Preview: Elemental Lands Book II: The Eye of the Falcon

Here is a preview of  "The Eye of the Falcon", Book Two of the Elemental Lands Series. This is set in the same universe as "Elemental Dragons, Cycles One and Two." The action takes place in Shinwa for "Dragons" (based loosely on Ancient China). In this book, events unfold in the neighboring land to the west, Kemet (based loosely on Ancient Egypt).

Book III is tentatively named "Shadow Walkers"  and takes place in the third Elemental Land, Rajan.

Chapter One

Secrets

(copyright 2013 by A. Dameron)

أنا لم تفعل أي خطأ ضد رجل زملائي.

أنا لم أفكر أية أفكار القاسية ضده.

أنا لم رفعت يدي ضد الأبرياء.

تسمعني، O الآلهة والإلهات. وأنا أتكلم الحقيقة.

I have not done any wrong against my fellow man.

I have not thought any cruel thoughts against him.

I have not raised my hand against the innocent.

Hear me, O Gods and Goddesses. I speak the truth.

---Prayer of the Deceased Soul

Kemeti Ritual of Freeing the Immortal Houra

The Kemeti priests believed the Soul was composed of three parts, the kai, the bai and the houra. The kai was the physical body, the fragile container that returned to the dusty earth. The bai was the conscious spirit, who was aware of its individual thoughts. The houra consisted of the immortal soul, which survived from life to life. Most souls passed through the Trials of the Dead to eternal harmony with the Gods.

But if the Gods judged them unworthy, their houra hung suspended between this world and the next. Their bai wandered the earth, fully aware that their kai no longer existed, and fully aware that there was nowhere for them to go. They floated free without any anchor to the Living.

These ghosts walked through Kemeti Valley of the Shadow. They wandered down the familiar halls, searching for eternal peace. Unfortunately for them, that peace was as elusive in death as it was in life. Their relatives made daily offerings in the name of their houra, and if they were very lucky, perhaps the Gods took mercy on their souls, and allowed them to cross into eternal harmony.

Wind blew through the corridors of the Great Falcon's Shrine. It made the oil lamps jump and dance as the Shadows of the Dead continued their endless roaming. They never bothered to acknowledge the other's presence; after all, they were in the same Hell, the same never-ending chaos. When an unfamiliar Human intruded on their walk, it attracted their attention.

This particular man darted between the shadows, hid behind the columns, and disappeared into the alcoves. His feet made no sound upon the well-worn floor, made smooth by eons of pilgrims.

The Shadows took note of this intruder. Why was he avoiding the nightly guards? What was his mission?
Was he here to finally free them from their endless wandering?

One Shadow in particular watched with undead eyes. It narrowed those eyes as the intruder crept
closer and close to the Great Falcon's Altar. It took less than a heartbeat for the Shadow to realize that man's goal.

After all, that was one of its talents in Life, one that had remained with it in Death.

Slowly, silently, it followed the intruder, and put all its essence into a single warning.

Senfu Khenamun, the Son of the Falcon of Kemet, felt the warning before he heard it.

He held the stick of incense in his hand, the smoke drifting from its tip towards the high ceiling.
With a calm movement, he replaced the stick in its holder. The elaborate shrine in front of him was covered in thin sheets of gold, decorated with emerald and ruby. It housed marble urns within its recesses in the wall. The most recent addition sat prominently in the center.

Thank you for your vigilance, Father. I will deal with this myself. The Falcon's Son was an avatar of the Pantheon of Gods, a mortal among immortals. Of course, that bestowed certain talents on him which proved useful, such as when the threat of Death approached.

Senfu slowly raised his head, but his eyes never strayed from the wisp of smoke. The wind entered the chamber and drew the trail upward. The smoke gathered itself, changing and reforming before his eyes. He extended his hand in a beckoning gesture. It settled gently upon his palm as it gained shape and form.
Black eyes set into a triangular head, black feathers spread down a ridged spine, black wings open and unfolded against his skin. The claws hardened into steel, the edges just as sharp.

Senfu raised his head. With one smooth movement, he twisted his wrist and flung his hand out behind him. The ghostly bird streaked from his hand as it sought its prey. There was a heartbeat of silence; he watched as the tip of the incense stick flared brightly then become dark.

A strangled gasp broke the silence. Senfu turned slightly to see a dark-clothed man standing mere steps behind him. The assassin leaned heavily against the stone wall, his hands wrapped around a sharp object protruding from his stomach. The blade of the falcon-headed knife glowed in the light of the torches.
The Shadows of the Dead let out a collective sigh of relief. They nodded to themselves and resumed their eternal walking.

Senfu rose up from his kneeling position in front of the shrine. He walked to the man's side, as
the wind ruffled his long, unbound black hair   He looked up at the assassin and saw himself through the man's dying eyes: a wraith dressed in fine cotton linen, his face with its thin mouth and hooked nose, the dark brown eyes becoming black in the darkness.

“Who sent you?”

The assassin merely gazed at Senfu, his face a mask of pain. The falcon knife moved of its own
accord, as it twisted and pulled at torn muscles and organs. An agonized gasp exploded from his lips, but he otherwise remained silent. His fortitude impressed Senfu, but duty forced the Falcon's Son to do what he must do.

Senfu placed his right hand on the center of the assassin's forehead. His mind instantly shied
away from Senfu's mind-touch, like a wounded animal fleeing from the hunter. Senfu examined every part of his mental defenses. They were crude, as if hastily thrown up without any care.

There, a tiny crack in that shield...Senfu pressed harder upon it and willed it to grow. The assassin's mouth dropped open, but this time, no sound came out.

Senfu heard running footsteps approaching the chamber. So, the guards and temple priestesses had finally realized that their Lord had been in danger. Very well, he thought, let them watch and learn yet again.

He repeated once more, “Who sent you to kill me?” At the continuing silence, he nodded and said, “I will find out, with or without your cooperation.”

The chief temple guard swallowed hard and murmured, “My Lord--”

“I require complete silence.” Senfu closed his eyes. He could not allow sentiment to cloud his mind, not now. This man tried to murder him, so the assassin's life was forfeit. The Falcon's Son understood this; the Priest mourned the imminent loss of life.

The information he sought lay behind a pair of locked bronze doors. The assassin had hidden it deep within his consciousness. A normal Kemeti priest would find access to it nearly impossible.

Senfu, of course, was no ordinary priest. He examined the doors, noting its elegant construction compared with the rest of the assassin's mind. So this was placed by another, one fully capable of the mind arts; another Priest or even a Healer, perhaps.

Such disregard for basic courtesy repulsed him. If his enemy had no such scruples, then he certainly wouldn't spare any mercy.

Senfu nodded to himself then proceeded to melt down the mental doors, from the inside. The assassin's rough scream finally burst from his throat. It echoed within the shrine; the guards and temple priests flinched at the sound of it. Senfu firmly closed his own ears.

The bronze doors dissolved into molten slag that burned and blackened all it touched. The assassin— his name is Rekathen, he realized—would become a drooling, mindless idiot after this was over. Senfu reached within and brought forth the steady stream of images. They rushed past him, over and around him. His trained Priest's skills separated the gold from the dross. He selected the pertinent details and discarded the rest. A man's life experiences lay open to him and he went through it all.

And the presence of the Falcon Shadow remained by his side throughout the whole ordeal. You are becoming a true guardian of the Kemeti people. I am proud of you.

The rushing river of memories slowed to a stream and then to a trickle. Senfu opened his eyes and saw the awed and terrified expressions of the onlookers. Calmly, he removed his hands from Rekathen's forehead. His body slumped into a boneless heap at Senfu's feet.

He took a deep cleansing breath and faced the captain of the guard. “I must recall my adviser. There is no time to waste.”




All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2013

Preview for Nanowrimo 2012 'Shadow of the Queen' (iii)

Here is a quick scene I wrote in the midst of Thanksgiving chaos at my family's house.

Zeina 'accidentally' foils an assassination  attempt...without meaning to do it. Gareth is the household's Captain of the Guard, who has secrets of his own.
*****


A hand clapped over my mouth and stifled my surprised yell. Then a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me backwards into the nearest alcove. Warm breath tickled my ear, and jolts of pleasure shot down my nerves,

Suraya bless! I felt a hot flush scorch my face and throat. Suddenly, Najani's ribald teasing took on a new meaning. I wasn't unschooled in such matters, but I throttled the urge to twist around and give in to those impulses.

I was aware of the rhythm of a strong heartbeat as my back pressed against a solid chest, and the smell of jasmine--my own perfumed silks--tickled my nose.The iron-grip tightened for a second, as if its owner could read the tumult of my mind. It slowly eased, as if regaining some sort of control.
"Say nothing. We must remain hidden until the time is right. Understand?"

Gareth! I nodded, then those arms released me as quickly as they had captured me. I whirled around to see his large form pressed against the stone wall of the corridor. He wore the colors of Lord Kidoshu's house, but no protective armor. The torchlight threw his pale skin into sharp relief.

Gareth?

He shook his head and tapped the side of his head with an index fingers. Mental shields are up. I nodded to show him I understood. He turned away from me, his gaze riveted around the corner, at the figures at the front of the Main Hall. Lord Kidoshu, the First Wife, the Caliph and his mate, the Sultana.
Again, I felt that odd stir of anticipation, as if something was about to happen. The torchlight flickered and briefly danced upon the metal tip of an arrow, poking out from behind a heavy curtain.
Aimed directly at the Sultana.

The silent arrow erupted from behind the curtain, and flew across the Main Hall, above the heads of the guests and Handmaidens. I reacted without conscious thought; I extended a hand and nudged its course slightly.

But I wasn't quick enough, and I felt the arrow strike home within my own chest.

I blinked to find myself within the Main Hall, standing directly in front of the honored guests, without any memory of how I got there. A sharp sting drew my gaze downward to find the wooden shaft buried in the left side of my body.

The paralysis released me and I sank to the floor, my nerves ablaze with pain. Seconds dragged into eternity, as a blur of chaos exploded above me. Shouts, screams, curses...but I barely heard them. All my senses began to shut down and I allowed it, now beyond caring.

Suddenly, a burst of rage overwhelmed my mind, and like molten heat, it swept aside everything in its path. The image of a hunting hawk formed in my mind, golden wings spread across the sky, talons outstretched to rip its prey apart. The enemy froze, unable to take its eyes off the majestic sight...

Pain, agony, blood. The torture lasted only moments in reality, but here, within the mystic realm, those moments stretched into years, then centuries. The enemy screamed and begged for mercy, for release, but the Hawk reveled in its revenge.

And by the time it had finished, the enemy lay there, its lifeblood oozing out of its many wounds, to paint the mind-scape a blackish red.

That warm energy seeped into my muscles and bones, fusing itself with me as it bathed and soothed the agony away. I relaxed into it and allowed it to take my Soul with it.

All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2012

Preview of 'Shadow of the Queen' (II) Nanowrimo 2012

In this preview, the main character learns a harsh lesson in manipulation and loyalty.
In this household, you must 'earn' a proper name. The main character hasn't been assigned one yet, so her nickname here is 'Steady One'.

*****

“Can you do this? Can you do that?” The dance teachers started each new lesson with movement. We imitated monkeys, birds and double-tusked elephants. We laughed as we imagined long-legged river herons and jumping toads. The most awkward of the shekka forgot their self-consciousness and joined in the fun.

There was a method to the madness, for those movements were the basis for new dances. Once we perfected a particular step, we used it for courtly and Festival dances. This made it possible to progress rapidly within the ranks. The teachers kept a close eye on who thrived on dancing.

The local chieftains from around Karamanthore visited Lord Kidoshu every moon-cycle. They sat in private consultation for a whole day. The Fourth Wife told us that these chieftains served Lord Kidoshu's outlying districts. They collected the taxes and served minor duties. Their ranks, like the household, changed constantly.

“We cannot have one of the chieftains get too ambitious,” the Fourth Wife commented. “If they have it in their minds that they are better than Lord Kidoshu, there could be problems in Karamanthore, and that wouldn't be good for the people.”

Calm One nodded in a wise way and said, “There can be many helpers in the cause, but only one leader. There are many aspects of the Goddess, but only one Being over all.”

“Exactly so,” agreed the Fourth Wife, who stroked Calm One's hair with a gentle hand. “There are many variations to the dance, but one original set of steps that began it.”

“Variations are a way of life, as long as we don't forget where we came from.”

I rolled my eyes as the platitudes were volleyed to and fro. The Wives and their favorite ones constantly reminded us about the virtues of our household and how to uphold them. I honestly wondered if they even knew about what they talked, much less understood it.

There was one saying that came from the most cynical of the Handmaidens: “ Do as I say, don't do as I do.” Our lives was one whole contradiction of good intentions with good actions. I wondered whether or not the Shinwai had this problem.

Unfortunately, I discovered fairly quickly that in certain situations, doing as you are told might lead to an unpleasant truth.

“Steady One, I have a task for you,” the dance teacher said. “Silkhair and Bold One already have the solo pieces, but we need someone for an equally important part.”

I made a gesture of acceptance. Yes, Silkhair and Bold One were the favored among the dance teachers. I had long ceased to feel any jealousy towards them, although I wished that I was better.

“The younger girls of the third shekka are having problems with their parts in the ceremony, and the Sixth Wife has trouble keeping instructors. Will you spare a morning and show them what to do? It should not be an inconvenience, for their parts are much simpler than ours.”

I stifled a groan of dismay and bowed instead. “Of course, madrana.”

Unfortunately, I discovered just why the other instructors had left Sixth Wife's employment. The woman possessed a waspish temper, with a tongue to match. Her cutting criticism reduced her Handmaidens to tears. I watched as she upbraided her shekka because a single table arrangement was not perfect. The shekka lived in complete fear of her.

“You can deal with them; I cannot seem to get through their thick skulls,” she complained. With that ominous statement, she turned and left the room. I glared at her back and thought, You evil witch. Perhaps if you learned patience, you might see more progress.

I sighed and took pity on the Handmaidens. They crouched down low before me, trembling in abject fear of punishment. This was unacceptable. I cleared my throat and clapped my hands, just like I had seen the Second Wife do. They jumped up to their feet as if I had whipped them.

“Show me what you know,” I said calmly and gestured to the marble-tiled tables behind me. “Let us assume the Caliph and his household is visiting. Arrange the seating with that in mind.”

The Handmaidens scrambled to obey. They moved gracefully from table to table, placing water pitchers and lighting incense burners. Others set golden and scarlet cushions and blankets on the floor, and followed the complicated rules of hospitality. I narrowed my eyes at their efforts; to my eyes, all seemed in order. This was what the third shekka was trained for, and they seemed to do it well.

I walked among the seats and scrutinized the placements. The colors and fabrics matched, and the girls had filled the water pitchers to the correct level. I nodded and said, “Yes, that will do. Now, let me give you another test.”

With a flourish, I glided to the main table and sat in the Caliph's wife's place. The Handmaidens' eyes bulged with shock and surprise at such audacity. I bit back a smile and lounged against the cushions. “I would like to see the Ritual of Hospitality, if you please. The Sultana, wife of the Caliph, wishes it.”

They giggled nervously at my overacting, but the tension dissipated like smoke. They assembled into a small choir and began a song of welcome. I listened to the harmony and tapped the beat with my fingers. Again, their training served them well, for no one missed a note or a rhythm.

It became clearer to me that the problem did not lie with the girls of the third shekka. The problem lay with the Sixth Wife's attitude towards her girls. I posed different scenarios to the Handmaidens and acted the part of the particular honored guest in question. They quickly adapted to the changing circumstances by switching the color schemes to match the colors of the guest's household. They arranged the seating from high rank to low, and they changed the theoretical menu to one appropriate for the occasion.

“I see that the problems have been quite exaggerated.”

We all jumped at the sound of the First Wife's voice and immediately bowed in response. She stood just within my line of vision, her hands hidden within her robes and her face shadowed within her hood. I saw her as an imposing Priestess of Blessed Suraya, then the Vision disappeared.

The First Wife walked among the ranks, then stopped in front of me. “You inspired them to do their best, Steady One, even though you aren't even in their shekka. I am impressed at your fortitude. Don't you agree, Lady Shalali?”

The Sixth Wife flinched at the informal address, said so casually in front of her shekka. “Yes,” she said shortly.

“A mere Handmaiden has accomplished this in half a day. You, a Wife, needed most of a season to do the same, and she still managed to do more.” The First Wife's tone took on a hard edge. “Pathetic.”

I swallowed hard at the First Wife's praise, for it wasn't as uplifting as it sounded. It only served to highlight just how incompetent the Sixth Wife had been in her duties. I had just earned myself another enemy in the household, and one of the Wives, no less!

Then the First Wife did something unprecedented. “Girls, look at what I am about to do and remember it.”

We followed the order and gaped as she reached over to the Sixth Wife's robe. With a sharp tug, she ripped the costly golden flilagree necklace from the Sixth Wife's neck. The matching earrings followed, then the single bronze circlet in the Sixth Wife's hair. The First Wife tossed these precious pieces of jewelry over her shoulder without even looking at them.

“You are dismissed. Go back to your former family in disgrace. Your rank as Sixth Wife no longer exists; your true name will be spoken with disgust...Shalali.” We gasped at the sarcastic tone; the First Wife hadn't even bothered with the title of 'Lady'. “Your former shekka will be administered by the Eighth Wife. Get out of my sight, get out of my household. I know you no longer.”

Shalali—the former Sixth Wife of Lord Kidoshu—gulped down a sob, turned and fled out of the room. The only signs of her presence were the slight blood stains on the floor, where drops had fallen from her ripped ears and scratched skin.

I stared in appalled silence. Of course, we had all heard of the Ritual of Outcasting, but no one had ever seen it invoked. Considering her attitude towards her shekka, I couldn't feel too sorry for Shalali. But still...to outcast a Wife with no warning...

“Girls, retire back to your rooms in the Handmaiden's Hall, and wait for the Eighth Wife to arrive. Steady One--” she looked at me with a look of pleased poison over ice, “--return to your shekka. Advise Governess what has happened here and make sure all know the consequences of failing me.”

We all bowed and did as she ordered. I ran back through the halls, holding back tears of shame. I had believed I was helping the third shekka, but instead, the First Wife had used me as a tool in her punishment of the Sixth.

The First Wife had made her point in front of all of us.  

All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2012

Teaser for Nanowrimo 2012: "The Shadow of the Queen"

Here is a snippet from my Nano 2012 novel, "Shadow of the Queen". In this scene, Ziya must find her way out of the Otherworld before it is too late.


Night after night, the Priestesses came for me. I was careful to take Healer Panluman's medicine before their arrival. The strange seeds enabled me to observe and to remember what the Priestesses did to my helpless body. The smoke from the nightwort increased every night to the point of flooding the chamber with a gray cloud. The Priestesses had obviously built a strong immunity to the stuff over a long period of time.

I managed to find gaps in the curtains of smoke and slip through into clean air. These gaps increasingly grew smaller and smaller, but I found them anyway. They started as single portals, then double-linked, then triple-linked and more. If I went through the portals in the wrong order, it deposited me back to the beginning, and I had to try again. Eventually, I discovered they also had colored auras, and by matching those auras, I traveled faster to the end.

Those gates stretched into corridors, the corridors into rooms, and the rooms into scenic views. Mountain ranges, blue lakes, forests full of green woody plants. All of them boasted their own unique mazes. I spent an unknown amount of time within them, trying to find a way out.

Finally, I found myself in a barren landscape, gray and lifeless. A poisonous fog lingered at the edge of my inner Vision. Quickly, I strode off away from the fog in search of a door. As I traveled, the ground became uneven and riddled with holes and cracks. The wind strengthened and whipped my ghostly form to and fro. Dead trees, slate-gray rocks, crumbling ruins...it just went on and on in every direction.

Lightning flashed through the sky. I looked upward to find a glowing square directly above me. I nodded to myself, gathered my strength, and launched myself up through the sky. It was just at my fingertips when a lightning bolt slammed into me. I landed hard on the rocky ground, my bones snapping upon impact. A white-hot blaze of pain took my breath away, and I simply lay there, gasping for breath.

Blessed Suraya, what was that? I dragged myself up into a sitting position, only to feel a sharp stab in my right hip. I gasped at the agony that shot up my entire right side. My hip was broken, my knee dislocated, and I felt a rib or two move in ways that sent my muscles into spasms.

I was going to die in this Goddess-forsaken wasteland. Once my soul ceased to exist, my physical body would quickly follow. I realized that this was how Dehali and Muralkani met their deaths. They hadn't even passed the initial tests; neither had reached this final stage.

No, I will not allow the Priestesses to claim my soul for their own purposes. I will survive! My injuries are only within my mind...I can overcome anything they set for me!

I dragged myself onto my left knee and supported myself with my good left arm. The portal hovered directly above me, warm and inviting. My shattered right shoulder screamed in agony as I forced my hand to clasp the emerald pendant around my neck.

Suraya, give me strength to escape this prison. Give me the Will to return to the living! I clutched the pendant, even as sickness and shock passed through me in long waves. The stone under my fingers grew warm, then hot. I forced my eyes open and gasped as the dusty ground under me began to glow green, with a scarlet edge. Power flowed into me, but it was sluggish, and the ragged spurts only increased the pain.

There was Earth energy, but hidden deep within the ruined landscape. There was no way I could tap into it before my limited strength gave out. Yet there was more than enough death, enough suffering, to fuel the Fire. I felt it overtake the serene emerald, appropriate the Earth energy for itself, transmute it into the Flame of rage and desire.

If I gave into the Flame, it would change my life forever. Which path should I choose? Earth, and die with a pure soul, or Fire, and survive and allow the Dark side of the Goddess to claim me?
My thoughts began to dissolve. Time was running out. I closed my eyes and let the Wheel of Fate make the decision for me.

The ground rumbled under me, as if gathering itself for an explosion. Then it erupted in a maelstrom of hellfire. The power thrummed through my veins and repaired my injuries in a single agonizing moment. I screamed and extended a newly-regenerated right hand at the portal above my head.

And with one massive push, I launched myself through the black sky. More lightning bolts attempted to strike me down again, but their stings were nothing compared to the song of Fire in my veins. I entered the portal and bore down on that pinpoint of light that led me back to the Living.

My last thought was, No one can stop me now. No one. I am the Goddess and the Goddess is me.

All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2012

Story Beginning: "The Admiral's Queen"

The first time Adriana Cayenne fell in love, she was five years old. It was not how the Matchmakers would have preferred it, but five year olds do not care about what adults think.

She stood on the royal platform, quiet and grave, just like how she was taught. The cheering crowd loomed beofre her like a dark, forbidding wave that threatened to crush her. Adriana trembled in its wake. The screams piercved her ears. All she could think of were three words:

Make it stop...make it stop...make it stop...

"Head up, chin straight," hissed her mother. She felt the cold fingers tighten over her wrist. "You are a princess; they serve you. Show them how grand you are."

"Yes, M-My Lady Mother," she whispered. She wanted to say 'Mama'. After all, did not all little girls call their mother as 'Mama'? Rhia Cayenne, Queen of Saligna, insisted on big words and big titles. So, her daughter mastered 'My Lady Mother'.

Adriana's feet ached in the heeled shoes. The pink gossamer dress clung to her limbs like a film of snake oil. Her jeweled tiara pressed tight around her temples. Rhia's lips flattened in disgust at her weakness; the girl cringed at the steel vise around her wrist. Her eyes flickered over the sea of humanity...

...and met a matching pair of blue-gray eyes across the way.

He was a few years older, eight or nine at most. The boy met her gaze and smiled. Of course, she did not see his mouth move. The pure joy poured into her and filled her spirit. Something lurked in the background, just beyond reach. She tried to catch it, press it against her heart..

"Come, Adriana, the review is over." Rhia tugged at her arm, and her feet stumbled, jerking her back to reality. The beautiful connection snapped and left tears in her eyes.

You are a princess; they serve you.

She followed her mother with her head held high, and the tears did not fall down her cheeks.