Works-In-Progress Wednesday: "Inkweaver" Excerpt--The Labors of Shereya and Belak

"At the center of the crater was a massive forest...."

 

Belak and I emerged in what looked like a wide crater. We could see the jagged edges of the rock wall surrounding the place, jutting up above the treetops.

At the center of the crater was a massive forest. The trees bunched thickly within this valley, making its heart almost as dark as nighttime.

The whispers had started again, but I was so used to the noise I considered ignoring them. Glancing at Belak, I saw him squint and turn back toward the darkened tunnel.

"Do you hear it?" I asked him.

"The noise?" He asked. "Yes—I don't understand, though. It's... confusing."

I nodded, "Like trying to converse at a party, without knowing exactly which conversation you are a part of." 

There it was, the entire of my experience summed up in one metaphor.

Belak squinted as he tried to recall such an experience. "Perhaps; but if you can hear it too, maybe we can find out where it's coming from." He started scanning the edges of the rather small clearing as he advanced onto the grass.

A swath of poppies unfolded like vermillion cloth under his feet. "Stop!" I warned him, but Belak had already disturbed them. I saw the delicate cloud rise like steam from a kettle around him, and Belak immediately cried out and put his hands to his face.

"Gah! It's burning my eyes!"

I stared down at my own feet, but the flowers only seemed grouped in that one area.

When I looked toward the forest again, a man appeared in the middle of the road, pacing and muttering to himself.

"The knight was struck blind as his penance for unbelief, but his maiden true... Hmm... His companion... No..." Finally he stopped and looked up at me.

"What are you?" He asked abruptly. His cheeks were so hollow the bones stood out around them. He had quite a long beard, but it was thin and grizzled. The clothes he wore no doubt had once been fine, now hung off his frame in tatters. "Not his lady, for certain—at least," he giggled, "not yet. Hmm! What shall I do with a character like you in my story?"

Anger boiled inside me as he kept blathering to himself.

"I am not your character!" I seethed, "And this is not your story!" To prove my point, I marched right through those deadly poppies and grabbed Belak's hand.

"What?" He cried as I jerked him out from among them. "Who are you?"

"It's me, dummy!" I snapped at him. I set my sights on the tunnel we had left. "We're leaving!"

"Shereya?" He sounded surprised to hear my voice. "It's so dark! Where are we?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Behind me, I heard the strange man mutter, "The lady did not answer. The knight had nearly reached his destination when—"

The rest of his words were lost in a thunderous rumble as the grass in front of us thickened and lengthened, springing from the ground in great, thorny vines. I stopped, but Belak kept stumbling forward, nearly impaling himself.

"Wait!" I thrust my arm in front of him and got us turned to face the forest again.

Belak's head thrashed like he was having difficulty standing upright. "What happened?" He asked.

"Thorns!" I cried.

"What is going on?"

I could not figure out what enchantment lay over this valley, or what sort of man we faced, who could cast spells over the area and cause such grief to a couple innocent strangers such as we.

"I think that man is doing something," I said.

The man was still mumbling. "She saw but she did not believe. Her eyes must be dim as well, though not so much as the knight leaning on her arm. When the blind lead the blind, they both fall into a pit..."

I nearly plunged to my death as a chasm opened under my feet. The only thing that saved me was the fact that Belak felt the tightness of both my hands on his arm and reacted beautifully, bracing his feet and throwing his free arm around my body like a shield.

When I had caught my breath, I looked out and saw one narrow pathway stretching across the crevasse toward the man and the forest behind him.

He was a Wordspinner, that much was certain—but he was the first of his kind to be so malevolent! And what sort of Wordspinner would have such power over the terrain?

"Why are you doing this?" I tried yelling at him, but he just kept ranting.

Another thundering rumble, and I saw rocks loosing themselves from the tops of the crags—and rolling straight toward us!

We were going to die. All the perception in the world couldn't stop a boulder.

Reader's Review: "The Cybermancer Presents" by Andrew Barber

Synopsis from Amazon:

It is the year 2051. A group of strangers are trapped in a virtual reality video game so real they don't always know they are playing it. While their bodies in the real world are gradually dying of dehydration, they must battle through a fantasy realm, a remake of Grand Theft Auto set in 1980s London and the dark underbelly of a Sims-type suburbia. They experience love, war and quite a lot in between as they progress in their adventures until, finally, they must meet the Cybermancer... 


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My Review: 

A couple years ago, I picked up the book Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. It was one of the first novels that I didn't have any context for, I wasn't familiar with the author—I basically chose it because it was a Popular Pick at the library and the premise sounded interesting. I believe I had also just read "Warriors of the Edge" by Katie Bridges as well, which functioned on the same premise: characters from the real world chose to subsist and operate in a virtual realm. I loved the premise, I loved the use of the characters in both those books, and both were extremely-well written.

I mention these titles because, on the surface, Barber's novel seems like more of the same... But the more I read, the more I discovered something totally unique and intriguing. 

It's the same premise, but with one added complication: staying in the game too long could be fatal for their real-world bodies. And there is the programmer in the real world who is willing to do anything to make sure that these people stay connected, where their fate is in his control.

Granted, it's rough—but who writes a stunning first novel on the first go? I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Barber has fashioned a future that makes sense, and he keeps his readers informed using layman's terms instead of jargon, doling out technical information in palatable lumps. Meanwhile, the scenarios are fascinating as, the more the player yields to the program, the less they remember of their real-world lives. Keeping track of who they are in each game can be tricky too—but these players have an ace in the hole: a programmer who hacked herself into the game and knows all the ins and outs. If anyone can get them through safely, she can. Barber balances the technical stuff and the dire situations with dry wit and ample humor. There were several moments I stopped and reread a section because it made me giggle!

In fact, about the only thing that disappointed me in this novel was the repeated and lengthy sex scenes. At least Barber enters these scenes slowly enough, so when it does happen, I know what's coming and I can skip forward to the next section. It does pull one out of the action, though, to have to suddenly stop reading every word and just flip through till something else happens. From what I understand, the author's point was to draw on common themes used in gaming, and one of those themes is sex. Not being a gamer, I did not realize this point, and even he agrees that perhaps he went a little too far in this first novel! He assures me that it does get far less graphic and frequent and far more tactful in the ensuing novels. 

I am good with that, because, barring this unsightly feature, the adventure itself is just fantastic! I really enjoyed the concept and the characters of "Cybermancer Presents", and the ending, though immensely satisfying in a sense, did indeed leave me thinking, "Wait, that's it? I want to read more!"

Overall, "Cybermancer Presents" gets a score of *****4.5 stars*****, and if you like sci-fi, virtual reality games, cool futuristic tech, and adventures that utilize the skills of everyone involved, and do not mind high levels of graphic sex and language (more f-bombs than anything else, but still a lot of them!) then "Cybermancer Presents" is a book worth buying!

Warning: As evidenced, this title is not suitable for children... but "Warriors of the Edge" most certainly is! For a taste of the same kind of fun "group-of-strangers-with-a-role-to-play-in-a-virtual-realm" adventure that's "kid-friendly," use the link above to click over to that post and pick up your copy of Katie Bridges' book!

Further Reading: (GameLit/Virtual Reality/Dystopian Future)
-Domechild--Shiv Ramdas  
-Warriors of the Edge--Katie Bridges
The Untamed Series--Madeline Dyer
       -Untamed 
       -Fragmented 
Puatera Online--Dawn Chapman
       -Desert Runner
The Jill Andersen Series--J. D. Cunegan
       -Bounty 
       -Blood Ties 
       -Behind the Badge 
       -Behind The Mask
-Dissolution--Lee S. Hawke

-Adaline--Denise Kawaii

Serial Saturday: "The Telmar Trilogy, Vol. 3: The Legacy of Telmar" Part 5

"Each of you will go to the five other provinces ... and travel to as many
markets as it takes to distribute all your goods freely..."

[Excerpt from Chapter 10]

After breakfast one morning, Melanie brought up a suggestion she'd been mulling over for quite some time.

"Lord Martan, I have seen the success of the giving-houses, and the way they work so smoothly among out own people. Besides, even in these few weeks since Aslan drove the merchants out, the market has become the trading-place I always wanted it to be."

Martan looked up at Melanie with arched eyebrows. "There's a plan at the end of this, I know it. Very well, you've begun nicely, Lady Melanie, now finish it!"

Melanie chuckled. "Well, all right then, here it is: what if we took half of the surplus apportioned for the giving houses, and divided it into five parts, and sent five delegations into the other provinces, to give away the produce and goods for free? It would broaden our horizons, and make an affirming national impact!"

Martan's expression did not show the support Melanie was looking for, and he did not leave Melanie in suspense for long.

"I can give you numerous compelling reasons why this quaint idea of yours would simply not work: First, you recall the reputation Nast has had since the olden days."

Melanie frowned. "You mean, the old saying, 'It's no good if it's Nastie'? Don't tell me it's still the national consensus!"

Martan nodded ruefully, "I'm afraid so, at least among the nearby provinces, I'm not so sure about Sordell and Telami." He rolled his eyes, "and that abominable Outskirts only serves as a reinforcement of the deplorable opinion.

"My second reason: I'm sorry, Melanie, but it's just not fiscally possible. Have you seen the farms?"

"Well, yes . . . some of them, but—"

"Then you know the condition of the majority of farms in Nast. Last year's harvest was barely enough to feed ourselves, much less for trading in the marketplace. We even had to close down some of the giving-houses, for lack of surplus. Planting season was very bad, as well. I am glad you—ah, Aslan—drove away the merchants, else we would have probably incurred debt with them in addition to the debt we still owe the other provinces!"

"Martan," Melanie chided, "have faith! I'm sure Aslan would approve of the formation of giving-delegations! How about this: we wait two months, till the harvest, and if there is enough, we will take it as a sign that it is Aslan's will to send out giving-delegations. Would you give your permission to this?"

Martan signed and shrugged. "Well, you are my superior . . ."

"Oh, stop it!"

"Very well; if there's a good enough harvest (which I doubt), we will send out your delegations."

Melanie sat back with a triumphant smile, "Thank you, Milord."

[…]

Melanie called together the fifty artisans and farmers living on the farms around Nast, and divided them into five delegations of ten people each. Before sending them out, she told them her expectations of them.

"Each of you will go to the five other provinces of Telmar: Puriva, Eveston, Sordell, Venna, and Telami. Stay as a group and travel to as many markets as it takes to distribute all your goods freely. You are to take no money or form of payment for them, and you must continue traveling around the province until your wagons are empty."

"But Milady," one of the farmers asked, "What if we are beaten? What if the other Telmarines refuse to accept what we offer simply because it is from Nast? What if they try to kill us?"

Others chimed in, but Melanie raised her hand and received instant silence.

"Citizens of Nast—farmers and artisans, all! You forget whose you are! From whom have we received this bountiful harvest?"

The farmers hesitated until an old weaver spoke up, "From Aslan."

Melanie nodded. "If Aslan can make such fruitfulness from barren ground, can you not have faith that he will so much more protect you, who are all infinitely more precious than all the harvest in the world?"

She sat back, satisfied with the grateful expressions on the faces before her. "I shall eagerly await your reports, which you must give immediately on your return. Aslan be with you all!"

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[Excerpt from Chapter 11]

Nearly a week after the delegations departed, Melanie and Martan sat at breakfast when a servant announced the arrival of the first delegation.

"Escort them into the great hall!" Melanie ordered.

Such a bedraggled group met her eyes! Many bruises, a few black eyes, cuts and scrapes, and a few even had broken arms or legs. Melanie received them graciously.

The "head delegate," a potter by the name of Jord, bowed (carefully, on account of his bruised ribs) and announced, "We went to Puriva, as you sent us, Your Ladyship."

"At the first few markets, we were completely ignored. In the third one, we met with minimal success, but in the name of Aslan, we persevered, just as you instructed us. Many merchants, when they found we were from Nast, beat us away from the market, and spoiled all our goods. We did not think we could continue on, but we have returned, our wagons are empty, and, by the Lion, we are in one piece! Hail Aslan!"

Melanie clapped her hands enthusiastically, "Well done! I will see that my personal doctor attends to all of you."

The Purivian delegation bowed and left. Melanie turned to Martan, "You see? Perhaps this won't turn out so very terrible after all."

Two days later, the delegation to Venna returned with empty wagons and downcast faces. Their leader reported:

"We were teased and mocked at every market we saw. We were not harmed, but that was because no one even wanted to get near enough to touch us. We were ever mindful of your orders though, Milady, and we purposed to persevere until we could find someone willing to accept our food.

"We had been traveling for four days, and still no one would accept our offerings. We knew our food would begin to spoil if we could not give it away, so we prayed to Aslan to lead us to someone who would take our food."

Melanie listened with wide eyes, "What happened then?"

The man shrugged. "We were passing a farm where the farmer was out mucking his pigsty. He asked us who we were, and what we were doing, and when we told him of our dilemma, he offered to take al the food! At first we were grateful, but immediately on receiving the produce, he carelessly threw it to his pigs! We reproached him, but he shrugged and told us that was all it was good for, because it came from Nast! The indignity we suffer, Milady!"

Melanie smiled sympathetically, "Such indignities will not go unnoticed, my friend. Remember that Aslan had to suffer indignities for our sake, too. Tell me, how did you dispose of your other goods?"

"We traveled in the furthest villages from the marketplaces, where there were many infirm and elderly who could not go to market, or they could not afford the wares sold there. They accepted goods from our hands willingly enough!"

"Excellent; it is exactly why I wanted you all to go! Consider the size of the other provinces, the number of markets they have. Their wealth has made them forgetful of others, and if citizens of their own province do not come to the aid of the poor, who then shall look after them? It is we who must show them Aslan's love, not only to the poor people who receive us willingly, but to the farmers who think ill of us as well.

"Well done, good farmers! Please partake of a banquet I have prepared in your honor."

She gestured to the massive table, and the delegation accepted their Lady's unwarranted hospitality graciously.

That very evening, the delegation to Eveston returned with their empty wagons, unscathed and looking quite pleased with themselves.

"Hail, Lady Melanie!" the leader began, not knowing that two other delegations had arrived ahead of him, "I am pleased to report that we have carried out your orders with little or no opposition. Verily, when the people heard the goods were free, they were only too willing to forego spending money on useless trinkets and receive more practical things from us!"

Martan was surprised at this man's boldness. "How can this be? What did you say to the people that made them so receptive?"

"We merely told them that we offered goods and produce at no cost, and they welcomed us."

Melanie sensed a lie concealed in the half-truth, and sought to bring it out by asking, "And when they asked you where you came from, how did you reply?"

The pompous delegate's eyes immediately dropped, and he tried vainly to raise them. "I—ah, we . . . That question did not often come up, so—"

"How did you respond?" Melanie persisted.

The man was so ashamed, he could not answer her, so Melanie immediately deduced what it would have been, and said it herself. "I think the question came up more often than you will admit. You either avoided it, or perhaps you reassured your customers that you were not from Nast." She frowned upon the guilty crowd. "Why are you so ashamed of the one province in Telmar who knows Aslan? Is the Great Lion so capricious, that he would condone generosity and dishonesty in the same breath? You have given everything away, but you did so by deception. You did not obey my orders with honesty. You are dismissed, for I have nothing more to say to you."

They filed out of the room, completely cowed.

[…]

After the last delegation had returned safely, Melanie turned to Martan. "Well, Milord, how has our project fared in your eyes?"

Martan replied reluctantly, "Rather like I feared. It may take forever for Nast to be rid of her terrible reputation, if Aslan wills we should be rid of it at all!"

Melanie shrugged, "I think he does will it. I believe, Martan, that we shall see the tide of fortune change its course at Aslan's paw within our lifetime. If there is one thing I have learned from Aslan, it is that we must be content to wait for him in such matters."

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To read the complete chapters, click -->HERE<--

"Inkweaver" Excerpt--A Needle in A Haystack

"I stood in a field among at least two dozen fresh, clean haystacks..."

Belak! I had almost forgotten about him—almost. “Where did he go?” I asked her. “Where did you send him?”

“I did not send him, dear,” Jacqueline was dangerously close to becoming the aggravating woman she was at first. “He did depart in pursuit of his gift.”

“But where?” I repeated.

Jacqueline actually turned away from me as she cleared the tea tray and prepared to wash it, as if her conversation with me was purely inconsequential.

“Part of the skill of a Writer is the ability to hear the Telling of any Wordspinner,” Jacqueline gave as a non-answer to my very direct question. “Just listen, and you’ll find it. Hurry; he’ll want to find it as soon as possible, and he won’t unless you help him. Be his Eyes, Shereya.” She disappeared into the back room and did not emerge.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Confound propriety when a strange woman has just spirited away your dearest friend! I charged right back there after her—

And entered an empty room. Root and bulb edibles hung from the rafters. The walls were lined with shelves of pots and cups and bowls and vases of every shape and color. I saw the colors radiating from them like the light from inside a gem. As the lights danced over my eyes, the whispers seeped into my ears. So Jacqueline had made her escape—no matter! There wasn’t much I could do about it now. I found my way to the door at the back of the room. Once I reached the street and closed the door, the whispers faded. I sighed with relief. Would I ever get used to it when such a thing happened?

I had silence for several wonderful seconds—then a voice, clear and faint, as if from some great distance in among the crags of the valley, radiated over the breeze. Whatever it was, I heard it loud and clear. The Tale very clearly meant for someone like Belak. It did not call to me like Tales were supposed to call the ones they were meant for—but based on what I knew of Belak, I knew that once he started hearing that Tale, he probably would follow it right into the teeth of danger.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Jacqueline stood right behind me, talking as if she could read my mind. It just wasn’t possible, and I think we both knew it—but that didn’t stop her. It only meant that she found me very predictable. I turned and looked at her, my mind still trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, and what I should do about it.

Jacqueline made a “shoo” motion with her hands. “Well, go on then! He’s never going to make it without you.”

I rolled my eyes and started off toward the wide plains at the back of the valley.

When I reached the place where the sound was the loudest, I stood in a field among at least two dozen fresh, clean haystacks—and at least half a dozen more that had already been torn down and scattered. Another haystack collapsed, and I saw Belak: shirtless, humming to himself in time with the Tale I was hearing, digging through each straw and watching it closely as he decimated the stack. Finally, he looked up and saw me.

In the bright afternoon sun that filled the sky over Moon Valley, the sweat on his shoulders glinted as he stood.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” I responded; was there some sort of enchantment I didn’t know about?

Belak kicked over the lump of hay in front of him and slid down to the ground. He wiped the sweat from the end of his nose with the back of his hand.

“Are you going to help me, or what?” he panted.

He seemed to know more about what was going on than I did—which was a first.

“What exactly are you doing?” I asked him.

Belak snorted and gestured to the field. “Well, Shereya, what does it look like I’m doing?” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to the half-demolished pile of straw. “I’m trying to find a needle in one of these haystacks!”

My mouth actually dropped open. Belak stretched, and the muscles in his shoulders rippled. He turned to survey the field, squinting like he always did when he was making a strategic plan.

"Wait," I said, "You're not serious, are you?"

He was pawing through the hay again, tossing it into the air and watching, I assume, for the glint.

"Of course I am!" Belak told me. "You heard Jaqueline: there's a prize in it for me!" He stopped digging and winked at me. "If you help me, I will split it with you."

I stepped through the strewn straw and started sifting away beside him. Not that I wanted any part in whatever prize awaited him; I just wanted to be closer to those dark eyes.

Thinking of Belak's eyes reminded me of what Jacqueline had said about mine. Writer's Eyes... Some extra perception might be good in a situation like this, but how was I going to use a skill I did not understand?

"Belak," I began as we moved on to the next haystack, "have you ever heard of something called a Writer?"

Belak squinted at me. "I'm not sure I have," he said. He pulled an armful of hay out of the side and the top of the mound tumbled over our heads. We shared a laugh, especially at the way the straw stuck in Belak's thick dark hair.

"You, sir, have been well and properly thatched!" I joked.

Belak shook his head and sent pieces of straw flying far and wide. "There," he said, smoothing his coif. "Better?"

I reached over and plucked a stubborn stalk out of the dark tangle. "Much," I said.

His skin felt rough and unexpected as he reached up and took my hands. My heart jumped in my throat and suddenly I was aware of how close together we were.

"I'm really glad you're doing this with me, Shereya," he said softly.

I had no words to respond. I could almost taste his breath as we sat there under the haystack. I pushed against the prickly pile beside me to take my mind off the rush of emotion.

"Of course I would help you, silly!" I told him. "You're my friend, and I know you would do the same for me."

"Absolutely," he replied, turning back to the haystack and combing through it with his fingers. "So about how long do you figure it should take us to find the needle?"

I sighed as I saw the twenty other stacks we still had not searched. "There is no telling how long—I mean," I gestured to the scattered hay, "it could be in a stack we haven't searched yet, or it could have just as easily slipped through your fingers."

He snorted. "Careful now, you sound like you're speculating."

I shook my head. "Not speculating, just... observing."

Serial Saturdays: "The Telmar Trilogy, Vol. 3: The Legacy of Telmar" Part 4

"Aslan shook his golden mane and sounded out one long, loud Note..."

[Previously, in Chapter 5]

The Lord Steward glared at the crouched, hooded figure at his feet. "Stand up! Are you inciting a revolution, stranger?"

The figure obediently stood. "It is not a revolution, your Lordship, it is revival."

The hooded stranger tipped her head back slightly, but did not uncover. The Lord Steward heard her gasp.

"You are not Sir Taurin, nor are you like him enough to be his son!"

He answered, "Nay; I am Martan, son of Melonni, son of Taurin, the first Lord Steward of Nast." He looked sharply down at the stranger, "I am ill-used to being so free toward an accused rioter. Who are you?"

The stranger threw back her hood. Her dark hair draped loosely over her shoulders, and her dark-blue eyes blazed. With a loud voice she cried out,

"I am Lady Melanie, heir of Lord Fausberg and rightful Regent of Nast! Now, Steward, I demand a full account of your dealings with my land!"

[Excerpt from Chapter 6] At this startling announcement, the nobles and advisors of Martan's court leapt to their feet. The captain of the guard blanched with fear at the realization that he called the true heir of Nast (and the person who legally held his life in her hands) a heretic.

Martan reeled in shock. So this was Lady Melanie! She was the one Grandfather Taurin wanted his son and grandson to always remember! She was the young girl in the old legends of Nast who supposedly called down terrible judgments on the old merchant clans that once plagued the city. She was also the one Taurin waited forty long years for, because he loved her and none else.

When Lord Steward Taurin began to grow very old, still waiting for her return, it took every one of his advisors and nobles to convince him that if he did not marry, his line would end, and the Lordship would pass to another. Taurin was heartbroken at Melanie's absence, but at long last he came to terms with the low probability of seeing Melanie in his lifetime.

He sent searchers out forthwith, scouring the land for one as near resembling Melanie as they could find. A girl named Pollah, with sparkling blue eyes and brown curls, arrived at the castle, and she became Taurin's wife. Their marriage was a happy one, and produced Taurin's heir, whom he named Melonni in memory of the woman now standing in his grandson Martan's court.

Lord Steward Martan immediately leapt from his throne and knelt before his lady. A simple wave of his hand, and all the nobles in the room followed his example. Melanie blushed modestly at the respect shown her.

"Rise and report," she said, fighting to recover the composure more befitting her as the one in charge.

Martan stood instantly and gave the history of Nast since Melanie's strange disappearance.

[…]

"My father was seventy-two when he suddenly collapsed on a hunting expedition in Beren Wood. He died soon afterwards, and I became Lord Steward of Nast," Martan finished. "Nast remains in debt as she ever was, and not much else is worth reporting, Your Ladyship."

He took her hand with a suddenness that surprised her. "There is something I would like to know, though," he said. "You have led the people of Nast in a revival," he looked her straight in the eye, "now lead their lord."

At this invitation, Melanie willingly told Lord Steward Martan the message of the True Naslan.

>>>>>>>

[Excerpt from Chapter 7] The guards at the door to Martan's court started and trembled in fear at the sight of the enormous Lion, but when they saw the smile on Melanie's face, they relaxed and opened the door for them.

Martan and his court were no less astounded than the guards were when Melanie and Aslan entered, but Martan recognized the Lion and immediately knelt before him.

"Lord Aslan," he said, "I am your servant; what would you have me do?"

Aslan bent down and licked the top of Martan's head in a Lion's kiss.

"It is good that you call me Lord in faith, not having seen any sign, my son," Aslan said. "Rise now and assemble the people in the Square. Tonight, all shall witness my power."

Stunned, Martan immediately called a public gathering. There was some confusion as the night-market had just begun, and soon the market was too full for selling or buying, and people wondered what on earth the Lord Steward meant by calling a gathering so late at night. Martan silenced them all with a wave of his hand.

"People of Nast!" he cried, "This lady now standing next to me was among you yesterday. She has led you all in exposing the grave error we have made concerning the Great Lion, whose name is Aslan.

"I hereby decree that the worship of the Naslan shall cease, and there shall be no more models of Aslan made, but we shall worship him for what he is: himself! The Temple shall hereafter be used as a meeting-place to learn of Aslan, the True Lion, not only in the evenings, but also at any time during the day!

"Finally, my people," he continued, silencing the cheers that erupted at the last statement, "it is with great pleasure that I present to you the true leader of Nast. I, as you know, am only the steward of Nast. People of Nast, we have waited one hundred years for this return, and now bear ye witness! I present the Lady Melanie!"

Melanie stepped up to the balustrade where everyone could see her. The whole crowd cheered, and Melanie distinctly heard a familiar voice cry,

"Lion alive! It's Mella! Daen't she look fine now, Brion?"

Melanie smiled at the people and waved her hand.

"People of Nast!" she cried, "You recall how I told you of Aslan, and beseeched you to follow his ways and his example. Now, behold, Aslan himself has come among us, and he desires to redeem the oppressed, to free those in bondage, and to heal the sick!"

Aslan moved forward and the whole assembly cried out at the sight of him, some in joy and some in fear.

"Bear ye witness of his power!" Melanie said.

Aslan shook his golden mane and sounded out one long, loud Note.

To those who believed and were faithful, that Note seemed to seep with a delicious warmth into the very center of their being. The lame felt new life in their limbs, the eyes of the blind were opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped, and the tongues of the dumb loosed.

To those who had set their hearts against Aslan, however, this Note cut through their hardness life a beam of light in the dark. They covered their ears, they ran to the inmost places of their sumptuous apartments, but still the Note persisted, penetrating, cutting, and exposing. There was no help for these people but to leave the country altogether, and they did. Every cruel man, dishonest merchant, and arrogant noble scrambled for the nearest border. The throng of faithful ones moved to the center of the Square as Aslan's enemies poured out from their buildings, holes, and booths; running, running, desperate to escape that awful, ringing, deadly Note.

To read the full chapters, click -->HERE<--

Reader's Review: "Sanctuary" by Pauline Creeden

Synopsis from Amazon:

"In a heart-racing thriller described as Falling Skies meet The Walking Dead, Jennie struggles to find a safe place for what’s left of her family. But it seems as though there is no place sacred, no place secure. First the aliens attacked the sun, making it dimmer, weaker, and half what it used to be. Then they attacked the water supply, killing one-third of Earth’s population with a bitter contaminate. And when they unleash a new terror on humankind, the victims will wish for death, but will not find it…

When the world shatters to pieces around her, will Jennie find the strength she needs to keep going?"
>>>>>>>>>>>

My Review:

There are some books that I will read based on the blurb alone. There are only a handful of authors that I have experienced so much good from that I will willingly seize any book that crosses my path bearing their name, regardless of the genre. "Pauline Creeden" is one of those.

As a rule, I tend to be too squeamish for horror and I don't even watch the shows mentioned in the blurb--but if there's one thing I can trust when it comes to her books, it is the fact that the story will be a simple one, full of richly-developed characters and an intriguing twist to common conceptions of whichever genre she chooses. Whether it's a steampunk-era assassin who encounters witches and magic or an intergalactic space cruiser haunted by a demon, Creeden treats it all with the same finesse and tact, guiding her characters through their own circumstances and bringing the reader a rare treat of an in-depth experience where no one is given all the answers.

Sanctuary is no exception. It's billed as a "Hunger-Games-type novel", and the blurb does seem to focus on Jennie quite a bit--but I rather think the focus was evenly balanced toward characters like Hugh and Brad as well. (In fact, I think for about half the book I assumed Jennie to be quite a bit younger than Creeden may have intended--I just didn't realize she was so far in age from her five-year-old brother, I guess...) The scenario is very much like your average "apocalyptic End Times" novel--but Creeden shows her style in adding her own atypical twists, such as the alien race responsible for most of the destruction described in the Bible passages quoted, and honing in on just one small town's efforts of survival, instead of spreading too thin trying to wreak havoc on a global scale.

Ages aside, the action was plenty enthralling, and--though unorthodox--the lack of "reader omnipotence" only heightened the mystique, as each character only knew as far as they had or could observe, and there wasn't any character (or even the narrator) whom I could "use" to figure out why things appeared or happened the way they did. Things had to be interpreted and taken at face value--exactly as if I was hunkered down in the town with them.

Sanctuary was a great read, full of vitality, brutality (WARNING: lots of zombies and blood), and all of the questions that would arise at the end of the world--and it's far from over! I'd give this book ****FOUR STARS****, an Upstream Writer Certified Definitely Recommended, and I am looking forward to the sequel!

Further Reading: (Horror/Creepy/Apocalypse/Also By The Author)
Verona: The Complete Mermaid Tales--Pauline Creeden
       -Submerged 
       -Salt 
-Burn Our Houses Down--Kelsey Garmendia 
-Abiding Flame--Pauline Creeden 
-Finding Pandora: World--E. Rachael Hardcastle
-Notna--J. D. Cunegan
-Oblivion's Forge--Simon Williams
The Untamed Series--Madeline Dyer
       -Untamed 
       -Fragmented
-Floor 21--Jason Luthor
-Beasts of Babylon--E. A. Copen
Alexi Sokolsky: Hound of Eden--James Osiris Baldwin
        -Burn Artist 
        -Blood Hound

Works-in-Progress Wednesday: "Inkweaver" Excerpt--Writer's Eyes

 

"Not exactly," she whispered to me. "Not unless you believe it to be so..."

The hostess was a tall, graceful woman. She smiled at me and nodded.

“Good, you came,” she said, nodding to the little table right in front of me. I glanced at the other patrons in the shop. The last time I had accepted tea from a strange but affable woman, it had not gone over well. The woman emerged with a fully-serviced tea tray.

“I’ve just finished brewing a pot of white jessamine; will that be all right?”

Jessamine; my mother always brewed jessamine in the afternoon. I had never told her, but I had long believed that all afternoons smelled like jessamine; the hostess set the steaming, fragrant cup before me. I looked up.

Wide green eyes watched me carefully. Her frizzy hair tied down with sprigs of daisies and juniper, and the old-fashioned clothing she wore told me right away who she was.

“You’re a Wordspinner!” I guessed. I had never been so relieved to see one in my life, but I was getting desperate for answers, and perhaps another Wordspinner could clue me in.

The woman nodded, glancing around the room as if she was afraid someone might overhear us.

I frowned. “Is it a problem?”

“Not exactly,” she whispered to me. “Not unless you believe it to be so.”

My mouth dropped open and I gave a tiny gasp. Was that the crux of the mystery at last?

“Who—“ I started, but she raised a long finger. Everything about this woman was narrow, from her figure to her nose and chin.

“Not yet,” she explained, looking down toward the table. “We have one more coming.”

Only then did I notice a third cup set across from me. “Who else is joining us?” I asked.

The chime hanging over the door rang as yet another patron entered. The woman sat back and stared pointedly at the door. I followed her gaze.

Belak stood on the threshold, squinting as if listening hard to something no one else could quite hear. His eyes widened when he saw me sitting there.

“Shereya?” he cried in confusion, “What are you doing here? Were you the one calling me?”

I said nothing, only stared at the Wordspinner hostess. Her narrow mouth curved upward in a smile.

I felt played; trapped, even. My rational mind was beginning to shrivel around the edges, and shades of paranoia seeped through. What if this Wordspinner was actually the one to put a spell on me to make me think everything was my fault? What if she had been the one to give Delia the tapestry in the knapsack, to lure us in this direction? There was no way of knowing whether the knapsack actually held the original tapestry or not—

I saw her staring at me, so I bent my head down and focused intently on the cup in front of me. The delicate handle curved away from the flared edges of the porcelain rim. The golden color of the jessamine brew still allowed me to see the delicate blossoms almost blooming at the bottom of the cup. The aquamarine table matched nicely with the soft pink petals painted on the cup and saucer. I traced a crack in the wood with my thumbnail, relieved at this tiny flaw that told me that this whole experience couldn’t be a dream.

Beside me, the Wordspinner carried on her own conversation with my friend.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last; I have been waiting for quite some time.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Jacqueline. What do they call you?”

“Belak Sardisen; why have you been waiting for us?”

Jacqueline laughed lightly, and I moved my eyes down to the patterned floor-tiles. The design consisted of many inconsistent black polygons on a white background; chaos at first glance, but the more I stared, the more I could see the intentional pattern in the design.

“Not both of you, dear; just you.”

“Me?”

“Yes; I have made a gift for you, and I have been waiting to give it to you.”

“Well then!” Belak cried, giving a little chuckle of nervous surprise. “I am here now, I suppose, Jacqueline. Though, to be honest, the last person to make a gift for me was my mother.”

“Oh, but this gift is not like the ones made by hand.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see; it’s not as easy as carrying it into the shop with me, you see. You’ll have to get it yourself.”

“Where is it?” Belak asked in confusion.

“Follow the compass…”

The last comment from Jacqueline seemed an echo of my own thoughts, much like the voices I was hearing. I finally lifted my eyes back to the table in front of me—

Belak was gone. The whole café stood empty save for Jacqueline and me. She was staring at me again, with that same smile that made my skin crawl.

“What just happened?” I asked. “Where is Belak?”

Jacqueline waved her hand; I saw the left bore a signet ring with a familiar crest. “Oh, he left hours ago,” she said.

I looked down at my teacup. The tea was gone—but the flower remained. No wonder I had seen the flower waving and bobbing softly as if it were a real blossom suspended in liquid; I reached in and pulled out a small pink flower from the empty cup.

Jacqueline smiled at me as I laid the flower on my saucer.

“Did you do that?” she asked.

As if I knew more than she did! “I don’t know,” I answered. “I’m not sure how it happened.” One could say the same for this whole village! I thought.

“One could say the same for the existence of this whole village,” Jacqueline mused in time with the voice in my own head.

I wanted to reach across that table and slap her. I contented myself with digging my fingers into whatever crevice I could find on the wooden surface. I had to focus on something else—the cornflower-blue tray holding the tea set… from which she was currently picking flowers, straight off the surface of the porcelain.

“Stop that!” I seethed.

Jacqueline set down the flower and raised her eyes at me; she was stern, not smug. “Haven’t you figured out what is going on here, Shereya?”

I scowled and spoke the words as they came spinning out of my head. “A town comes into existence overnight, everyone knows my name, and there just happens to be a Wordspinner—“ I glanced at the tea things, “—an Earth Teller, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jacqueline nodded demurely. “Very good; and?”

“And if this place is really one of my own making,” I said quickly, glaring at her, “I never said anything about you.”

She bobbed her head again. “A fair point; what then would be your most logical conclusion?”

My jaw stiffened as I stared at her, watching, it seemed, for some sign that this was all just an elaborate ruse, that I had been drugged, somehow; that the magic of her Told tea things was responsible for this maddening fever dream I could not seem to escape from.

“Did you have something to do with this?” I finally managed to form the words. I gestured around us, knowing full well she would understand. “All of this? The town? I could not have really dreamed up a whole town and people and everything, as if all of life is just some story.”

Jacqueline sat back with a deep sigh, folding her long, slender hands over her lap. “Ah,” she said, “now she begins to understand.”

“Understand what?” I demanded, slapping the table with my open hand. The porcelain clinked sharply. “I understand nothing!”

Again, Jacqueline fixed her eyes on me. “But,” she murmured, “You perceive more than those around you.”

A tiny, sharp-tailed sparrow flitted by the window of the teahouse. Though my eyes still watched Jacqueline, my ears heard the light whistling, and in my mind—just like the visions I had been seeing—I could clearly make out the delicate little bird flying around a clump of fuchsia. I “saw” it dart through the blooms, and knew which direction it took when it flew away.

To hear Jacqueline talk, it was as if this kind of observational habit that I had was some latent magical ability.

“It’s all a part of staying focused on what is real,” I sniffed. “I take in as much of my surroundings as I can so that I never have to resort to speculation.”

“A safeguard,” Jacqueline agreed, “I understand. But what about Moon Valley?” She turned the conversation in an uncomfortable direction again. “It wasn’t an observation then, was it?”

“You tell me!” I retorted. “You had to have been here the whole time. I might have thought it was only speculation, when in reality the town really was there before we ever arrived.” I pointed a finger at long, lean Jacqueline. “And you were there, in the town, waiting for me.”

She was still staring at me; I had the distinct impression of being up in front of the townspeople at the Decorum Banquet again, doing my utmost to meet their expectations while they watched and judged me—but what did I care about the expectations of a Wordspinner?

“Go on,” she said. “Was it speculation… or did you perceive the town in the mist?”

Ah! So that’s what she was getting at; I could tell by her tone that I was close to discovering answers for the questions I had.

“Why do you keep coming back to the perception idea?” I asked her. “Why is it so vital that I am so acutely observant?”

The Earth Teller began clearing the table, stacking the tea things onto the tray. “Mellina was right,” she said.

I almost asked who Mellina was—but based on the one connection I seemed to have with every step of this journey, I knew who she was talking about. Instead, I asked, “Right about what?”

Jacqueline smiled at me, but it was a matronly smile, not the secretive one. “She said that you had Writer’s Eyes.”

I frowned. “What about my eyes?” I had never heard of such a thing.

“You see what is there, yes?” Jacqueline explained, “but you see it in greater detail, greater lifelikeness than normal people do.” She pointed to the flowers. “Only someone with Writer’s Eyes could have seen the blossoms that I had bound in the substance of the cup—and in seeing them, you restored them.”

I looked at the cup, which was now plain white on its surface. The flowers that once graced its sides now rested in a pile upon the tray. The flowers had existed, but my observation of them—

“So this town has always existed!” I breathed, letting the relief wash over me; I wasn’t crazy!

“Yes, for the most part,” Jacqueline nodded, taking the tray away to the counter leading into the kitchen at the back of the teahouse. “Just a conglomeration of buildings in the cliffs nobody has taken much notice of—but with your Writer’s Eyes, you brought the color and the bustle back into it.”

I could accept that, at least. “But what is a Writer?” I asked.

Also from "Inkweaver":

-The Legend of The Wordspinners
-The Last Inkweaver  
-What Are You Afraid Of?  
-In The Inkweaver's Cottage 
-The Unfinished Tapestry 
-Tales of the Inkweaver: "The Three Daughters"
-In The House Of The Talesmith 
-"The Invisible Gift" and "Forward Unto Danger" 
-Escape From Blackrope 
-The Rise and Fall of Morgianna Plontus-Byrmingham 
-The Morning After 
-Tales of The Inkweaver: "The Four Travellers" 
-In the Court of Count Bergen 
-"The Four Travellers" Part 2 
-Do You See What I See?
-Welcome to Criansa
-Meeting Delia
-A Nice Cup of (Honest) Tea
-Saving Margo
-Interpreting The Stone
-Confessions
-Tales of The Inkweaver: "Four Animals in Partnership"
-Tark Trades People
-"Plotting" and "Meet Tark's Crew"
-Storytime for Tark
-Tales of The Inkweaver: "The Stone in The Road"
-Moon Valley