Nivenea’s Shield Part I – A Les Short Story

For a long while I’ve been writing in relative obscurity – there have been a number of short stories floating around unpublished on my hard drive, and it was only today that it occurred to me… why not share them as I go along?

This particular year in training at my day-job has been difficult. I’ve had little energy or inspiration to devote to my work, and when I have managed to get words on the page, I’ve lacked any ideas of what to do with them. Only recently this has started to change, as my experience of this year has become more bearable and I have started to see a real end to this stage. In six months’ time I will be back at something I actually like to do, after a year away from what I feel is my place in the world. That… that is hopeful. Somehow this hope translated into a renewed interest in blogging and sharing my creative life, hence this post.

The following short story, Nivenea’s Shield, takes place immediately after the events in Forsaken Lands Book I: Tragedy. The story is from the perspective of Les, who becomes infinitely more important during books two and (per the plan) three. Forsaken Lands III: Redemption is in very early stages… but hope remains that a finished copy will miraculously appear before the end of my residency training. We shall see.

Without further adieu I give you Nivenea’s Shield, Part I (if it’s any comfort, parts II and III already exist, I just need to format and post them in the next couple of weeks).


My name is Les, Baron of the village called Pelle in what I know as Elseth’s Land. People say a lot of things about me, not all of them entirely true; they say I’m smart enough, well-spoken, and I make people feel at ease. Some people called me a child prodigy back when I was younger; at 23 I still feel like I’m 16, and I’m not sure I can agree with that part of it. The rest of that, though, might be true.

No one ever said I was a runner, however, including me…least of all me.

“Hurry up!” The woman running behind me was short with frazzled, curly black hair, warm brown skin and as sharp a tongue as I’d ever encountered. She punctuated her command with a shove. Her name was Adria – Lieutenant Adria, a Justice, ranking member of the law and military force of my people. I’d known her for all of three hours and she’d already made up her mind about me: I was the weak link who was going to get her killed.

The shove knocked the little breath I had going for me straight from my lungs. My hand hit the dried grass on the hill we were foolishly trying to use as an escape route. Adreth (who I learned was Adria’s same-ranking twin brother) was leading our rag-tag band of escaped fugitives away from our capitol city, Nivenea, towards some ranch in the hills. The line went that if we could get to this gods-beloved ranch we could rest and meet up with the other fugitives. Then…

Well, I hoped he had a plan for the afterwards part of that story. I surely didn’t.

“It’s not much further,” Adria was out of breath, too, but when I glanced back at her she didn’t look to be as sweat-soaked and exhausted as I was. The woman was in better shape than me – she always would be, given our relative positions in the world. Baronry wasn’t supposed to include any measure of physical fighting or long-distance traveling.

Of course, I was stuck in some outdated world from three hours ago when I thought I would return to Pelle before the year was out. No time to correct that, not yet.

“Easy-” I huffed, my heart pounding so hard in my throat that I could swear it was making my head bob, “for…you to say…” I trembled and paused in my tracks, which caused my disgruntled running companion to slam her body into mine. I was dizzy with fatigue and lack of oxygen. I could still hear the shots of pistolets – the apparently magical weapons of our heretofore unknown enemies – ringing out in Nivenea, beyond her city walls. We were at least a kilometer or two into the hills, Nivenea’s circular footprint sunken into the valley behind us.

They called these the God’s Hills – formally Layvin’s Embrace. As the sweat cascaded over my eyebrows and my skull throbbed, I said a silent prayer asking whatever gods may exist to save my sorry, slow ass.

“We have to go,” Adria hissed. The dozen-or-so others, including her brother, were already over the top of this particular hill and out of sight.

“You…” I tried to yell and failed rather miserably, “don’t…have to…wait for me.”

Adria’s brow furrowed. I had my hands on my thighs halfway bent over, and she saw fit to put both hands on my shoulders and shove me again. I’ve never been the kind of person to lash out with rage or anything like it, but my nerves were frayed all to hell and I felt helpless… I threw all my strength into it (which wasn’t much) and shoved her right back.

She barely swayed. “Adreth put me in charge of you,” she seethed, a finger pointing up the hill. “I don’t know why, but I’m going to get you up that damn hill, Baron, so MOVE.”

I didn’t see the point in running since it was just the two of us and I couldn’t see any more people in blue uniforms anywhere near us, but then I didn’t think it was quite the time to get into a battle of wills with a woman who could probably break my neck in a lot less time. When she grabbed my arm and hauled me along beside her I didn’t protest or fight it. I just went. If I died of exertion, well, that might be an improvement.

It was an eternity and a half (or approximately ten minutes) before we crested the last hill and faced an old barnhouse. There were a number of horses in the stable and several dozen escaped prisoners walking around inside the expansive fence, looking as defeated and lost as I felt. Lots of them were bloody and bruised from the conflict in the capitol.

I scanned the crowd and saw only two faces I knew by name. The first and most obvious was Adria’s brother Adreth, a tall, dark man with shoulders twice my width and a presence that put even my best stage performance to shame. He was the leader of this fiasco, whatever that meant. The man’s size and demeanor reminded me of Garren, which was at least in part a comfort.

Garren, the Kaldari mercenary who picked me up in Pelle not three months ago; a man who I was afraid of, at first, and whom I now called a friend. One who betrayed his own people in favor of mine, gave me a bow and taught me to use it.

Garren, a man likely dead. The Celet shot him once in the hand and once in the leg, Garren’s blood as red as my own when it flowed from his wounds. He stayed behind to save Teveres…

I found myself shivering, though I was not cold. The hairs on my arms stood up, prickly and painful against my sweat-slick shirt. My ears were buzzing and I was exhausted. I leaned on the fence with both hands, trying to remember to breathe.

“Well done, kid,” Adria tapped my shoulder, this time with some measure of kindness.

When I jerked up to look at her she was already hopping the fence, shouting something at her brother. Part of me wanted to know what she was shouting, but the more pressing part didn’t have the energy to care.

I didn’t have the energy to do anything. It was a struggle just to stay upright, shaking, feeling…fear? Anger? Grief?

I couldn’t even tell what it was. It was something like the flat nothing feeling before entering a debate; knowledge and words were present in my brain, but they were locked away beneath a blank slate. Usually anxiety of that sort gave me some comfort – it was predictable, even necessary to boost my abilities.

Nothing about this was predictable.

“Baron?” It took me a moment to place the voice with an identity. Slowly I turned toward the only other face I recognized in the crowd. The young Healer was tall and thin, with warm brown skin, close-cropped black hair and a welcoming, easy energy about him.

I swallowed hard, struggling with the distinct lack of moisture on my tongue. “Kyren,” I croaked, trying to speak as normally as I could.

Kyren’s dark eyes were hooded, serious. We’d met the day before when Aia, Teveres, Garren, and I came into Nivenea to stay at Aia’s home in Layvin’s Embrace. Kyren was a divinely gifted Healer, Aia’s best friend from her time at the University. She trusted him implicitly, and given that Aia was a mind-reader, I had plenty of reason to trust him, too.
My guts clenched. He’s Aia’s best friend. How could I tell him? My eyes swelled with the burden of tears. I was either too scared or too dehydrated to let them fall.

It took Kyren less than a second of silence to see what I could not say. His jaw clenched.

“What happened to her?” he asked – demanded.

“I…” I shook my head. The look on her face when they dragged her away… “She’s gone, Kyren.”

“Gone?” He stepped closer to me, and the handful of centimeters’ difference in our relative heights was ever more apparent. “Gone where? And where was Teveres when this happened?”

Kyren had it out for Teveres from the moment they met, I knew. Something about both of them being invested in the same girl, though I think Aia was telling the truth when she said there was nothing romantic between she and Kyren. Her and Teveres, however – that was a hot topic. They might never have the chance to let that turn into something.

Probably wouldn’t. Definitely wouldn’t. There was no way Teveres survived.

“Gone,” I said. The hills spun around me. “They’re all gone. Garren too.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” I tried to straighten up, a hip cocked on the fence to keep me from falling over. “The Celet have them. There was…nothing I could do. Nothing he could do. Teveres was shot before Aia was taken. Probably dead.” Probably dead. The thought of it made me sick – of seeing Teveres on his knees with a hole in his chest. If Teveres had been there when they came for Aia he could have kept her safe. It was just me, and because I was so damned useless…

Skies above, I could hardly finish my thoughts. It wasn’t like me. I was supposed to be a leader. What kind of leader was this, shaking and bumbling through his explanations? What sort of leader would want to curl up and cry in the face of conflict?

I was a fake. Anyone could see that.

Kyren clenched and unclenched his fists, angrily pacing in a circle like he wanted to hurt someone. I couldn’t blame him. I wanted to kill the bastards who took them, too. Pity I lacked the necessary skills.

“You could hit me if you like,” even when I was halfway to a panic attack I tried to be witty. Fucking pitiful is what it was, and I couldn’t stop. “Better than hitting one of the useful people.”

Kyren glared at me. He had an admirable ferocity to him, that one. He was anything but a meek, mere Healer.

“I took an oath,” he spat, “the gods say people like me shouldn’t hurt others, then they put me here, in this. What kind of justice is that, Baron?”

“Les,” I corrected. I couldn’t take being addressed by my title, let alone by a man in every way my equal. “The good Baron wouldn’t allow you to see him like this. He’s on vacation.”

Kyren almost smiled before reality took hold. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” his voice was small. “You said they’re all ‘gone,’ but you know the truth.”

I couldn’t stand to look at him, to feel his pain. What I felt – the sting of losing my sudden and newly-acquired friends – was still a pale reflection of Kyren’s loss. Aia was special. All three of them were.

Instead I studied Nivenea’s spire from afar. The spire stood upon the top of the university pyramid, tall and smooth, wide at the bottom tapering up to a glorious tip, a message of hope and pride. The spire was my peoples’ crowning monument, the highest man-made peak in the whole world… or, I supposed, the world as I knew it. These Celet came from somewhere else, and I could not speak to what they might be hiding.

“I won’t believe she’s dead until I see it myself,” I said, partly to Kyren and partly to the spire.

Kyren said nothing. The Justices and prisoners (some of whom were probably murderers and rapists, but I didn’t have much time to think on that) murmured in the background, making plans. I stood still and plan-less.

As I stood silent the ground began to shake. At first I thought it was just me – my own shakiness translating to my feet, making me feel unsteady. The hush that came over the farmstead implied otherwise. Kyren and I locked gazes.

“TO GROUND!” Adreth used his large, loud voice to his advantage, commanding those inside the barn to come out. The horses shrieked and whinnied, refusing to be calmed.
“Earthquake,” I breathed. I’d experienced small earthquakes once or twice on the coast – this was not stopping. Kyren and I crouched to the ground. There was nothing near us which could fall, save for the fenceposts.

The rumbling reached a crescendo, and the sound…

The screams from Nivenea echoed through her little valley up to our ears. I clenched the dried grass in my hands, and under my breath I muttered, “Radath the honored, god of stone, god of earth, I call you; Radath the honored, god of stone, god of earth, I call you…”I couldn’t say it fast enough, couldn’t throw enough of my energy into the dirt, begging Radath – begging any god – to show us mercy.

Mercy, mercy, mercy. Haven’t I shown mercy to my enemies? Why couldn’t the gods show us the same kindness? What had we done to deserve this?

Wood cracked, the barn losing integrity – I watched in terrified awe when half the structure came crashing down, the barn pushing up against the farmhouse, distorting it to one side. My throat tightened when a horse was caught underneath the boards, surely seriously injured, maybe dead. For all that I was terrified of horses, I never wished a living thing to suffer.

Our gods had surely forsaken us. It was the only explanation. That, or Teveres was right – perhaps there were no gods after all.

The moving of the earth stopped, though not soon enough. Every last person was frozen, and for a moment they were as scared as I was. We were all victims of the same tragedy. Our home had been assaulted not just by our hidden enemies, but by the very earth itself. I glanced back at Nivenea, and what I saw could be no coincidence.

The spire I’d admired all my life was cracked, its perfect tip now a wounded, jagged edge. Parts of Nivenea’s wall had tumbled to dust. Buildings were collapsed and collapsing.

Anger built in my chest. This couldn’t be happening – shouldn’t be happening. It didn’t seem possible that the Celet people could have dominion over the earth and the weather, and yet I had to wonder if it was them behind this, too.

A Time for Superheroes

The past few days have been harrowing for many of us, myself included. The fear in my community is palpable, an anxiety-inducing energy that would cause palpitations in the dead. I could go into all the reasons why people I work with and work for are unsettled, but that’s not the point of this post – no, dear reader, I have something much more powerful to talk about. Tonight I was rescued by Dr. Strange.

The lady is ill! I imagine you thinking. She’s hallucinating about comic book characters and such. This can’t be healthy. Please, hear me out.

The Dr. Strange movie was good. The writing was decent, the visuals stunning, and it always helps to have a special fondness for Benedict Cumberbatch. The movie took me away from the things I was feeling – powerlessness, grief, anger – and reminded me of something I had apparently forgotten… stories are important.

This is about more than just distraction through escapism, though that has its own valid purpose. At any point in history, in any culture, you will find stories. We humans can’t seem to stop telling them. We use them to communicate experiences and provide each other with amusement, but more than that, stories remind of us of values greater than ourselves, especially in times where we’ve lost sight of those values. Dr. Strange did not fly through a window and bend space and time to fix my problems (not that I’d mind all that); the story of Dr. Strange brought to mind the important things in life that will never change. The power of fantasy, connection, a desire to do good, the mind’s ability to influence reality – those concepts exist no matter who our leaders are or how our personal circumstances change. As a character-driven writer it struck me that it’s not about the setting; twists of plot are interesting to me only insofar as the plot guides the reactions of the characters. Events happen, many of which the characters had little or no control over, but how the characters respond is what matters.

We, too, play parts in real-life stories. Our roles shift depending on the day and the perspective, one day the hero, the next the helper, later the antihero. What’s true of stories is just as true of real life. It may not seem like the time for fantasy, reading, writing, and movie-going, but I would argue that now is exactly the time for these things. We need the experiences of story-telling and story-receiving as a means of centering ourselves; ancient human experience, a higher power of sorts, connecting us to ideals and each other. Don’t stop reading. Don’t stop watching. Don’t stop creating.

Don’t stop believing in what matters most.

 

Muse, You are indeed Inconvenient

I believe I’ve said it before, but it bears saying again – the muse is a fickle beast, in particular mine.

Everyone has a different tact for dealing with the problem of “writer’s block,” or as I see it at the moment, absent muses. Some would say that you should just muscle through it and make it work, write whether you feel like it or not; others would offer various techniques to awaken the creative beast, or advise watchful waiting, hoping it comes back into view. I’m not necessarily here offering advice, because I think I would be a poor choice for advice-giving in this case. I went for at least five years without writing any amount of fiction worth mentioning before busting out two novels and two short stories over the course of three years. It’s nothing compared to the likes of Stephen King or indie authors like Lindsay Buroker, but it is something that I was able to do those things in the midst of med school and everything that adventure entailed. Now…

What is most frustrating lately is that I have more free time than usual (I’m not sure that’s saying much), and yet I cannot find it in me to do what I want to do with my stories. There are words in a document (around 500, I believe) intended to be the beginning of Forsaken Lands III: Redemption, and several thousand more words spread between short stories for Les, Aia, Dmiri, Adria, and Teveres. Plenty of beginnings to work with… and no creative energy to put into them (nevermind the serial Fae and Folly, which has been sitting untouched for over a year).

Clearly this is not me offering solutions. This is me breaking silence and trying to get words in a computer – trying to rationalize what I see as a necessary break, at least for now. Writing is something I genuinely love to do when the energy is there. It’s adventure, thrill, relationships with people just in my head almost as deep as any “real” relationship I’ve ever had. Just now, though, that energy has disappeared into long-term career decisions, ending old relationships, starting new relationships, financial finagling, and trying to figure out what exactly I want my every-day to look like.

Everyone faces transition periods in life, and I would venture to say that while last year was in an epic state of flux, so far 2016 has cranked up the stakes. Things are better in the sense that good stuff has been coming my way, but more complex in that I have no freaking idea what to do with all of it. Just now, this moment, figuring out what I’m doing is all I can be held responsible for. The stories aren’t over and the ending, I promise, will present itself in time.

Then again, what is an ending but the mark of a new beginning, anyhow?

 

“Sacrifice” Playlist – Just for Fun

First off, I have been extremely pleased with the reception of Sacrifice. Sales of both the sequel and the first book have been way better than ever, and folks seem to be enjoying it.🙂 It is absolutely thrilling to have the story out in the hands of readers. Go-go 21st century freedom of information!

Seriously, it’s awesome. I’m downright stoked.

As with the previous novel, I’m doing a brief post about the music which inspired Sacrifice. I will never cease to marvel at the interconnectedness of creative people – painters inspired by writers, musicians inspired by story, writers inspired by music – it’s a phenomenon of cosmic proportions, if you ask me. We all have so much to share with one another, and that is the beauty of all that is art.

For me, no words reach the page without music. I cannot write in silence. Some of my work has been inspired directly by songs – Fathers and Sons came to me while listening to Say When by The Fray (specifically the lyrics, “you’re coming to but you’re slow in waking/you start to shake/you still haven’t spoken, what happened?” “maybe god can be on both sides of a gun,” and “my own two hands will comfort you tonight/say when/my own two arms will carry you tonight”). I can’t tell you how powerfully I’ve felt those lyrics through Garren’s story.

Thus I give you the following songs that inspired Sacrifice (among others I listened to along the way). As I pulled them from my playlist I realized that I don’t listen to many female artists. Huh.

End Chapters (most characters)

You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring

Teveres Songs

Through Glass by Stone Sour

What I’ve Done by Linkin Park

This is Gospel by Panic! At the Disco

Les Songs

Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace

Oh Glory by Panic! At the Disco

Elden Songs

Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace

Pain by Three Days Grace

Aia Songs

Take Me to Church by Hozier

How You Remind Me cover by Avril Lavigne

All In by Lifehouse

NOW AVAILABLE – Forsaken Lands II: Sacrifice

Forsaken Lands II: Sacrifice

Trust is everything.

The world lies in pieces in the aftermath of Nivenea’s Fall. Captured and held against their will, Teveres and Aia’s only hope is that their friends may have survived a deadly battle, while Les, the lowly Baron of Pelle, finds himself thrown in with a ragtag militia on the losing side of a war. Separated from all they once knew, the Deldri must learn to trust not only their former enemies, but also themselves…or risk the destruction of their nation.

You can now find the ebook edition on Amazon here. Tragedy (Book I) is free for release day (11/6) here!

I am SO happy to have this thing out! It took 2 years and much angst, and…I hope you like it. Reviews are so important for indie authors, so if you like it (or even if you don’t) please review on Amazon or GoodReads. Giveaways and more material to come.🙂 The print-edition always takes more formatting work and will be available in the next couple of weeks barring unforeseen complications.

For now I’m going to slip away into the morning, drink my hot cocoa, and hang out with one of my favorite people and her little one. In the meantime, here’s a little excerpt from early in the piece –


A hard object hit glass on the other side of the concrete, loud enough to be heard in the control room. Kali rushed to look through the spyglass. Her mouth dropped.

“Guards, now!” Kali shouted. She hit a button on her station.

“Let me see.” With a grunt, Zhe pushed Kali out of the way to get her own assessment of the situation. She felt the crack in her cool facade when she registered what was going on. Her eyebrows raised.

Through the fisheye lens she saw the Eastern man – this Teveres person – slumped with his back against the two-way mirror. The muscles in his neck were strained from fury and pain; he gasped for breath, his words punctuated by sobs.

<Just make it stop!> Zhe heard him say in Leyvada. Defiant, he turned and slammed his body face-on against the mirror again, letting his skull take the force of the impact. Zhe prized her desensitization to the pain of others, but the impact of a body thrown against a wall still made her stomach lurch.

Way back in her private musings, she admired the dedication. Self-injury on such a scale required quite a bit of willpower.

Behind her she heard the guards running to meet them. Kali went after them with a medi bag in hand, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this kind of event. Zhe had a moment of hesitation considering that the prisoner was one of the single most dangerous individuals on the planet – going into the room meant sacrificing the protective shielding that separated the cell from the control room.

The pause was overridden by her training. She experienced no fear, only excitement at the thought of the challenge. She caught up with the group just as they began putting on the gas masks hanging on the wall outside the prison door. Zhe gave Kali an inquisitive eye.

“I released anesthetic gas,” Kali explained quickly, situating her own mask. “He’s usually a lot easier to control than this…never tries to hurt himself…I never thought he’d actually…” The scientist spoke of the prisoner fondly again. It just wouldn’t do.

Zhe selected a mask for herself, covering her face and eyes with the ghastly-looking apparatus. She hated the things. They made the air taste like industrial plastic.

When the guards crowded the doorway, Zhe shouldered into the middle of them. Two of the guards were women about her height (which wasn’t saying much), while the third guard, a male, seemed to double her in size.

Teveres was mid-launch with his back to the mirror when the guards rushed him.

<Let me pay…> Teveres grit his teeth, anticipating the pain. When he slammed into mirror again, a spiderweb crack dripping with blood haloed around his head. His eyes went glazed and unfocused. <…for what I’ve done.>

One guard each took hold of his arms while the third, the largest man in the group, dove for Teveres’s legs. He did not struggle, his body limp in their arms.

“Be careful with him,” Kali urged, motioning the guards to bring the prisoner back to his steel table.

Zhe edged towards the prisoner. He was actively bleeding from the back of his head, his eyes fixed up at the ceiling. Whatever his motivations, they were strong enough to keep him fighting the anesthetic gas. When his eyelids began to drift closed his whole body tensed as if in convulsion, rattling down against the table with fists clenched.

“Don’t let him do that!” Kali snapped, examining the prisoner’s laceration.

Teveres went still, visibly fighting the pull towards unconsciousness. His eyes were pretty, Zhe had to admit. They were a kind of gilded green, deep and dark. If she were to fuck a man, as unlikely as that might be, she’d like it to be a man with the same eyes.

<What did you think you were doing?> Zhe addressed Teveres in perfect Leyvada. She supposed that reassurance might have some kind of place in this situation, but she wasn’t a reassuring kind of person. Instead she cleared her throat. <You’ll have to do a lot better than that if you’re trying to kill yourself.>

<Just…let me go…don’t know…what you want…> His voice was hoarse.

He was at the breaking point. Zhe could see it on his features, the same barely-collected expression she wore when she was sent to train at The Facility. Had this one never been broken before? She knew his history at least in brief, how he’d witnessed the death of his family and killed a dozen people out of pure fury. Reports said that not even half a year ago he had terminated his ex-partner’s fetus to save the lives of his friends. She assumed that a man who endured so much loss would have been broken and callused over long ago.

Zhe thought to speak again, but was too late. The very pretty eyes closed, the muscles unclenched. He finally succumbed to the sedation.

“I shouldn’t have let him up so much,” Kali said distantly, folding her arms as if suddenly chilled. The prisoner’s breaths came slow and steady. “I started to trust him too much. I knew he was under stress but I didn’t expect…I should’ve told Sat that I just wouldn’t do it…I…”

Zhe considered her words carefully before speaking, a pretense she rarely had to employ. Usually the right words came out easily – the right words in her business were usually lies. “These people can’t be trusted with their own choices. That’s why the consultants decided on manipulation strategy rather than coercion. I was there,” Zhe paused, realizing that her matter-of-fact report could hardly be seen as friendly. “I’m sure you won’t let that happen again.” Well, that wasn’t very friendly either. It would just have to do.

COVER REVEAL: “Forsaken Lands II – Sacrifice”

As I sit here with my soup (which I highly recommend, by the way – Zoup is awesome if you have one nearby) I am about to embark on a several-hours-long endeavor to complete editing on the digital version of Sacrifice. My goal: publishing the sequel by the 5th of November.

I’m not sure I’ll meet that measure, but nonetheless, I am going to make the effort. Before I lock myself into the formatting/editing zen state, I want to show off the cover. Without further adieu I give you… Forsaken Lands II: Sacrifice. Just to make it interesting, I’m willing to give away a copy to anyone who can correctly identify the male on the cover in the comments.🙂


Forsaken Lands II: Sacrifice

Trust is everything.

The world lies in pieces in the aftermath of Nivenea’s Fall. Captured and held against their will, Teveres and Aia’s only hope is that their friends may have survived a deadly battle, while Les, the lowly Baron of Pelle, finds himself thrown in with a ragtag militia on the losing side of a war. Separated from all they once knew, the Deldri must learn to trust not only their former enemies, but also themselves…or risk the destruction of their nation.


I would also like to note that I am flattered and overjoyed that Forsaken Lands I: Tragedy is officially a finalist for the Speculative Fiction Cygnus Awards. I can think of few things more motivating than that!

Alright then. Back to the word mines. I shall return with news in the coming days, one way or another.

Introducing Dmiri

Summer is upon us and I am no longer an intern! Slowly but surely things are starting to get polished up and put together for Forsaken Lands 2. To keep the new words flowing, I have been working on a short story featuring a new character named Dmiri – I thought I’d share a clip from the rough draft in the absence of inspiration to blog anything else recently. I hope you like him as much as I do.😉


I’m not a nervous person – at least, that’s what I tell myself. I’ve been a part of the Celet military since I was eight years old – 24 years. Absent gods, does that make me feel old.

I pride myself on being calm and well-conducted under pressure, but with the way I was wearing a four-finger dent in my desk with my incessant rap, rap, rap on the wood, any bystander would assume I was plagued with the mental disease. I was starting to wonder that about myself. Perhaps I misjudged my vices all these years.

I was grateful when there was a knock at the door to my quarters. I laced my fingers together in the hope that they would calm themselves. “Come in,” I called.

The door clicked open to reveal my visitor, Second Eling-Mai Nyugen. Fully clad in the Celet officer blues with her dark hair pulled back in a severe-looking bun, Mai was totally within aesthetic regulations. Her pistolet hung at her side practically halfway down her leg – though Mai was small even among the Celet people, she carried with her an imposing presence. Her thin fingers rested on the grip of her weapon, a sure sign of her own apprehension. She had nothing to fear inside this room; it was what waited for us outside on the previously-unknown outpost called ‘Zhyra’ which set her nerves on edge.

True to protocol, Mai closed the door and stood just beyond its threshold, waiting for my instructions.

I waved at her inelegantly. “I think we’re well beyond rules by now, don’t you?”

Mai’s shoulders remained stiff and strong when she approached my desk and sat down. I imagined I looked a wreck in my rumpled two-day-old uniform with sleeves pulled up over my elbows. I hadn’t properly slept in as much time, of course. The mess of classified documents I’d managed to procure from one of the shipments we dropped off two weeks ago were sprawled out in front of me, marked up by my own hand so haphazardly that even I couldn’t read it.

Mai’s sharp eyes took all of it in with one sweep. Her cheek twitched.

“The watchers are reporting land,” she told me. “We’ll be there by sundown, unless you’d like to postpone.”

“Is that what you want to do? Postpone?”

“I…” Mai trailed off uncharacteristically. She shook her head. “I just thought I should ask before we proceed.”

I couldn’t fight the smile. I tried to straighten up, pulling the wrinkles out of my uniform jacket. “This is still a voluntary mission. You can still go belowdeck. I will happily call you my prisoner.”

I might have been hallucinating, but I thought I saw her fight off a smile. Instead she just blinked. “And you can still turn this ship around.”

Non-answer. “Mai, I’m asking you as your friend – are you sure you want to go down for this?”

“If I wanted to abandon the Resolute I would have jumped off at Tayk like everyone else,” she caught herself just in time, “sir.”

“In as many years as we’ve known each other you still can’t call me Dmiri,” I mused. Ever since we’d graduated from the academy together she used my rank or title when speaking to me. I supposed that was partly my fault for keeping people at a comfortable distance. My reputation amongst the fleet was a good one – I was trusted, even liked by most, yet I could count on one hand the number of people who might really know me.

Mai would be one of those people. She knew me all too well. She pressed her lips together – clearly my attempts at distraction were not appreciated.

“Dmiri,” her voice lowered, the use of my name so surprising that I jumped and hit my knee against my desk. She acted as if she didn’t notice. “Are you sure you want to go down for this?”

I couldn’t hold her gaze; instead I rested my eyes on the papers. The sting of fatigue jabbed me with each blink. She asked a question I’d been asking myself constantly since I saw that cage.

I swallowed. Damn and hell, this anxiety issue would kill me. I tried to grin. “They cannot court martial a legend.”

Mai replied with a grunt of disapproval. “Not all of us are legends.”

“They will be reasonable,” I told her, and impressed myself with how confident I sounded. It was a skill I’d had since I was too young – I could convince and charm people by making them think I knew what I was doing. What I’d learned by practicing this skill was that I was not the only one pretending; in reality, no one knows that they are right. Leadership is a costume, nothing more. “We’re just asking questions.”

Mai, of course, knew this secret too. Her dark eyes sparkled silent understanding. “You should change,” she remarked, standing and folding her arms behind her back. “I will bring us in.”

She half-bowed to me, as was custom, and turned to leave. “Mai?” my voice crackled. I would need to exorcise my uncertainty before I showed my face to the rest of the crew, let alone to my adversaries.

Mai looked at me over one shoulder. “Yes, Dmiri?” her own voice was soft.

“Thank you.”

The silence between us felt warm, if just for that moment.

“Captain,” she said curtly, then disappeared beyond the door.

Friendly interactions over. Time to get back to business. When I stood my muscles ached, and not with good reason – they ached  from sitting, keeping my spine jammed vertical in a chair for much too long. I traced a finger along one piece of paper, despairing at how little my work had won me.

Codewords and cooked numbers. The ledgers were full of shipments marked as if they were simple supplies – food, water, containers, bandages. Deep in the paperwork was much darker stuff: thousands of bullets, hundreds of weapons, and medical equipment I wasn’t qualified to judge. Jamming devices – a few dozen of them – more than the entire continent had produced in a decade. The military hadn’t employed jamming devices since the Rice-Wheat Uprising nearly fifty years ago.

Goods befitting a peaceful mission of resource-gathering they were not.

I strode across the room, fussing with the buttons on my jacket. One of them popped off, clattering on the floor. I didn’t bother to hunt after it. The jacket, undershirt, and pants hit the deck just before I reached my bathing suite.

A cool shower would focus my mind. The light clicked on in the cramped space, and I was greeted with my reflection, inescapable from the position of the showerhead.

I could deceive myself into believing I was less vain than the masses, but this would be folly. For all I felt like a jaded old man, I was still young, particularly for my position. The bits of gray peeking out from my slightly-too-long-for-regulations black hair were my penance. I was the youngest captain of a Class 1 naval vessel in Celet history, a journey requiring a level of physical training and academic rigor which most people would find unreasonable. I could have saved the stress and accepted the usual course in life, and I would have arrived in the very same position just five years in the future. No one would have been disappointed.

No one, that is, except me.

I turned the knobs, tensing when the frigid water coursed over my forehead, my chest, my back, a procession of shivers jolting me from my anxious fog. Ideas of what would or would not happen when I set foot on the Zhyra outpost fled from me. Speculation wasted energy, anyway.

For all I would tell anyone who asked otherwise, I still wished I could have achieved what I did without inviting the gray in my hair.