“Forgotten were the hollow hills
By those who banished fae
Until came the clash of wills
with others from the afar”
Come the battles
Come the killing
Come away, come away
“Awakened were the banished fae
from restless dreams beneath the earth
and troubled by the anguished cry
upon a once lush land”
The centurion didn’t help her with learning to read and write their language as he had promised. He sent Nyka in his place. Azriel still wanted to please the centurion above everything, despite her constant attempts to neutralize his venom. His absence robbed her of the ability to judge her progress.
Nyka had set the portable unit up for her and showed her how to key the screen; activate the voice mode and how to interact with it. Aside from this, she was left completely on her own. Buzzing from the food hatch, to announce a meal break at regular intervals, became her way of marking time. Notably, the food was the same as had been given out to the captive women in the holding pens. At least the centurion’s task gave her something to occupy her attention. She wanted to master the skill since it would be easier to navigate her way through the ship if she could read the directions, if that is what they were, posted at the intersection of corridors.
The worst part of her isolation was increasingly vivid dreams. They always started in an Angel holding cell where all her kind were gathered; a rare event in itself. She could see them but not make them hear her or see her. This was the point when she started awake, still screaming at them to notice her. And then came the last, most horrific dream of all. She had watched what the Angels were doing this time, instead of trying to make them notice her.
Azriel woke shaking, covered with a cold sweat. Only once had an Angel died without having an immediate body replacement. Uriel had been more than a friend to her when they got a chance to spend rare time together. Like her, he was an assassin, although no-one would guess from looking at him. His curling blond hair cascaded to his shoulders, framing a face of classical proportions. Deep-set blue eyes sparkled with mischief when he was around her. Added to the good looks, in her opinion, was the fact that no one supplied the Angels with a means to shave during non-working times. His beard came through about four shades darker than his hair, making him look like a charming rogue.
Both Coda and Azriel had been with Uriel on his last mission. It should have been an easy break-in for Coda to access the mainframe data base. Something had gone wrong. They were expected. Heavy duty weapons fired at them without warning. Azriel found a way for them to get clear when a shell blew a hole in a security perimeter wall. She turned to call to the others and saw Uriel’s body drop to the ground. His handsome head had been blown clean away: gone into a million pieces of mush and bone. He couldn’t be regenerated without his memories. He was really dead; forever. It was Coda who got them clear that day. Azriel didn’t remember how; everything was a blur from that moment on.
Back at base, she turned her face to the wall in their underground cell, ignoring Coda’s attempts to reach her mind. One by one all the Angels had been thrust into the cold, dimly lit rock cavern. They gathered around her in silence, all withdrawn from assignments while the controllers searched for the breach of security. When the last Angel arrived they began making a marker for the fallen.
Grieving together, the Angels carved Uriel’s name in the rock floor, taking turns to pound it with a hand-sized piece of harder stone someone had managed to smuggle in past the guards. No one investigated the noise. No one came near to give them food or water beyond what was already in the holding cell. Not one of them spoke. The sound of the stone pounding echoed for days and nights until they had finished. They did this for the one who was never coming home to them.
In her dream, she had seen them pounding with the stone again, heard the sharp beat going on and on until they all gathered around in silence, looking down. When they moved aside, she saw another name under Uriel’s . . . Her own.
Things are moving faster now and in a new direction.
The centurion was at her side, sitting on her bed, when she awoke, refreshed. He smiled, causing her heart to jump. The dark, curling lashes around his beautiful green eyes did things to her insides. His wavy dark hair looked slightly damp as if he had just finished ablutions, and he was wearing casual, light gray pants and a loose top. Azriel guessed he must be off duty.
“I have set out a meal for us. Will you join me?” He offered her his hand, the claws well retracted into his finger pads.
She thrilled to his touch, grateful for his aid as the edges of her wound didn’t stretch as much when she stood up. His hand was warm and hard; the hand of a warrior. He led her to the glass-topped metal table now covered with dishes. The Sidhe even slid the chair into place for her when she sat down, something she vaguely remembered from a distant lost lifetime and the occasional glimpse of how the rich people behaved at social gatherings.
The food was familiar by sight if not flavor. Both plates held a dressed kiki bird in citrus sauce, accompanied by a salad of dates, nanga nuts and succulent cactus flesh topped with a drizzle of oma seeds. A rich man’s repast; the choice of the Controllers. Angels only ate recognizable food if they caught it for themselves when they were out on a job and could get a campfire going in the open. Of course, the fire would depend on whether the campsite was near any of the black rock deposits that burned slow when ignited with a laz gun.
He intercepted her surprise with a grin. “We stocked up on provisions when we visited your world. Enjoy. We will be on ship’s rations again soon enough.”
“Are those on my world aware you acquired produce?”
“No doubt the knowledge will come to them in time.” His smile deepened. The tips of his brilliant white fangs showed.
Azriel wondered who would be screaming their loss. The thought was good. The food was even better, matched only by a well-aged wine. She guessed this had also been ‘acquired’. It was a long time since she had tasted a potent beverage. Her internal processors made the necessary adjustments to neutralize the effects.
“I think we will be tweaking your enhancements to allow for the full enjoyment of potent brews. A good wine must be savored without the effects being neutralized.”
“You would have me at your mercy?” The thought sent waves of pleasure thrilling through her.
“My venom is far more potent than any potable beverage.” His eyes took on a dangerous glint. “However, I prefer willing bedmates.”
A small voice of reason stirred within her. She didn’t do ‘nice’. This wasn’t her Angel assassin function, but the centurion seduced her from her role. She could not deny him and yet he chose not to take advantage of her vulnerability. Her prime directive to kill these people fuzzed into a tiny gray zone. This was not the enemy, as the pregnant girl had not been the enemy. She didn’t have to kill anymore, since her refusal would not result in punishment.
“Fight it, Azriel.” He raised his glass to her. “I offer you a life with the freedom to make your own choices and live with the consequences.”
She fought both her directive from the controllers and his venom. Her processors hadn’t honed in on his venom because he had been in her mind. Now she needed control over her life back from all those bent on leeching it away. Her head started pounding from the effort. What the controllers demanded of her faded into an unreasonable request to be ignored. No, she would not attack the Outworlders, or try to destroy their ship. The Sidhe needed her to ignore the controllers. Yes, she could do this for him. What he asked was fair and reasonable. She could see this now.
He cleared away their dishes, placing them in a service hatch, and retrieved sweet fruit sorbets in tall, frosted glasses. “Here. Live for the enjoyment of the moment while you decide how you will spend your life.”
|
The Wizard of Oz reviewed Shadow Over Avalon
 An enjoyable read September 4, 2016This is a well-written novel about the Arthurian legend with extra and inspired splatters of sci-fi and fantasy. The characters are well-developed and the prose anything but purple. It is a thoroughly enjoyable read and I give it 5 stars.
|
Five star review of Shadow Over Avalon
An absolutely spellbinding, reiteration of a classic! August 29, 2016
A brilliant retelling of the Arthurian legend filled with creative twists and complex layers that kept me turning pages. Definitely a must-read for Sci/Fi & Fantasy fans! It very much reminded me of Arthur meets Atlantis, but that is where the similarities ended. As the tale unfolded, I couldn’t help devouring chapter after chapter as the compelling characters and intricate plot drew me in and then tugged me along, calling for me to keep up when I was forced to lay the book down. An absolutely spellbinding, mesmerizing reiteration of a classic story that should not be missed!
http://amzn.to/1UdlhE5 And on all the Amazons, plus Kobo, Nook and iTunes.
Only 99c for an epic-sized science fantasy.
Here is the next bit in the story.
On the way up to the surface the meds kicked in. leaving her weak but coherent when they arrived on the roof of Command Central, where the landing pad bristled with a full complement of pod flyers. The technicians ignored the craft, instead shrugging into grav packs to fly the distance with Azriel suspended between them in a net they snagged from a locker like dead meat. This confirmed her guess about the probability of their imminent demise. Pod flyers, needing more metal, cost much more to replace than grav packs and were also more difficult to destroy when airborne. It wouldn’t do to risk damaging metal, but once this duty was over, those men were a security threat. If they ever talked about this exchange . . . No, plans would have been made for them after the delivery. The population would revolt if they found out how much the Governor had paid out of planetary funds to get his wife back and two underlings knowing the secret didn’t need to live anylonger.
The flat topped brown sprawl of the city sped beneath her as they headed to the space port on the outskirts of the desert. She closed down her metabolic function to the bare minimum to enter downtime, needing to conserve what energy she had left for the task ahead. Failing left all the angels vulnerable. That wasn’t acceptable.
Azriel, you’re not in regeneration? Coda’s worry came over clear through their mental connection.
Seems I’m to exchange with a hostage. Outworlders have the Governor’s wife. The identity of the hostage surprised her considering the security surrounding this family.
Much can happen in a few days. Outworlders traded strong medicine for a number of young, healthy women. A trace of anger filtered through the link. Our ‘wise’ leaders supplied diseased deviants from incarceration facilities.
Coda, don’t be such a prude. If you mean prostitutes with the clap, then say so.
His embarrassment crossed the link. The Outworlders went on a snatch and trade spree. They have some kind of matter transmitter we don’t understand, which just lets them materialize wherever they wish. That is how they ended up with the Governor’s new wife, and he got to meet a hooker.
I’m taking fifteen advenite crystals with me as part of the deal.
His shock resonated between them. Coda knew the worth of those crystals better than any of them. Enough crystals to fire planetary power supplies for twenty solars. Are they real ones?
From the sick shade of pale the controller went when he found out, I’d say yes.
So you make the kill without losing the hostage. That’s risky. Which angels are backing you? Kaylin and Creeding?
None. The trade is for real.
The absence of his thought in the link became so profound she thought he was active once more for a few moments.
Without regeneration . . . Jumbled images of him missing her filled his mind. He wanted her companionship.
I know. I will be free. She imagined the luxury of sinking into oblivious blackness forever. Never having another thought; another feeling; another pain. . .
Wreck the exchange. You don’t know why Outworlders want people.
I can’t refuse. Failure means regeneration for eternity in the pain amplifiers. I can’t do that to the rest of you. I’m to start killing after two days. The Outworlders will supply my freedom when they finish me.
He couldn’t bear anymore. His withdrawal from link was abrupt. Azriel could only hope for one final message exchange before oblivion, just to say goodbye to him, or at least one to the other angels.
***
A technician delivered more pain suppressant in the form of a slap shot, and then a tiny whisper of electrical energy surged in Azriel’s brain. The internal microprocessor deep buried in neural tissue forced her to move in the direction of the exchange. The controllers weren’t going to take any chances with her so close to freedom from life.
A single ray of sunshine filtered through layers of storm clouds illuminating a group of individuals on the landing strip. There they stood, the Outworld warriors, grouped around one woman, her fair hair hanging untidy and her body shaking with unheard sobs. The distance over the scrub grass diminished, eaten by Azriel’s strides. Puffs of dust rose at her footfalls, bringing a parched soil taste to her nose and mouth.
What manner of creatures hid behind heavy black body armor and round, visored helmets? The face-plates glowed red in the shine of the twin suns, rendering the Outworlders featureless. Azriel’s hand strayed to her empty holster. Integral to every angel uniform, the holster without the weight of a weapon disturbed her sense of balance. The controllers wanted to appear innocent of the killings if all didn’t go according to plan, so she couldn’t be seen with any obvious instrument of death. Instead, they had fitted her with an arsenal of weapons secreted about her person and clothing when they reclothed her in the night uniform. She probably would pass a scan as the items require assembly to be useful.
The sounds of sobbing carried in the breathless air. The holo image of the woman she was supposed to free had shown a svelte body with a face in such perfect symmetry that it screamed of genetic manipulation. Would Cairelle look the classic beauty after crying? Azriel doubted so.
She halted, standing to attention in response to an inner command from Controllers. Do as ordered or suffer immediate stimulation to the pain center of her brain. Three hundred paces in front of her the five Outworlders began to confer over the head of their hostage. One of them reached for a communications device; at least she reckoned so from the way the creature held it. More negotiations? One for one with the crystals was the agreement. Had the Outworlders learned they were getting an angel in exchange? Part of her hoped they had. Her sense of rightness wanted fair play that no amount of punishment could crush out of her system. How did an angel stack up against advenite? Each fleshy cadaver fitted with precious metal for internal body armor, aside from the micro implants imbedded in an angel’s brain, represented a small fortune.
Time flowed, impervious to the petty doings of mortals. A bragna swooped out of a dark cloud to drop on a ponderous hahii bird. The bragna’s scales glittered a brilliant green in the beam of sunlight as he unfurled both sets of wings to carry away his dangling kill.
Death – the forbidden lure called to her. She recalled the sweet fading from her original experience and then the horror of waking as a renascent angel to serve another lifetime as a slave without freewill; more killings at the behest of others for reasons unknown to her: a living hell for any sentient being. The despair flooded through her anew.
The small fragment of self, buried deep inside, hoped the Outworlders would accept the exchange even if they knew she what she was. They would give her final peace. Now they talked amongst themselves, pointing to her. Fair play–a forgotten concept in her world haunted her. What was the problem with her people trading healthy adults and a few crystals against a new form of sickness control? Did those in charge think the Outworlders wouldn’t mind the dregs of Altair IV society? Many of the poorest died from infections the new medicine would cure. Stars, the people needed all the help they could get.
A patch of blue sky peeped shyly between black storm clouds. In the distance, thunder rumbled signaling the start of a static storm. The Outworlders drew weapons and trained them on her.
Carielle broke free to run for those Azriel saw ‘bravely’ waiting behind blast shields she had walked past on her march. An impulse directive to her brain sent her jogging to the ranks of the Outworlders.
The Outworlders mobbed her the moment she closed with them. Two of them grabbed her arms, and a third rumbled into a gray rectangle with winking lights. The next instant all the cells of her body seemed to turn to fluid. Buildings, sky, ground, all burred into a white mist. For three heartbeats came nothingness, a glorious non-existence that thrilled through her, and then normality returned. They had transported her to their ship with their incredible matter mover.
The place had a metallic roof containing gently glowing lights; not as bright as lighting on her world. Did this mean they had better night vision? Two of the Outworlders still held their weapons on her, and the third, the one with a blue band on the left sleeve of its body armor, approached her with something small in a gloved hand.
She kept still as cold metal touched her skin just behind her ear, hoping for death, wanting death.
A click and a sharp pain–nothing more. The light still shone in her eyes. Those face-shields of the Outworlders turned to her, watching.
They began talking to each other; sounds without meaning to her. Still they held her immobile. The leader rumbled something at a wall panel before turning the bland visage at her once more.
Azriel began to tense each individual muscle of her body. She searched for a change in her responses but found none. Whatever they had done to her hadn’t affected her physically. Another possibility sapped her courage. What if these beings decontaminated their food before they dined? Her heart rate accelerated, as adrenalin surged through her system. Fear, a long forgotten emotion, gripped her. She wanted death, a quick death, but what was on promise here? Did they like active food as they dined? Some aliens preferred such. One of the guards took the advenite from her.
The leader reached out to grip her chin. She resisted without success. Now she looked directly at the reflective space between a helmet and a body.
“You can now understand my words. You will obey my commands and you will be treated well.”
She did understand. He was right, for the voice sounded male from its deep tone, but who could tell with an Outworlder? There was a slight slurring on the consonants but nothing to indicate the sound hadn’t enunciated from a humanoid biped. Fear of the unknown kept her silent.
“Agree to obey, and you will be allowed some freedom.”
Those non-faces all aimed at her, waiting for a response. Fifteen reincarnations meant a huge database of knowledge. That was the advantage of the angel program. Did they threaten her world?
Controllers didn’t let angels pursue emotional connections to prevent any conflicts with orders, but no restriction was placed on the accumulation of information. Azriel now accessed a language so dead that only fragments survived. Already half-forgotten by those first settlers on Altair IV.
“Ad astra.” It meant ‘to the stars’, which was as near as she could get to ‘go fuck yourself’.
“Her words have no meaning, Centurion.” The Outworlder holding her turned to his leader. “My translator is malfunctioning.”
The centurion glanced at the others, who shook their heads. “Either she is obtuse by intent, or she is not programmed for general communication. Hazard nine assessment level. Take her to the second holding pen. We will observe her with the others.”
The four marched her away at a brisk pace; sending shards of agony from her side into her arms and legs as the pain suppressant wore off. Down through more metal corridors and through bulkheads grinding open and closed. They progressed until they stopped by one side door and keyed a sequence to open it.
Female voices suddenly arrested. A hand on her back thrust her into the room, trapping her with a group of terrified young women. They drew aside from her as if she brought an evil smell into the room. Well, she couldn’t blame them. Pictures of angels in combat dress were common enough on the black market of the wealthy, which the clothes on these women seemed to suggest. None of them wore the alluring adornments of prostitutes.
Twelve of them, thirteen including her, occupied what looked like crew quarters. Bunk-beds lined two walls and a third had shower cubicles and reclamation stations. Not a stock pen, so what were the Outworlders thinking? Did they want these people for trading with another species? Maybe work crews, or pleasure slaves?
Did they know she was an angel? A crazy laugh began to bubble up inside her. Angel; the name came from the servant of a mythical god on the ancient Homeworld. What if this ship was from that planet? What if they thought her such a servant? The laugh aborted. What would they do to an immortalized deviant wearing the name on the whim of the controllers?
The furnishings suggested the Outworlders were humanoid as well as biped, although this might be wishful thinking on her part. Door height and width seemed to correlate, but other species of Outworlders had also appeared humanoid in the first contact scenario. Memory replayed a visual of the arthropod that had nearly given its tentacles collective hernias trying to squeeze them into a manlike casing. She would wait and see before she made a definitive judgment.
Azriel settled down on the floor with her back resting on the wall next to the door. She had no need of comfort, just a resting place to calm the molten agony of her wound without anyone disturbing her. The technicians hadn’t given her the rest of the pain medications as ordered when they set her into place. She assumed they planned to sell these and ceased to feel sorry for them.
Downtime brought a relief from pain, although the price was slower healing. This didn’t matter in her case. She wanted companionship and reached out. No contact. No touch of another angel. Nothing but a blank void–panic seeped through her. She shut down all systems to below minimum to avoid thinking; as low as possible before death occurred for the implant would kick them into consciousness if any tried to self-terminate by will alone. The device would also wake her when her final instructions must be obeyed.
A technician walked around Azriel running a scan over her torso as she stood to attention in a windowless office deep below the surface. He frowned, his craggy face marred by his obvious disapproval. “This unit is damaged beyond acceptable parameters. I recommend rejuvenation.”
She waited for a decision, the blood beginning to ooze through the field dressing under her tattered jacket. A sickly sweet, metallic stink filled the air around her…blood. Her limbs trembled from her theft of energy to kill the intolerable pain. No option there as none of them dare risk being reacquired with open, unconscious minds.
The controller steepled his pudgy fingers together, looking at her over his authentic wooden desk carved from a tree unknown on this world where few could grow. Sweat glistened on his bald head, but not from the heat. Climate control ensured that the special people enjoyed a pleasant environment. This deep, not much was needed.
“Take it to maintenance and stop it leaking blood everywhere. I want this unit capable of walking three hundred ahns and looking alive for another two days. Fit it out with a night-fighter suit, we have more to spare of those, and make sure it smells clean.” His nose wrinkled in distaste.
A wild hope began to bloom in Azriel. He hadn’t ordered rejuvenation. Sweet oblivion of death, is this what he intended, an ending to the waking hell of immortality? How many times had she woken to a new body? She had lost count in the mists of despair.
The controller turned to his console. “Bring it to me when you have finished.” Her temporary guard, the technician, led her out of the luxurious level of headquarters. She managed to walk as far as a grav shaft before her legs buckled under her.
Hissing, with disapproval written on his face, he hefted her over his shoulder. Pain grayed out her mind until she landed on a surgical table.
More technicians cut away her clothing, cleaned the wound and packed wadding in the gaping hole left by the projectile’s exit. They tied her down when she couldn’t bear the pain any longer and tried to fight them off. Another pad of wadding jammed into her mouth stopped her screams.
Replacement blood and high-energy fluid infused through her system, boosting it into a semblance of recovery. The technicians strapped another pack of energy liquid to her abdomen, fixing a needle with a tiny pump into her flesh. Without pausing, they manhandled her into a shower, cleaned her up and dressed her in full night-fighter attire. The bulky padding, covered by matte-black cloth hid their other fixes.
Azriel longed for downtime, but she dared not expose the others to her agony through the link. Whatever the controller wanted of her promised the blessed escape of death. She drifted in a sea of pain and exhaustion until she stood before her tormentor again, one technician to either side of her holding her upright.
“I thought I told you to make it look alive. Give it a pain suppressant. I want it to understand my orders.” He sat back in his padded chair, watching her, his eyes narrowed and a slight tic twitching at the corner of his mouth. A slapshot to the neck reduced pain to a mild ache. She stood straighter.
“Leave us.” The controller flicked his hand at the technicians, waiting until they closed the door behind them.
Azriel’s vague outline reflected from a large glass ornament case behind the controller, smart in black battle dress, with steel-toed black boots visible around the desk, but no gun for her shoulder holster, or knife for her belt sheath. No one took undue risks around angels.
“The job was not well done.” He glanced at his console, a nervous shifting of his eyes. The glass of the case reflected an image of text appearing, if not clear enough for definition. “My customer isn’t happy with the outcome, not happy at all.”
The baby must have survived for she was certain the mark had not. Her heart jumped; a tired hiccup.
“So your program will not continue. I have ordered the reclamation of the cadaver flesh.” He watched her intently, the faint whiff of his adrenaline wafting around him.
“All except one body I’ll keep for safeguard against your performance. I detected a termination wish I am willing to grant for a price.”
Azriel’s pulse beat faster. She tried to get her body under control, knowing how it betrayed her, but she was too weak.
He glanced at the console and the words appearing. “You will take advenite…” His face reflected first shock, and then rage, his words tailing off as the magnitude of what he was reading aloud stunned him.
The door to the controller’s inner sanctum opened behind him. A man in a tailored gray uniform stepped through. A single beryl stud on his collar marked the man for a general. The military man tossed a cloth bag onto the desk in front of her. It landed with a dull thud. “Take the fifteen advenite crystals in the bag with you to the western docking hub. Across the landing strip will be an Outworlder squad with a hostage. You will take yourself and the crystals to them in exchange for the girl.” He leaned over the controller to activate a small holo image of a young female and turned the screen towards Azriel.
The face appeared on news stations often enough for anyone to recognize the Planetary Governor’s wife. Azriel nodded once.
“Once you are aboard their ship you will wait two days for them to clear from this system and then you will kill as many as you can.” The general frowned. “I would prefer the ship destroyed.”
She waited for the rest, because the news seemed to come as a surprise for her master. The controller’s face was now flushed an unhealthy red, but angels didn’t speak to controllers. Angels weren’t people.
“I can’t allow the actual exchange, General. We agreed to terminate all of them on the landing pad once we had Carielle safe.”
The general settled into an easy stance and raised one gray eyebrow at the controller. “You will do precisely what you are told. Bankers like you might hide behind layers of security; you could even recall all of your angels for protection, but then they wouldn’t be out earning enormous revenue for you, would they? Sooner or later one of you will need to emerge, or a member of one of your families, it doesn’t matter to us.”
“Look, you don’t understand.” The controller’s fists clenched. “Angels are reinforced with metal along their ribs, skulls, vertebra, long bones …” He swallowed. “We render down the cadaver for a return on our investment.”
The general smiled; a sunny lifting of the lips. “How much is your life worth? As much as the metal you stand to lose? This angel will do my bidding.”
The controller stood, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as if he needed it to keep him upright. His knuckles showed white through the skin of his hands. He looked at Azriel. “If you disobey and refuse, hoping to die from your wounds, I will have you rejuvenated and then …” He smiled, a stretching of the lips, “then you will spend all of eternity in a pain amplifier. Comply and you will gain death as a reward.”
Azriel tried to swallow, her mouth suddenly dry. Controllers never bargained with angels. No one could threaten controllers. No one had the power to intimidate the money men, or did they? What sort of threat was the general waving at the controller? Whatever fired his spark must have been the mother of all snarl-ups.
The controller jabbed at a button on his desk. Two technicians entered so fast they almost fell into the room.
“Take it to the location I gave you and make sure it has pain medication. Enough for two days.”
She felt sorry for the men. They hadn’t received instructions for where to go after her delivery. Azriel wondered if they knew they weren’t coming back. There would be others sent to make sure they didn’t.
Why this? Because I have just finished the edits on book 3, ‘Chalice of Shadows’ and started writing book 4 as yet unnamed. Yes, I have a cover for the Chalice and no, I can’t reveal it yet. Yes, the new book is a continuation of where ‘Sword of Shadows’ left off. Maybe I will post a teaser later. It is dark. Darker than the previous two and probably classing as the new label of Grimdark as opposed to traditional fantasy. Sometime soon I’ll get a trailer for it, but in the meantime, here is the trailer for ‘Sword of Shadows’.
Currently only $2.99 here: https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Shadows-C-N-Lesley-ebook/dp/B00P4HX4SE
New book from mega talented author, Jude Houghton. Here is another delicious offering. See my review of the first book, Autonomy below.
It has been quite a while since I read a strictly science fiction dystopia so I was intrigued when I opened the ARC of ‘Autonomy’ by Jude Houghtton, to be published by Grimbold Books. The palpable atmosphere of the futuristic age portrayed is distinct and unmistakable. At times I was reminded of George Orwell’s 1984, while at others, shades of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World came to mind, but above all the plotting and the multiple threads gave me a sense of Frank Herbert’s Dune. This book is unique unto itself and I compare because it sits right up there with the masters of science fiction.
Imagine a world where the only resource left is people, billions of people, who are dependent on a product called skaatch for their nutrition. It is made from jellyfish and bugs; all that keeps body and soul together, unless a person happens to be in the ruling sector under the umbrella of specialness and then everything changes, including the food.
Inevitably there will be a rebellion, but the way it is conducted and who is drawn into the fight for a sort of freedom is a whole different ballgame. The fundamental core of humanity is dissected in such a way that it becomes almost binary as there are two choices if those who would be warriors can win through. There is something apocryphal in the undercurrent, drawing resonance to the horrendous consequences. This brings to mind part of a poem from Oman where Father Brennan is describing the assent of the antichrist. ‘From the eternal sea he rises, creating armies on either shore, turning man against his brother, until man exists no more.’
Like ‘Dune’ this is a big book, and every pages is just as worth reading. I think this just may be my favorite book of 2015. Highly recommended.
cnlesley 