Rey S. Morfin's Blog

Curseweaver | Prologue

Here’s the opening excerpt from my latest release, Curseweaver, the first book in the Soulsinger Chronicles trilogy!

The ground squelched beneath Rashida’s feet as her boots pressed on the wet mud road. It wasn’t much further; already could she see the meeting place atop the distant hill. The sea roared on her right, great waves crashing against the white rocks and lapping up the coastal path of the Isle of Bryher.

It always rained at the meetings of the Vessels. Rashida supposed it was Crnobog’s doing—but whether it was the Slav’s powers or simply because he was only available in the winter, she did not know. It didn’t matter; she was soaked through, and therefore she was angry. She could only hope that her fury didn’t affect her great host, when the time came.

The meeting place was more even ramshackle that it had been at the previous visit. The years had been cruel to it; the icy winds having pulled the gate from its posts, the wetness of the sea air having plastered algae to the damp wooden walls. Through the hut’s one window, Rashida could see a lantern flickering, scattering silhouettes across the frosty panes.

The ground gave way beneath Rashida’s feet as she climbed, the mud made fragile by the torrential rain. She slipped forwards, placing her palms out on the ground in front of her to steady herself once more. The blades of grass around her bare hands faded from vibrant green to sandy brown as she stripped the life from them. After all these decades, she still couldn’t put her nose into the hearts of flowers, or feel the grass beneath her feet, or even accept a bunch of roses from a gentleman suitor. Not that many were lining up to meet her at her rather advanced age.

With a sigh, Rashida heaved herself to her feet and continued the trudge onwards towards this desolate place. The journey would’ve been easier on horseback, she noted—but such a beast in an area such as this would only have drawn unnecessary attention. No, this meeting had to take place unobserved, unnoticed—else their masters’ plans could be foiled.

The wooden door rattled against its frame as Rashida approached, a slave to the heavy gales billowing around it. From this distance, even through the roaring winds, Rashida could hear the raised voices of those inside.

It was Jacob—forever full of his patron’s rage—who was shouting. ‘You never think, do you? You’re just like your master.’

‘It was one night,’ came the reply, ‘Nobody saw me.’

‘They might—’

Rashida swung open the door, and the wind slammed it against the interior wall. Jacob stood face-to-face with Celina, the great hulking warrior woman—the pair of them snarling and staring one another down. Vadik the drunkard and the ever-mysterious Ayla watched on from the chairs of a rickety wooden table, while Mori stood in the darkness of the corner, muttering to himself his usual whispered inanities.

The five other Vessels whipped their heads around to look at Rashida as she entered.

‘You’re late,’ Jacob spat at her.

‘Perhaps if we didn’t have to meet in the middle of fucking nowhere…’ Vadik replied, before Rashida could vocalise much the same sentiment.

‘There’s still time,’ Celina added. ‘The sun is not yet risen. What does it matter?’

‘It matters because our masters say it matters,’ Jacob replied. ‘It is not for us to question why.’

‘How long have you been Hades’s vessel, now, friend?’ Vadik called out. ‘Eighty years? Ninety?’

‘Ninety-seven,’ Jacob spat. ‘And don’t you dare speak His name.’

‘You’d think by now you’d’ve learned to stand up to him a little, wouldn’t you?’

Celina laughed—a great, forced bellow which echoed around the small cabin. ‘Eighty years and still just a vessel,’ the woman added. ‘Remind me, how long did it take the rest of us to become our masters’ acolytes?’

‘Fifteen years,’ Rashida offered.

‘Eight,’ Vadik replied.

Even the quiet Ayla leant forwards and gently whispered, ‘Three.’

Jacob snarled, stepping up once again to stare into Celina’s face. ‘The position is taken.’

‘By a traitor,’ Celina responded.

‘My master gifted me immortality,’ Jacob said, ‘That’s more than I can say for some of you.’

Rashida felt the Man of Hades’s eyes gaze upon her, washing over her wrinkled skin. ‘I’m alive enough to make you hurt,’ she spat back at him.

‘Alright, enough!’ Jacob shouted, grown so full of rage that his typical black smoke began burning from his skin. The stench of sulphur didn’t much help his image. ‘We are here for our masters. Not to trade petty insults.’

‘Ah,’ Vadik said, sipping from a flagon of ale that Rashida wasn’t sure had been there a moment earlier. ‘The words of someone who knows they’re losing.’

Jacob turned to the Slav and opened his mouth to speak, but Vadik threw his hands up in the air to protest his innocence.

‘The small man is right,’ Celina said. ‘We should begin. Our masters have much to discuss.’

The mood grew solemn, and a quietness swept over the interior of the hut. Even Mori stopped voicing his strange and incomprehensible ramblings. Each of the six Vessels sat, cross-legged, on the floor—and this was far more difficult for Rashida than it had been at the last meeting only a decade earlier. With her body deteriorating as it was, it could even be her last. Their eyes closed, the Vessels reached for the patron that dwelt inside their souls and willed them forth.

Hades, as ever, was the first to arrive, his beautiful yet terrifying visage appearing in ghostly form over Jacob’s head. Each of the Vessels bowed their heads in reverence.

Then the spirit of Tyr arrived above Celina, his great hulking presence putting even his acolyte’s to shame. One by one, the remainder of the gods appeared—Crnobog from Vadik, Sekhmet from Ayla, Adro from Mori, and, the finest of them all: Seth, from Rashida.

‘Welcome,’ Hades said.

God and Vessel alike nodded their heads to return this greeting.

‘It is time?’ Crnobog asked.

It was unlike him, of all the gods, to be in a rush.

‘It is,’ Hades replied. ‘The board is set. The pieces are in position. There is just one piece of the puzzle still missing.’

‘Anansi,’ Adro spat.

‘Yes,’ Hades said. ‘We find him, then we can begin.’

‘Is there a plan?’ Seth asked. ‘Where do we find the traitor?’

‘We search for his Acolyte. Only they can lead us to him.’

‘Easy enough,’ Tyr said. ‘We squeeze the mortal, we make them wail.’

There was an eerie silence as the Gods expected Hades to speak.

But Sekhmet spoke first. ‘I suspect, considering we are having this meeting, that it is not so simple?’

The beautiful vision of Hades shook his head. ‘You would be correct. Anansi has been cunning. Up to his usual tricks. Reached into the other world and—’

‘Stop!’ Ayla suddenly screeched, the white of her eyes turning to a deep, infinite black.

All faces turned to her.

‘Sekhmet, dear cousin,’ Seth muttered, ‘Control your subject; the gods are talking.’

‘Stop,’ Ayla said again, her mad eyes scouring the faces of each Vessel and God present in the room.

‘Find another,’ Hades told Sekhmet, ‘Jacob, kill this one.’

‘There is a spy among us,’ Ayla said, completely unaware of Jacob’s arm stretching towards her.

With those few words, the attention was diverted away from the imprudent acolyte and instead to the other presences in the room.

‘Who?’ Hades demanded.

‘A false visage,’ Ayla muttered, her eyes vacant, ‘A false god hears our schemes. An imposter fools us all.’

‘Sekhmet?’ Seth asked. ‘Is this true?’

The goddess nodded. ‘I feel it too.’

‘And we’re supposed to take her word for it?’ Adro asked.

‘She would know about false guises,’ Seth answered. Rashida understood his meaning—it wasn’t always that Sekhmet had been her name. Once, it had been Hathor, and she would have fought against them, not with them.

Tyr placed his one hand over the pommel of his sword, his eyes fixed on Adro, his fingers wrapped tight. ‘I can think of only one reason you might want to cast doubt on this assumption.’

‘A fine point,’ Crnobog said, and he too turned his attention to Adro.

‘Celina,’ Tyr said, and the uttering of her name was instruction enough.

The acolyte of Tyr rose to her feet and pulled the sword from over her shoulder, her eyes fixed squarely on Mori.

‘Tyr,’ Adro said. ‘If you kill my acolyte, I’ll kill ten of yours. Is that what you want? I know your supply runs low.’

‘Who are you?’ Tyr demanded of him, completely ignoring the threat without giving it a second thought. This was typical of him. He was certainly not the spy. ‘Who are you really?’

‘I am Adro—from when the sun sets until the sun rises,’ the African god replied. ‘Just as I have always been.’

Celina strolled slowly over to Mori, and with every step, the acolyte of Adro’s eyes grew wider and his mutterings grew louder.

‘Are we sure that—’ Seth began, but He trailed off when Jacob summoned a blade from the shadows and held it to Celina’s neck.

‘We do not kill until we are certain,’ Hades proclaimed.

Tyr spat onto the floor, but offered up no more opposition.

‘Sekhmet?’ Seth prompted. ‘Do you see?’

The Egyptian goddess shook her head. ‘They are strong. They blind me to the truth. But…’

‘What is it?’

‘But my Acolyte sees through it.’

The gods’ attentions shifted to the quiet Ayla, who sat, her eyes wide, staring at Vadik.

‘Ah,’ the vision of Crnobog muttered. ‘Guess you went and caught me, didn’t you?’

‘I should have—’ Seth began.

‘Who are you?’ Tyr demanded, his mouth warped into a snarl, apparently having completely forgotten about his threats to Adro already.

‘My handsome Norse friend—that’s for me to know and you to find out, wouldn’t you say?’ Crnobog and Vadik gloated, simultaneously.

‘Rashida?’ Seth asked, his voice reverberating around his acolyte’s skull.

‘Yes, my lord?’ Rashida mentally replied.

‘Kill the traitor, won’t you?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Rashida rose to her feet.

‘Who are you?’ Tyr said again, his acolyte storming forwards, sword in hand. Celina swung her weapon towards Vadik, pulling it to a stop a mere half-inch from his neck.

‘Now, boy,’ the man we’d thought was Vadik replied, ‘I know you had a rough childhood. But you wouldn’t go killing your father, would you?’

‘Odin?’ Tyr replied.

Celina’s eyes grew wide with Tyr’s, and dropped her blade to the floor, causing an almighty clatter to ring around the room.

Vadik and Crnobog laughed. ‘Oh, you don’t still think that know-it-all is your father, do you?’

‘Tyr,’ Hades said, ‘Have your servant pick up her blade and finish the job she started.’

But Tyr shook his head.

‘You defy me?’

‘“Defy” supposes that I serve you,’ Tyr replied. ‘I do not.’

‘We entered this agreement on equal terms,’ Sekhmet added.

‘And that means you agree with the Norseman?’

‘Sometimes.’

With all the distractions, there were no eyes on Rashida. It was effortless, then, for her to sneak up behind Vadik and place her hand on the back of his head.

Using the powers granted to her by her master, Rashida sucked the life force from the man’s body, a black mark spreading across his skin from the tips of her fingertips. With every second that passed, Vadik grew older, more decrepit, while Rashida regained some of her youth—so nourished as she was by the soul of an acolyte. She could feel it returning to her—strength, agility, power.

And then Vadik’s body warped into something else. It shrank until it was no larger than a fist, grew wings and a beak, and flew towards the window, shattering it as it passed through.

‘Nice try,’ chuckled the God they’d thought of as Crnobog, before disappearing—his vessel fluttering off into the distance, across the turbulent seas.

Hades roared with rage.

‘A shapeshifter?’ Tyr asked, his voice shaky.

‘What did he learn?’ Hades asked.

‘He knows who’s involved,’ Seth replied. ‘But little more than that. It matters not.’

‘It depends who he was,’ Adro added.

‘A shapeshifter?’ Tyr repeated. ‘My father…’

‘He exercised no real power,’ Sekhmet said. ‘Shape-shifting is nought but the trick of a minor deity. Nothing to trouble ourselves with.’

‘And yet he feels comfortable surrounding himself with us,’ Seth replied. ‘I can think of no minor god with such confidence.’

‘It matters not who they are,’ Hades said. ‘They know little more than our names. They know not what we plan. They will not stop the Rending.’

Rashida had little doubt that this was true.

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Vampires, Slayers, and… Ad Firms?

Hey everyone! I’m absolutely ecstatic to share this latest bit of news with you — my latest book is now available for purchase!

I’ve been working on this one for the past couple of years alongside my other series, and I’m really proud of the outcome. It’s a slightly different genre — this one more Urban Fantasy — but still one I’m sure you’ll enjoy.

If you like Buffy, The Magicians, or Supernatural, then I’m sure you’ll love…

No Such Thing As Evil

If there’s one thing vampires need, it’s a good PR team.

When veteran vampire hunter Myles Abiel followed his latest prey into an office building, he never expected to discover a public relations agency lurking within. But that’s just what he found — Siren, an organisation dedicated to revealing to the world the existence of supernatural creatures. Even worse, they’re saying they aren’t evil.

What’s stranger is that they want to hire him, the son of a dead vampire slayer — who’s been killing their clients since he was old enough to walk.

READ NOW

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The Ultimate Word Count Tracker

There’s one thing that every good writer needs, and that’s not a laptop, a desk, a pen or even a notebook. It’s a robust spreadsheet file to help them track just how much they’ve been writing. So… that’s exactly what I’ve made: the Ultimate Word Count Tracker.

Click here to get started straight away (you’ll need to click File > Make A Copy to get an editable version), or read on for some of the many features:

An Overview tab shows you all your relevant data at a glance – including Words written this month, Words vs Target by month, and progress with each of your Projects.Estimate when you’ll hit each of your Project Targets, based on words written over the past 7 (or 14 or 30) days.







Enter targets not just by month, but by year and by project too!Check words vs target at a glance – for each month or vs the year as a whole!







Easily track word counts for up to 10 projects (plus a column for Misc. words!)Compare Daily totals to an automatically-updating Daily Target, based on your monthly goals.







Use the prioritisation tab to see how quickly you can meet Project Targets by writing X number of words per day.Or, use the second section to set a deadline, and have the file automatically tell you how many words you’d need to write on that Project per day!







Finally, use the NaNo tab to automatically feed your word count data into a NaNo-esque interface, where you can set any target you want! (Not just 50k!)

To get started with the Word Count Tracker, just click the button below, then click ‘File > Make A Copy’ to make a copy in your own Google Drive.

GET STARTED NOW

I hope you find this useful! If you have any questions or feedback, please get in touch!

P.S. While this file is absolutely free (and always will be), if you do find it useful, please consider supporting me by purchasing one of my books. Thanks

A Galaxy, Alive #4 Teaser

1. In The Beginning

HARSTETIA
The Devoted World
Carbon Sector
01-06-2338

‘Oh hell,’ I muttered at the sight before me.

I could feel how those words upset those in the vicinity; their limbs went tight, they inhaled sharply. It didn’t matter, though – I was still the law around here. For now.

It was the body they should have been more preoccupied with, anyway. Its limbs had been ripped from its abdomen, then cut further, into smaller, rotting chunks. These pieces of flesh spiralled out from an altar in the centre of the room, each pierced onto spikes of increasing heights – as though rising up to the heavens. Blood, since dried, had been oozed down these spikes, turning them a deep red-brown.

On the altar, the victim’s head, separated from their abdomen, sat atop the chest, staring me down with cold vacant eyes. Into each greying pink cheek, a familiar symbol had been etched.

‘You have an ID yet?’ I asked the beat officer on guard duty.

She nodded gloomily. ‘Yessir. Priffith Strenger.’

‘Where do I know that name?’ I asked.

‘Minister of Technology,’ the officer said.

‘Ah. Yes.’

This case just moved to the top of the pile.

I approached the nearest spike, where a knee joint was being proudly displayed. The edge where it had been separated from the calf looked ripped, as though it had been torn off by hand. Truly the work of, as some of my team would have put it, a “sick fuck”.

Behind me, I heard the officer mumble, ‘…and he with apparatus will ascend, divided…’

I turned to shoot the woman a filthy look, but as she was facing away from me she didn’t see. I made a note to knock her down a peg later.

Of course, I didn’t need to hear the prophecy. We’d all learned it. There were few on this planet who wouldn’t be able to recite it by heart, and, I suspected, those that couldn’t were all immigrants.

This wasn’t the first body I’d been called to in the past few weeks. It wasn’t even the most creatively-displayed. No. That credit went to this perpetrator’s second or third kill.

Or, their “sacrifice”, as I guessed they’d call it. We knew what they were doing. Even the officer on duty did, based on her rumblings. Each kill had fulfilled a stage of the prophecy – one which, if our religious leaders were to be believed, would bring about the end of Harstetia. Maybe even everything.

I’d never been massively keen on the scriptures. I’d celebrated the holidays, respected the festivals, but I’d never been particularly engaged. They were tradition rather than faith to me – a chance to see the folks, to be merry, to justify over-eating. I didn’t worry too much about the true meaning behind them.

Compared to some, this made me virtually a heathen. There were those, still, who believed in the old teachings. And there were more of them every day, radicalised by the preachings of the few. If these sacrifices made my skin crawl, then I could only imagine the fear it struck in the hearts of the true believers.

At my wrist, my console beeped. It was 2 a.m. Technically, I was off-duty, but with most of my colleagues having abandoned their careers over the past few weeks, this was perhaps more of a suggestion. Now, more than ever, there was work to be done.

‘You seen Detective Stundrie?’ I called out to the officer on duty.

She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

‘Should be here by now,’ I replied.

The woman shrugged; she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this information. For that matter, neither did I. That was a matter for the captain.

I pulled up my console and dialled up Captain Yulestan. She was a friendly enough woman; a senior detective at my level until the previous captain had taken off for the Badlands. Someone had to lead the homicide division, and if it couldn’t be me, I was glad it was her.

When she didn’t pick up, I tried again. Maybe she was on a case – the Almighty knew that there were plenty to go about. It wasn’t her handheld console, however, on which the call was eventually accepted, but her desk terminal.

A young man’s face appeared on the holodisplay.

What was his name? Stulen? Stalet?

‘I’m afraid she’s gone, sir,’ the young beat officer said.

‘Gone?’ I asked. ‘Out on a case.’

‘No, sir,’ came the reply.

‘Ah.’

No more explanation was necessary. The captain had fallen to the same fate as the rest of my department: fleeing to the safety of the Badlands, where the devoted did pray. When the end came, they wished to be in the good books of the almighty. If I’d truly believed in all of it, then maybe I would have joined them.

I thought perhaps the members of the Purestia City homicide department were predisposed to this kind of fear. It would have explained why my team had been decimated more than forensics, say, or arson. Looking into the eyes of the victims – like Minister Strenger, here – might make you fear the almighty’s wrath more than most. Might make you more imaginative with your interpretations of the horrors that the prophecy promised upon the unworthy. Maybe this was why so many had fled.

‘Officer Stulen, wasn’t it?’ I asked the nervous man on the display.

‘Stalet, sir.’

Damn.

‘Right, yes,’ I continued. ‘Officer Stalet. Who else is in on the floor with you?’

Stalet shook his head. ‘Nobody, sir. It’s just us.’

‘Fuck me, really?’

The officer gulped, opening his mouth slightly as though he wasn’t sure if this question was rhetorical or not.

‘Alright,’ I continued. ‘You taken the sergeant’s exam, Stalet?’

‘Yes, sir. Failed it last year. Am trying again this-’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘You’ve made it, Sergeant.’

A smile appeared on the young man’s face, then quickly faded when he realised what this would mean – extra responsibility. The Almighty knew that none of us wanted that right about now.

‘I want you to do a few things, Stalet,’ I went on. ‘First, clear out any case that isn’t directly related to the Prophet.’

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘The Prophet, sir?’

‘Oh, right. The one responsible for the string of murders. You know, the… creative ones. That’s what we’ve been calling him.’

‘Got it, sir. Consider them binned.’

‘Well, don’t fucking bin them!’ I cried back. ‘These people are still murderers. We gotta catch them eventually. Just… put them on hold for now, alright?’

The new sergeant nodded profusely – as both a signal of his understanding and as an apology.

‘This one’s at the heart of it. We catch them, the madness might stop. Then maybe we’ll get some of our colleagues back, eh?’

‘Got it.’

‘Next,’ I continued. ‘I need you to get down to the scene at my location. Interview witnesses, pull security feeds. You get to do the real grunt work now, none of this ‘taking complaints’, ‘speaking with the public’ kinda shit. Congratulations again on your promotion.’

‘Yes, sir. On my way.’

‘No. Before that, one last thing.’

‘What is it, sir?’ the sergeant asked.

‘I figure our department has made quite a few cost savings these last few weeks, what with there being only two employees. Freed up a little spending money, I reckon. Why don’t you see if you can get some outside help in?’

I could see the confusion in the man’s eyes even down the other end of a video link.

‘You mean… private detectives, sir?’ he asked.

‘I know. I can’t believe I’m saying it either, Stalet, believe me. But, yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. We don’t have any other choice, do we? You reckon you can find some?’

The sergeant nodded. The light changed on his face as he pulled up another screen on the captain’s desk console, apparently searching already.

‘Yes, sir. I think I can find some. Heard about a team last year. Did some big work on Z’h’ar, before it-’

‘Saw the same fate we might see here?’ I finished for him.

‘…Yeah.’

For the first time, I could see the fear in his eyes.

Dial it back. You might scare him off.

‘OK. Your pick. I’m trusting you on this, sergeant.’

Stalet nodded.

‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Get them over here. Cost-wise… whatever it takes. Just make it quick. Then get down here.’

‘Yes, captain,’ the man replied.

‘It’s “detective”, Stalet.’

‘All respect, sir, I don’t think it is,’ he replied.

I nodded, terminated the feed.

Captain Yellan.

It had a nice ring to it.

Want to be alerted when Book #4, A World Of Lost Souls goes on sale? Just click here!

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A Planet That Longs To Forget

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A Planet That Longs To Forget, book two of the upcoming space opera series A Galaxy, Alive is now live on Amazon! Take a look at the blurb below:

When memory can be altered… how do we know what’s real?

Now in charge of her own agency, Syl Raynor has her pick of the biggest and baddest cases that the galaxy has to offer. But when a simple drug-smuggling case goes awry, she is forced to question whether she can truly trust her own memories.

Meanwhile, the naive and innocent Te’rnu, Syl’s new assistant, has a whole new galaxy to explore – one which could easily eat him up alive if he’s not careful.

Together, Syl and Te’rnu will have to face the mistakes of their pasts, and contemplate just how reality is defined – if not by the memories of the people living in it.

Buy ‘A Galaxy, Alive’ #2 Now

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Book #2 is Published!

Hi everyone!

Thanks again to you all for following along with my journey so far, I really appreciate it.

I’m pleased to announce that book 2, A Planet That Longs To Forget is now available on Amazon!

If you’re enjoying A Galaxy, Alive, please consider buying or leaving a review – it would mean a lot to me!

Thanks,

Rey.

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Book #1 is Published!

Hi everyone!

Thanks to everyone who has been reading A Galaxy, Alive thus far, I’m really happy you’re sharing in this journey.

I’m pleased to announce that book 1, A Lonely World Where The People Are Blue is now available on Amazon! This version has a little extra content and is a lot more carefully edited than the rough drafts available here. My submissions into the Kindle Unlimited program, however, does mean that I’ve had to take chapters 2-18 down from this site – but chapters 19 onwards remains up and available and free to read at any time!

If you’re enjoying A Galaxy, Alive, please consider buying or leaving a review – it would mean a lot to me!

Thanks,

Rey.

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Life at the End of the Road

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Book one of the upcoming series Smoke Without Fire is now live on Amazon. Sign up for updates on this series or read the blurb below:

There is a very real darkness that dwells deep in our souls – and some have learned to set it free.

When Laura Kamryn disappears on a trip back to her remote hometown, her distraught fiance Rey Morfin convinces Laura’s childhood friend Anna Tyndall to return to the small town of Redbury to help investigate. Using Anna’s knowledge of the local area, and more importantly, the people, Rey hopes to find Laura – alive.

But beneath the surface, a wickedness stirs. The residents allude to a rampant fire that scarred the town, a witch from whom the children flee, and monstrous shapes that lurk in the shadows.

Rey’s journey will take him to the darkest corners of the English countryside, encountering a mysterious root, afternoon tea, and beings that are perhaps human no more.

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