Rob Steiner's Blog, page 5

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 47

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 47

Fatimah pushed her way through the cheering Tuathans standing on Tsall’s piers, most of them pointing at the two ships a half-mile away.  She could not share in their joy, for she not only had abandoned her Master to death at the hands of a Fomorian and a harrower, but she may have just given them Taran Abraeu by removing the barrier around him.

Dylan Edoss called out to her.  As always, his Shadarlak surrounded him, all of their uniforms torn, dirty, and stained with blood.

“Where is Taran?” he asked.

Fatimah shook her head.  “I think he was taken.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Taken?”

“The Fomorians.”

Looking around the beach, Edoss asked, “The Fomorians were on the beach?”

“No,” Fatimah said, unable to form the right words through her haze of fear and guilt.  “They took him.”

She pointed in the direction in which she last saw Taran snatched like a fish on a hook.  She could still see his limbs flailing sickeningly like he was already dead.

“It was like they reached down from the sky and grabbed him,” she said.  “I saw him…flying that way.”

A male Tuathan voice from behind her said, “Fatimah.”

Fatimah turned.  A Heshman walked toward her carrying Eblin in his arms.  Eblin looked more disheveled than Fatimah had ever seen her—hair matted with sweat and mud, woolen cloak torn.  But when her eyes found Fatimah, she gave her Apprentice a weary smile.  She was alive.

Fatimah ran to Eblin and took her hand.  Eblin said to the Heshman, “You may put me down now, thank you.”

The Heshman lowered Eblin’s feet to the sand, and Eblin stood shakily.  Fatimah put Eblin’s arm around her shoulder to steady her, and Eblin did not protest.

“There are only two ships,” Eblin said, watching the ships grow closer.  “There were four, but two were sunk in a harrower attack just behind that peninsula.”  Lowering her voice and glancing about, Eblin said, “There is not enough room for everyone.”

“Damn,” Edoss said.  In a low voice, he said, “These people are already in a panic.  What are they going to do when they find out the ships can’t take them all?”

Eblin frowned.  “They will accept our new plan, I think.  The Master Circle has decided that most of the priests and the Heshman shall remain behind and travel through the Guardians up the coast to Markwatch.  I would suggest, Dylan Edoss, that you and your men accompany us.”

Dylan nodded grimly.  “Yes.  That shaves off 150 people.”  Squinting at the arriving ships, Dylan said, “It’ll be a tight fit, but they should accommodate the rest.”

Eblin said to Fatimah, “You and I will accompany our people on the ships, along with two more priests on the second ship.  We will take Taran Abraeu with us…”

Eblin stopped speaking when she saw Fatimah’s face.  She looked around.  “Where is Taran Abraeu?  Speaker Edoss, we had an agreement—”

Before Dylan could answer, Fatimah said, “It is my fault, Master.  I released the barrier around him so that he could help the Heshmen and the Recindians fight the Tainted.”

Dylan’s eyes widened.  “That was Taran?  He destroyed the Tainted?”

Fatimah nodded.  “But after he did so, he was…pulled…through the sky, in that direction.”

She pointed to where the road from Fedalan entered Tsall.  She said to Eblin, “Ladak must have him by now.”

Eblin suddenly looked tired, as if her age and the events of the past month had caught her all at once.  She sighed.  “He is lost to us, then.”

“No,” Fatimah said.  “We cannot leave him.  He just saved our people from destruction!  They would have all been slaughtered if not for him.”

“Yes,” Eblin said, “and he Wielded Angra to do it.”

Fatimah shook her head.  “I know but…he saved us…”

“It does not matter,” Eblin said patiently.  “The more he Wields Angra, the more he will become like the Fomorians, regardless of any good intentions he may have.  And now that he is in the hands of one…  He will become a harrower, if he has not already.”

“He will resist!”

“He will not have a choice,” Eblin said in a tone that was meant to end the debate.  “Now, you will accompany me to the pier where we will lead our people—”

“I will not,” Fatimah said.

Eblin’s face sagged.  “You will, priest.”

Fatimah shook her head, not quite understanding why she was disobeying her Master, something that meant excommunication from the priesthood, all for a man who had just Wielded Angra in front of her.  But she did know that her dreams would never again be peaceful if she left Taran behind.  He had saved the six priests at the Heiron during the initial Tainted attack, and he had just saved the Tuathans on the beach from horrible deaths when he could have just ran when Fatimah released his barrier.  But he did not.  He did not have the heart of a Fomorian.  He was the Zervakan.  Only Ahura knew why she was so certain of it, but she was.

“I…I cannot leave him,” she said.  “I have to try.  I am sorry, Master.”

Eblin whispered, “Fatimah, please…”

Fatimah turned and ran toward the small road through Tsall, trying to forget Eblin’s pleading eyes.  She was half way through the town’s main road when she heard Dylan Edoss behind her, calling for her to stop a moment.  Knowing she would be unable to outrun his Shadarlak, she stopped, then turned and said, “You are not going to stop me from—”

“I wasn’t going to stop you,” Edoss said, breathing heavy.  “I want to help you.”

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 46

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 46

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to create new harrowers?” Ladak asked Taran.

Taran still knelt before Ladak, shaking from the impact of hitting the ground from twenty paces in the air.  He could take breath into his lungs now, but each one was like a knife thrust to his side.

“Very hard,” Ladak continued, while walking around Taran.  “I have to kill someone, and then raise his body in a long ritual that takes too much time and energy.  I won’t bore you with the details.”

Ladak bent to one knee, his face inches from Taran’s.  “Now I would prefer not to do that with you.  I would prefer that you help me because it’s in your best interest, not because I force you.”

In a rasping voice, Taran said, “I killed you.”

“Yes and no,” Ladak said.  “You killed one of my harrowers, which I molded to look like me.  Quite a good likeness if I say so myself.”

“Why?” Taran asked.  Better to listen to his arrogance than try to fight off his Wields.

“Because I needed you good and mad to Wield Angra.  And who better to get you good and mad than a former friend raping your daughter.  Anger mixed with betrayal can be quite powerful.  And judging by what you did to my harrower, I was right.  Now I know you are a Zervakan, one who can Wield both Angra and Ahura.  Someone who will return the Fomorians to their rightful place in this world.”

Ladak sighed.  “You know what it’s like in the Compact these days.  Pathism dominates every institution with a belief in nothing higher than itself.  But Pathists have chosen to blind themselves to the wider realities in the world.  That’s why I need your help to excise the Pathist infection that dominates this continent, an infection that seeks to destroy anything that challenges it.”

Taran eased himself backward—enduring terrible stabs of pain in his ribs—so that he sat rather than knelt.  “Unlike you.”

“Right,” Ladak said.  “Unlike me.  I want to open the Compact’s eyes to the real world.  You see me as some evil madman.  I am not.  I have a purpose, one that the First Cause Itself preordained when It created the universe.  The Tuathans believe that Angra is evil, but they have forgotten that Angra and Ahura serve the same purpose.  Renewal.  Progress.”

“Stop lecturing me and tell me what you want,” Taran said.

Ladak smiled.  “But I thought you were a scientist, Dr. Abraeu.  Aren’t you the least bit curious about me?  You’ve spent the last six years trying to prove that the ‘Mystics’ exist.  Don’t you want to know why we exist?”

“Of course.  I just don’t think you’ll tell me the truth.”

Ladak laughed.  “You are a bundle of contradictions, Doctor.  You believe in something that everyone tells you is a fairy tale, yet you turn into a skeptic when you encounter the very thing you believe in.”

“I trusted you, Ladak, and you lied to me.  Why should I believe you?”

“Because I will show you how to heal your daughter’s illness.”

Taran stared at the man for a moment before what he said registered in his mind.

He fears you, the dark voice said.  That is why he hasn’t killed you yet, why he’s stalling for time.  Kill him before he finds a way to kill you.

“How?” Taran asked.

Ladak shook his head, grinning.  “Now, now.  Information as valuable as that comes with a price.  You must first do something for me.”

“What?”

“Kill every last Tuathan on that beach.”

Yes!  Let’s kill them all!  We’ll start with Ladak, and then wipe out the whole lot of them on the beach.  Then we’ll move on to—

“How do I know you can heal Mara?” Taran asked.  “Again, why should I believe you?”

Four harrowers emerged from the woods behind Ladak.  Three men and one woman, and all looked to be Tuathan.  Or rather, used to be Tuathan.  Their skin was a sickly gray, and their eyes had a milky haze.  Their clothes were ragged and torn, and one of the men had an open chest wound that seeped dark gray fluid.  When they saw Taran, they encircled him, each with an upraised hand ready to Wield Angra.

Ladak smiled at his creations, and then said to Taran, “Can you afford not to believe me?  Can you let slip away what might be your daughter’s one chance to escape the barbaric Mercy?”

Do it, the voice said.  We’ll kill every one of them.

“Fine,” Taran said.  “I’ll do what you ask.  But you have to show me how to heal Mara before I destroy the Tuathans.”

“Right,” Ladak said, “I show you how to heal Mara, and then you try to kill me and save the Tuathans.  I know you Taran, you are not as filled with the spirit of Angra as I am.  Not yet, anyway.”

Taran stood, and the four harrowers took an involuntary step backward.  They fear you, the voice said.  Kill them now, and then we’ll kill all the Tuathans.  Do it!

“It’s five against one,” Taran said.  “And I have less experience at this than all of you.”

“Maybe,” Ladak said, “but you seem to be a quick learner.”

“Mara first, then I kill the Tuathans.  If you don’t like it, kill me now.”

The confidence in Ladak’s eyes wavered a bit, and Taran knew he had him.  Ladak smiled.  “You are a stubborn man, Dr. Abraeu.  Alright.  I will show you how to heal your daughter.  But keep in mind, doctor, that while I believe you’re a man of your word, I do know where your family lives in Calaman.  And I am not the only Fomorian living there…”

Taran glared at Ladak.  “Save your threats.  I will kill the Tuathans.”

Spaceward, ho!

CREDIT: NASA/Glenn Research Center

The prospects for exotic new space propulsion systems are getting better and better these days. Space.com reports that antimatter fusion drives could be ready within 50-60 years:

A fusion-powered spacecraft could reach Jupiter within four months, potentially opening up parts of the outer solar system to manned exploration, according to a 2010 NASA report.

A number of hurdles would have to be overcome ― particularly in the production and storage of antimatter ― to make the technology feasible, but some experts imagine it could be ready to go in a half-century or so.

But this next one has me more excited than a Ferengi with unexpected profits — warp drives may be more plausible than once thought:

A concept for a real-life warp drive was suggested in 1994 by Mexican physicist Miguel Alcubierre, however subsequent calculations found that such a device would require prohibitive amounts of energy.

An Alcubierre warp drive would involve a football-shape spacecraft attached to a large ring encircling it. This ring, potentially made of exotic matter, would cause space-time to warp around the starship, creating a region of contracted space in front of it and expanded space behind. The only problem is, studies estimated the warp drive would require a minimum amount of energy about equal to the mass-energy of the planet Jupiter.

But recently [Harold] White [of NASA's Johnson Space Center] calculated what would happen if the shape of the ring encircling the spacecraft was adjusted into more of a rounded donut, as opposed to a flat ring. He found in that case, the warp drive could be powered by a mass about the size of a spacecraft like the Voyager 1 probe NASA launched in 1977.

Kid-in-me: “W00t, I can’t wait!”

Cynic-in-me: “Quiet, kid. You were promised flying cars by now, and look how that turned out.”

Me: “Shut up, Cynic, I’m with the Kid. W00t!”

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 45

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 45

Rida fell into the water writhing with green, slimy tentacles, realizing her death was near.

If this is it, she thought, tightening her grip on her saber, this thing will have a few less limbs before it’s done with me.

One tentacle wrapped around her ankle, its barbs sinking painfully into her flesh, and pulled her out of the water.  She hung on to her saber and swung at the green appendage, severing it.  Her forward momentum continued, and she flew through the air several dozen paces before landing hard in the water again.

This time she lost hold of her saber as water filled her lungs.  She gagged, and then struggled back to the surface.  When she broke above the waves, she coughed up what felt like half the sea before whipping her head around, searching for more tentacles.  The mass of kelp had flung her far from where it still attacked the Teelamark and the Windrider.

Explosions erupted behind Rida, and she turned in the water to see the Vendir and Kingfisher circling around and firing their cannons.  But they did not fire at the mass of kelp tentacles pulling the wrecked Teelamark and Windrider into the water.  They fired at the peninsula a half mile away.

She wanted to scream they were firing in the wrong direction, but realized that was where Brya had seen the three Angra trails.  The two ships continued firing at the peninsula, pouring all their shells into the dense forest.  Trees disintegrated up and down the peninsula, and dark smoke wafted from the fires that broke out where the shells hit.

“General!”

Rida looked up at the Vendir, saw several crewmen calling to her while another tossed her a rope.  She swam for the rope, grabbed it, and they pulled her toward the ship.  Once she was close, they lowered a rope ladder and she climbed aboard.  When she crawled onto the deck, she turned on her back and lay there, breathing heavily and gagging.  The Vendir’s guns continued to roar from the cannon ports below deck, but at this moment, all she cared about was coughing up the rest of the seawater still in her lungs.  One of the crewmen, the ship’s doctor by the look of his blood-stained white apron, asked her in broken Recindian how she felt.  Rida waved him off to tend to the more seriously wounded.

When the firing tapered off, she pulled herself to her feet and looked to where the Windrider and the Teelamark had been.  All that was left of them were the masts poking out of the water and a field of debris bobbing around them.  The kelp tentacles no longer moved, simply floating on the water in a large gray-green mass.  The kelp seemed to be dissolving in the water, turning the area around the two sunken ships into a brackish mix of gray muck, wood shards, and body parts.  The crews of the Vendir and the Kingfisher were pulling aboard the survivors of the other two ships.  There were not many.

The captain of the Vendir, with much more gray in his hair and beard than the captain of the Windrider, approached Rida.  His clothes were torn and wet, and blood covered his entire left arm.  Rida was reminded of her own bloody wound on her ankle, which began to sting when she looked down at it.  Following the captain was Nyla Meck, one of the Tuathan priests stationed on the Vendir.

“A bloody debacle, General Myndehr,” the captain said in fluent Recindian, pointing to the sunken ships.  “But we got the bastards on the peninsula, thanks to Nyla here.”

The young red-haired priest wore a blank stare that Rida had seen too many times on the faces of young men after their first battle.

“It was her idea to target the harrowers rather than that…thing out there.”

“When a harrower falls,” Nyla said quietly, “its Tainted spawn does as well.”

Rida nodded, not wanting to dwell much on these supernaturalist creatures.  “How did the Vendir and Kingfisher fare?”

The captain shrugged.  “We took a few bumps from the monster, but my men handled it well.”  He looked out at the wrecks of the other two ships.  “I know speed is of the essence here, General, but I would like to see if there are any survivors.”

“Make it a quick search, captain,” Rida said.  “There are several hundred people out there at the mercy of these harrowers.”

The captain nodded, and then joined his crew scanning the water for survivors.  Rida turned to Nyla and said, “Can you…send a message to Melahara and tell her what happened?”

Nyla nodded, and then raised her hand and closed her eyes.  She mumbled something in the Tuathan language.  Her eyes rolled beneath her lids a moment, then sprung open.

“They are also under attack!”

Rida slammed her fist on the deck railing.  She limped over to the captain, who was talking with his first officer in Turician.  “We have to go now, captain.  The Tuathans are under attack and they will need your guns.”

The captain frowned, glancing at the waters around the sunken ships.  When he saw nobody moving, he sighed.  “Very well.”

He gave orders to his first officer, who began shouting to the other officers.  The Vendir and the Kingfisher eventually turned away from the wreckages of their sister ships and raced toward Tsall.

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 44

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 44

“Ladak?” Taran said when Edoss told him about the Fomorian outside the wagon.  “That’s impossible.  I…  How could he be a Fomorian?”

Edoss said, “I don’t know.”

Taran was stunned that the man he thought he had torn to pieces now stood outside the shield.  Had the Ladak Taran killed been an illusion, too?

Though his hands were still bound, he balled them into fists and slammed them down on the floor of the wagon.  “He saw my daughter,” Taran said.  “He saw her in the picture I showed him.  That’s how he created the illusion of her.”

So kill him again if he makes you so angry, the dark voice said.  Taran’s hands shook, for he wanted to do just that.

“He wants the Tuathans to hand you over to him,” Edoss said.

“So either I’m executed by the Tuathans, or given to the Fomorians to become one of their harrowers.”

“Taran,” Edoss said, “I can’t begin to understand what you are or what you can do.  But you are a Compact citizen, and it is my duty to keep you safe.  I will not let the Tuathans kill you, Doctor Abreau, nor let them give you to the Fomorians.”

Taran locked stares with the Speaker.  Edoss couldn’t do much if the Tuathans, much less the Fomorians, decided they wanted to keep Taran.  Still, he appreciated the Speaker’s willingness to fight for him.

“Thank you, Excellency.  You’re a good man.”  With a rueful grin, Taran said, “I’m sorry I didn’t vote for you.”

Edoss returned his grin.  “Well I damn well better have it in the next election.”

Edoss’s grin melted when they heard several people screaming from the other end of the column.  When gunfire erupted, Edoss jumped out of the wagon, as did Taran.

Outside was chaos.  Tuathans ran toward them from the front of the column, while priests and Heshmen ran in the opposite direction.  The Shadarlak surrounding the wagon immediately formed a protective circle around Edoss and Taran, causing Edoss to peer between their shoulders to see what was happening.

When Cursh entered the Shadarlak circle, Edoss shouted, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but I think the shield just fell.”

Taran looked up and noticed for the first time that the bluish translucence of the shield no longer surrounded them.

Unholy shrieks burst from the forest behind the column.  Dozens of Tainted monstrosities—multi-limbed, glistening, barbed tentacles—chased panicked Tuathans toward the beach.  Six or seven Shadarlak ran behind the last of the Tuathans, covering their flight with revolver fire in a running retreat.  A dozen Heshmen also covered the Tuathans, tossing spears and shooting arrows at the beasts.

But bullets and spears did not stop the Tainted.  One of the monsters wrapped its tentacles around a Shadarlak and pulled him into the air, where several more clawed legs ripped the screaming man in half and tossed both sections to the side.

Captain Laesh burst through the circle of Shadarlak and pulled Edoss toward the beach without an apology over his rough handling.  Taran followed, leaping into a sprint toward the beach.  As they ran, Captain Laesh took a knife from his belt and cut Taran’s bindings.  Taran was grateful, but with the Tuathan barrier surrounding him, he could Wield neither Ahura nor Angra to fight the Tainted.  After only two days of Wielding, he already felt helpless knowing he could not touch either ring.

As if on cue, the dark voice in his mind laughed quietly.

The road turned and twisted between abandoned, crumbling thatch huts and log buildings before ending at two stone piers on the beach.  All along the beach, people ran into the waves to escape the braying, screeching Tainted loping after them.  Taran wondered if the panicked Tuathans expected to swim to Turricia.

Taran watched in awed horror as the Heshmen and the Shadarlak formed up ranks, side by side, creating a line so the Tainted could not reach the fleeing Tuathans charging into the waves.  Edoss formed his men into firing lines, while Laesh commanded a second group of Shadarlak.  Heshmen captains cried out orders to their men.  The men had just formed their ranks when the Tainted horde slammed into them.  Arrows, spears, sabers, and bullets filled the air.  Though no Tainted seem to die, many fell to the ground, thrashing about without limbs severed by the humans.  But many more—too many more—leaped over their flailing brethren and engaged the small army in a melee of spurting tubes, sabers, and spears.

“Taran!”

Taran turned to his left and saw Fatimah running toward him, tears streaming down her face.  “I cannot find Eblin.  You have to help me find Eblin!”

Taran grabbed a hold of Fatimah’s shoulders, glancing at the howling Tainted just a few paces away.  “Where did you see her last?”

“She was— I was right beside her when…when the shield fell.  After that…”  She looked at Taran, shame contorting her face.  “I left her.  I ran, and I left her.”

“Fatimah, I’ll help you find her,” Taran said, “but you have to help me.  Can you remove this barrier around me?”

Fatimah shook her head.  “I do not know how.  It was something Melahara discovered.”  She scanned the panicked mass of Tuathans along the beach, and screamed, “Eblin!  Eblin!”

“Fatimah,” Taran shouted.  “You have to try, or I can’t help you.”

She stared at him, as if searching his soul for something.  Taran knew what it was.

“Fatimah, I am not a harrower.”  The dark voice laughed.  You’re becoming a good liar.

Fatimah looked at him for a desperate moment, then raised her hand to Ahura, closed her eyes, and said an incantation.  A multi-colored tendril of Ahura weaved down from the ring and caressed Fatimah’s hand.  Fatimah put a hand on Taran’s heart.  Her brow furrowed.  She tilted her head from side to side, as if looking for something she could not find.  Moments later she opened her eyes, frustration filling them.

“I cannot find it—”

“Try again, Fatimah,” Taran said.  He pointed to the slaughter going on only a dozen paces away.  “They won’t last much longer.”

She closed her eyes again, and the tendril of Ahura returned to her hand.  After several moments, a horrible shriek filled the air, and Taran looked up to see one of the Tainted break through the ranks of the Heshmen and Shadarlak.  Its four gray limbs pumped hard straight for him and Fatimah.  The sun glistened sickeningly off its mottled skin and five moist, barbed legs.

Taran wondered briefly what this poor creature had once been.  He wondered, too, what would happen to him if he fell into Fomorian hands and they turned him into some version of that thing.  Better to die from it than to become it.

And then the barrier was gone.  Fear, anger, and frustration at the Tainted attack overwhelmed Taran, and he reached for Angra rather than Ahura.  A black tendril from the ring forked down to his outstretched hand, and he directed all his hatred and loathing at the creature about to attack him and Fatimah.  Flames burst from the beast’s various mouths, consuming the monster’s entire body in a flash, as if it were dry grass.  Nothing was left but cloud of ash dispersing on the sea breeze.

But his anger was not appeased.  He pointed at the entire line of Tainted that were slaughtering the Heshmen and Shadarlak.  One by one, up and down the line, they exploded into flames.  The Tainted were immolated so fast that Shadarlak in mid-swing with their sabers sliced through air, and Heshmen stabbed with their spears at flaming ash.

When all the monsters were destroyed, and none flowing from the huts and alleys nearby, the Tuathans and the Recindians glanced at one another in disbelief.  They did not stand around long, for Edoss and the Heshman captains ordered their men to form up ranks again to protect the mass of panicked Tuathans gathering in the water and on the stone piers.

Taran held on to Angra, searching for something else to destroy.  Now kill them all, the dark voice said, before they kill you!

“No!” Taran screamed.  Then with a great force of will, he released Angra.  The crush of Mundane senses returned.

Taran looked at Fatimah, who stared at him with wide eyes.  She took a couple of steps backward.

“We need to find Eblin now,” Taran said.  “Please don’t look at me like that Fatimah.  I can control it.  I can…”

Fatimah gave him a pitiful look and shook her head.  “It will destroy you.”

Before Taran could respond, he felt a crushing force, like a large invisible hand, grab him around the torso and fling him into the air above the beach.  He flew several dozen paces over the abandoned village toward the edge of the forest nearby.  He fell onto the muddy road from which he had just fled, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and stunning him.  Gasping for breath, he looked up.

Kumar Ladak squatted in front of him, his gray eyes bright beneath his tri-corner hat.

“Hello, Taran.  We need to talk.”

Classifying book readers

What’s your sign, book lover? Turns out I’m a “Chronological” with a dash of “Bookophile”:

The Chronological Reader. Slow and steady wins the race, dear reader. You are the tortoise to the promiscuous reader’s distracted-at-any-turn hare. You buy a book, you read it. You buy another, you read it. Perhaps you borrow a book at the library. You read it, and then you return it, and you get another, which you will read. You may not remember where you began, what the first book that kicked it all off was, and you likely have no idea where you’ll end, but the point is, you will go through each book methodically and reasonably, until it is done. You might discard a book, but only if there is very good cause, and it will bring you a sense of deep unease, so you’ll probably pick it back up and finish it anyway. You are very good at puzzles, and the most reliable of all your friends.

More book reader types here.

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 43

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 43

Rida Myndehr stood on the bow of the Turician schooner, willing it to go faster.  Damned backward, stubborn Turicians, she thought.  Why don’t they use the damned steam engines we gave them?  We’d have been there yesterday.

She knew the answer, that the Turicians viewed Compact technology with the same suspicion that she viewed the Tuathan Wielders.  She supposed she could understand the feeling, though it did nothing to ease her impatience and frustration with the slow pace of the schooners.

Though the Beldamark coast was only a half-mile off the starboard side, and Brya had told her that they were only an hour from the Tuathan encampment on the beach, she still felt as if she were late.  Brya had described Melahara’s reports of harrower attacks, and that the Tuathan priests barely hung on to the massive shield Taran Abraeu had created.  She only hoped they could hang on for an hour more.

Rida pulled her woolen, dark-green Shadarlak coat tighter around her neck to fight the biting wind.  Two weeks ago she never would have believed such supernaturalist nonsense like live Mystics, magical arches that transport people hundreds of miles in an instant, or demonic creatures from a madman’s nightmares.  Now she did not give such things a second thought.  They were simply one more enemy to fight and defeat.

The captain of the Turician ship she was on, the Waverider, approached her.  Like most Turicians, Captain Gemdi Hass had a full black beard and a full head of curly hair.  And like most Turicians at Markwatch, he was gaunt from the plague that had swept through the city over a month ago.

He pointed to a large jut of land five miles away and said in a thick Turician accent, “The Mystic priest say that Tuathans are on other side of point.”

Rida nodded.  Even though she knew, she asked, “How long?”

“Another hour, maybe less if wind holds.”  The captain looked up at his full sails.  “Ahura blesses us with good wind.”

Rida nodded.  She glanced at the three schooners behind them.  The Kingfisher, the Vendir, and the Teelamark sailed in a single-file line so as to fit through the narrow, fifty-pace corridor between the coral reef beds on either side of them.  Between the four, they should have more than enough room to hold the five hundred or so Tuathans—

“General!” Brya screamed from behind, running up the deck past startled crewmen.  “General, I see Angra trails!”

“Where?”

“On the peninsula,” she said, pointing at the jut of land Captain Hass had just pointed out.  She saw nothing there, but knew that the Tuathans saw with different eyes.

“How many?”

Brya squinted.  “Two—no, wait, a third just appeared.”

“Can you shield the ships?”

Brya shook her head helplessly.  “They are too big for me.  Maybe around a few people, but that is all.”

“Damn,” Rida said, under her breath.  She turned to Captain Hass.  “Signal your ships and tell them to—”

She stopped when she saw the mass of frothing water racing head-on toward the Windrider.  The mass was over a hundred paces long, encompassing the entire corridor through the reef.  It would be on the schooners in moments.

Captain Hass shouted something to the pilot at the stern of the ship.  The schooner turned sharply to the starboard side.  The Teelamark also turned to starboard, attempting to weave around the Windrider.  But Teelamark’s captain realized he was heading right for an outcropping of rocks, and then turned back to port…right into the Windrider’s path.

There was only time for Rida to hear the captains scream different orders to their pilots before both ships collided.  The stern of the Teelamark rammed into the port bow of the Windrider with a terrible grinding and cracking wood.  Rida was thrown to the deck, and she saw Captain Hass tumble over the railing and into the water.  Brya landed hard on her side nearby, and Rida heard a sickening crack followed by Brya screaming and holding the bone jutting out of her left forearm.  Water gushed through the hole in the Windrider’s side, and the ship listed forward.

Over the snapping wood, yelling crewmen, and flooding below deck, Rida heard the frothing water approach them with tremendous speed.  She raised her head above the ship’s railing in time to see a large wave hit the interlocked Windrider and Teelamark.  Both ships surged upwards as the wave passed beneath them, then came down with a jarring thump into the water.  The Windrider listed further forward, but the wave had vanished.  The Windrider and the Teelamark bobbed up and down in its wake.

All was quiet a moment, and then the sea exploded with dozens of tentacles that reminded Rida all too vividly of the Tainted attack on the train in Doare.  But these tentacles looked like barbed kelp, and smelled of seaweed, fish, and rot.  The tentacles thrashed about the decks, grabbing screaming men, pulling them over the side or tearing off limbs.

When one of the tentacles wrapped itself around Brya’s right leg, Rida blinked away her shock and drew her saber.  Brya screamed when the tentacle yanked her toward the railing.  Rida ran over and severed the tentacle with one swing of her saber.  The remaining part still wrapped around Brya’s leg continued to writhe and thrash, its barbs sinking deeper into Brya’s flesh.

More tentacles shot from out of the water.  The crewmen had produced swords and were hacking at each tentacle that tried grabbing them.  But it was not enough.  The Windrider continued to lose men.  The deck was littered with torn limbs, and slick with blood and pieces of trampled kelp.

As Rida hacked away at the Tainted kelp, she heard a groaning of wood from the front of the ship.  She turned in time to see dozens of tentacles wrap around the ship’s masthead—a dour looking mermaid—and pull the front of the ship into the water.  As the stern jerked downward, Rida lost her footing and slid down the slippery deck into a mass of writhing kelp.

 

“Harrowers!”

Fatimah looked up to see one of the younger priests pointing at the two harrowers still standing on the beach.  They had not moved since Melahara had last spoken to them.

“Have you been asleep?” another priest asked.  “They’ve been there an hour.”

“Not them,” the first priest said.  “Over there.”

She pointed to the small wooded peninsula a few miles away, where large rocks jutted out from the tip, like the skeletal spine of a submerged sea monster.

Three black tendrils snaked down from Angra to a position on the peninsula’s point.

Fatimah jumped up and raced to where Melahara talked with Eblin and Ocrim Tylea.  All three looked up when Fatimah skidded to a stop in front of them.

“Angra trails,” she said, “on the peninsula to the north.”

All three ran with her to the beach, while Eblin limped along as fast as she could.  They stopped just short of the beach, a dozen paces from the end of the shield, and stared at the three undulating, black tendrils.

Melahara looked at Ladak.  “What is happening over there?”

Ladak glanced at the tendrils.  “Oh, that.  That means the ships from Markwatch you were waiting for won’t be arriving within the hour.  What am I saying?  They won’t be arriving at all.”

He opened his gold pocket watch. “And your hour is up.  What say you about my generous offer?”

Melahara raised her hand to Ahura and closed her eyes a few moments, then lowered her hand slowly and stared at Ladak, horrified.

“What is happening?” Ocrim Tylea asked.

“Brya says they are under attack,” Melahara said, “but she was cut off.”  She looked at Ladak.  “What have you done?”

“Made sure that you have no choice but to accept my offer.”

Ocrim Tylea spat, “You mean your surrender terms?”

Ladak shrugged.  “Whatever you want to call it.”

He put the watch back in his black coat and adjusted his tri-corner hat.  “Am I to assume that you refuse to hand over the Zervakan?”

Eblin finally arrived and said, “You know we cannot give him to you.”

Ladak sighed, as if he were truly disappointed.  But Fatimah thought he was trying to control a smile.  “That disappoints me.  The Tuathans and the Fomorians should be allies in this world, not adversaries.  The Mundanes will destroy us all if they get the chance.  Look at the technology the Compact developed in a mere two hundred years—muskets, cannon, trains, wiretypes.  Maybe not today or tomorrow, but certainly within the next fifty years they will be powerful enough to challenge us.  ”

Melahara said, “You make it sound as if we should rule the Mundanes by divine right.  That is the Fomorian way, not the Tuathan.  We choose to live in peace with the Mundanes.  And to stop you from enslaving them.”

Ladak raised an eyebrow.  “You cannot save them if you are all dead.”

Ocrim said, “We will resist you if you attack us again.”

Ladak chuckled.  “Ah, you mean you will hide behind your magnificent shield.  Well, about that….”

An arrow hissed from out of the woods and struck the heart of the priest holding the shield.  The young, red-haired priest’s eyes rolled into her head and she fell on her back.

The blue shield winked out of existence before another priest could take over.

“Arrows are crude, but effective,” Ladak said.  “Now what were you saying about resisting?”

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 42

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 41

Melahara resumed the Tuathan march an hour after Taran’s capture.  Fatimah still held the shield when the call ran up and down the column, and Melahara forced her to relinquish control of the shield to another priest.  Just as Bessi was disappointed to give up the shield, Fatimah reluctantly gave the shield to a priest older than her, who took it with an eager gleam in her eyes.  When Ahura left Fatimah, she slumped against a priest who was there to support her.  She was able to stand on her feet within minutes, but her body still wanted nothing more than to lie down.  She chose to stay with the priests holding the shield.  If one of them should lose her concentration, perhaps she would have a chance to Wield again and forget about Taran.

She gave an involuntary glance back at the covered wagon that held Taran.  Eblin still rode on the front seat with the Heshman driver, but the remaining Shadarlak flanked the wagon, including a sizable contingent of priests and Heshmen.  As the column started its march, the two sides began to eye the forests on either side of them more than each other, a development that gave Fatimah hope their alliance was not dead.

After a few hours of marching, Melahara came forward and walked among the shield priests.

“I have received word through Ahura from Brya Lueng.  General Myndehr arrived safely in Markwatch, and Lord Ven Demeg has already dispatched four ships.  They should be awaiting us when we arrive at Tsall.”

Relieved whispers spread through the ranks of the priests, and the news traveled fast along the column of weary Tuathans.  The news seemed to make the column move a little quicker toward the seaside village of Tsall.  Even Fatimah felt her sadness ebb a little.  At least her people would soon be safe.  Relatively speaking.  For there was nowhere her people would be truly safe from the Fomorians and harrowers.

As the night wore on, priest after priest held the shield, none for more than an a half hour, before being relieved by another priest.  Fatimah herself eagerly took another turn at maintaining the shield, and each time experienced the torturous process of giving it up to another priest at the end of her turn.  All of the priests experienced the same fatigue that she felt afterwards, but all were growing strong enough to remain standing after giving up the shield.  Also, as each turn passed, the priests could Wield much sooner after a previous Wield.  Though still terribly difficult, they were becoming much more disciplined about giving up Ahura when their turns were over.  None wanted to suffer Pomar’s fate.  Better to experience the loss of Ahura for a little while than forever.

When the night sky turned purple in the east, Fatimah spotted seagulls in the sky, and even smelled the saltiness of the sea.  Others began to notice the same thing, and excited murmurs raced up and down the bone-weary column.  Mothers whispered encouraging words to older children, while fathers carried young children too tired to walk.  Many parents looked as if they needed to be carried themselves.  It took most of Fatimah’s concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

The sun broke above the tree lines as Fatimah began to hear the faint crashing waves.  The smell of the sea was stronger now, and a breeze had picked up.  Within an hour, the column rounded a bend and stared at the abandoned huts and stone piers of the Tuathan village Tsall.  The village had been deserted two decades ago after a terrible hurricane destroyed most of the town.  Without the resources to rebuild, along with a dwindling population, the survivors simply moved to different villages inside the Beldamark.

Beyond the decaying huts, Fatimah saw the dark blue sea.  White waves crashed on the crumbling stone piers and a narrow strip of sandy beach that stretched north and south beyond sight.  The red sun hung just above the sea’s horizon, making the water look like sparkling diamonds and rubies.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Fatimah had ever seen.

The ragged band of Tuathans behind her surged forward to stand on the sandy beach, as if being near the sea would make them safe forever.  Fatimah also wanted to walk in the surf that pounded the sand.  It had been years since she had seen the sea, and the salvation from the harrowers it promised made her want to touch the water.

The first inkling Fatimah had that something was wrong was that the promised ships were no where in sight.  That concerned her, but she was not too worried since the vessels could be called by communication through Ahura to the priest on the ship.

What scared her were the two harrowers who emerged from the forest and walked beside the lead Tuathans, just outside the shield.  They also had a shield of their own, although theirs made everything within it distorted, as if viewed through an unevenly cast window.

As they approached, Fatimah could make out two men.  One wore the same buckskin and woolen clothes of a Tuathan, though much shabbier and muddier than even the marching Tuathans.

Fatimah was even more shocked by the other harrower.  He wore Recindian clothes—black breeches, white shirt, black coat, and a black tri-corner hat.  He had a thick, white mustache that hung over his lips.  Fatimah recognized him as the man who had shared a tent with Taran during their march from Markwatch, but she could not remember his name.  She wondered why she had not smelled the Taint of Angra on him when she first met him, then realized she had never come within five paces of the man.  She had only smelled the Taint on Taran when she was less than a pace from him.

The Recindian bowed, and said, “We come under a flag of truce.  Please excuse the fact we have no flag.”

The second man next to him, a little older than Fatimah, gave a high-pitched maniacal laugh.

“Who are you?” Melahara said, striding toward the two harrowers, but staying within the shield.

“Kumar Ladak, proud Fomorian at your service, my lady.  And my associate is…well, I don’t really know his name.  Forgot to ask when I turned him into a harrower.  Anyway, our names are not important, but our offer is.  Give us the Zervakan, and your people may live.”

“The Zervakan, the Zervakan,” the younger man repeated, his grin showing yellow, rotten teeth.  He hopped around like a dog eager for a treat.

“What makes you think we have him?”

Ladak snorted.  “Who else could have created this grand shield?  Quite impressive, I must say.  We know you do not yet have the strength to create one.  Which means you have a Zervakan among you.”

“Zervakan, Zervakan,” the younger man chanted.

“Even if we did have the Zervakan among us, you know we cannot give him to you.  You will only use him against us.”

“And you would not use him against us?”  Ladak shook his head reproachfully at Melahara, as if scolding a young child.  Melahara’s frown said she did not appreciate it.

“Whether or not you believe this,” Ladak said, “our fight is not with you, Holy Seat.”

Melahara raised an eyebrow.  “And I suppose the attack on our Heiron and the harassment along our journey was your idea of opening diplomatic relations?”

Ladak pointed a finger at her.  “We were prepared to leave you in peace, but you forced us to act by allying with our true enemy—the Recindian Compact.  They represent the greatest threat in this world to my people and to yours.”

“Ah, so we should band together to fight the Compact, is that right?”  Melahara laughed.  “We may lack your Wielding strength—for the moment—but we are not fools.”

“Think about it,” Ladak said patiently.  “I’ve lived in the Compact for generations.  Their Pathist priests have corrupted the people with their teachings against ‘supernaturalism.’  They’ve fought two wars against Mazumdahr, a country that has strong ‘supernaturalist’ beliefs, simply because the Compact fears those beliefs.  Do you really think the Pathists in the Compact will just let you settle on their lands?  Even if their government believes you, the people will not.  They have been conditioned too well.  You know this.  It will be just like a thousand years ago, when you were chased into the Beldamark by mobs with pitchforks and nooses.”

Melahara regarded the Fomorian with a smirk, but Fatimah saw her eyes begin to narrow, as if Ladak’s words had struck home.

“This world has forgotten the powers that created it,” Ladak said, “that keep it strong and enable it to survive.  Given time, the Compact’s fear of ‘supernaturalism’ will make them try to destroy you.”

Eblin approached Melahara, leaning heavily on her staff.  “Since when do harrowers think of the welfare of others?” she asked.

“Fomorian,” Ladak said.  “He’s the harrower.  And I don’t care about your people.  Look at you.  You can barely hold back four harrowers.  What are you going to do when you’re attacked by true-blood Fomorians?  No, we don’t see you as a threat.  But we will if you proceed with this doomed and misguided alliance with the Compact.  We will defeat them regardless of whether you help them.  It’ll just be easier, quicker, and with far less loss of life if you don’t.”

Then he turned to Melahara.  “Give us the Zervakan and we will destroy the Compact within weeks.  You can go back to your Beldamark homes and live peaceful lives like you have done over the last millennium.”

Melahara said, “And after the Compact is defeated you will come for us.”

Fatimah was shocked more at the tone of Melahara’s voice rather than the statement.  It sounded more like a question, as if the Holy Seat was actually considering the Fomorian’s offer.  Fatimah did not allow her face to show her confusion, but she hoped that Eblin noticed the undertones.  If Eblin did, though, her face did not show it.

Ladak smiled.  “As long as your people stay in the Beldamark, you have nothing to fear from us.”

Melahara considered this for a moment.  “And what assurances can you give us?”

Fatimah could not contain her outrage any longer.  “Mother Seat, do not believe anything—”

Eblin hissed, “Silence, girl!”

Fatimah stared at Eblin, but her old Master said, “Do not interrupt the Holy Seat.”

The younger harrower gave a high laugh while staring at Fatimah.  “Turmoil and trouble, hee, hee.”

“So much for Tuathan discipline,” Ladak said, grinning at Fatimah.

“I said,” Melahara repeated, “what assurances can you give me that you will not come after us once the Compact is gone?”

Ladak turned his gray eyes to Melahara.  “Because I know how the Barrier fell, and I can help you raise it again around the Beldamark.”

Ladak took a gold pocket watch from his black coat, glanced at it, and said, “I’ll be generous and give you one hour to talk amongst yourselves.”

Book Review: Kill Screen by Benjamin Reeves

Originally posted at New Podler Review of Books.

Kill Screen by Benjamin Reeves is as creepy as a late-night session of Resident Evil in a dark basement. An apt description, considering the book is about a dark and creepy video game that achieves sentience and drives its players insane.*

Jack Valentine, co-owner of the video game company Electronic Sheep, finds his partner and best friend Dexter Hayward dead in a bathtub filled with his own blood. It’s a confirmed suicide – something to which Jack is not a stranger – but it spurs Jack to discover why his friend abruptly killed himself. Jack’s investigation leads him to Evi, a mysterious computer program embedded in a video game under development at Electronic Sheep. Evi shows Jack terrifying things, including horrors from his own past. To save his sanity, and gain justice for Dexter, Jack has to discover what the program wants and how to stop it from causing more deaths.

Kill Screen is set in San Francisco during the 1990s, a heady time and place to be working in software development. A tech veteran himself, Reeves does a wonderful job depicting the joys and frustrations of developing software on the bleeding edge of technology.

Told in first-person point of view by Jack, we see how tortured and guilt-ridden he is over the death of his wife, something that drives his single-minded pursuit to learn why Dexter killed himself. The secondary characters in the Electronic Sheep offices were stock – the opinionated art director; the uber-coder who programmed at 60-words per minute; the sycophantic newb who never had an opinion until he heard his manager’s first – but made me nostalgic for my own software development days during the ’90s. I knew people like that. For me, the stock characters only added to Reeves’s techie credibility.

Reeves’s prose is wonderful, especially in a first-time novel. His metaphors and descriptions are highly original and convey a mood or mental image as concrete as any I’ve read by more experienced authors.  However, my enthusiasm is tempered by the many spelling errors of the misplaced-word variety (“her” instead of “here”, etc.). They were numerous enough to notice, but not so bad as to avoid the book.

I hope this isn’t the last we see of Evi. A sequel with Evi escaping onto the Internet would be an entertaining follow-up to a novel I highly recommend to fans of tech thrillers.

Kill Screen is available on Amazon.

* No, I’m not suggesting Resident Evil will achieve sentience and drive its players insane. But it is freakin’ dark and creepy.

ZERVAKAN – Free Fantasy Novel – Chapter 41

Cover by TJ Lomas.


I’m posting a chapter from my latest fantasy novel for free every Monday and Friday (click Zervakan above for a synopsis and to start from the beginning). It’s in a “pre-published state,” meaning you might find the occasional spelling/grammar mistake. If you do, please leave a comment below or email me at robsteiner01 [at] gmail [dot] com.

If you’re uncomfortable getting something for nothing, you can hit the PayPal Donate button in the Tip Jar section to the right. If you donate more than $3, I’ll send you a non-DRM ebook once the book is published (summer 2012). If you donate more than $20, I’ll send you a printed copy.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 41

After marching five hours, Eblin called a halt that was greeted with quiet sighs of gratitude from the Tuathan masses.

Fatimah ensured there were enough priests to maintain the shield, and then made her way to the back of the column to await Melahara’s return.  Melahara had received word from Pomar, through Ahura, that they found Taran and were returning to the column.  Upon hearing this, Melahara gathered all the priests that the column could spare, along with a squad of Heshmen, and went to meet Pomar.  Melahara forbade Fatimah from accompanying her, ignoring Fatimah’s inappropriate protests.  When Melahara’s sharp denials did not silence Fatimah, Eblin did so in a harsh tone that she never used even when Fatimah was an Acolyte.

“It is not your place to question the Holy Seat’s wisdom, priest,” Eblin had said.  “Now do your duty and stop your childish whining.”

Fatimah had gritted her teeth and returned to her place among the priests maintaining the shield.

Fatimah reached the end of the column and sat in front of the shield’s blue, translucent edge.  Several Tuathan families also sat nearby, and she gave them reassuring smiles.  One of the children, a dirty-faced boy of five years, gave her a piece of cheese, for which Fatimah thanked him and ate gratefully.  The boy gave her a shy smile and ran back to his mother.

The dark clouds had weakened, and the first stars of dusk sparkled through the breaks.  Ahura and Angra shone like beacons in the sky, bathing the road in a strange mixture of color and darkness.  Fatimah watched the shadowy road behind the column, waiting for Melahara’s return.

As soon as Fatimah saw the blue-white glow of the shield approaching, she stood and walked outside the main shield toward the approaching figures.  Night had almost settled over the land, so it was not until she was within a dozen paces that she could see Taran walking among the priests and Heshmen, one of whom carried Pomar.  Behind them were Edoss and his men, all more grim-faced than usual.

Fatimah broke into a run and stopped in front of Taran just before she was about to throw her arms around him.  His hands were bound behind him and though he smiled at her, his eyes were sad.

And then she smelled the Taint.  Decay, stale blood, feces, and all the smells that would make a human sick, all combined into one.  It was weak, but unmistakable.  It came from Taran.  She backed away from him.

“You see, child,” Melahara said.  “I told you he could no longer be trusted.  You, too, can smell his betrayal.”

Fatimah’s voice failed her, the words frozen in her mind.  She looked at Taran, who stared back at her with those sad eyes.

“Is it true?” she asked him.

He opened his mouth, but no words came.  He did not have to answer, for his expression told her all.

She slapped him across the face, then slapped him again, and then a third time.  “I trusted you!”

Melahara grabbed Fatimah’s hand when she was about to strike a fourth time.  “Control yourself, priest,” she said.  “He will be judged after our people are safe.”

Melahara cast a glance back at Edoss, who now stood at Taran’s side.  The small man’s glare made him seem taller.

Fatimah turned around and ran back to the main shield, through the resting Tuathans, stopping only when she reached the front of the column.  The priests surrounding the current shield holder gave her questioning looks, but she ignored them.

How could he have turned against them?  He was her friend, she trusted him…and all this time he was a harrower?  But it did not make sense.  How could he Wield Ahura and Angra?  Was he really in league with the harrowers who attacked Fedalan, and who followed the Tuathans now?

Fatimah heard the crowd behind her murmur, and she turned to see Melahara leading the bound Taran to the covered wagon.  She ordered him inside, and he climbed in without a word.  Dylan Edoss entered the wagon with Taran.  Several Heshmen and priests stood outside, along with Lee Cursh and every one of Edoss’s remaining Shadarlak.  Both groups eyed each other in ways that made Fatimah wonder if a cough from one would cause the other to attack.

“This is terrible,” one of the Acolytes said to another several paces away.  “Why would the Zervakan betray us?”

“I heard he was never with us to begin with,” the second Acolyte said, her tone filled with conspiratorial certainty.  “I heard he only pretended to be with us so he could infiltrate the priesthood.  He was a harrower all along.”

Fatimah whirled around and stalked toward the gossiping Acolytes.  When they saw her approach, both bowed their heads.

“Isn’t there some food you two could be handing out to the people?”

They both bowed again and said, “Yes, priest,” then scurried off to the food wagon to help with the distribution.  Upon seeing Fatimah’s anger, several more Acolytes standing nearby rushed off to assist their sisters.

Fatimah went back to the group of priests who were maintaining the shield.  Bessi Gyhll was currently holding the shield, her freckled face rapturous.

“I will take over now,” Fatimah said to Bessi.  The young priest ignored her at first, so Fatimah stood in front of her and said loudly, “Bessi, I will take over now.”

The dreamy expression on Bessi’s face turned to confusion and disappointment.  “I just took over the shield a few minutes ago.”

“And you will give it up now,” Fatimah said.

Bessi had been ordained a year after Fatimah, so Fatimah had the privilege of seniority on her.  The girl reluctantly nodded her head.  Fatimah raised her right hand to Ahura, recited the shield incantation, and then reached over to Bessi’s hand.  The younger priest handed control of the shield to Fatimah.  Fatimah was vaguely aware of Bessi collapsing into the arms of two priests who carried back to Eblin’s wagon.  Fatimah was too busy reveling in the peace and joy that flooded her senses.

Taran’s betrayal was now a distant memory.