The young man’s question lingered in the still air of the dungeon like a memory, or the smell of blood. I wanted to shout that I was nothing like King Sondassan, that my quest was selfless and righteous and far from an old king’s desire to live forever, but I held my tongue. The less the king and his high priest knew about me, the better.
What I said was, “I would never sacrifice the lives of others. I risk only my own.”
The title image for the serial versionThe published version, sitting on my bookshelf
The version of Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea that you can purchase and hold in your hands (or your e-reader) is the same story as the serial version that was published chapter-by-chapter here on the blog between 2019 and 2020, but it has been improved upon in several key ways! I thought I would spend some time talking about that process and the work that went into making it a “real book.”
“We are charged with protecting King Sondassan’s heirs: his twin granddaughters. They are twelve years old.”
“An immortal king needs no heirs,” I said.
Chapter XVI: Betwixt Iron and Stone
Eske meets a potential ally as the island still threatens to come down around his ears in the latest chapter of Journey to the Water, now available on Patreon. A subscription is only $3 a month, and it supports my work and helps me keep my cat happy. You also support me by reading and sharing my writing! This chapter will make its appearance here on the blog next week.
The man in the glittering black crown smiled at me, a paternal, placating expression that did not hide the devious hunger in his eyes. Whatever his purpose was for me, I was certain I would not like it.
“After months of delays, the gods smile upon our city at last,” he said. “Where do you come from, champion? What thread of fate brought you here?”
I stepped back from the bars and crossed my arms over my chest. “If there is a task you wish me to perform in exchange for my freedom, then give it to me. I have no time to waste lingering here.”
“In due time, my friend.” His smile did not fade, and the flickering light of his torch deepened the shadows on his weathered face. He appeared carved of wood, a sinister spirit of the forest.
The man in the glittering black crown smiled at me, a paternal, placating expression that did not hide the devious hunger in his eyes.
There is a new chapter of Journey to the Water available on Patreon! Eske finds himself imprisoned, again, but this time there’s an impending disaster he needs to thwart if he wants to get off this island and continue on his quest.
The sky was dark, and glittering with stars he did not recognize. A forest of huge trees, older than the earth itself, encircled him with darkness and the smell of green things growing.
He felt neither hunger nor thirst. That was a small mercy. Though he knew it must be an illusion, his feet pressed into the rich soil, and a cold, damp wind tugged at his clothes. He had acquired, in the center of his tunic, a ragged, burnt hole, through which the chill cut at his skin. It was the memory of the conjured lance of Malang, the war god of Phyreios, who had recognized the god inside Khalim and sought to slay him. Khalim remembered how the lance had burned, and the force of it had taken him off his feet. The cold was far preferable.
Voices filled the wood, chattering in languages he did not understand, mingling with the calls of birds and the low, threatening growls of unseen beasts. The undergrowth shifted and moved, and shadowy shapes darted in and out of sight like small, quick animals. Khalim thought he had heard someone call his name, some time ago, but he had not heard it again.
Maybe he should have stayed in the citadel. It was safe, and it was small, and hadn’t that been what he had desired all along?
Journey to the Water
There is a shiny new chapter of Journey to the Water available on Patreon! I’ll also be back later today with the latest episode of The Well Below the Valley. If you’re not subscribed, you’re missing out!
I climbed out from beneath the temple floor. The riches of the pirate Abraxas of Lore lay at my feet, and my companions pored over it, dreams of finery and rich foods and expeditions to distant shores passing between them in whispers. My thoughts were only with the dragon harpoon, and how if I had such a weapon in my possession on the far northern sea, perhaps I would have slain the lind-worm as I had hoped to do.
Even the gods could not change the past. I had it now, and it sang to me, a song of dragon flight and the hands of heroes. I was the last of many to carry this weapon. When the dragon who had given it shape had hatched from its stone egg, the world had been young, covered in water and fire. It was with reverence that I replaced the oil cloth covering the harpoon and fashioned a sling out of rope to carry it on my back.
“I don’t need a share of the treasure,” I told Hamilcar. “I only want this weapon.”
He looked up at me and gave an expansive shrug. “If that’s your choice, then, you can have it. Gods know I wouldn’t be able to find a buyer for months.”
“My friend,” said Halvor, “you need to learn the value of money.”
“Where is everyone?” Hamilcar asked the crew, the island itself, or the gods, giving voice to the unspoken question we had in common.
No one answered.
A high tide had carried our ship to the harbor, but the six thatched-roof houses and solitary central structure stood well clear of the water, raised up on wooden beams against the possibility of a flood. Their doors were shut tight, and their windows covered. A wind from the sea moved across the sand, but the village was otherwise still.
I led Bran by his halter to the deck and down the plank to the dock, keeping my hand below his chin so he could not turn his head and see the terrifying expanse of ocean surrounding him on three sides. Once his hooves touched solid ground, his body relaxed, and so did my grip. I, on the other hand, felt a nervous energy like crackling lightning in my bones. There was a threat here in this silent place.
Space Whales Press 