Michael Puttonen's Blog - Posts Tagged "sanyel"
Circles and Stones
For anyone interested in my progress on the third book in my Sanyel series, I am currently six chapters into writing the first draft. I am diligently working, organizing the details of the plot as I go. I know where I’m heading; it just takes a while to get there. In the meantime, I thought I’d share the opening paragraph. It is subject to revision, but for now this is how the new book, tentatively titled Circles and Stones, begins:
(Chapter One)
As a child, I had never given much thought to time. It passed unnoticed. There was always a bountiful supply. When my father Nanki died, I realized how precious little time the sun god allots to a human life. Ra-ta, the enigmatic creator of all things, never tells us why he regulates our existence in this manner. Why we are born and why we die is a mystery, even though countless eons have passed since the first self-aware mind looked inward to solve this riddle. In between birth and death, the sun god gives us time. Time is a tricky thing. As you get older, it passes more swiftly; at least that is what Semral, the great hunter tells me. At sixteen, I don’t see it yet, though I am increasingly aware of its demands and limitations.
The theme of time resonates throughout this story. The mystery of the grass circles with the single stone at their edge (from my previous novel, Disrupter) is a key element of this book, hence the title. I will strive to update my progress and perhaps throw in a few plot teasers in future posts.
(Chapter One)
As a child, I had never given much thought to time. It passed unnoticed. There was always a bountiful supply. When my father Nanki died, I realized how precious little time the sun god allots to a human life. Ra-ta, the enigmatic creator of all things, never tells us why he regulates our existence in this manner. Why we are born and why we die is a mystery, even though countless eons have passed since the first self-aware mind looked inward to solve this riddle. In between birth and death, the sun god gives us time. Time is a tricky thing. As you get older, it passes more swiftly; at least that is what Semral, the great hunter tells me. At sixteen, I don’t see it yet, though I am increasingly aware of its demands and limitations.
The theme of time resonates throughout this story. The mystery of the grass circles with the single stone at their edge (from my previous novel, Disrupter) is a key element of this book, hence the title. I will strive to update my progress and perhaps throw in a few plot teasers in future posts.
Circles and Stones (update)
I am nine chapters into writing Circles and Stones, the third novel in my Sanyel series. My writing has slowed due to working on another project and to other circumstances that have commanded my time. However, I am making daily progress and would like to offer a small glimpse into what readers can expect in this third outing.
As Sanyel and her friend Izzy, along with the fat priest Borsar, return to Grell to free Borsar’s obnoxious son, they encounter recurring, eerie events where people appear and vanish before their eyes. Some of these people, who seem alive and real to our travelers, are deceased, and others are still very much alive. What are they? Not ghosts, certainly. Here is a passage:
Our two-week journey south to the desert proved uneventful. Each day we followed our course as Ra-ta, the sun, followed his own high path across his heavenly domain. Each night, as the sun bid farewell and darkness poured in to fill the Kodor bowl, we arranged our bedding and slept until the morning light again emptied the bowl of shadows. Near the end of the first leg of our trip, as we passed from negotiating a series of low hills onto an open plain, a procession of pale clouds overhead caught my attention. In an otherwise clear sky, the presence of any cloud was startling, but it was the spacing and positioning of these clouds I found unusual, with one trailing close upon the next, like a linked, puffed family of sky creatures moving leisurely across the empty blue expanse.
With my attention distracted by the odd sight, I failed to notice the approaching riders. Izzy alerted me. In the early afternoon of this sweltering day, shimmering heat waves blended with the motion of two riders against the horizon, giving them an illusory consistency, as if images viewed through disturbed water.
“It’s Oster,” Izzy determined, “and I don’t know who the other is.”
Oster must have ridden from his current post at the entrance to our lands, the singular mountain fissure where the soaring peaks of the Kodor range briefly part to meet the dry, dead sands of the Desert of Bones. That rift is the entryway to our precious domain, and it is where we station watchmen to guard the mountain cleft and alert us to intruders. Oster would not have left his post unless on urgent tribal business.
Oster steered his droove on a course directly for us, guiding the second droove by holding its reins in a free hand. Upon that second animal sat an older woman. As we patiently waited for Oster to make his way to us, the inexplicable happened. Oster and his companion vanished!
I hope this first-draft excerpt from the new novel piqued your interest. I will share more in future posts.
As Sanyel and her friend Izzy, along with the fat priest Borsar, return to Grell to free Borsar’s obnoxious son, they encounter recurring, eerie events where people appear and vanish before their eyes. Some of these people, who seem alive and real to our travelers, are deceased, and others are still very much alive. What are they? Not ghosts, certainly. Here is a passage:
Our two-week journey south to the desert proved uneventful. Each day we followed our course as Ra-ta, the sun, followed his own high path across his heavenly domain. Each night, as the sun bid farewell and darkness poured in to fill the Kodor bowl, we arranged our bedding and slept until the morning light again emptied the bowl of shadows. Near the end of the first leg of our trip, as we passed from negotiating a series of low hills onto an open plain, a procession of pale clouds overhead caught my attention. In an otherwise clear sky, the presence of any cloud was startling, but it was the spacing and positioning of these clouds I found unusual, with one trailing close upon the next, like a linked, puffed family of sky creatures moving leisurely across the empty blue expanse.
With my attention distracted by the odd sight, I failed to notice the approaching riders. Izzy alerted me. In the early afternoon of this sweltering day, shimmering heat waves blended with the motion of two riders against the horizon, giving them an illusory consistency, as if images viewed through disturbed water.
“It’s Oster,” Izzy determined, “and I don’t know who the other is.”
Oster must have ridden from his current post at the entrance to our lands, the singular mountain fissure where the soaring peaks of the Kodor range briefly part to meet the dry, dead sands of the Desert of Bones. That rift is the entryway to our precious domain, and it is where we station watchmen to guard the mountain cleft and alert us to intruders. Oster would not have left his post unless on urgent tribal business.
Oster steered his droove on a course directly for us, guiding the second droove by holding its reins in a free hand. Upon that second animal sat an older woman. As we patiently waited for Oster to make his way to us, the inexplicable happened. Oster and his companion vanished!
I hope this first-draft excerpt from the new novel piqued your interest. I will share more in future posts.
Circles and Stones (update 2, excerpt)
After a detour to work on a website, I have returned to writing Circles and Stones, the third novel in my ongoing Sanyel series. I am twelve chapters in and decided it was time to show another excerpt. It is still in draft form, but the finished product should look similar, only more polished. I hope you enjoy it. Here’s the setup:
Sanyel, Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan have been making their way to the city of Grell in order to find and rescue Borsar’s son from the clutches of Danara, the madwoman who has abducted him. Deserted homes at the outskirts of Grell alarm the travelers until they learn that the starving residents have gone to the inner city to claim free food promised by Danara. A frightened elderly man tells Sanyel of a ruthless gang that has appeared on the surrounding streets, taking advantage of the missing inhabitants to rob homes. The man has witnessed a brutal murder of an elderly woman by the gang, and now the murderous group has found Sanyel and her companions.
Izzy tapped my arm. “We have company.”
A man had appeared in the street and was standing about twenty paces from us. Another then showed to his left, walking from between two houses to the center of the street to stand beside the first. A third came from the opposite side of the lane and joined the other two. They stood there eyeing us in a relaxed and confident manner. Two of the three men displayed malevolent grins.
I glanced down the street in the other direction. A fourth man had placed himself in the middle of the avenue about the same distance from us as the other three.
“It’s them!” the old man informed us. “The rovers!”
“I see only four,” said Izzy. “You said there were six or seven.”
“They will kill us all!” the man said in reply, not bothering to address Izzy’s concern over the numbers.
“I see another,” said Trayvan. “He is on a high balcony directly across from us.”
I glanced over and spotted the man. He made no effort to conceal his presence.
Another man had joined the one standing alone in the street. That made six. I didn’t see a seventh.
“You there,” the first man hailed us. “We’d like to talk to you.”
One of the two standing next to the man chuckled and the other's malicious grin widened. I knew their type. Conversation didn’t interest them. They wanted self-amusement. They would use talk as a means to induce fear, as a preamble to a delightful game of torture and slaughter.
The speaker appeared to be about thirty, sported a dark tan, and was a bit flabby around the middle. His tangled, filthy blond hair reached down to touch uneven shoulders, one of which had a pronounced slope, as if it had mended improperly from past injury. He wore a two-piece outfit, with the lower half consisting of a pair of puffy-legged, dirty blue pants that extended from his ample waist down to his ankles. The upper half was a loose, unadorned, long-sleeved, and once-white shirt tucked in at the waist and open at the neck. The man wore nothing on his feet.
The rest of the men were younger, most of them not much past the age of twenty, and the style and condition of their clothing matched that of their leader. Despite their youth, these men gave off no whiff of innocence, no odor of virtue. These were hardened criminals. Their demeanor revealed that truth, and the cruelty the old man had witnessed against the elderly woman had confirmed their vicious natures. All of them owned wicked-looking knives that dangled from sashes around their waists.
“So talk,” said Trayvan. “But first, we’d appreciate it if you’d come closer. We can’t carry on a decent conversation at this distance.”
I loved Trayvan’s approach. That is how I would have spoken to them. Show no fear and make them second-guess the capabilities and defensive readiness of their targeted victims.
The blond man eyed Trayvan’s sheathed sword and then he swept his sharp gaze over the rest of us. I caught a slight smile when he noticed that neither the priest nor the old man carried weapons. He appeared startled that Izzy and I bore arms but then seemed to dismiss any concern over that. What had he to fear from two young females, one of whom had a missing arm?
I glanced up at the man on the balcony and a new sight confronted me, one that drew my anger. The man had strung a rope across several of the balcony posts. Human heads hung from hooks attached to the rope. I counted six. One was that of an elderly woman. One was the head of a child. The man squeezed his mouth into a taunting smirk as our eyes met.
“If your group will kindly drop your weapons, I don’t see why we can’t have a friendly conversation,” the blond man was saying, his tone affable.
I turned my sight from the balcony lowlife to the speaker.
“We will drop nothing,” I informed him. I paused and then said, “No, that is not completely true. Very soon, I plan to drop that smirking fool off the balcony to the street. Then, I will cut off his head, attach it to a hook, and hang it from his own rope.”
My bold threat, so calmly stated, surprised the rover leader. Encountering a confident young female voicing a challenge to his pack of male predators was probably the last thing he expected. He stood for a moment with mouth agape. Then he laughed.
“You are quite amusing,” he said. “I don’t know how you plan to drop Bransor from the balcony, but the fact that you said you would has already had a devastating effect on my friend. Look how sad you have made him.”
I glanced up and saw no change in Bransor’s demeanor, as his smirk remained.
“I’m thinking Bransor has plans for you,” the rover leader continued with good humor. “I’m thinking he will find a prominent place for your pretty head among his collection. Of course, when he has your head, it will not look as pretty as it does now. Still, one’s looks don’t last forever, do they?”
I’ve learned to be wary of those who threaten with calm, cheerful voices. They tend to have greater intelligence and deviousness than your blustering, angry types. I’m sure he would have continued speaking, but I tired of his talk. I had promised to drop the head collector from the balcony to the street. It was time to honor that vow. I unslung my bow from my shoulder. The rover leader eyed my move with cautious interest.
“What have you there?” he asked. “I am not familiar with that device.”
I wasn’t sure if the man suspected the “device” was a weapon. It was, of course, and he’d find that out soon enough. This man’s culture, as old as it was, had not developed the bow and arrow. Mine hadn’t either, but I was lucky to have come across this remarkable weapon during my last adventure. That was to my advantage now, as I had an element of surprise. I ignored the man’s question and instead spoke to his gang as a whole.
“I give you no options,” I said as I fitted an arrow to the bowstring. “I will not allow any of you to surrender or flee. You will pay for your murderous crimes right here and right now.”
The head rover no longer found my defiance amusing.
“Stupid girl! It seems you don’t realize the peril of your situation. Your empty threats are useless. What does your toy weapon do, throw pointed sticks? Do you think that can stop us? Who are you, some brainless, spoiled brat who always expects to get her way? You are in my world now, girl, and you’ll not get your way with me.”
I was about to respond when Borsar held up his hand to stay my reply.
“She is not what you assume, and you really should not talk to her that way,” he advised the blond rover. “Murdering that old woman and displaying those heads was a foolish thing to do. This remarkable young girl sometimes grants the wicked second chances. She did so with me when I was less than deserving. I feel, however, that she is in no mood to give second chances today. Accept that you are all dead men. It is your misfortune that on this day you have met the Disrupter. She will show you no mercy … and yes, she always gets her way.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. More will follow in future update posts.
Sanyel, Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan have been making their way to the city of Grell in order to find and rescue Borsar’s son from the clutches of Danara, the madwoman who has abducted him. Deserted homes at the outskirts of Grell alarm the travelers until they learn that the starving residents have gone to the inner city to claim free food promised by Danara. A frightened elderly man tells Sanyel of a ruthless gang that has appeared on the surrounding streets, taking advantage of the missing inhabitants to rob homes. The man has witnessed a brutal murder of an elderly woman by the gang, and now the murderous group has found Sanyel and her companions.
Izzy tapped my arm. “We have company.”
A man had appeared in the street and was standing about twenty paces from us. Another then showed to his left, walking from between two houses to the center of the street to stand beside the first. A third came from the opposite side of the lane and joined the other two. They stood there eyeing us in a relaxed and confident manner. Two of the three men displayed malevolent grins.
I glanced down the street in the other direction. A fourth man had placed himself in the middle of the avenue about the same distance from us as the other three.
“It’s them!” the old man informed us. “The rovers!”
“I see only four,” said Izzy. “You said there were six or seven.”
“They will kill us all!” the man said in reply, not bothering to address Izzy’s concern over the numbers.
“I see another,” said Trayvan. “He is on a high balcony directly across from us.”
I glanced over and spotted the man. He made no effort to conceal his presence.
Another man had joined the one standing alone in the street. That made six. I didn’t see a seventh.
“You there,” the first man hailed us. “We’d like to talk to you.”
One of the two standing next to the man chuckled and the other's malicious grin widened. I knew their type. Conversation didn’t interest them. They wanted self-amusement. They would use talk as a means to induce fear, as a preamble to a delightful game of torture and slaughter.
The speaker appeared to be about thirty, sported a dark tan, and was a bit flabby around the middle. His tangled, filthy blond hair reached down to touch uneven shoulders, one of which had a pronounced slope, as if it had mended improperly from past injury. He wore a two-piece outfit, with the lower half consisting of a pair of puffy-legged, dirty blue pants that extended from his ample waist down to his ankles. The upper half was a loose, unadorned, long-sleeved, and once-white shirt tucked in at the waist and open at the neck. The man wore nothing on his feet.
The rest of the men were younger, most of them not much past the age of twenty, and the style and condition of their clothing matched that of their leader. Despite their youth, these men gave off no whiff of innocence, no odor of virtue. These were hardened criminals. Their demeanor revealed that truth, and the cruelty the old man had witnessed against the elderly woman had confirmed their vicious natures. All of them owned wicked-looking knives that dangled from sashes around their waists.
“So talk,” said Trayvan. “But first, we’d appreciate it if you’d come closer. We can’t carry on a decent conversation at this distance.”
I loved Trayvan’s approach. That is how I would have spoken to them. Show no fear and make them second-guess the capabilities and defensive readiness of their targeted victims.
The blond man eyed Trayvan’s sheathed sword and then he swept his sharp gaze over the rest of us. I caught a slight smile when he noticed that neither the priest nor the old man carried weapons. He appeared startled that Izzy and I bore arms but then seemed to dismiss any concern over that. What had he to fear from two young females, one of whom had a missing arm?
I glanced up at the man on the balcony and a new sight confronted me, one that drew my anger. The man had strung a rope across several of the balcony posts. Human heads hung from hooks attached to the rope. I counted six. One was that of an elderly woman. One was the head of a child. The man squeezed his mouth into a taunting smirk as our eyes met.
“If your group will kindly drop your weapons, I don’t see why we can’t have a friendly conversation,” the blond man was saying, his tone affable.
I turned my sight from the balcony lowlife to the speaker.
“We will drop nothing,” I informed him. I paused and then said, “No, that is not completely true. Very soon, I plan to drop that smirking fool off the balcony to the street. Then, I will cut off his head, attach it to a hook, and hang it from his own rope.”
My bold threat, so calmly stated, surprised the rover leader. Encountering a confident young female voicing a challenge to his pack of male predators was probably the last thing he expected. He stood for a moment with mouth agape. Then he laughed.
“You are quite amusing,” he said. “I don’t know how you plan to drop Bransor from the balcony, but the fact that you said you would has already had a devastating effect on my friend. Look how sad you have made him.”
I glanced up and saw no change in Bransor’s demeanor, as his smirk remained.
“I’m thinking Bransor has plans for you,” the rover leader continued with good humor. “I’m thinking he will find a prominent place for your pretty head among his collection. Of course, when he has your head, it will not look as pretty as it does now. Still, one’s looks don’t last forever, do they?”
I’ve learned to be wary of those who threaten with calm, cheerful voices. They tend to have greater intelligence and deviousness than your blustering, angry types. I’m sure he would have continued speaking, but I tired of his talk. I had promised to drop the head collector from the balcony to the street. It was time to honor that vow. I unslung my bow from my shoulder. The rover leader eyed my move with cautious interest.
“What have you there?” he asked. “I am not familiar with that device.”
I wasn’t sure if the man suspected the “device” was a weapon. It was, of course, and he’d find that out soon enough. This man’s culture, as old as it was, had not developed the bow and arrow. Mine hadn’t either, but I was lucky to have come across this remarkable weapon during my last adventure. That was to my advantage now, as I had an element of surprise. I ignored the man’s question and instead spoke to his gang as a whole.
“I give you no options,” I said as I fitted an arrow to the bowstring. “I will not allow any of you to surrender or flee. You will pay for your murderous crimes right here and right now.”
The head rover no longer found my defiance amusing.
“Stupid girl! It seems you don’t realize the peril of your situation. Your empty threats are useless. What does your toy weapon do, throw pointed sticks? Do you think that can stop us? Who are you, some brainless, spoiled brat who always expects to get her way? You are in my world now, girl, and you’ll not get your way with me.”
I was about to respond when Borsar held up his hand to stay my reply.
“She is not what you assume, and you really should not talk to her that way,” he advised the blond rover. “Murdering that old woman and displaying those heads was a foolish thing to do. This remarkable young girl sometimes grants the wicked second chances. She did so with me when I was less than deserving. I feel, however, that she is in no mood to give second chances today. Accept that you are all dead men. It is your misfortune that on this day you have met the Disrupter. She will show you no mercy … and yes, she always gets her way.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. More will follow in future update posts.
Circles and Stones (update 3, excerpt)
I have completed twenty chapters of the third novel in my Sanyel series, Circles and Stones, and feel it’s time for another excerpt. The writing is still in the draft stage, so expect further editing before the final version. Here is the backdrop to the depicted scene:
Having temporarily given the slip to Creet soldiers who pursue them, sixteen-year-old shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan find themselves in an abandoned arena overgrown by a dense forest. They are searching for Borsar’s son, Porlak, a boy abducted by the madwoman Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. A young boy, Sebrin, accompanies them, another of Danara’s abductees who has recently escaped from her clutches. The group has just rescued a boy from an animal attack that killed the boy’s hunting companion, and are expecting to run into more of the boys’ hunting group, all of them brainwashed Danara abductees who now claim allegiance to the madwoman.
Sester—sun god
Terganz—Danara's talking animal god
kanser—type of tree
corjal—a bird
droove—horse-like animal
sperza—small community, village, town
“What should we do with Kolal?” Izzy asked after I urged a quick departure.
“We’ll have to leave him. We have no time for a burial.”
I had nothing against the dead boy and I was not trying to be callous, but the fate of his body was of less concern to me than letting the Creet catch up to us. I did perform a small ritual to help in his spirit’s transition to the next life. That was the important thing in my estimation. The body was an empty shell with no further purpose, although if Kolal had loved ones, I knew they would not see it that way.
Talak accepted that he was coming with us. That we had not harmed him had persuaded him that we were not the danger he had first supposed. We continued our trek toward the center of the arena through thick forest, still hoping to intercept Porlak along the way. Limited visibility hampered our sense of direction. I expected to run into more young hunters soon. Some must have heard the commotion in the woods. This arena was not that large.
They had. Within ten minutes after leaving Kolal’s body, eight hunters had us surrounded. They pointed their spears in our direction as they approached, with one informing us not to try fleeing. I detected fright in several of them as I scanned their ranks. Not wanting to trigger an unfortunate encounter, I told the others to remain calm and not to make any threatening moves.
I looked to Borsar and saw his eager eyes seeking out the boy he had come to rescue. Disappointment showed when he found no redhead among this group.
No Porlak. So where was he, off hunting on his own?
“Drop your weapons,” ordered a curly-headed, muscular boy, who was about a year younger than I was. He was the one who had advised us not to flee. Spotting the skinny youth among us, he said, “Talak, move away from them.”
Talak hesitated, glancing at Sebrin, which caused the curly-headed boy to notice the younger boy.
“Sebrin! You’ve come back to us!” The group leader eyed the escapee with a wicked gleam. “So, you didn’t get very far, did you? Danara will be pleased to have you back. Of course, we’ll first have to punish you for your disobedience, won’t we?”
Sebrin clung to Izzy in fear, and my one-armed friend expressed her dislike for the curly-headed boy’s threat with a look of malice.
“You there, curl head,” she addressed him. “Do you like to frighten those smaller and weaker than you?”
The surprised group leader stared at the marvel that was Izzy, taking in her size, unusual facial markings, and her missing limb. The fool was not impressed.
“Shut up, woman! You’ll talk when I tell you to.”
Izzy, to her credit, did not take the bait. She just stood there, expressionless, offering no response. Her impassive silence and cold stare appeared to unnerve the confident youth. He turned to Trayvan.
“Are you an actual Creet soldier,” he demanded to know, “or did you steal that uniform?”
“I am a Creet soldier,” the rebel leader half lied.
“So, we have a strange Creet soldier and women dressed as priests wandering around in our forest. That is unacceptable. Who are you … and why did you kill Kolal?”
The accusation drew an instant rebuttal from Talak.
“Walad, they did not kill Kolal. A spartok gored him. These people saved me from the beast by slaying it.”
Walad’s eyebrows arched.
“We saw no spartok,” he claimed, as if challenging the truth of Talak’s words.
“You didn’t look closely enough,” I informed him.
Walad aimed a sharp glance at me, and then said to Trayvan, “Why do you allow these women to interrupt? Do you have no control over them?”
“Does Danara allow you to speak to her that way when she attempts to enlighten you?” I asked.
The young man appeared irked that I would continue talking after he had made it clear he found it objectionable. Still, he decided to answer, even while showing disdain over my comparison.
“Danara is not a simpleton girl like you. We obey her words without question, as she is wise, and her wisdom is infallible. She is the voice of Terganz.”
“I thought Terganz was the voice of Terganz. Isn’t he a talking droove?”
The curly-headed boy’s anger rose, his face flushing.
“Terganz is not a droove! He is a GOD!”
“What is going on here!” demanded a new voice. A pudgy redhead appeared from among the kansers behind Walad. He balanced a spear in one hand and held a dead corjal in the other.
“Porlak!” shouted Borsar. The surprised spear-carriers all turned to the priest, including the one addressed.
Porlak gazed upon the speaker and his eyes at last showed recognition.
“Father?”
Borsar moved toward his son, but several spears checked his advance.
The indignant priest said, “Son, tell them who I am.”
Porlak showed a surprising indifference to the request. He stood staring at his father with little expression, and then without emotion said, “Disarm them. We will take them to the sperza, lock them up, and wait for Danara to come next week. She will decide what to do with them.”
A confused Borsar said, “Porlak, what are you doing? We have come to rescue you.”
“You are a heretic!” Porlak responded, with considerably more emotion than he had shown up until now. “You are no longer my father. I am now a son of Terganz. You follow the false god, Sester, and for that you must be put to death.”
Borsar stared at his son in disbelief, and then with anguish cried, “What has that mad bitch done to you? I should have come for you sooner.”
“SILENCE!” Porlak screeched. “You will not speak of our beloved Danara in that manner.”
“Please, my son, listen to me. She has warped your reasoning. She—”
“STOP! I will hear no more of your blasphemy.” Porlak motioned to the other boys. “Relieve them of their weapons, as you should have done already.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. There’s more to come in future posts. In the meantime, be sure to check out my previous Circles and Stones excerpts, and if you enjoy action and adventure, I invite you to look at the first books in the series, Sanyel and Disrupter. You won’t come across a heroine as savvy, witty, and skilled as Sanyel, as everyone who meets her soon discovers.
Having temporarily given the slip to Creet soldiers who pursue them, sixteen-year-old shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan find themselves in an abandoned arena overgrown by a dense forest. They are searching for Borsar’s son, Porlak, a boy abducted by the madwoman Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. A young boy, Sebrin, accompanies them, another of Danara’s abductees who has recently escaped from her clutches. The group has just rescued a boy from an animal attack that killed the boy’s hunting companion, and are expecting to run into more of the boys’ hunting group, all of them brainwashed Danara abductees who now claim allegiance to the madwoman.
Sester—sun god
Terganz—Danara's talking animal god
kanser—type of tree
corjal—a bird
droove—horse-like animal
sperza—small community, village, town
“What should we do with Kolal?” Izzy asked after I urged a quick departure.
“We’ll have to leave him. We have no time for a burial.”
I had nothing against the dead boy and I was not trying to be callous, but the fate of his body was of less concern to me than letting the Creet catch up to us. I did perform a small ritual to help in his spirit’s transition to the next life. That was the important thing in my estimation. The body was an empty shell with no further purpose, although if Kolal had loved ones, I knew they would not see it that way.
Talak accepted that he was coming with us. That we had not harmed him had persuaded him that we were not the danger he had first supposed. We continued our trek toward the center of the arena through thick forest, still hoping to intercept Porlak along the way. Limited visibility hampered our sense of direction. I expected to run into more young hunters soon. Some must have heard the commotion in the woods. This arena was not that large.
They had. Within ten minutes after leaving Kolal’s body, eight hunters had us surrounded. They pointed their spears in our direction as they approached, with one informing us not to try fleeing. I detected fright in several of them as I scanned their ranks. Not wanting to trigger an unfortunate encounter, I told the others to remain calm and not to make any threatening moves.
I looked to Borsar and saw his eager eyes seeking out the boy he had come to rescue. Disappointment showed when he found no redhead among this group.
No Porlak. So where was he, off hunting on his own?
“Drop your weapons,” ordered a curly-headed, muscular boy, who was about a year younger than I was. He was the one who had advised us not to flee. Spotting the skinny youth among us, he said, “Talak, move away from them.”
Talak hesitated, glancing at Sebrin, which caused the curly-headed boy to notice the younger boy.
“Sebrin! You’ve come back to us!” The group leader eyed the escapee with a wicked gleam. “So, you didn’t get very far, did you? Danara will be pleased to have you back. Of course, we’ll first have to punish you for your disobedience, won’t we?”
Sebrin clung to Izzy in fear, and my one-armed friend expressed her dislike for the curly-headed boy’s threat with a look of malice.
“You there, curl head,” she addressed him. “Do you like to frighten those smaller and weaker than you?”
The surprised group leader stared at the marvel that was Izzy, taking in her size, unusual facial markings, and her missing limb. The fool was not impressed.
“Shut up, woman! You’ll talk when I tell you to.”
Izzy, to her credit, did not take the bait. She just stood there, expressionless, offering no response. Her impassive silence and cold stare appeared to unnerve the confident youth. He turned to Trayvan.
“Are you an actual Creet soldier,” he demanded to know, “or did you steal that uniform?”
“I am a Creet soldier,” the rebel leader half lied.
“So, we have a strange Creet soldier and women dressed as priests wandering around in our forest. That is unacceptable. Who are you … and why did you kill Kolal?”
The accusation drew an instant rebuttal from Talak.
“Walad, they did not kill Kolal. A spartok gored him. These people saved me from the beast by slaying it.”
Walad’s eyebrows arched.
“We saw no spartok,” he claimed, as if challenging the truth of Talak’s words.
“You didn’t look closely enough,” I informed him.
Walad aimed a sharp glance at me, and then said to Trayvan, “Why do you allow these women to interrupt? Do you have no control over them?”
“Does Danara allow you to speak to her that way when she attempts to enlighten you?” I asked.
The young man appeared irked that I would continue talking after he had made it clear he found it objectionable. Still, he decided to answer, even while showing disdain over my comparison.
“Danara is not a simpleton girl like you. We obey her words without question, as she is wise, and her wisdom is infallible. She is the voice of Terganz.”
“I thought Terganz was the voice of Terganz. Isn’t he a talking droove?”
The curly-headed boy’s anger rose, his face flushing.
“Terganz is not a droove! He is a GOD!”
“What is going on here!” demanded a new voice. A pudgy redhead appeared from among the kansers behind Walad. He balanced a spear in one hand and held a dead corjal in the other.
“Porlak!” shouted Borsar. The surprised spear-carriers all turned to the priest, including the one addressed.
Porlak gazed upon the speaker and his eyes at last showed recognition.
“Father?”
Borsar moved toward his son, but several spears checked his advance.
The indignant priest said, “Son, tell them who I am.”
Porlak showed a surprising indifference to the request. He stood staring at his father with little expression, and then without emotion said, “Disarm them. We will take them to the sperza, lock them up, and wait for Danara to come next week. She will decide what to do with them.”
A confused Borsar said, “Porlak, what are you doing? We have come to rescue you.”
“You are a heretic!” Porlak responded, with considerably more emotion than he had shown up until now. “You are no longer my father. I am now a son of Terganz. You follow the false god, Sester, and for that you must be put to death.”
Borsar stared at his son in disbelief, and then with anguish cried, “What has that mad bitch done to you? I should have come for you sooner.”
“SILENCE!” Porlak screeched. “You will not speak of our beloved Danara in that manner.”
“Please, my son, listen to me. She has warped your reasoning. She—”
“STOP! I will hear no more of your blasphemy.” Porlak motioned to the other boys. “Relieve them of their weapons, as you should have done already.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. There’s more to come in future posts. In the meantime, be sure to check out my previous Circles and Stones excerpts, and if you enjoy action and adventure, I invite you to look at the first books in the series, Sanyel and Disrupter. You won’t come across a heroine as savvy, witty, and skilled as Sanyel, as everyone who meets her soon discovers.
Circles and Stones (update 4, excerpt)
I have completed several more chapters of Circles and Stones, the third novel of my ongoing Sanyel series. To give readers an idea what to expect from the novel, I have been posting occasional excerpts. The writing is still in the draft stage, so expect further editing before the final version. Here is the setup to the depicted scene in this excerpt:
Teen shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan find themselves within an abandoned arena overgrown by forest. Here they hope to locate Borsar’s son, Porlak, and to rescue him from the clutches of the madwoman Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. They don’t realize that Porlak has no interest in rescue and has become an ardent follower of the deranged Danara and her bizarre deity. A group of teen and pre-teen male followers of Danara, led by Porlak, has captured Sanyel and her companions, but they have just turned the tables on the boys. However, another obstacle now confronts. Creet soldiers in close pursuit of Sanyel and her friends have at last caught up to them. One of Danara's followers, Walad, escapes from Sanyel, and as he rushes toward the supposed safety of the soldiers, a spear thrown from the direction of the Creet cuts him down in what appears a case of mistaken identity.
kanser—type of tree
punch gun—an unreliable weapon recently found by Sanyel and friends on a previous adventure, a remnant of a long-vanished, advanced civilization
thorel—brushy plant
Ra-ta—the sun god
Sester—another name for the sun god
droove—animal, the equivalent of a horse
I checked on the boys behind us as Izzy went to retrieve the gun from its pack. Each hunkered down in fright, with most peering out into the forest from behind the fragile protection of tangled brush. Three had found better security behind a fallen, rotted kanser. Witnessing Walad’s death at the hands of what we all presumed to be a Creet soldier had to dampen their enthusiasm for reunion with their supposed allies.
“Stay where you are,” I ordered, though I could see the paralysis of fear was sufficient to keep them in place. “And don’t make a sound. You saw what happened to Walad.”
Trayvan and Borsar knelt beside me and our eyes scoured the woods for sight of our unwanted guests. I had an arrow fitted to my bowstring and Trayvan had drawn his sword. Izzy joined us with the punch gun just as limbs and leaves at the center of a patch of thorel ahead and to our right stirred. A cracking twig swerved our attention to the left, and then from behind us a clank of metal on metal had us swiveling in that direction.
Izzy realized our predicament as soon as I did.
“They’re coming from all sides,” she said. “We’re surrounded.”
She might as well have added the word “again.” It seems I have a weakness, and that is that I leave myself too often outnumbered by my foes. Well, Izzy had told me to trust Ra-ta. I had no choice now.
Red-vested Creet soldiers materialized from behind the trees from all directions, approaching with swords drawn and spears ready. Their depth ran to several layers, as behind the first wave came another, and behind that a third. There seemed little space between them, so it was clear we faced a considerable force.
Izzy nodded toward the punch gun she held in her hand. “Do you want me to give this a try? This is not a healthy situation for us otherwise.”
I ran the options through my head. That was the only viable one, unless we fought them hand-to-hand. We were good, but I doubted even we could force our way through all these troops. Still, I did not want them to take us captive.
“Do it,” I said. “Sweep the gun all the way around us. Set it to stun. We don’t want a massacre on our hands.”
Izzy adjusted her settings, then pointed the gun toward the closest cluster of approaching men and squeezed the trigger. The punch gun wheezed, followed by a puff of gray-white smoke that billowed out from holes lining each side panel. Nothing else happened. The soldiers closed in, with one shouting something none of us could make out. Izzy squeezed again. Nothing, not even smoke or sound this time. She kept squeezing until a Creet pointed a spear to her tattooed forehead and demanded she drop the device. She did. I had already slung my bow back over my shoulder and had advised Trayvan to sheathe his sword. I knew if Izzy failed, we could not fight this many Creet and survive.
The troops closed in a tight circle around us, but then a crack opened as the men parted to allow a tall, imposing Creet soldier to approach us.
“Back up!” he commanded the men in a sonorous voice. “Give them room to breathe.”
The man wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and then swept that hand through thick black hair also dampened by his recent exertion in the woods. He glanced at us with a cursory appraisal. A straight-bridged nose jutted from a strong, beardless face, weathered by years in the sun. The man, who appeared about forty, carried himself with dignity and I found myself admiring his bearing, which reminded me of Semral, the great Sakitan hunter.
He looked to both Trayvan and Borsar and said, “Which of you is the leader?”
“She leads us,” said Trayvan, pointing to me.
The Creet commander’s startled expression pleased me, as it is always satisfying to jolt those with preconceived notions of who is in charge. The man turned his gaze my direction and his attention sharpened as he took me in.
“There is something familiar about you. Have we met?”
“I don’t recall ever meeting you,” I told him.
The man frowned, as if searching for an elusive memory. He shook his head and said, “Well, I can’t place it now, but—”
The commander halted as he noticed Izzy, who stood in the shade of a kanser behind me. His face reflected astonishment, as it appeared he recognized her. He turned to an aide. “I wish to question these people in private. Order the men to fall back and form a perimeter forty paces from us. Do it now.”
“Are you sure, commander? These intruders are still armed. Shouldn’t we—”
“Do as I instruct, soldier! And tell Crasp, Hergul, and Pargus to join me.”
“Yes, commander, at once!
The aide began shouting, ordering the men to withdraw the desired distance. The Creet officer turned back to us and said, “Please bear with me a moment. My men will soon retreat, and then we can converse in private.”
A soldier came up behind the tall man. “Commander? You wished to see me?”
“Yes, Hergul. I’m also waiting for Crasp and Pargus, so stand by until they get here.”
The Creet commander seemed in no hurry to tell us what this was all about, but I sensed no threat from the man, which was both unexpected and curious.
Two more soldiers approached from the woods and the Creet officer greeted both and told them to stand with Hergul. Each held a puzzled expression. The commander turned to me.
“I am Kassar, commanding officer of Creet forces within these walls. My apologies, Disrupter, if my troops have interfered with you in any way.”
The three men behind the commander went slack-jawed over my revealed identity and then exhibited a growing excitement. I held my own surprise in check. How did this Creet officer know me? And why this unexpected civility from allies of Danara?
“It is an honor to meet you,” the tall leader said. I detected nothing but sincerity in the words as the man reached into his vest and removed a small green triangle cut from cloth. The other three men followed suit, and each demonstrated pride as they showed me this familiar symbol of allegiance to the sun god.
“This, I trust, indicates our fealty to Sester—and to you, Disrupter,” said the Creet commander. “If you wish to reveal the reason you have returned to Grell, you can rely on our discretion in keeping that secret, and if you require our assistance you need only ask.”
“How do you know who I am?” I asked. “I don’t believe we have ever met.”
Kassar responded with a smile, and with surprising enthusiasm said, “I was one of the thousands of soldiers who came out of the hills to attack you when stationed in your country a year ago. Though badly outnumbered, in a masterful display of military strategy you lured us in and defeated us by forcing our drooves to dump us to the ground, all with little loss of life. We Creet admire bold and resourceful leaders, even among our enemies. I heard your magnificent speech later and it moved me to become a follower of Sester. These three behind me also heard your words. I recalled your face when I spotted the woman with the missing limb standing behind you, unmistakable as one of the incomparable Blades of Sorrow. We are your devoted servants, hand of the sun god. I apologize for not recognizing you at once.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from the upcoming Sanyel novel, Circles and Stones. Be sure to check out the previous excerpts. Sanyel, the first book in the Sanyel series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Books in the Sanyel series are also available in paperback.
Teen shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan find themselves within an abandoned arena overgrown by forest. Here they hope to locate Borsar’s son, Porlak, and to rescue him from the clutches of the madwoman Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. They don’t realize that Porlak has no interest in rescue and has become an ardent follower of the deranged Danara and her bizarre deity. A group of teen and pre-teen male followers of Danara, led by Porlak, has captured Sanyel and her companions, but they have just turned the tables on the boys. However, another obstacle now confronts. Creet soldiers in close pursuit of Sanyel and her friends have at last caught up to them. One of Danara's followers, Walad, escapes from Sanyel, and as he rushes toward the supposed safety of the soldiers, a spear thrown from the direction of the Creet cuts him down in what appears a case of mistaken identity.
kanser—type of tree
punch gun—an unreliable weapon recently found by Sanyel and friends on a previous adventure, a remnant of a long-vanished, advanced civilization
thorel—brushy plant
Ra-ta—the sun god
Sester—another name for the sun god
droove—animal, the equivalent of a horse
I checked on the boys behind us as Izzy went to retrieve the gun from its pack. Each hunkered down in fright, with most peering out into the forest from behind the fragile protection of tangled brush. Three had found better security behind a fallen, rotted kanser. Witnessing Walad’s death at the hands of what we all presumed to be a Creet soldier had to dampen their enthusiasm for reunion with their supposed allies.
“Stay where you are,” I ordered, though I could see the paralysis of fear was sufficient to keep them in place. “And don’t make a sound. You saw what happened to Walad.”
Trayvan and Borsar knelt beside me and our eyes scoured the woods for sight of our unwanted guests. I had an arrow fitted to my bowstring and Trayvan had drawn his sword. Izzy joined us with the punch gun just as limbs and leaves at the center of a patch of thorel ahead and to our right stirred. A cracking twig swerved our attention to the left, and then from behind us a clank of metal on metal had us swiveling in that direction.
Izzy realized our predicament as soon as I did.
“They’re coming from all sides,” she said. “We’re surrounded.”
She might as well have added the word “again.” It seems I have a weakness, and that is that I leave myself too often outnumbered by my foes. Well, Izzy had told me to trust Ra-ta. I had no choice now.
Red-vested Creet soldiers materialized from behind the trees from all directions, approaching with swords drawn and spears ready. Their depth ran to several layers, as behind the first wave came another, and behind that a third. There seemed little space between them, so it was clear we faced a considerable force.
Izzy nodded toward the punch gun she held in her hand. “Do you want me to give this a try? This is not a healthy situation for us otherwise.”
I ran the options through my head. That was the only viable one, unless we fought them hand-to-hand. We were good, but I doubted even we could force our way through all these troops. Still, I did not want them to take us captive.
“Do it,” I said. “Sweep the gun all the way around us. Set it to stun. We don’t want a massacre on our hands.”
Izzy adjusted her settings, then pointed the gun toward the closest cluster of approaching men and squeezed the trigger. The punch gun wheezed, followed by a puff of gray-white smoke that billowed out from holes lining each side panel. Nothing else happened. The soldiers closed in, with one shouting something none of us could make out. Izzy squeezed again. Nothing, not even smoke or sound this time. She kept squeezing until a Creet pointed a spear to her tattooed forehead and demanded she drop the device. She did. I had already slung my bow back over my shoulder and had advised Trayvan to sheathe his sword. I knew if Izzy failed, we could not fight this many Creet and survive.
The troops closed in a tight circle around us, but then a crack opened as the men parted to allow a tall, imposing Creet soldier to approach us.
“Back up!” he commanded the men in a sonorous voice. “Give them room to breathe.”
The man wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and then swept that hand through thick black hair also dampened by his recent exertion in the woods. He glanced at us with a cursory appraisal. A straight-bridged nose jutted from a strong, beardless face, weathered by years in the sun. The man, who appeared about forty, carried himself with dignity and I found myself admiring his bearing, which reminded me of Semral, the great Sakitan hunter.
He looked to both Trayvan and Borsar and said, “Which of you is the leader?”
“She leads us,” said Trayvan, pointing to me.
The Creet commander’s startled expression pleased me, as it is always satisfying to jolt those with preconceived notions of who is in charge. The man turned his gaze my direction and his attention sharpened as he took me in.
“There is something familiar about you. Have we met?”
“I don’t recall ever meeting you,” I told him.
The man frowned, as if searching for an elusive memory. He shook his head and said, “Well, I can’t place it now, but—”
The commander halted as he noticed Izzy, who stood in the shade of a kanser behind me. His face reflected astonishment, as it appeared he recognized her. He turned to an aide. “I wish to question these people in private. Order the men to fall back and form a perimeter forty paces from us. Do it now.”
“Are you sure, commander? These intruders are still armed. Shouldn’t we—”
“Do as I instruct, soldier! And tell Crasp, Hergul, and Pargus to join me.”
“Yes, commander, at once!
The aide began shouting, ordering the men to withdraw the desired distance. The Creet officer turned back to us and said, “Please bear with me a moment. My men will soon retreat, and then we can converse in private.”
A soldier came up behind the tall man. “Commander? You wished to see me?”
“Yes, Hergul. I’m also waiting for Crasp and Pargus, so stand by until they get here.”
The Creet commander seemed in no hurry to tell us what this was all about, but I sensed no threat from the man, which was both unexpected and curious.
Two more soldiers approached from the woods and the Creet officer greeted both and told them to stand with Hergul. Each held a puzzled expression. The commander turned to me.
“I am Kassar, commanding officer of Creet forces within these walls. My apologies, Disrupter, if my troops have interfered with you in any way.”
The three men behind the commander went slack-jawed over my revealed identity and then exhibited a growing excitement. I held my own surprise in check. How did this Creet officer know me? And why this unexpected civility from allies of Danara?
“It is an honor to meet you,” the tall leader said. I detected nothing but sincerity in the words as the man reached into his vest and removed a small green triangle cut from cloth. The other three men followed suit, and each demonstrated pride as they showed me this familiar symbol of allegiance to the sun god.
“This, I trust, indicates our fealty to Sester—and to you, Disrupter,” said the Creet commander. “If you wish to reveal the reason you have returned to Grell, you can rely on our discretion in keeping that secret, and if you require our assistance you need only ask.”
“How do you know who I am?” I asked. “I don’t believe we have ever met.”
Kassar responded with a smile, and with surprising enthusiasm said, “I was one of the thousands of soldiers who came out of the hills to attack you when stationed in your country a year ago. Though badly outnumbered, in a masterful display of military strategy you lured us in and defeated us by forcing our drooves to dump us to the ground, all with little loss of life. We Creet admire bold and resourceful leaders, even among our enemies. I heard your magnificent speech later and it moved me to become a follower of Sester. These three behind me also heard your words. I recalled your face when I spotted the woman with the missing limb standing behind you, unmistakable as one of the incomparable Blades of Sorrow. We are your devoted servants, hand of the sun god. I apologize for not recognizing you at once.”
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from the upcoming Sanyel novel, Circles and Stones. Be sure to check out the previous excerpts. Sanyel, the first book in the Sanyel series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Books in the Sanyel series are also available in paperback.
Circles and Stones (update 5, excerpt)
I am nearing the completion of the third book, Circles and Stones, in my ongoing Sanyel series and would like to offer readers another excerpt before finishing up and beginning the editing process. The book has taken longer than expected to finish due to a variety of reasons, but I am pleased with the result. As with my previous excerpts, this one is still in draft form and subject to changes. Here is the setup to the scene:
Teen shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan, have retrieved Borsar’s son from a cult, along with two other boys. An escape plan foiled by unforeseen circumstances forces them to take temporary shelter in an old tower, one very few have access to, but which has previously served as a hiding place for the group. Knowing they cannot safely leave before nightfall, they decide to catch some sleep in the upper level of the tower, but within an hour a clanging noise from far below alerts them to an intruder.
stirka—Izzy's sword
“Wake up!”
I whispered the words to each of the others as I gently shook them, while noting that Izzy was already up and gazing down the staircase, trying to pinpoint the sound. She had unsheathed her stirka, and after I roused everyone and added an admonition to keep still and silent, I located my bow and arrows and joined Izzy by the stairwell.
“See anything?”
“No, but I hear someone, or something, moving down there in the shadows.”
“Could the soldiers have found the door under the house stairs?” I posed.
“Doesn’t sound like a large group, maybe just one person, or an animal.”
I peered into the murkiness at the bottom of the tower steps and was startled when a woman’s voice hailed us from the darkness.
“Greetings to those watching from the top of the staircase. Do you mind if I come up?” After a slight pause, she added, “I am alone.”
Disconcerted by the unexpected appearance of a strange woman in our secret hideaway, we did not respond at once, which caused the woman to probe again.
“I assure you I am harmless. I carry no weapon.”
Izzy and I looked at each other and the big girl shrugged. “Might as well see what she wants. It doesn’t sound like anyone else is down there.”
“Identify yourself,” I called down.
“I am Hayda. You have nothing to fear from me. I only wish to talk. I believe I can be of assistance to you.”
Shouting back and forth, up and down the stairs, was not an ideal way to converse, so I finally said, “Come up.” Her offer of assistance made me curious. Who was she and what did she know about us? Moreover, how did she get into the tower?
We heard the creak of the metal steps as the woman made her way up to us. Borsar and Trayvan demanded to know what was happening, so Izzy informed them. We watched and waited until the top of a head showed in the dim light. The gray hair surprised, as I had not expected an older woman.
Hayda made her way in a deliberate fashion, never looking up, concentrating on the step before her. Those her age understand the necessity of paying attention to what is in front of you. Agility and speed are natural to the young, but an aging body could incur a muscle strain with an overly strenuous move. Even an innocuous one made a thousand times can betray you.
That is not to say the woman showed any physical impediments. She moved with surety, but without the rash enthusiasm of youth. When about ten steps below us, she at last looked up. A broad smile brought sizable creases to the corners of her mouth, and those added to the natural age lines on her face, a face made bright from her grin and her merry eyes.
I judged her to be in her sixties. Her straight, gray hair hung down to sturdy shoulders. She appeared adequately fed, as I did not detect the starvation signs noticed in the general population. She wore a white robe that extended to just below her knees and wore leather sandals on her feet, ubiquitous footwear suited to the climate.
Hayda continued up the final steps without a word or a return look at us, and we made room as she exited the stairway onto the stone turret landing. The woman caught her breath for a moment and then glanced around at each of us. She granted a warm smile to all before turning her attention to me.
“At last we meet!” she said with enthusiasm. “I have looked forward to it.”
All the while, I had been trying to decipher who this woman was, why she was here, how she had gotten inside the tower, and how she knew about us. I was failing miserably.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” she stated. “Let me try to clear everything up for you. As I said, I am Hayda. I have visited this tower for many years, using a secret entrance, but not the one beneath the house stairs. There is a third portal into this tower, one it seems no one knows about but me.”
A third entry to the tower? Could this be through the tunnel rumored to run underground, the original tower entrance, long thought abandoned?
“I will show you the entrance in a moment, if you wish to see it,” Hayda went on, “but first I’d like to fill you in a bit about myself.”
As she spoke, I noticed an emblem stitched in forest green to her robe above her left breast. Startled by the familiar symbol, I asked, “You are Alacran?”
“Uh … yes,” she replied, astonished. “How do you know this?”
“The design on your robe. I have seen it before. You are one of those who once knew how to view the past and future?”
Hayda gave me an enigmatic smile. “Yes … but how do you know of this?”
“Our group ran across a family a short time ago. A young woman among them told us they were Alacran. She had that symbol tattooed on her wrist. Hold on a second.” I reached beneath my robe into a pocket of my tunic and retrieved the parchment with the words Trayvan had copied from the stone.
I handed the paper to Hayda and said, “The woman tried to read this for me but could not decipher all the words. Can you?”
“What is this from?” Hayda asked, showing great interest as she examined the words.
“We found a stone that had these symbols carved into it.”
Hayda mouthed the words to herself. She sighed and then said, “I have heard about this. It is an unhappy tale from a time long past, one I’m sure many of my people experienced. It says, ‘Virus spreading. All infected. Our knowledge will die with us. We are the Alacran. Bless our circles and stones.’”
Hayda stopped reading and informed us that was all the note contained. I felt disappointed, as I had expected something of more value to my current mission. The depressing words were the lamentations of a people who saw approaching doom. They engraved that despair on a stone they expected no one to see, which made it all the more poignant. Sad, yes, and I empathized with their anguish, but that finality never came. People survived, including Alacran.
“Well, I guess they expected the end of the world,” said Izzy. “We have heard about that virus, that everyone at the time thought it was the end of human life. I’m curious though, about those last words. What does ‘Bless our circles and stones’ mean?”
“It was a common blessing invoked by my people,” explained Hayda. “Our viewings took place within great grass circles with a large black tuning stone placed at its edge.”
Izzy shot me a glance and asked, “Is she talking about what I think she is?”
“It sounds like it!” I confirmed with a growing excitement.
Grass circles with a stone at their edge! My good friends the Terons had not known who made the large grass circle in the forest where they had established their camp after escaping Cruxun slavery years ago. They had not known the purpose of that patch of ground where nothing but short grass grew. The Teron boy, Nay-tan, had demonstrated to me the repelling properties of the black stone on its edge, knowledge that had assisted me in future navigation and in an ensuing skirmish against Cruxun soldiers. I had puzzled over the origin and intent of the circle and stone, even more so after discovering an identical formation near Golt, the Cruxun city.
“You know about our viewing circles?” asked a surprised Hayda. “How?”
“I have come across two of them in the past year,” I replied, “but didn’t know their purpose.”
Hayda showed great interest and amazement that these other circles existed. “I had no idea more of them had survived. My people have utilized one near Grell since ancient times.”
As she said that, a brief flicker of sadness washed over the woman’s face and she added, “I am the last of my clan still living in this area, as most have left or died. Times have been hard. We were a faction of those who broke from the main group after the virus accusations split us apart. My group vowed to continue our sacred practices and not to give in to the pressure and hysteria to abandon our ways.”
“Others tried doing the same, the best they could,” I told her. “The young Alacran woman we met told us her ancestors had remained with the main group that outlawed the practice. The women had tried to keep their symbol code alive, but they had lost the ability to view time, as disuse caused the proper method to fade from memory over the years.”
Hayda shook her head. “That’s a shame. It was our identity. The men had no such gifts, so ours granted us tremendous pride and gave us a degree of nobility and respect we otherwise would not have had.”
“I’d like to discuss more about time viewing with you at a later time, if possible,” I said, “but for now I have some things I’d like you to address. You said you might be able to assist us. How do you know of us and why would you want to help us?”
If you enjoyed this latest excerpt of Circles and Stones, be sure to check out the previous four posted in this blog. For those who enjoy action and adventure with a touch of fantasy, I invite you to explore the exciting world of Sanyel and her friends in the previous books of the series, Sanyel and Disrupter. Sanyel, the first book in the series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Sanyel series books are also available in paperback.
Teen shaman Sanyel, her friend Izzy, the priest Borsar, and rebel leader Trayvan, have retrieved Borsar’s son from a cult, along with two other boys. An escape plan foiled by unforeseen circumstances forces them to take temporary shelter in an old tower, one very few have access to, but which has previously served as a hiding place for the group. Knowing they cannot safely leave before nightfall, they decide to catch some sleep in the upper level of the tower, but within an hour a clanging noise from far below alerts them to an intruder.
stirka—Izzy's sword
“Wake up!”
I whispered the words to each of the others as I gently shook them, while noting that Izzy was already up and gazing down the staircase, trying to pinpoint the sound. She had unsheathed her stirka, and after I roused everyone and added an admonition to keep still and silent, I located my bow and arrows and joined Izzy by the stairwell.
“See anything?”
“No, but I hear someone, or something, moving down there in the shadows.”
“Could the soldiers have found the door under the house stairs?” I posed.
“Doesn’t sound like a large group, maybe just one person, or an animal.”
I peered into the murkiness at the bottom of the tower steps and was startled when a woman’s voice hailed us from the darkness.
“Greetings to those watching from the top of the staircase. Do you mind if I come up?” After a slight pause, she added, “I am alone.”
Disconcerted by the unexpected appearance of a strange woman in our secret hideaway, we did not respond at once, which caused the woman to probe again.
“I assure you I am harmless. I carry no weapon.”
Izzy and I looked at each other and the big girl shrugged. “Might as well see what she wants. It doesn’t sound like anyone else is down there.”
“Identify yourself,” I called down.
“I am Hayda. You have nothing to fear from me. I only wish to talk. I believe I can be of assistance to you.”
Shouting back and forth, up and down the stairs, was not an ideal way to converse, so I finally said, “Come up.” Her offer of assistance made me curious. Who was she and what did she know about us? Moreover, how did she get into the tower?
We heard the creak of the metal steps as the woman made her way up to us. Borsar and Trayvan demanded to know what was happening, so Izzy informed them. We watched and waited until the top of a head showed in the dim light. The gray hair surprised, as I had not expected an older woman.
Hayda made her way in a deliberate fashion, never looking up, concentrating on the step before her. Those her age understand the necessity of paying attention to what is in front of you. Agility and speed are natural to the young, but an aging body could incur a muscle strain with an overly strenuous move. Even an innocuous one made a thousand times can betray you.
That is not to say the woman showed any physical impediments. She moved with surety, but without the rash enthusiasm of youth. When about ten steps below us, she at last looked up. A broad smile brought sizable creases to the corners of her mouth, and those added to the natural age lines on her face, a face made bright from her grin and her merry eyes.
I judged her to be in her sixties. Her straight, gray hair hung down to sturdy shoulders. She appeared adequately fed, as I did not detect the starvation signs noticed in the general population. She wore a white robe that extended to just below her knees and wore leather sandals on her feet, ubiquitous footwear suited to the climate.
Hayda continued up the final steps without a word or a return look at us, and we made room as she exited the stairway onto the stone turret landing. The woman caught her breath for a moment and then glanced around at each of us. She granted a warm smile to all before turning her attention to me.
“At last we meet!” she said with enthusiasm. “I have looked forward to it.”
All the while, I had been trying to decipher who this woman was, why she was here, how she had gotten inside the tower, and how she knew about us. I was failing miserably.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” she stated. “Let me try to clear everything up for you. As I said, I am Hayda. I have visited this tower for many years, using a secret entrance, but not the one beneath the house stairs. There is a third portal into this tower, one it seems no one knows about but me.”
A third entry to the tower? Could this be through the tunnel rumored to run underground, the original tower entrance, long thought abandoned?
“I will show you the entrance in a moment, if you wish to see it,” Hayda went on, “but first I’d like to fill you in a bit about myself.”
As she spoke, I noticed an emblem stitched in forest green to her robe above her left breast. Startled by the familiar symbol, I asked, “You are Alacran?”
“Uh … yes,” she replied, astonished. “How do you know this?”
“The design on your robe. I have seen it before. You are one of those who once knew how to view the past and future?”
Hayda gave me an enigmatic smile. “Yes … but how do you know of this?”
“Our group ran across a family a short time ago. A young woman among them told us they were Alacran. She had that symbol tattooed on her wrist. Hold on a second.” I reached beneath my robe into a pocket of my tunic and retrieved the parchment with the words Trayvan had copied from the stone.
I handed the paper to Hayda and said, “The woman tried to read this for me but could not decipher all the words. Can you?”
“What is this from?” Hayda asked, showing great interest as she examined the words.
“We found a stone that had these symbols carved into it.”
Hayda mouthed the words to herself. She sighed and then said, “I have heard about this. It is an unhappy tale from a time long past, one I’m sure many of my people experienced. It says, ‘Virus spreading. All infected. Our knowledge will die with us. We are the Alacran. Bless our circles and stones.’”
Hayda stopped reading and informed us that was all the note contained. I felt disappointed, as I had expected something of more value to my current mission. The depressing words were the lamentations of a people who saw approaching doom. They engraved that despair on a stone they expected no one to see, which made it all the more poignant. Sad, yes, and I empathized with their anguish, but that finality never came. People survived, including Alacran.
“Well, I guess they expected the end of the world,” said Izzy. “We have heard about that virus, that everyone at the time thought it was the end of human life. I’m curious though, about those last words. What does ‘Bless our circles and stones’ mean?”
“It was a common blessing invoked by my people,” explained Hayda. “Our viewings took place within great grass circles with a large black tuning stone placed at its edge.”
Izzy shot me a glance and asked, “Is she talking about what I think she is?”
“It sounds like it!” I confirmed with a growing excitement.
Grass circles with a stone at their edge! My good friends the Terons had not known who made the large grass circle in the forest where they had established their camp after escaping Cruxun slavery years ago. They had not known the purpose of that patch of ground where nothing but short grass grew. The Teron boy, Nay-tan, had demonstrated to me the repelling properties of the black stone on its edge, knowledge that had assisted me in future navigation and in an ensuing skirmish against Cruxun soldiers. I had puzzled over the origin and intent of the circle and stone, even more so after discovering an identical formation near Golt, the Cruxun city.
“You know about our viewing circles?” asked a surprised Hayda. “How?”
“I have come across two of them in the past year,” I replied, “but didn’t know their purpose.”
Hayda showed great interest and amazement that these other circles existed. “I had no idea more of them had survived. My people have utilized one near Grell since ancient times.”
As she said that, a brief flicker of sadness washed over the woman’s face and she added, “I am the last of my clan still living in this area, as most have left or died. Times have been hard. We were a faction of those who broke from the main group after the virus accusations split us apart. My group vowed to continue our sacred practices and not to give in to the pressure and hysteria to abandon our ways.”
“Others tried doing the same, the best they could,” I told her. “The young Alacran woman we met told us her ancestors had remained with the main group that outlawed the practice. The women had tried to keep their symbol code alive, but they had lost the ability to view time, as disuse caused the proper method to fade from memory over the years.”
Hayda shook her head. “That’s a shame. It was our identity. The men had no such gifts, so ours granted us tremendous pride and gave us a degree of nobility and respect we otherwise would not have had.”
“I’d like to discuss more about time viewing with you at a later time, if possible,” I said, “but for now I have some things I’d like you to address. You said you might be able to assist us. How do you know of us and why would you want to help us?”
If you enjoyed this latest excerpt of Circles and Stones, be sure to check out the previous four posted in this blog. For those who enjoy action and adventure with a touch of fantasy, I invite you to explore the exciting world of Sanyel and her friends in the previous books of the series, Sanyel and Disrupter. Sanyel, the first book in the series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Sanyel series books are also available in paperback.
Circles and Stones (update 6, excerpt)
I have completed writing the third book, Circles and Stones, in my ongoing Sanyel series, and have begun the editing process. I would like to offer readers a final excerpt, which is still subject to further editing. Here is the setup to the scene:
Teen shaman Sanyel and her companions, including the priest Borsar, seek to rescue Borsar’s son from the cultish control of Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. They have come to the Well of the Ancients, a sacred well purported to contain healing waters to follow up on information they feel might help lead them to Danara. It is the anniversary of the well’s founding and high-ranking priests from all over have arrived to participate in a religious ceremony. Sanyel has, to this point, tried to blend in with the crowd and remain anonymous, but when she realizes starving victims of Danara’s restrictive food policies have come to the well seeking miracles, she’s willing to expose her identity in order to help. Due to an earlier, unavoidable incident , a few people already know of her presence at the well, including the commanding officer of soldiers assigned there.
Creet—military caste; any member of such caste
Sester—the sun god
Terganz—animal god followed by Danara
fuld—hell
I glanced around at the crowd and felt sorry for those still coming to the well, especially those who showed advanced stages of starvation. They were treating their condition as an illness, hoping for a miracle cure, but the well would deny them that for it could not produce food. I wished I could help in some way.
Then I remembered the fields of grain we had passed on the road to the well.
“I need to go see the Creet commander,” I told my companions. “I’ll be right back.”
When I found the young officer, I asked if he knew anything about the fields, such as who planted them and for what purpose.
“Those belong to Relsan, a priest who is a member of the high council. I believe Danara commissioned him to provide food for both the government elite and the Creet soldiers when she realized the granaries held insufficient grain to sustain them for long. I also hear she plans to distribute some of the present grain to feed the populace and will soon start planting for them as well. She now realizes that starvation breeds rebellion. But those fields you speak of are for the elite only.”
“Is Relsan here?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. All the important priests are here for the well’s anniversary, and he is one of the highest ranking.”
“I want to see him.”
The surprised commander said, “I thought you wanted to keep your presence here secret.”
“This is more important to me than that. Could you show him to me?”
I accompanied the officer through the crowd toward the well site, where the noon ceremony was in preparation. Those who were not priests stood a considerable distance from the well, forced back so as not to interfere. We stopped at the crowd’s edge. The commander pointed to a thin, blue-robed man who seemed to be directing seating arrangements. I left the crowd and walked toward the man, and as I approached the well I heard murmurs of alarm and disapproval from the priests already gathered.
“Get her away from here!” I heard one shout. “This is a sacred ceremony. Only priests are allowed near the well for the ritual.”
Others spoke similar harsh sentiments. Relsan glanced up to determine the cause of the disturbance. As I continued to approach, the lanky, middle-aged priest scowled and signaled to someone behind me. I looked back and saw he was summoning the young Creet commander.
“I wish to speak to you,” I told the priest, “about—”
“You don’t belong here,” the man interrupted, waving me away. “Return to behind the crowd border we have designated for spectators.”
“I belong anywhere I please,” I informed the priest, which startled the man enough to force him to take a good look at me.
The Creet officer then arrived and asked the priest what assistance he required.
“Take this impertinent young woman away,” he said. “She seems to have some delusion of self-importance. Make sure she’s locked away somewhere so she can’t interfere with the ceremony.”
“Umm,” the commander hesitated, “I…umm—”
“What are you waiting for?” the irritated priest asked. “Get her out of here.”
“He can’t do that,” I told the angry man. “He doesn’t have the authority.”
The baffled priest reacted in disbelief to my words, then grew angrier and said, “I have the authority and he does what I tell him to do!” To the Creet he said, “Get this insane girl out of here now, or I’ll have you demoted.”
The uncomfortable officer gave me a pleading look. I smiled and turned to the irate priest.
“Do you know Borsar?”
The question startled the man. Everyone in the priesthood at least knew the name of the now disgraced Borsar. The high council's former ranking priest had once been in line to succeed the late ruler Smerkas, Danara’s husband. Of course, now they all knew him as just another shunned Sester follower.
“I know him,” the suspicious priest responded. I detected fear in the man’s voice. That was interesting.
“Are you a loyal follower of Terganz?” I then queried. The priest showed anxiety over the question. I was using the tone of an inquisitor and the priest seemed uncertain how to respond. I had already told him the young officer held no authority over me. He had to be wondering who I was and what authority I represented, as my attitude showed no acknowledgement his held any sway.
“Are you going to answer the girl’s question, Relsan?”
A fat, redheaded priest had approached unnoticed from the crowd. Relsan’s conversation with me had riveted the attention of those at the well, so no one had challenged the man’s presence. Relsan now turned to Borsar, who had removed his yellow hood, and upon recognizing him grew pale and shuddered.
“Your eminence,” he managed to utter, and then attempted some sort of awkward bow, a cross between bending and stepping one foot forward. Other priests watched with puzzlement over Relsan’s reaction to the redhead, as few knew Borsar by sight and so were unaware of his former high rank.
“That title no longer belongs to me,” Borsar said. Then, with a threat in his voice, he asked, “Where is my son?”
Relsan reacted to the hard question with another shudder and said, “Please understand, your eminence. I did not know Danara’s plan; you have to believe me. It was only after they rounded up the children that she told me she was keeping them. Why she put them in my charge I do not know. They are all safe and cared for, I assure you, but I no longer have any association with them. I was relieved of that duty for reasons still unclear to me, and I am now a grower and supplier of food, nothing more.”
Borsar showed a hard expression as he listened, and when the man finished he again asked in a sharp tone, “Where is my son?”
“I do not know. Truly, I don’t. Danara once held the children in rooms beneath her residence at Bandesvar. Since my dismissal as their caretaker, I have heard Danara moved them and that they now reside in a secret location. I have no idea where that might be.”
“Relsan, you remind me of how little I thought of you when you were my associate on the high council,” replied Borsar. “You were useless to me then and you still are. It’s no surprise the wicked woman realized your uselessness as well.”
“I apologize, your eminence. If there was a way to assist you, I would.”
“I’m the one needing assistance,” I spoke, “if you two are done ignoring my presence.”
Borsar turned to me with alarm and said, “Oh, please forgive my intrusion, Disrupter. I did not mean to overstep.”
“Disrupter!”
Relsan’s face acquired a new degree of pale. I had his full attention now and could at last state my reason for initiating this talk.
“We passed fields of grain on our way to the well. I hear they are yours. I want you to harvest them and dispense an ample supply to every starving person gathered here.”
“You…what?” said a surprised Relsan.
“You heard me. Feed these people with the grain you intended for those who don’t deserve it. The sun god and I care about these people. We don’t care about your elitist rulers or their Creet enablers. Do you understand?”
Relsan, for a moment taken aback by the demand, stood speechless. Then, to my surprise, a smile creased his lips and with a relish I didn’t expect, he said, “Yes, yes, I do understand, Disrupter! I will be happy to comply. Danara demoted me to a food grower to humiliate me. I would love to deny her this food. To fuld with Danara! If she wants grain, she can plant it herself.”
That concludes the excerpts for Circles and Stones. I hope you enjoyed them. I expect to have the book published within the next few months. In the meantime, if you haven’t done so already, I invite you to check out the first two books in the series, Sanyel, and Disrupter. Sanyel, the first book in the series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Books in the Sanyel series are also available in paperback.
Teen shaman Sanyel and her companions, including the priest Borsar, seek to rescue Borsar’s son from the cultish control of Danara, self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the world. They have come to the Well of the Ancients, a sacred well purported to contain healing waters to follow up on information they feel might help lead them to Danara. It is the anniversary of the well’s founding and high-ranking priests from all over have arrived to participate in a religious ceremony. Sanyel has, to this point, tried to blend in with the crowd and remain anonymous, but when she realizes starving victims of Danara’s restrictive food policies have come to the well seeking miracles, she’s willing to expose her identity in order to help. Due to an earlier, unavoidable incident , a few people already know of her presence at the well, including the commanding officer of soldiers assigned there.
Creet—military caste; any member of such caste
Sester—the sun god
Terganz—animal god followed by Danara
fuld—hell
I glanced around at the crowd and felt sorry for those still coming to the well, especially those who showed advanced stages of starvation. They were treating their condition as an illness, hoping for a miracle cure, but the well would deny them that for it could not produce food. I wished I could help in some way.
Then I remembered the fields of grain we had passed on the road to the well.
“I need to go see the Creet commander,” I told my companions. “I’ll be right back.”
When I found the young officer, I asked if he knew anything about the fields, such as who planted them and for what purpose.
“Those belong to Relsan, a priest who is a member of the high council. I believe Danara commissioned him to provide food for both the government elite and the Creet soldiers when she realized the granaries held insufficient grain to sustain them for long. I also hear she plans to distribute some of the present grain to feed the populace and will soon start planting for them as well. She now realizes that starvation breeds rebellion. But those fields you speak of are for the elite only.”
“Is Relsan here?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. All the important priests are here for the well’s anniversary, and he is one of the highest ranking.”
“I want to see him.”
The surprised commander said, “I thought you wanted to keep your presence here secret.”
“This is more important to me than that. Could you show him to me?”
I accompanied the officer through the crowd toward the well site, where the noon ceremony was in preparation. Those who were not priests stood a considerable distance from the well, forced back so as not to interfere. We stopped at the crowd’s edge. The commander pointed to a thin, blue-robed man who seemed to be directing seating arrangements. I left the crowd and walked toward the man, and as I approached the well I heard murmurs of alarm and disapproval from the priests already gathered.
“Get her away from here!” I heard one shout. “This is a sacred ceremony. Only priests are allowed near the well for the ritual.”
Others spoke similar harsh sentiments. Relsan glanced up to determine the cause of the disturbance. As I continued to approach, the lanky, middle-aged priest scowled and signaled to someone behind me. I looked back and saw he was summoning the young Creet commander.
“I wish to speak to you,” I told the priest, “about—”
“You don’t belong here,” the man interrupted, waving me away. “Return to behind the crowd border we have designated for spectators.”
“I belong anywhere I please,” I informed the priest, which startled the man enough to force him to take a good look at me.
The Creet officer then arrived and asked the priest what assistance he required.
“Take this impertinent young woman away,” he said. “She seems to have some delusion of self-importance. Make sure she’s locked away somewhere so she can’t interfere with the ceremony.”
“Umm,” the commander hesitated, “I…umm—”
“What are you waiting for?” the irritated priest asked. “Get her out of here.”
“He can’t do that,” I told the angry man. “He doesn’t have the authority.”
The baffled priest reacted in disbelief to my words, then grew angrier and said, “I have the authority and he does what I tell him to do!” To the Creet he said, “Get this insane girl out of here now, or I’ll have you demoted.”
The uncomfortable officer gave me a pleading look. I smiled and turned to the irate priest.
“Do you know Borsar?”
The question startled the man. Everyone in the priesthood at least knew the name of the now disgraced Borsar. The high council's former ranking priest had once been in line to succeed the late ruler Smerkas, Danara’s husband. Of course, now they all knew him as just another shunned Sester follower.
“I know him,” the suspicious priest responded. I detected fear in the man’s voice. That was interesting.
“Are you a loyal follower of Terganz?” I then queried. The priest showed anxiety over the question. I was using the tone of an inquisitor and the priest seemed uncertain how to respond. I had already told him the young officer held no authority over me. He had to be wondering who I was and what authority I represented, as my attitude showed no acknowledgement his held any sway.
“Are you going to answer the girl’s question, Relsan?”
A fat, redheaded priest had approached unnoticed from the crowd. Relsan’s conversation with me had riveted the attention of those at the well, so no one had challenged the man’s presence. Relsan now turned to Borsar, who had removed his yellow hood, and upon recognizing him grew pale and shuddered.
“Your eminence,” he managed to utter, and then attempted some sort of awkward bow, a cross between bending and stepping one foot forward. Other priests watched with puzzlement over Relsan’s reaction to the redhead, as few knew Borsar by sight and so were unaware of his former high rank.
“That title no longer belongs to me,” Borsar said. Then, with a threat in his voice, he asked, “Where is my son?”
Relsan reacted to the hard question with another shudder and said, “Please understand, your eminence. I did not know Danara’s plan; you have to believe me. It was only after they rounded up the children that she told me she was keeping them. Why she put them in my charge I do not know. They are all safe and cared for, I assure you, but I no longer have any association with them. I was relieved of that duty for reasons still unclear to me, and I am now a grower and supplier of food, nothing more.”
Borsar showed a hard expression as he listened, and when the man finished he again asked in a sharp tone, “Where is my son?”
“I do not know. Truly, I don’t. Danara once held the children in rooms beneath her residence at Bandesvar. Since my dismissal as their caretaker, I have heard Danara moved them and that they now reside in a secret location. I have no idea where that might be.”
“Relsan, you remind me of how little I thought of you when you were my associate on the high council,” replied Borsar. “You were useless to me then and you still are. It’s no surprise the wicked woman realized your uselessness as well.”
“I apologize, your eminence. If there was a way to assist you, I would.”
“I’m the one needing assistance,” I spoke, “if you two are done ignoring my presence.”
Borsar turned to me with alarm and said, “Oh, please forgive my intrusion, Disrupter. I did not mean to overstep.”
“Disrupter!”
Relsan’s face acquired a new degree of pale. I had his full attention now and could at last state my reason for initiating this talk.
“We passed fields of grain on our way to the well. I hear they are yours. I want you to harvest them and dispense an ample supply to every starving person gathered here.”
“You…what?” said a surprised Relsan.
“You heard me. Feed these people with the grain you intended for those who don’t deserve it. The sun god and I care about these people. We don’t care about your elitist rulers or their Creet enablers. Do you understand?”
Relsan, for a moment taken aback by the demand, stood speechless. Then, to my surprise, a smile creased his lips and with a relish I didn’t expect, he said, “Yes, yes, I do understand, Disrupter! I will be happy to comply. Danara demoted me to a food grower to humiliate me. I would love to deny her this food. To fuld with Danara! If she wants grain, she can plant it herself.”
That concludes the excerpts for Circles and Stones. I hope you enjoyed them. I expect to have the book published within the next few months. In the meantime, if you haven’t done so already, I invite you to check out the first two books in the series, Sanyel, and Disrupter. Sanyel, the first book in the series, is available as an e-book FREE at various book retailers. Books in the Sanyel series are also available in paperback.
How NOT to sell books!
Sanyel, the main character from my Sanyel series novels was disappointed in me. Her exciting adventures, as chronicled by yours truly, had no readers. Three years after the first book came out, her life tales, filled with danger, intrigue, mystery, and remarkable exploits, had gone unnoticed. Now, Sanyel was not someone born to go unnoticed. She was not happy. I advised we talk. (The following conversation is verbatim. Please don't let the missing quotation marks confuse you. Two people (one imaginary) are actually speaking. I am the first speaker.)
Things aren’t going well, are they?
No, it seems not. I really thought people would be more interested in my adventurous life.
I would have thought so, too. Not too many female characters out there have such remarkable poise, intellect, wit, and deadly skills as you do.
Why, thank you. At least someone appreciates me.
Well, I created you.
That could be the problem right there. Perhaps Stephen King should have created me, or Neil Gaiman. Even John Green. Those writers, at least, have readers.
Hold on. I agree I’m not a name writer, but it takes time to build a fan base.
Ha! Three years and counting. You should at least have two or three fans by now. What was the last count? One and a half I believe.
Well, that half fan is very loyal, so I wouldn’t dismiss her as inconsequential.
I want more.
How do you suggest we get more?
Write better books? Hey, I’m joking. You’re no Stephen King, though. Just want to make that clear.
He doesn’t even write in my genre.
What is your genre, by the way?
Young adult, I think. No wait, that isn’t a genre. Adventure, maybe? Action? A little fantasy, a dash of mystery? I don’t know.
How are readers supposed to know where to find our books if you don’t even know the genre?
Oh, these are our books now?
I do have a part in them, and it happens to be a major part. Where would you be without me?
Don’t get cocky. I could start writing about your friend, Izzy. Who wouldn’t want to read about a one-armed, tattooed, teenage girl who happens to be a master swordsman?
Well, you do realize she is already in the books you have written about me. That doesn’t seem to have increased your fan base.
That was cold.
Perhaps you need to spice up the books a bit.
Are you kidding? They are nonstop action, at least once you get through the early and necessary explanatory material, which, I must say, is not very extensive and is interesting in and of itself.
In and of itself?
Yes, that is an acceptable phrase. Do you have a problem with it?
No. I just don’t know what it means.
Well, I don’t either, but I’m using it anyway.
Why did our first book fail to generate interest, and then the second, and now probably the third, which I understand you plan to release in December, and which I also understand is the worst month to release a book?
That debacle is a tale worthy of its own book, although you could add the words 'of ignorance' after the word 'tale' if accuracy is your thing. It seems I chose not to market the first book, just threw it out there and expected readers to lap it up. I know now that readers don’t enjoy lapping up books because it’s awkward for their tongues, and a bit dry. Also, they couldn’t find them after the first week, since the literary gods decide to punish those who don’t market in an incessant and annoying manner. They relegate their books to Amazon’s (and every other book seller’s) purgatory where they live out their inconsequential lives ranked as the three millionth most popular book on a list of two million.
So, that explains what happened to the first book in the series. What happened to the second?
Well, I planned to change things for that book. I had read about all the glorious strategies to compel readers to drop everything and ask for—no, demand—my book, and to have it available in their electronic reading device by yesterday. Oh, the wonders of preorders and giveaways! I would get reviews from bloggers and find the appropriate forums (no spamming, please) to ask readers to grant me their glorious reviews and star-stacked ratings! I was stoked! Then, something came over me. I decided I didn’t want to do all that. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe by now readers had taken it upon themselves to adjust their tongues, enabling them to lap up my book without difficulty. Yes! This could happen!
So, I’m guessing you threw the second book out there with no marketing campaign either.
That does appear to be the case.
Are you nuts?
That does appear to be the case.
Do you even use social media? Do you know how?
I have a Twitterer account—or is it Tweeterer? I’m even on the Facebook. And don’t look now, but I also have—get this—a website!
Do you know how to use any of those?
I tweetered something the other day—I think. My Facebook author page has nine whole likes, so I couldn't be happier with that! My website is cool. Images move around on it. Why, I don’t really know.
I’m afraid to ask what you plan for this third book in the series. It’s called Circles and Stones, right?
Yes, that is the title. I hope to get it out there in December.
Big marketing campaign?
Nah, probably not.
That incomprehensible strategy does not make me happy, Michael.
I think we’ve already established that, Sanyel.
That concluded our conversation. Needless to say (which means I’m going to say it anyway), Sanyel and I are no longer on speaking terms. I hope to remedy that when Circles and Stones becomes the best seller we both feel it has an excellent chance of becoming. All it will take is a huge, strategic ad campaign and an unrelenting social media blitz. Unfortunately, I am incapable of organizing or implementing anything so grand. Therefore, look for Circles and Stones sometime in December. You'll most likely have to try really hard to find it. I can’t guarantee I’ll give any further pre-notice than this, probably just throw it out there.
www.michlputtonen.com
Things aren’t going well, are they?
No, it seems not. I really thought people would be more interested in my adventurous life.
I would have thought so, too. Not too many female characters out there have such remarkable poise, intellect, wit, and deadly skills as you do.
Why, thank you. At least someone appreciates me.
Well, I created you.
That could be the problem right there. Perhaps Stephen King should have created me, or Neil Gaiman. Even John Green. Those writers, at least, have readers.
Hold on. I agree I’m not a name writer, but it takes time to build a fan base.
Ha! Three years and counting. You should at least have two or three fans by now. What was the last count? One and a half I believe.
Well, that half fan is very loyal, so I wouldn’t dismiss her as inconsequential.
I want more.
How do you suggest we get more?
Write better books? Hey, I’m joking. You’re no Stephen King, though. Just want to make that clear.
He doesn’t even write in my genre.
What is your genre, by the way?
Young adult, I think. No wait, that isn’t a genre. Adventure, maybe? Action? A little fantasy, a dash of mystery? I don’t know.
How are readers supposed to know where to find our books if you don’t even know the genre?
Oh, these are our books now?
I do have a part in them, and it happens to be a major part. Where would you be without me?
Don’t get cocky. I could start writing about your friend, Izzy. Who wouldn’t want to read about a one-armed, tattooed, teenage girl who happens to be a master swordsman?
Well, you do realize she is already in the books you have written about me. That doesn’t seem to have increased your fan base.
That was cold.
Perhaps you need to spice up the books a bit.
Are you kidding? They are nonstop action, at least once you get through the early and necessary explanatory material, which, I must say, is not very extensive and is interesting in and of itself.
In and of itself?
Yes, that is an acceptable phrase. Do you have a problem with it?
No. I just don’t know what it means.
Well, I don’t either, but I’m using it anyway.
Why did our first book fail to generate interest, and then the second, and now probably the third, which I understand you plan to release in December, and which I also understand is the worst month to release a book?
That debacle is a tale worthy of its own book, although you could add the words 'of ignorance' after the word 'tale' if accuracy is your thing. It seems I chose not to market the first book, just threw it out there and expected readers to lap it up. I know now that readers don’t enjoy lapping up books because it’s awkward for their tongues, and a bit dry. Also, they couldn’t find them after the first week, since the literary gods decide to punish those who don’t market in an incessant and annoying manner. They relegate their books to Amazon’s (and every other book seller’s) purgatory where they live out their inconsequential lives ranked as the three millionth most popular book on a list of two million.
So, that explains what happened to the first book in the series. What happened to the second?
Well, I planned to change things for that book. I had read about all the glorious strategies to compel readers to drop everything and ask for—no, demand—my book, and to have it available in their electronic reading device by yesterday. Oh, the wonders of preorders and giveaways! I would get reviews from bloggers and find the appropriate forums (no spamming, please) to ask readers to grant me their glorious reviews and star-stacked ratings! I was stoked! Then, something came over me. I decided I didn’t want to do all that. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe by now readers had taken it upon themselves to adjust their tongues, enabling them to lap up my book without difficulty. Yes! This could happen!
So, I’m guessing you threw the second book out there with no marketing campaign either.
That does appear to be the case.
Are you nuts?
That does appear to be the case.
Do you even use social media? Do you know how?
I have a Twitterer account—or is it Tweeterer? I’m even on the Facebook. And don’t look now, but I also have—get this—a website!
Do you know how to use any of those?
I tweetered something the other day—I think. My Facebook author page has nine whole likes, so I couldn't be happier with that! My website is cool. Images move around on it. Why, I don’t really know.
I’m afraid to ask what you plan for this third book in the series. It’s called Circles and Stones, right?
Yes, that is the title. I hope to get it out there in December.
Big marketing campaign?
Nah, probably not.
That incomprehensible strategy does not make me happy, Michael.
I think we’ve already established that, Sanyel.
That concluded our conversation. Needless to say (which means I’m going to say it anyway), Sanyel and I are no longer on speaking terms. I hope to remedy that when Circles and Stones becomes the best seller we both feel it has an excellent chance of becoming. All it will take is a huge, strategic ad campaign and an unrelenting social media blitz. Unfortunately, I am incapable of organizing or implementing anything so grand. Therefore, look for Circles and Stones sometime in December. You'll most likely have to try really hard to find it. I can’t guarantee I’ll give any further pre-notice than this, probably just throw it out there.
www.michlputtonen.com
CIRCLES AND STONES Has Arrived!
My latest book, Circles and Stones, the third novel in my Sanyel series is now available for purchase at online book retailers. These books are action/adventure with a touch of fantasy and include some elements of mystery, paranormal, and sci-fi. This exciting, entertaining, adventure-filled series features an astute teenage protagonist, the daughter of a tribal shaman who becomes the catalyst for change in a male-dominated culture. She is gifted with abilities beyond the norm, and those gifts assist her as she challenges the status quo regarding a woman’s place in her society. Her influence affects not only her tribe but extends far beyond it, for her destiny appears to involve bringing change to the wider world. Each novel in the Sanyel series is a complete, self-contained adventure story with a plot that closes. Threads continue into the subsequent novels, but the main storyline in each concludes. Circles and Stones is nearly 400 pages of action and adventure featuring Sanyel, a teen girl who survives in her world by being smarter and more skilled than her adversaries. The book is also available in paperback. Here’s the book blurb:
Teen shaman Sanyel and her friend Izzy have agreed to help rescue a former enemy’s son from the boy’s abductor, a prominent, powerful leader. Their mission takes a strange turn when various people—both known and unknown to the rescuers—inexplicably begin to appear and then disappear before their eyes. As these bizarre events grow in number, the adventurers continue their challenging rescue mission, becoming increasingly aware the ongoing, mysterious appearances and vanishings might hold a greater peril than their bold, risky attempt to free the boy.
I offer the first novel in the series, Sanyel, FREE in ebook form at most online book retailers to give readers an introduction to this exciting series. Here are some of the places you can find it:
http://www.amazon.com/Sanyel-Michael-...
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sanye...
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebo...
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/sany...
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
Come visit my website at www.michlputtonen.com
I also invite you to friend or follow me on Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...,
follow me on Twitter https://twitter.com/MichlPuttonen,
or add a like or a comment to my author page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Michael-Putt...
I am always open to interacting with readers, so feel free to initiate a conversation.
Bones of the Gods
I have begun writing the fourth book in my ongoing Sanyel series, provisionally titled Bones of the Gods. I will post updates on my progress both here and on my website. To set the scene, nearly one year has passed since Sanyel's latest adventure, and she has settled down to a quiet life, hunting at her leisure, and fulfilling her gratifying duties as tribal shaman. She realizes, however, that her tribe's security depends on learning what potential threats exist beyond its borders, and thus feels it is time to return to an ancient mountain facility where a remarkable spinning globe shows their planet in living detail. She knows that the globe, a remarkable, highly sophisticated device from a long vanished, advanced civilization, can show any location in the entire world to her in real time, right down to a clear visual of an individual rock or human being.
When an old acquaintance arrives with a request for Sanyel to help find his missing wife and daughter, she welcomes this opportunity to test the globe's capabilities. However, nothing is ever as easy as it appears, and Sanyel will wind up on another adventure that will prove both harrowing and mysterious, and could lead to a valuable discovery.
Click on any of the book covers below to find more details about them.
When an old acquaintance arrives with a request for Sanyel to help find his missing wife and daughter, she welcomes this opportunity to test the globe's capabilities. However, nothing is ever as easy as it appears, and Sanyel will wind up on another adventure that will prove both harrowing and mysterious, and could lead to a valuable discovery.
Click on any of the book covers below to find more details about them.
