact with Jordan, his face a picture of innocence. He said in Eohne’s voice, “All for a good cause, my friend,” before dissolving away. “Keeriak took the potion back home to wait for the full moon.”

A new scene materialized: Keeriak strode back and forth impatiently in front of that same crackling green fire. A window in the background displayed a half-moon, then a three-quarters moon as it waxed in time-lapse. King Keeriak grabbed the vial from the table as the moon popped into full-size. He tossed the whole thing, glass and all, down his gullet.

“King Keeriak died. Sort of.”

Keeriak went stiff and his tongue flopped out of his mouth. His eyes turned into black buttons and he fell over to the sound of a long descending whistle. He crashed to the floor with the snapping sound of breaking branches. The King’s shape remained still but the room behind him wavered away and became a huge dark tomb, with large bearded heads of stone jutting from the walls.

“His people buried him and swore vengeance, but little did they know…”

A hole in the ceiling of the tomb where the King lay appeared and widened, showing again the passing of the moon.

“One week later, the Rakshaak King came back to a kind of half-life.”

“Like a zombie,” Jordan added.

Eohne’s voice grew thick with drama. “Worse than your zombies.”

The shape of the King blackened and thinned, his robes dissolved away revealing a long body with sharp angles, made more of shadow than any real flesh. The dead King slowly rose from his place in the tomb. The head was featureless and drifted above the shoulders, neckless. Instead, a column of smoke held the chin suspended above the collarbones, and there the head bobbed.

“So, spooky.” Jordan felt her flesh marble with goosebumps.

“King Keeriak became the first Rakshaak guard of Trevilsom, though it took him some time to turn all of his people.”

The bony giant made of shadows and smoke bumped his floating head on the stone ceiling of the tomb, making the head bounce like a balloon. As the giant made his way up the stone steps, he repeatedly hit his head against the ceiling. A hollow sound, like coconuts being knocked together, accompanied every bump.

“A Rakshaak leaks a toxic poison that contaminates any magic around it. When Keeriak emerged from his tomb, he addled the minds of his own people and they became disorganized, confused, and unable to take care of themselves. They died soon after, becoming Rakshaaks themselves.

The Rakshaak emerged from underground into streets full of giants, who made soundless screams and scattered before him. They fell away and dissolved into the same kind of tall neckless creature as their former king. They fell into step behind him until there were no living giants left, only an army of tall dark neckless wraiths.

“Trevilsom guards feed off the fear and confusion that they create, which is why the island became a place that everyone left their criminals.”

The vision of the army of Rakshaaks dissolved into another scene: a rowboat on the ocean. A devious looking little man tied up in more rope than what was needed to moor a ship. He was tossed from the rowboat onto the island, and the three oarsmen (the fat plumes in their hats waved goodbye) turned the boat around and sailed away. The little man jumped to his feet, ropes falling away, shaking his fist at the now distant vessel.

“Watch behind you, little man,” Jordan said, her warning surprisingly sincere.

The little man whipped around and his hair grew white in an instant. A Rakshaak approached, its dark lumbering shape crossing the land and its long skeletal fingers reaching. As the moon swept by in fast-motion, the man’s form slowly dissolved. The fog left over seeped into the Rakshaak. Its neck grew long as it absorbed the mist, the smoke lifting the head higher as it fed.

“That’s a ghastly story, no matter how silly you make it look. Can I have my sight back now?” The scene dissolved away and Jordan’s view of the dismal ship was back. She shivered. “If we get too close to one of the giants, we’ll lose our minds and become Rakshaaks too?”

“No, you wouldn’t become a Rakshaak. Only the original giants became Rakshaaks, they are finite in number and thankfully cannot reproduce, as far as I know. If you’re in the presence of one of them you’ll soon become so addled that you won’t be able to find your way off the island, let alone out of the prison. You stay there until you die, with the Rakshaaks feeding off your fear. They are motivated to feed and water the prisoners and keep them alive for as long as possible, so they can continue to siphon their own sustenance from them. It’s a nasty business.”

“But you’ve got magic that will protect us from this toxic poison.”

Eohne nodded. “I invented it a long time ago, for a school project. It will work, but it will also decay over time.” Eohne pulled her knees up into her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. “We have to get in and out of there, quickly.”

“My poor father. It’s a good thing humans don’t have any magic for them to leech and make him crazy.”

“Yes, that’s a good thing. But Firohne wrote of the effects the noxious magic has on humans.”

Jordan remembered. “A coma. What else did Firohne write about in his memoirs? Tell me something that can help us.”

The story had been entertaining, but now that the cartoon vision was gone, the reality of her father’s situation set in. Allan was in grave danger. As a being the Rakshaaks could not live off, it would only be a matter of time before they simply discarded his lifeless form, threw him into the ocean, leaving him to drown.

“Firohne wrote of the caves under the island as being the only way to access the prison while delaying coming into contact with the toxic magic until the last possible moment. He said that a strong magical being could fight off the effects of the Rakshaaks and preserve their sanity for a time. If they were strong enough, they might descend into the tombs of the old kingdom and find the pools leading to the underwater tunnels.”

“They’d have to be one heck of a swimmer,” Jordan murmured.

“Yes.”

“I wish Blue were here,” Jordan said, rubbing her upper arms. “I miss the little guy.”

“He can’t come where we’re going. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Do you think he’ll do as you asked?”

“He’ll do it.”

Jordan spoke with confidence, but she’d never asked Blue to do anything without her before. Jordan had penned a letter to Sol, who by now would be frantic with worry. In a short a message, Jordan told him of Allan’s predicament, who she was with, and that they were going to Trevilsom to rescue her father. She never gave him any specifics of their plan, there hadn’t been time for that. And she hoped that Sol would take some comfort knowing that Toth, the intimidating Nycht mercenary, and Eohne, the brilliant Elvish inventor and magician, were her allies.

She’d tucked the letter into a cylinder, fastened it to Blue by way of a collar they’d acquired in Maticaw, and given the dragon instructions to return to the apartment on Upper Rodania. He’d even flown in the right direction, and that was comforting.

“I think the storm is coming to an end.” Eohne’s words broke through Jordan’s musings. It did seem as though the waves had lost some of their power.

Footsteps pounded on the steps behind them. The women hopped down from the wooden shelf.

The pockmarked face of a young sailor appeared, zeroing in on the Elf and the Arpak. “Trevilsom approaches,” he said. “Cap’n won’t go much closer. Best get ready.”

 

Grab Your Copy Here:

USA    CANADA    UK    AUS

What On Earth is A.L. Knorr Up To – November 2017

Bless me readers for I have sinned, its been 3 months since my last update…there has been a lot happening this autumn, so I’ll dive right in!

Where in the World is A.L. Knorr?

Right now I am in a little Tuscan town about 20 minutes out of Florence called Impruneta. I was in Vinci for most of October. Let me cover Vinci first.

The medieval walls of Vinci

Vinci is the birthplace of Leonardo Da Vinci, literally translated, his name is Leonardo ‘of’ Vinci. There are 4 museums in the little medieval town of Vinci. 1 covering his art, another for his inventions, another for his anatomical work, and another which is the villa he was born in. Vinci itself is tiny and very pretty. My apartment was right in the city wall – like literally, you walk up a grass embankment and enter a door in the wall into my apartment. Several steps up in my apartment and out through the back door led to the main piazza right outside the bell tower and the main Leonardo museum.

In Vinci, I bought a road bike so I could enjoy the incredible views of Tuscany from the back of a bike with some good friends who were staying nearby.

We made the journey to visit Pisa, as well as Cinque Terre, neither of which I had visited before and both (I’m happy to report) were well worth the visit. The hikes of Cinque Terre can make mincemeat of even strong legs but don’t worry, you’ll be so gob-smacked by the view of the ocean and the jagged coast that you won’t even notice. At least, not until the next day when you can barely walk.

The door to my apartment, right in the walls surrounding Vinci

In November moved to Impruneta, closer to Florence. Though the biking is now a little colder, it is just as jaw-droppingly beautiful. I’m in a cute little artists studio apartment with a loft which is just off the main piazza and is a wonderful place to write.

I’m here until Dec 21st when I make the journey to London for the holidays. I’m super stoked (and a little terrified) to be speaking at the 20Books Conference being held in February at The Runnymede. If you’re in the area, please pop in and say hello!

I hesitate to plan much further out than a few months at a time, but I can tell you that I’m hoping for a cheeky getaway to Tenerife to celebrate a rather significant upcoming birthday. (Hint – it’s not 39)

Speaking of birthdays, Nov 28th marked the one-year mark of my publishing journey and my head spins when I think of all I have learned in the last 365 days. What I can say with confidence is that I absolutely love what I’m doing. I’m hooked. I’ll be around a while. To celebrate my first full year of publishing, I’ll be bent over my laptop frantically polishing off Combatant… but aside from that, I’m putting together a little giveaway for my readers to stay tuned for that!

On to the author biz updates…

 

BORN OF WATER and BORN OF FIRE are Both AVAILABLE in PRINT!

I can finally announce that the first 2 titles in The Elemental Origins Series are available in actual finger-slicing paper! Though the ebook revolution is still raging hot, there are a stoic and committed group of readers who refuse to read digital words, and will only turn pages if they’re of the paper variety. I can’t blame you if you fall into this camp. I actually prefer real books too, but my lifestyle precludes me carrying a sack of hardcovers around Europe like some nerdy-Santa, so I’m stuck reading on my phone.

The printed copy of Born of Water includes the bonus novelette: The Wreck of Sybellen.
The print copy of Born of Fire includes two bonus novellas: Pyro and Heat.

What’s awesome is that these books are printed on demand, they don’t exist until you place an order.

Born of Fire – USA

Born of Fire – CAD

Born of Fire – UK

Born of Water – USA 

Born of Water – CAD

Born of Water – UK

 

 

BORN OF WATER the AUDIOBOOK is now available!

Gabra Zackman did an amazing job as the voice of this story, and indeed she’ll be lending her considerable talent for the entire Elemental Origins Series! Born of Fire is in final production and Born of Earth is underway, so stay tuned for those!

Born of Water Audiobook – USA

Born of Water Audiobook – CANADA

Born of Water Audiobook – UK

Born of Water Audiobook – AUS

 

 

ASCENDANT Launched in October!

The second book in The Kacy Chronicles came out on October 8th. The reviews are positive (whew!) and I had a blast writing this story. This story is only available as a digital book for now, but the audio and the paperback are both underway!

Ascendant – USA        Ascendant – CAD      Ascendant – UK      Ascendant – AUS

What if the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally, wants to kill you instead?

Jordan is a step closer to uncovering the mystery of her mother’s disappearance. Sol can finally make his urgent delivery and Allan has received Jordan’s message, but instead of giving him comfort it has only made him desperate. And what is with these strange glass bugs, anyway? Could they be the secret to finding his missing daughter? Fiddling with Elven magic could become the biggest regret of Allan’s life.

Meanwhile, a young dragon has imprinted on Jordan, her companion for life whether she likes it or not. That’s alright, he’s just a little guy…pretty harmless…

When the locket with her mother’s portrait inside begins to behave strangely she learns that what seems a simple family heirloom is actually a magic compass…

Don’t miss the second installation of The Kacy Chronicles, a Revelations of Oriceran Series.

 

BORN OF AIR Launched in November!

The anticipated fifth story in The Elemental Origins Series went live on November 15th! You’ll find this story takes a sinister turn toward the end as we head in the direction of the final book in the series. You will not want to miss Petra Kara’s adventure and origin story, she’s a key character for the final showdown!

Born of Air – USA     Born of Air – CAD     Born of Air – UK     Born of Air – AUS

She is not what you are expecting. She’s not what they are expecting, either.

All Petra Kara wants in life is to study Archaeology at the University of Cambridge. And she’s close, so close. She’s got the grades, she’s got the ambition. All she needs now is an outrageous sum of money and experience on an Old World archaeological excavation. If only she could find a way to get rid of her annoying low-grade telepathy. There’s nothing Petra hates more than a cheat and a liar and it’s too easy to cheat when you can read people’s minds.

When Petra spies an ad for a volunteer position on an excavation to North Africa, she knows its meant for her. But there is more waiting for her in Libya than broken pottery and human remains. When Petra finds herself in an ancient cave-system with strange stones embedded in the walls, her life changes forever. As her powers manifest, there are those who think they have reason to destroy her.

Petra knows she is far more than just gales of wind. Just how old is she? And has she lived before? But the biggest question of all is: will she survive long enough to learn who she is and what she’s really capable of? 

COMBATANT is Coming in December!

Phew! Think I’ve got enough to announce for this update? Think again, Combatant is winding up for launch on Dec 24th! I’m doing the polishing this week and the manuscript heads off to the Editor this weekend! This book is one wild ride as things with Jordan and her friends find themselves under attack. Don’t miss the third book in The Kacy Chronicles!

Combatant – USA       Combatant – CAD

Combatant – UK       Combatant – AUS

Returning home is never easy, especially if you might not survive the trip.

Jordan’s father is in deep trouble. He’s trapped in the tombs of Trevilsom, and rescuing him is only the first of her challenges. When she, Toth and Eohne find him, Allan is a shadow of his former self and even Eohne isn’t sure how to help him.

Meanwhile, on the islands of Rodania, several attacks by harpies suggest sabotage. How else could they be getting through the magical protections? The Rodanian government has been arrogant enough to assume a military wouldn’t be necessary, leaving the nation vulnerable. This costly mistake could well spell catastrophe for Rodania’s citizens, unless action is taken, now. So, why is the King so slow to respond?

When Toth is commissioned to raise a Strix army, Jordan joins to train in weaponry and combat, but she can’t help wishing they all had guns. It would feel damn good to shoot a harpy in the face.

As if the imminent harpy threat wasn’t enough, it’s rapidly becoming evident that Jordan’s dragon, Blue, is not the Predoian Miniature they thought he was. How long before the dragon is banished from the Kingdom of Rodania for good?

When Jordan and Sol take on a dangerous assignment to return to Virginia and bring back something that may help revive Allan, she returns to the Elf Princes, Sohne–who is expecting her. Too late, Jordan learns that to succeed in helping her father, she’ll have to leave Blue behind and give up her wings.

Can Jordan revive her father and live through the harpy onslaught for long enough to fix her broken family?

 

Finally… made it to the end! See you soon for another exciting update!

Returning: The First 3 Chapters

Returning, Chapter 1

It was time to leave the ocean. My mother had warned me the call would come. She’d said, Every mermaid thinks it will never happen to them. Life is too good in the salty water, who would ever want to go back to land? But the salt will eventually trigger a siren’s desire to procreate, and my time was up. I was swimming through a kelp forest when the realization struck; weaving between the tall stems, the fronds tickling my tail like fingers. I didn’t know how many years I’d been at sea, I didn’t even know how old I was anymore. The salt had faded my human memories almost into oblivion; they seemed more like long ago dreams than actual events from my past.

For weeks I’d been swimming north, instinct taking me back to the shores on which I stood when I had legs and feet instead of a powerful tail.

As the temperature of the water dropped, the ocean life changed from bright and tropical to the simpler, less flashy hues of the North Atlantic. I remembered this kelp forest, I’d been here before. It’s the last one before the long stretch to the shores of Atlantic Canada.

The taste of diesel in the water told me I was approaching a shipping lane and I descended to cleaner, darker water. Here, the sharks were many, some of them triple my size. I swam without fear. Sharks had never given me a reason to fear them. We passed each other at a respectful distance.

As I descended to the sandy marine floor, a shape loomed; the tail end of a shipwreck. There were millions of shipwrecks in the world’s oceans, and exploring them was one of my greatest pleasures. As I approached, my eyes widened. I’d seen many wrecks, but most were small and not much more than junk. This wreck was a leviathan. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen one so big. I drifted over the ocean liner, calculating its size against The Titanic. No, The Titanic was bigger. But still, this ship must have been palatial in its day.

As I swam the more than half-kilometre length, I took in the collapsed hull, the crushed ruin of her stern, the exposed ribs of iron beams and timbers, and the jutting bow… still proud. Curiosity tugged at me. It would be so easy to stay and explore. A gaping slash in the bow beckoned; an easy entry point. How I wanted to swim through the crew’s quarters, examine the crushed hallways, shattered chandeliers, and elaborately decorated but rotted ballrooms. This kind of wreck was full of wonder.

Once I’d found a wreck, I never forgot where it was. The ocean was my playground. I pushed the curiosity aside and kept swimming. The hulking wreck disappeared into the deep behind me. I promised myself I’d visit her another day. Finding a mate was the most important thing right now and to do that, I had to return to the place I last lived as a human. The coastal city of Saltford.

Chapter 2

A few days journey found me passing the coast of Saltford. I needed to go a few miles north before I could return and surface for good. I had to visit the place marked with a skull and crossbones on all the tourist maps––Devil’s Eye Cove. The locals called it The Boneyard, and for good reason. The Boneyard had been eating ships alive for thousands of years. A place like The Boneyard meant death and destruction to humans, but to me, it was the perfect place to stash a valuable.

As I approached Devil’s Eye, the garbage from centuries of shipwrecks littered the ocean floor, some old, some new. The wreckage scattered for miles was evidence of extreme turbulence and violent weather. The result of the clashing of powerful currents, sudden changes in the depths of the seafloor, and a shoreline that forced the water into sudden swirling eddies.

Not always was Devil’s Eye a churning torrent of unhappy seas. On many days, it was a place of serene calm and privacy, which was why tourists sometimes still risked a visit. Choppy, messy seas didn’t bother me, but I was happy to see that today, the Cove was shining like the pearl of the Atlantic. Shafts of sunlight pierced the crystal waters, illuminating jagged rocks and underwater caves. I surfaced momentarily to scan my surroundings. The evening sky was clear. Devil’s Eye opened before me, its shape curving into the rocky cliff like the upper lid of an eye. Not a boat in sight. Cliffs plummeted to a perfect white sandy beach. Visible only to those looking straight down from the clifftops or from the deck of a nearby vessel, the tiny beach beckoned humans like the call of a siren.

I flipped my tail and dove, passing wreckage tangled like matted hair. I didn’t need the sunlight to see my way into the underwater cave where I had hidden my key, but it was nice to have it all the same. I found the crevice and reached my arm inside for the first time in years. My questing fingers found the small metal box jammed tightly between the rocks, locked there by my own powerful limbs. I retrieved it, cracked it open, took the tiny key and popped it into my mouth. I tucked it between my teeth and my cheek, put back the box, and left the cave.

I had to wait a few hours for darkness to fall before I could surface. I needed the cover of night to come up onto land. I amused myself by roving the mess of wrecks scattered on the rocky floor. The shifting water tugged at my hair, sending it this way then that. My fins worked harder than usual to stabilize me in the strong currents.

I could identify most wrecks easily by now; schooners, ferry boats, fishing vessels, antique sailing barques, military ships, and yachts. The ocean was full of all kinds. Devil’s Eye did not discriminate.

Something shiny caught my eye and I darted towards it, drawn by an irresistible curiosity. The tiny glimmer, no larger than a star in the sky, was more yellow than white. A good sign. I blew away the sand by pulling water in through my gills and blowing it out through my mouth. The silt drifted back to reveal a gold coin. I’d seen enough of the precious metal to know its color well. The coin was most certainly old, but it looked like it had fallen into the water yesterday, as it was untarnished and perfect. I picked it up and examined it. It had a flying eagle on one side, and a woman holding a torch and wearing a flowing dress on the other, both framed by the rays of the sun.

The coin didn’t mean much to me. The ocean was full of such treasure. I had found mountains of these types of valuables, but mermaids were not driven by greed. I only ever took something if I needed it. I could exchange this coin for money, and I would need resources to restart my human life.

Tucking the coin into my palm, I combed the ocean for more of the same. Experience had taught me that where there was one coin, there would often be more. I lifted huge pieces of wrecks, shifted boulders, and blew sand away from the ocean floor with a powerful stream from my mouth. Visibility dimmed as my digging stirred up silt and sand. My siren-strength equipped me well for unearthing treasure, but still I found no more coins. Several hours went by and the ocean darkened. It was time to go.

Grasping my treasure, I swam the handful of miles south, watching familiar terrain pass beneath me in the gloom. I surfaced and eyed the beach. The lights of Saltford glimmered in the distance, beckoning me home. It wasn’t Saltford that was calling me though. It was the promise of thousands of human men. Equipped with everything I needed to lure my perfect mate and produce a strong siren child, all I wanted now was the opportunity to mingle with humans of the male variety.

The mere thought of human legs was enough to morph my tail into limbs. The feeling was pleasant, but the impact of the soles of my sensitive feet on the rocks was jarring. I gasped at the sensation of cold water as my scales softened into skin. Cold is something I am immune to in my mermaid form.

The water sluiced out of my hair and poured down my skin in rivulets as I picked my way onto the beach, wincing as pebbles poked into my skin. With the intake of oxygen into my human lungs, my thinking cleared, automatically shifting my siren-mind into the background and pulling my human-mind into the fore. As my lungs became reacquainted with processing air and my gills sealed up and covered over, my resolve hardened; it was time to fall in love and make a family of my own. It was time to find him.

Chapter 3

Clothing was the first order of business. Not a difficult task since I’d come up in early autumn and clotheslines were still in use. I had no shame in my nakedness whatsoever, but humans were modest, so I had to be too. Unless things had changed since I was last part of human society, a naked woman with long wet hair roaming a neighborhood would trigger alarm. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin from the cool breeze. I would also appreciate the added layer of warmth. My hair began to dry for the first time in years, and it felt foreign across my shoulders and back. It was past my waist now; thick and heavy. It tugged at my scalp in an unfamiliar way. My skin itched with the sensation of salt drying, a feeling I had also forgotten. I needed fresh water, but I’d worry about that later.

I didn’t know what month or day it was, but the season was easy to detect. The smell of moldering leaves filled my siren nose with its pungent aroma. There had to be a bonfire further down the beach as I detected faint fingers of smoke in the air.

I crossed scrubby hillocks and sandy bluffs full of weeds and driftwood before hitting the first suburb of Saltford. Jogging silently across pavement, I found what I was seeking. A clothesline built to look like a tree poked up proudly overtop a wooden fence.

I vaulted the fence and landed in a crouch in the backyard. The high-pitched barking of a dog from my immediate right made me jump. The dog tore from its tiny house and barreled towards me. I leapt backwards and the clattering sound of a chain against metal violated my eardrums. I was accustomed to the squeaks and chirps of underwater creatures. The yapping dog reached the end of its chain and strained, its white teeth flashing and spittle flying. He’d startled me, but I wasn’t afraid of the creature. As a siren, I was far more powerful than any human ever could be. I could easily tear him limb from limb if I wished, but I have always been fond of animals.

A light illuminated a patio door.

I dashed towards the clothesline, grabbing a pair of pants and two shirts. Balling the clothing, I sprinted for the fence. The patio door opened as I leapt over the top rail and landed in a pile of leaves. I froze. A loud angry voice shouted and the dog yapped a few more times, whined and then went quiet. The patio door closed and the dog sniffed at the cracks in the fence.

Ignoring the canine, I stood up and walked into the moonlight, holding out the clothing for inspection. It was still a little damp. The pants were denim, and too large for me, but they would do. I pulled the jeans on, making a face at the feeling of encasing my skin with thick fabric. I dropped my key and the golden coin into a front pocket.

One of the shirts was a long sleeveless undershirt. As I held it up, a memory flashed: a bearded man wearing just such a shirt––laughing and throwing a smaller version of me up into the air. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. I pulled the undershirt over my head. It fell halfway to my knees. Next, I donned the long sleeved button up flannel, rolling its too-long sleeves up to mid-forearm.

It took me an hour to walk to the culvert where I had stashed my lockbox. Saltford looked the same, but different. The trees were bigger, the gardens more lush, there were houses where there had been vacant lots, and children’s playground equipment where before there had only been lawn. Saltford was a city of prosperity––I was reminded of this by the expensive vehicles lining the streets, the large houses with multiple-doored garages.

My lockbox was still jammed inside the crack in the metal culvert, rusted completely. I took the key from inside my cheek and unlocked the small padlock. I winced as the box protested being opened with an ear-piercing squeak. Inside, a clear plastic bag with a zip-closure contained a social insurance card, a health card, a bank card, a birth certificate stating that I’d been born in Thunder Bay, and a thick wad of paper money. I stuffed the goods into my pockets. I jammed the lock box back into the crack in the culvert and climbed out.

I counted the money­­––$460––enough for a hotel room. I couldn’t remember how much my mom and I had stashed in my bank account, but she’d been sure to set the account up with a bank that wouldn’t close it after years of it lying dormant. You’ll still have to visit the bank to reactivate the card, darling. Fine. Humans really liked to make you jump through hoops. I tried to remember the word my mother had used for these hoops and it came back to me––bureaucracy.

I made my way to where I knew there had once been a cheap motel along the highway. I was beginning to limp as my feet were now sporting a few cuts and bruises. I crested a hill and looked down at the road. The hotel was still there, looking worse than ever.

An electronic chime went off as I entered the door marked ‘Office’.

“One moment,” called a rough voice from an open door behind a counter. A minute later a man with graying hair and wire-rimmed spectacles emerged. His gaze met mine and his expression went from sleepy to concerned. His brown eyes went from the crown of my head, down my form draped in its ill-fitting clothing, to my bare feet. My tangled hair hung around me like a curtain. I brushed it out of my way.

“Are you in some kind of trouble, miss?” His gray brows furrowed.

“No. I need a room.” My human voice sounded strange to my ears. I hadn’t spoken my language in a very long time. My siren voice was tucked away, its powers lying dormant.

“What happened to your shoes, my dear?” He peered down at my feet over the tops of his glasses.

“I don’t have any. I need a room.”

He blinked at me, as though it was the strangest thing in the world for a person to ask the manager of a highway hotel for a room after dark.

“Uh…” he droned. “All right.” He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “It’s sixty dollars a night for a single room. I will need some ID.” He looked doubtful as to whether I could produce either money or identification.

I dug the wad of cash and the cards from my pocket. It took me a moment to select my birth certificate and to count out the money. It had been a long time since I’d had to do such a thing. I slapped both on the counter.

He stared at the money and the certificate, then back at me. He picked up my birth certificate and peered at it owlishly.

“Mira Belshaw,” he read aloud. “Happy nineteenth birthday!”

He’d just saved me the agony of trying to do the maths. I had been at sea for eight years. I realized he was looking at me expectantly, though I wasn’t sure why. Then a recollection of human social graces kicked in. “Thank you,” I said.

He made a sound in the back of his throat. I wasn’t sure what the sound meant, but he seemed satisfied with my response. “Tell you what, Mira.” He peered at me over the tops of his glasses. “You can have the room on the house tonight. Just ’cause it’s your birthday.”

On the house? My human brain was not fully functioning yet, and I struggled to derive meaning from these words. He pushed the money across the counter toward me and the gesture snapped the words into place. He was giving me the room for free.

“Thank you,” I repeated, tucking my ID into my pocket.

He selected a key from a rack on the wall behind him and held it out. “Here you are. Room nineteen. Perfect for the girl turning nineteen today.”

I took the key. He smiled at me. Reflexively, I smiled back.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? When a young woman shows up in my motel office in bare feet and men’s clothing, it sure don’t look like fair play to me,” he said as I tucked my money and ID away.

“No thanks.” I turned towards the door.

“Suit yourself,” he said under his breath.

I found the door marked nineteen and let myself into the musty-smelling room. I shed my clothing and left it in a puddle on the floor. Walking into the bathroom, I turned on the light. The bright fluorescent bulb flickered and a buzzing sound filled the small space. A small shower stood in the corner and a blue towel hung on the rack beside it. I grabbed the bar of soap from the sink, turned on the water and stepped under the spray. I needed freshwater to bring my human self back to life, but I was going to need a lot more than a shower. I couldn’t rinse away the effects of years of saltwater properly in a light spray, I needed to immerse. I had to be satisfied with rinsing only, and scrubbing myself thoroughly with the harsh soap. I peered at my fingernails. They were rough and chewed up. I made a mental note to get the tools I needed to groom myself properly. Human men were attracted to women who took care of themselves.

When all the salt was gone, I stepped out of the shower, ignored the towel and went out into the room, leaving a trail of water behind me. I fell into the first bed I’d slept in in over eight years and was unconscious before I was even dry.

 

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