Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 390
September 21, 2015
The King's Challenge #53
TKC 53
All breath leaves me. “Horin is screaming?”
Damin frowns. “I have no connection to him, yet I hear him. Lyra, it may not be physical; it could be his internal fear.”
I latch onto that or I will not cope. I nod convulsively.
“As we close in I should receive an image,” Damin murmurs. He releases the reins briefly to hold me. “Then we will know more.”
Again, I simply nod.
“Porlese should be in sight within two days at this pace,” he goes on.
“Have you been there?” I ask to distract myself.
“No, but Alyssa’s father has a mansion there, and she often visits. She says it is liberal city, larger than Normur, with broad streets. Less desperation, apparently, for all trade is welcome. Even the lowliest beggar earns a living.”
Liberal, yes. So much so that slavery is accepted. Ha. I bite my tongue.
“I think Horin has a latent gift,” Damin says then. “That is why I hear him. He is still young and it has not come forth yet, but it is there.”
“Delver?” I whisper.
“That would have been obvious before now.” Damin shakes his head. “Something else. Women traditionally receive what you have, thus it cannot be any of those talents. Maybe the skills of a warrior …”
“Horin? A warrior?” I blurt.
Damin grins. “Maybe. He is only eight; give him time.”
Time is something we do not have. I pray then that my little brother has the opportunity to grow up, whether or not he is a warrior. It does not matter to me what he will be; I merely hope he gets there. I squint up into the sunshine, but it is too bright for a sight of what approaches from the sky.
“If the cover stays away we should see it closer to sunset,” Damin mutters.
All breath leaves me. “Horin is screaming?”
Damin frowns. “I have no connection to him, yet I hear him. Lyra, it may not be physical; it could be his internal fear.”
I latch onto that or I will not cope. I nod convulsively.
“As we close in I should receive an image,” Damin murmurs. He releases the reins briefly to hold me. “Then we will know more.”
Again, I simply nod.
“Porlese should be in sight within two days at this pace,” he goes on.
“Have you been there?” I ask to distract myself.
“No, but Alyssa’s father has a mansion there, and she often visits. She says it is liberal city, larger than Normur, with broad streets. Less desperation, apparently, for all trade is welcome. Even the lowliest beggar earns a living.”
Liberal, yes. So much so that slavery is accepted. Ha. I bite my tongue.
“I think Horin has a latent gift,” Damin says then. “That is why I hear him. He is still young and it has not come forth yet, but it is there.”
“Delver?” I whisper.
“That would have been obvious before now.” Damin shakes his head. “Something else. Women traditionally receive what you have, thus it cannot be any of those talents. Maybe the skills of a warrior …”
“Horin? A warrior?” I blurt.
Damin grins. “Maybe. He is only eight; give him time.”
Time is something we do not have. I pray then that my little brother has the opportunity to grow up, whether or not he is a warrior. It does not matter to me what he will be; I merely hope he gets there. I squint up into the sunshine, but it is too bright for a sight of what approaches from the sky.
“If the cover stays away we should see it closer to sunset,” Damin mutters.
September 20, 2015
The King's Challenge #52
TKC 52
Exhaustion in the early hours forces us to halt under a giant tree to rest. We cannot eat, our stomachs still churning over the dead, and the smell of burning flesh. Our horse now has feed, and snuffles contentedly.
Two hours later, as the glows of dawn lightens the forest, we are on our way. It has definitely stopped raining, for beams pierce the trees. This remains the wet season, however, and we cannot rely on a dry road.
The crossroad lies ahead. We do not stop; we simply continue on, now ever south.
There are other travellers on the road, some on foot, others by cart, a few on horseback. They are taking to the road after a night in the open, and we pass them. Folk call out greeting and we hear they are on their way to the fort where others gather.
“How do they know?” I ask Damin.
“We sent runners,” he responds. “Some listened to the warnings.” He stares ahead, his gaze thoughtful when I turn my head to look. “I sent two to Grenmassin also. They were not among the dead.” He lowers his gaze to mine. “If they turned traitor, they will know the sharp edge of my blade.”
“They were probably caught with the others.”
Damin nods and sends his gaze outwards.
“Why did you not tell me before, about the runners?” I ask.
“They were sent before you arrived in Normur. Other matters took my attention.”
I frown. There is something wrong with his timeline, but for the moment I let it pass. “Are you able to reach Siri mind to mind?”
“I have tried. The distance is too great.”
“She is a Delver?”
“No, but a blood connection is strong.”
Something is wrong. “Damin, what is it?”
“I hear Horin,” he says eventually. “He is screaming.”
Exhaustion in the early hours forces us to halt under a giant tree to rest. We cannot eat, our stomachs still churning over the dead, and the smell of burning flesh. Our horse now has feed, and snuffles contentedly.
Two hours later, as the glows of dawn lightens the forest, we are on our way. It has definitely stopped raining, for beams pierce the trees. This remains the wet season, however, and we cannot rely on a dry road.
The crossroad lies ahead. We do not stop; we simply continue on, now ever south.
There are other travellers on the road, some on foot, others by cart, a few on horseback. They are taking to the road after a night in the open, and we pass them. Folk call out greeting and we hear they are on their way to the fort where others gather.
“How do they know?” I ask Damin.
“We sent runners,” he responds. “Some listened to the warnings.” He stares ahead, his gaze thoughtful when I turn my head to look. “I sent two to Grenmassin also. They were not among the dead.” He lowers his gaze to mine. “If they turned traitor, they will know the sharp edge of my blade.”
“They were probably caught with the others.”
Damin nods and sends his gaze outwards.
“Why did you not tell me before, about the runners?” I ask.
“They were sent before you arrived in Normur. Other matters took my attention.”
I frown. There is something wrong with his timeline, but for the moment I let it pass. “Are you able to reach Siri mind to mind?”
“I have tried. The distance is too great.”
“She is a Delver?”
“No, but a blood connection is strong.”
Something is wrong. “Damin, what is it?”
“I hear Horin,” he says eventually. “He is screaming.”
September 19, 2015
The King's Challenge #51
TKC 51
We leave the village although night has fallen. It is now a place of ghosts.
After discovering more bodies in two other cellars and after determining neither Siri nor Horin are among the dead – we found none of the young – we set fire to their homes. The time to bury everyone individually required more strength than we possessed. I shall never return to Grenmassin and I know Damin feels the same. Let it burn.
Many hours on horseback later, Damin eventually speaks. “They took the young only, killed the rest. They will be sold as slaves in Porlese.”
Slavery is outlawed, but there are regions which ignore the ban. “The raiders,” I say, “are from Porlese?”
“Must be. Alarn to the east is more progressive. They will not raid.”
“Why? The last raid I know of was over two hundred years ago.”
Damin shrugs behind me. “The only objective that makes sense is the threat from above. Porlese sees the night sky more than we do; they know something approaches. To survive, they need hands to build shelters, to gather supplies. Slaves are cheaper than labourers.”
I attempt to bring the Mirlin’s map to mind. The fort the folk from Normur upper and lower head towards is further south than Porlese. Once we have freed our loved ones, we still have a march before we join the others. Then there is the march to the sanctuary.
“We are not going to make it,” I whisper.
There is silence for a time behind me. The horse moves onward at a steady pace.
“Lyra, we cannot abandon them. We must hope the thing in the stars slows or diverts or something. I will die rather than leave my sister to a life of slavery.”
Yes, I too would give my life for Horin.
We leave the village although night has fallen. It is now a place of ghosts.
After discovering more bodies in two other cellars and after determining neither Siri nor Horin are among the dead – we found none of the young – we set fire to their homes. The time to bury everyone individually required more strength than we possessed. I shall never return to Grenmassin and I know Damin feels the same. Let it burn.
Many hours on horseback later, Damin eventually speaks. “They took the young only, killed the rest. They will be sold as slaves in Porlese.”
Slavery is outlawed, but there are regions which ignore the ban. “The raiders,” I say, “are from Porlese?”
“Must be. Alarn to the east is more progressive. They will not raid.”
“Why? The last raid I know of was over two hundred years ago.”
Damin shrugs behind me. “The only objective that makes sense is the threat from above. Porlese sees the night sky more than we do; they know something approaches. To survive, they need hands to build shelters, to gather supplies. Slaves are cheaper than labourers.”
I attempt to bring the Mirlin’s map to mind. The fort the folk from Normur upper and lower head towards is further south than Porlese. Once we have freed our loved ones, we still have a march before we join the others. Then there is the march to the sanctuary.
“We are not going to make it,” I whisper.
There is silence for a time behind me. The horse moves onward at a steady pace.
“Lyra, we cannot abandon them. We must hope the thing in the stars slows or diverts or something. I will die rather than leave my sister to a life of slavery.”
Yes, I too would give my life for Horin.
September 18, 2015
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The King's Challenge #50
TKC 50
There are no answers.
Where did the raiders come from? Did they take our people hostage … or as slaves? Did our loved ones flee to Porlese to escape the raiders? Why would anyone seek to raid Grenmassin?
There is only one way to find the answers.
We will go to Porlese.
“Let us see what supplies we can find,” Damin mutters as we enter the abandoned village. “Meet you at your house in an hour.”
Nodding, I walk on while he tethers our mount at the water trough. There is a cellar under our house usually filled with food gathered during the dry season. If the raiders have not discovered it and if the water has not either, we should find enough for our journey south. I grimace. At least we will be heading south at last.
It is cold inside the only home I have known. The hearth is unlit and every space in its emptiness accuses me. My mother’s bedroom is tidy, as if she intends to return. Nothing appears to be missing. Horin’s room is a mess as always. Trust my little brother to never change. Mine has a waiting feel, as if my mother prepared it for my return.
They did not intend to leave.
Swallowing back tears, I unlock the cellar door.
And then I am screaming.
Damin crashes in above. “Lyra!”
A pile of bodies, by the stars. I see my mother. I see blood. Terrible wounds. There is Henry and Jimmi, Altin and Moana and …
Damin grips me from behind and forcibly turns me away. I feel the rapid thud of his heart, the quivering shock in his every muscle. “No,” he whispers.
Together we stumble out into the grey light. It has finally stopped raining. Clutching each other, we have no words.
There are no answers.
Where did the raiders come from? Did they take our people hostage … or as slaves? Did our loved ones flee to Porlese to escape the raiders? Why would anyone seek to raid Grenmassin?
There is only one way to find the answers.
We will go to Porlese.
“Let us see what supplies we can find,” Damin mutters as we enter the abandoned village. “Meet you at your house in an hour.”
Nodding, I walk on while he tethers our mount at the water trough. There is a cellar under our house usually filled with food gathered during the dry season. If the raiders have not discovered it and if the water has not either, we should find enough for our journey south. I grimace. At least we will be heading south at last.
It is cold inside the only home I have known. The hearth is unlit and every space in its emptiness accuses me. My mother’s bedroom is tidy, as if she intends to return. Nothing appears to be missing. Horin’s room is a mess as always. Trust my little brother to never change. Mine has a waiting feel, as if my mother prepared it for my return.
They did not intend to leave.
Swallowing back tears, I unlock the cellar door.
And then I am screaming.
Damin crashes in above. “Lyra!”
A pile of bodies, by the stars. I see my mother. I see blood. Terrible wounds. There is Henry and Jimmi, Altin and Moana and …
Damin grips me from behind and forcibly turns me away. I feel the rapid thud of his heart, the quivering shock in his every muscle. “No,” he whispers.
Together we stumble out into the grey light. It has finally stopped raining. Clutching each other, we have no words.
My name is Nemesis
The first Lore of Sanctum book is about to go live! The Nemesis Blade is scheduled for 30 September publication!
Don't you just love the cover?!
Don't you just love the cover?!
My names is Nemesis
The first Lore of Sanctum book is about to go live! The Nemesis Blade is scheduled for 30 September publication!
Don't you just love the cover?!
Don't you just love the cover?!
September 17, 2015
The King's Challenge #49
TKC 49
By mid-morning we are at the crossroads. Here travellers make their choices. Behind us, the west, lies Normur; east is the inland city of Alarn. South leads to Porlese, although few go there, for folk claim it is of loose morals. North is Grenmassin, a farming community nestled in the mountains.
Smiling at each other, we take to the northern road.
Clearing the treeline an hour later, we encounter the first cottages. It is still raining, but we expect to see people about their chores. Instead we find only silence. Not a breath of smoke from a hearth wafts into the air. No dogs greet us.
It feels abandoned.
Damin kicks our horse into faster gait, saying not a word. Soon the common is before us and beyond is the village where we grew up. There is evidence of water damage. It is possible the river burst its banks and folk chose to move to higher ground when that danger loomed. I remember a time my father grabbed me up from my bed in the middle of the night to escape the rising water.
Murmuring about the river, Damin turns the horse for the high path. After tethering him where the way becomes too steep, we walk on, climbing steadily. We do not speak; I think we are afraid to.
The caves are deserted. There is no sign of habitation, not even of anyone having been there.
Hands in his hair, Damin shouts, “Where are you? Siri, can you hear me?”
“Horin!” I holler. “Mom!”
“Lyra?” It is a whisper of sound only. I run to a jumble of rocks near the entrance. Old Jessen, the blacksmith, lies curled upon a threadbare blanket. He is near death and coughs words out. “South … Porlese … raiders …” Then he stares forever sightless.
By mid-morning we are at the crossroads. Here travellers make their choices. Behind us, the west, lies Normur; east is the inland city of Alarn. South leads to Porlese, although few go there, for folk claim it is of loose morals. North is Grenmassin, a farming community nestled in the mountains.
Smiling at each other, we take to the northern road.
Clearing the treeline an hour later, we encounter the first cottages. It is still raining, but we expect to see people about their chores. Instead we find only silence. Not a breath of smoke from a hearth wafts into the air. No dogs greet us.
It feels abandoned.
Damin kicks our horse into faster gait, saying not a word. Soon the common is before us and beyond is the village where we grew up. There is evidence of water damage. It is possible the river burst its banks and folk chose to move to higher ground when that danger loomed. I remember a time my father grabbed me up from my bed in the middle of the night to escape the rising water.
Murmuring about the river, Damin turns the horse for the high path. After tethering him where the way becomes too steep, we walk on, climbing steadily. We do not speak; I think we are afraid to.
The caves are deserted. There is no sign of habitation, not even of anyone having been there.
Hands in his hair, Damin shouts, “Where are you? Siri, can you hear me?”
“Horin!” I holler. “Mom!”
“Lyra?” It is a whisper of sound only. I run to a jumble of rocks near the entrance. Old Jessen, the blacksmith, lies curled upon a threadbare blanket. He is near death and coughs words out. “South … Porlese … raiders …” Then he stares forever sightless.
