This story is a single journal entry in Book One, Ursus Borealis, in The Starlight Chronicles series. I found it rather fun to write a story within a story within a story. It nestles in a chapter featuring Kuliana Hada, a character that appears throughout the series, who is an Anurashin Captain of the Guard. Cynthia is her ancestress.
Cynthia’s story is incorporated into an actual historical account about the White Ship that sailed in 1120 as described. Its sinking changed history.
This sounds impossible, I know. You will just have to take my word for it. That is, if you’re from a realm apart from this hidden place beneath a volcano, and if this message manages to reach you, as I hope.
My life began on a farm in the County of Anjou. It was forever changed when I met a bear from Normandy.
After immersing myself in the astonishing world of my mate and the kingdoms of the shifters, learning there was life beyond this Earth before reaching the heavens took only a few extra pints to swallow down. That, and meeting Zigan. It turns out that Zigan and I are old souls who have danced through this journey before in many previous lifetimes.
How my soul was chosen for this repeated Earth-bound destiny remains a mystery, but my magus spent many hours over wine in our chateau, sharing what he knew of our history, or rather, the history of the prophecy of the marked maidens.
As for Zigan, up until we met—in this time—he had spent his life training with the Order, which included studying the records in the extensive archives and all forms of alchemy. He had also been honed into a fierce warrior. Even more astonishing, he could transform into a stunning feline, which I learned was called a tiger.
For eight years, I experienced what it was to be part of the Pack, to be soulmates with its alpha, to be one part of a wondrous whole. We were successful in our purpose, keeping the princes’ machinations from the human population and mitigating the damage.
This is the part at the end of our story. Writing it down is agony because it chronicles the event that halted our purpose violently, tore me from those I loved, and marked the beginning of my slow and lonely death. Still, it must be told.
It takes place starting mid-morning on the 25th day of November in the year 1120. We arrived at Barfleur near the coast of Normandy after confirming the location of the current plot of Aviel Enair, the oldest and most formidable of the three sibling princes.
We lacked the details, but we knew his scheme would involve the sailing vessel known as the White Ship, renowned for its speed and beauty, now carrying the only legitimate heir to King Henry I across the English Channel.
###
Frustration gripped me as I wrapped my arm around myself, trying to catch my breath after running the length of the docks. I called out to my mate, who was approaching behind me.
“It is just as we feared, Aldric. The ship has almost reached the Quilleboeuf!”
As I spoke, three hundred souls sailed away, including other nobles and the heir, and the loss would be catastrophic to the burgeoning English monarchy.
When we learned that the king’s seventeen-year-old son, William Adelin, desired to sail on this elegant vessel while his father sailed ahead of him, and that Aviel had set his sights on it, we considered the hazards the Anurashin prince might exploit. The ship had a good reputation and so did its captain, Thomas FitzStephen, whose father had taken the prince’s grandfather, William the Conqueror, across the same sea.
The only evident risk was sailing past Gatteville, where hidden rocks such as the Quilleboeuf lay waiting for careless sailors. But FitzStephen was surely used to navigating such hazards.
I breathed in the salty air to sharpen my mind while I considered our options. The raucous calls of seagulls ebbed overhead as they congregated, fought, and flew off with morsels of fish as their prize. Despite the size and piercing eyes of the warrior next to me, we stood unnoticed among the throng of bodies rushing toward their duties on the bustling docks.
“You must call Zigan, my love,” Aldric said, drawing me to his side and offering his warmth as I shivered from the urgency of our task and the breeze cooling the sweat of my exertion.
Although we were French, our purpose as part of this prophetic trio was to maintain the balance of power fated for this world in our time. According to Zigan’s archives, when the princes interfered, it fared badly for the human populations.
That meant we were trained to take risks, and we discovered this scheme by becoming captives of the princes at their temporary encampment while each enjoyed inflicting painful retribution on us for our past successes. But Aviel allowed his brothers’ torment to go only so far, which we’d learned to count on, though we didn’t understand it.
Our plan included an escape.
It went perfectly until we ran into a trap and had to leave our pack behind to fight, which also delayed our arrival. A worry was taking hold in me that the last eight years of joy and strife might culminate on these docks. Still, I pushed on.
After placing the insides of my wrists together, my tiger appeared, first as an image on my skin, then as a man stepping out of a gray mist, calmly taking us in with fathomless dark eyes. His markings glowed bright gold against his bronze arms, and his silky black hair waved in the breeze.
“We need to get aboard that ship, Zigan.” I pointed to the sails disappearing north along the coast to Gatteville. “Can you haze us there?”
“Yes, precious one. But I may not have the ability to get you back.”
“Let me go with him,” Aldric said. “If the ship were to sink, and Zigan cannot return us both…” He let that thought trail off as he looked at me in that fierce way that melted my heart.
The powerful love I had for this man, this larger-than-life Norman-born warrior who shared the spirit of a mighty brown bear, still overwhelmed me after all these years. We had not taken one moment of our time for granted, knowing the dangers inherent in my destiny.
“But I must be the one on that ship, Aldric,” I said as I clutched his hand. “We have no idea what is planned, and we need my instincts as a marked maiden.”
“Vous serez remarquée, ma bien-aimée. I can blend in and discern the situation. We must go now, as they quickly approach the rocks.”
I stood on my toes and brought his face close to mine, gazing into his brown eyes to see his bear gleaming at me, a magnificent creature he could transform into at will. Our lips met for an exquisite moment before I stepped back.
“I will bring him back safely,” Zigan said, taking hold of my mate.
They disappeared. I took shelter and waited. They returned in Zigan’s mist in less than thirty minutes.
Aldric and I moved together without thinking, as we did after every parting. Satisfied with the reunion, he gave his report. “Nearly everyone on board was drunk on wine and betting on a race to beat the king to England. The ship sailed fast, pushing its limits. Not more than ten minutes after we arrived, it hit the rocks and foundered.” I gasped in dismay, but he assured me the king’s son had made it to a lifeboat.
Without warning, warriors in the garb of another time appeared in a heavy mist that seemed to roll in from the sea. We assumed battle stances as they surrounded us, Zigan and Aldric drawing their swords. I shouted the cry of the Pack and raised my own blade. The clash of steel rang out across the harbor as bystanders rushed to get out of the way.
We held our own against a dozen until my sword was knocked from my hand. Vice-like arms grabbed me from behind, and Aldric’s roar shook the planks beneath our feet. But the Anurashin warrior kept me from my mate’s reach, letting the others leap in between us, forcing Aldric to slice his way to me.
“The prince has his sights on you, maiden,” the warrior said in my ear. “Did you not think he would succeed?”
“No matter that he tries, I will never be his!”
Springing my knife from my sleeve, I lunged back, shoved it between the ribs of my tormentor, and twisted. The warrior grunted in pain, but his grip did not loosen. Aldric dodged blades, slammed his fists into faces, and rammed bodies while I struggled to pull free.
Zigan moved so fast that arcs of blood hovered in the air where he last appeared. But when he got close enough to reach for me, the warrior jerked us back, and two others lunged for him.
To my utter horror, dual strikes took Zigan’s head.
My knees buckled from the agony tearing through my heart and then through my whole being, as Zigan’s soul was ripped from mine with brutal force. I never imagined our bond could be so viciously severed or that the warrior magus was anything but invincible.
A sickening realization sank like a stone in my belly. This had been Aviel’s plan all along—why he let us escape. He had engineered the entire scheme to kill my magus, seize me, and destroy the Pack de Normande.
What was left of my heart was shattered when Aldric stepped into the path of a blade to reach for me, ignoring the pain, desperate to save me as he felt the agony of my loss and our loss to come.
The mist I dreaded grew thick, and I felt as if I were breaking into tiny pieces. None of this could be happening!
The devastated face of my mate told me he had come to the same incomprehensible conclusion while he watched me fade into bits, so close to him our fingers nearly touched.
I poured my heart and soul into my words. “I will love you forever!”
The sound that followed was the fierce roar of a wounded bear.
I dare you to ride along with the masked passengers on this journey through a swamp with a destination perfectly designed for serial killers on a retreat.
The Ferryman guided the gondola along a watery path, only he knew the secrets to, as it transported a half-dozen specially chosen masked passengers to an exclusive event. Though each eyed him with suspicion, they appeared confident he would get them to their destination. They had to believe that because he was their only means of travel.
This sort would never admit they were at his mercy. They would talk instead as if the opposite were true, but he saw the questions in their eyes. The Ferryman always saw the questions mirrored in each set of eyes exactly thirty minutes in. That was when the narrow boat passed the last shack squatting in the shadows of the densely wooded shore, casting its grudging light from tiny windows.
The rickety dwelling belonged to Old Maeve, and even if one of his passengers suddenly had a revelation and begged to be let off here, they would find no help, only the same hospitality that waited for them at the end of the line. But no passenger ever had a clue this early, which was why the Ferryman’s job never ceased to be entertaining.
It was the moment when Maeve’s lights winked out, obscured by the dense canopy of moss-laden cypress, the vegetation also serving to shroud the stars like a falling curtain, that the nervous chatter started. He waited now for the dawning realization that a lantern full of lightning bugs hanging from the bow and a sketchy crescent moon were all that remained to show them the way.
He could see the worry lines etched across their foreheads, but none of them ever admitted to being scared any more than they would own up to the fact they needed him. After all, they were in the business of causing terror.
The Ferryman could guess with precision who would be the first to speak, and on cue, it was the chubby face under a fox mask who aimed a question at the skinny Humpty Dumpty.
“I heard we had to have no less than twenty victims dead and buried in well-hidden places to get an invitation to this shindig. I’ve surpassed that. How about you?”
The mask mix-up was a typical prank his employer played on a random passenger during each trip. It added to the fun and, more importantly, broke the monotony for the Ferryman—an employment perk, you might say.
Instead of answering, Humpty Dumpty, whose mask was too big for his pointy face, lifted his bony butt from the seat and swung around to sit on the other side of the gondola. Exactly the response the Ferryman had predicted. He was satisfied with his perks, but it would be nice if his passengers would occasionally surprise him.
“I’ve heard lots of things about these parties,” said the lone female with a cat mask who answered the fat fox. “The final feast is said to be unsurpassed for its sumptuousness. But that’s not why I came. There’s a rumor that one of you is the famous Crescent Moon Vampire. I wonder if you will be able to control your urges this weekend.” She parted her collar and stretched her pale neck like an offering.
No one took her up on it or even flinched a muscle.
After a brief silence, the fox let out a nervous snort, and the narrow mask that exposed more of the doughy face than anyone needed to see fluttered so that he had to grab it and adjust the strings.
“I don’t know about a vampire,” rumbled the passenger in the snake mask who’d been keeping to the shadows. “But you’re a brave one to travel with men who, if they’re like me, love to hate women in creative and painful ways. Still, you must have doled out your own hate to be here. Sticking your neck out is a bit risky, don’t you think?”
“You pretty reptile,” Cat Woman drawled, “there’s no hate involved. I love to love men. It’s not my fault when they fail to survive it.”
“If she is who we think she is, gentlemen, watch your backs, or more to the point, your willies,” said one of the two identical gray-haired demons.
Her eyes shone through the mask, just like a cat’s should.
The Ferryman was also pleased to have twins aboard. Passengers who murdered together were, at the very least, uncommon.
The fox snorted again before he could stop himself, a nervous mannerism the Ferryman always enjoyed and expected from at least one of them. “What’s with the Ferryman?” the fox said, shrugging to play down his worry. “That crow mask looks like he stuck a dead bird on his face. And how about those robes? Doesn’t he know it’s sweltering in this bog? And where is his sickle?”
Timing it perfectly so that the crescent moon peeked through the canopy and glinted off the curved blade, the Ferryman produced the required prop with a swoosh of his robes and the ringing of steel. He settled the staff at his feet and grinned beneath his mask as stifled gasps rippled along the gondola—another perk, eliciting the maximum effect with his masterful reveal.
“We’re all overdressed. It’s a requirement, is it not?” The twin demon said, ignoring the dire implications and returning to the party discussion. He held up a piece of embossed paper to the feeble light.
“It says, ‘To be allowed onto Isla la Sombra, you must be in possession of your invitation. You should be dressed in proper attire, wearing the masks provided to you, and prepared to be filled with fine foods and wine. You will also be wowed by the tricks of the trade and the experts in your field. Should you succeed through every challenge, you will partake in a special feast.’ It is a strange mix of formality and mystery, to be sure,” he concluded.
“The words on their own would not cause concern,” his brother chimed in. “But now that we’re deep into this watery maze, traveling in a gondola that seems out of place and time and operated by a silent, robed figure who should be plying the River Styx, I’m looking at the invitation with new eyes.”
“Like any good party,” Cat Woman said, “it is merely the host tantalizing us with the amenities. After all, types like us go to great lengths to avoid exposure. But I, for one, could not turn down the offer to immerse myself in the ‘tricks of the trade’ or meet the most notorious guest speakers from our ranks. Isn’t the underground chatter why you all ventured out of your nests?”
A bumpy outline rippled through the duckweed, and the Ferryman waited. Sure enough, the bleats of fear that followed could have been cues in a movie script as each passenger spotted Douglas.
“Shit! Look at the size of that alligator! Um… Ferryman, may I call you Ferryman? I’ll take your silence as a sign we won’t be attacked. I’m sure our hosts don’t want us to be eaten.”
That misguided assumption came from the pudgy fox. He voiced another concern that often arises during these journeys… Leave it to the nerve-ridden chatterbox.
“I wonder how far our mysterious destination is. For all we know, we could circle these murky waters forever if our pilot is as immortal as he looks.”
That comment had all eyes turning to the Ferryman.
Each passenger flinched when he spoke in his best sepulchral voice, “Arrival is in thirty minutes. And Douglas will leave you intact, so long as you keep your limbs in the boat.”
“Got it,” the fox said after a snort, even as his eyes widened behind the mask. Under his breath, he added, “A lot can happen in thirty minutes.” He lightened things up. “I’m sure it’s no surprise I came for the promise of the excellent food. They say the finale will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, not that I have any expectation of going there.”
“Hmmm. That makes me wonder whether you might be the Cafeteria Killer,” the snake said, squinting an eye at the fox. “The one who likes to add special ingredients to the school menu. They say he’s rotund with the guileless face of a child. It’s astonishing how many kids disappear before the killer moves on. I bet the littlest tots were a tender addition to the tuna casserole.” He paused. “So, what foods do you think might be offered at a banquet in honor of the best in the business?”
“We’re not supposed to guess which legends we’re traveling with,” the fox said petulantly, tapping his mask. “It says so in the fine print. Didn’t you read it? And how would I know what an island at the ass end of nowhere has to offer? But it will be spectacular if our host lives up to his promise because, as you said, we’re the best.”
“I wouldn’t think too highly of yourself, fox boy,” said a twin in his cultured voice. “The host might have special plans for you. Didn’t you notice the fun being poked at you with that mask meant for the wiry Humpty Dumpty? Still, I wonder. Perhaps it was assigned to you intentionally. Foxes are treed by dogs every day. Your plump body would make a great main course. Fitting for the Cafeteria Killer.”
“You all are making a lot of assumptions,” the fox retorted. “If my mask means something, so do yours.”
“The details about these masked balls never have a source,” Cat Woman burst out, sounding worried for the first time. “They appear on the message boards, but I’ve never seen anything other than generic usernames linked to them.”
“What do you mean?” Snake Man asked.
“There’s nothing to prove they came from attendees. I wonder why that never occurred to me before?”
A twin offered a reasonable explanation. “It could simply mean the authors of the chats want to be anonymous. That’s not unusual for criminals of the most wanted variety.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “This creepy journey is making me paranoid. But what if it’s all a trick? Where does that leave us?” She sighed and then fixed a suddenly heated gaze on the twins. Her voice turned sultry. “I think I know who you are. There aren’t many twins who murder together. I’ve never had twins.”
The Ferryman appreciated her skill in switching gears so quickly. This cat woman was turning out to be an extra delight.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “You both have fine mouths below those intriguing, fiery red masks and lovely grey hair.”
“We’re flattered,” the second twin purred in kind, flashing his teeth in a grin, “but you couldn’t handle even one of us, my dear, and we like our willies right where they are.”
The nervous fox must have spent this time mulling over the idea that he might be prey for a hunt, and he piped back in. “What if we were all invited to be nothing more than the main course? Who would ever know we went missing?”
The aloof Humpty Dumpty spoke for the first time, his gravelly voice ominous. “The messenger who sent my invitation went by Jeffrey Hannibal.”
“So did mine. So what?” said the snake.
Cat Woman’s forehead creased, then her eyebrows leaped above her mask. “Mine was Lector Dahmer,” she squeaked.
Each of them sat straighter, and the Ferryman could almost see light bulbs turning on above their heads. This inevitable perk was his favorite before completing another successful charter, and he savored it.
The twin who’d read the invitation held the embossed paper to the light again. “This is signed, ‘Cordially, your host, Lector Dahmer.’”
They all jumped up so quickly that the boat rocked, causing them to lurch back into their seats.
In a voice full of doom, the Ferryman urged, “Settle down, passengers. You don’t want to fall in. Have you forgotten Douglas?”
They each went still, then carefully settled back in their seat just as the gondola glided into a lagoon. Off in the thick vegetation, a steady drumbeat sounded, and savory smells wafted to them through the ghostly trunks of cypress. Tall, shadowy forms emerged dressed in loincloths, and a closer look at the smiling faces revealed teeth filed to razor-sharp points.
The fox leaped up faster than anyone might imagine a pudgy serial killer could move and shoved the Ferryman over the side.
His fellow passengers cried out in shocked dismay. Then, grins widened under each mask when a ripple that could only be Douglas closed in on the dark robes sinking beneath the duckweed. As the drums beat in rhythm with the rocking gondola, now devoid of a pilot, and more of their ghoulish hosts lined up on the water’s edge to greet them, each passenger rose again to face the others, sure one of them would have the next brainy idea.
I hope you enjoyed this story I was delighted to write under a tough challenge. The requirements were a 2000-word maximum (I’ve expanded this version), a new for me genre, Cannibal Comedy, a ferryman as the character, and the subject, Masked Party.
It all happened in the Writing Battle Autumn 2022 Short Story Contest. I recommend participating for the fabulous feedback from peers, and the professionals… if you make it through the duels.
Artwork by me using the Photoleap and Canva.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story and supporting an indie author. Comments welcome.
If you would like to make a contribution, you can purchase this story along with twelve others in my short story collection, Priss Starwillow & the Wolf, a Starlight Chronicles Short Story, and other stories. Also available on Audible.
Yes, this is about murder mysteries that make us feel good—a paradoxical genre, if there ever was one. Stories that have us curling up with a hot cup of cocoa on a chilly day to solve a crime alongside our favorite quirky, clever, and often reluctant hero. Someone sort of like ourselves—but not quite—who lives in a sleepy seaside town (with an inexplicably high crime rate), owns a charming shop, or runs a cozy home business that puts them in the path of murder, prompting them to develop a heretofore unknown knack for solving crimes. Or maybe, they come with a background perfect for the job.
For all those feels we crave, there’s usually a bestie or group of besties, a clever or goofy pet, or a sexy detective on the way to becoming a lover—either helping things along or making life more complicated, or both—and a backdrop involving something we’ve wanted to try but never found the time for. Okay, so we make the time to read. Why not kill two birds with one stone?
Here are some of my favorites: knitting, crocheting, needlework, antiquing, baking, catering, bed-and-breakfast hospitality, a witch hosting a secret vampire book club in an attic above her shop, K-9 search and rescue, dog shows, dog sledding, and even a sentient cat and corgi detective duo who adore their clever human and life on a farm. Then there are the historical periods, and more exotic pursuits like Egyptology or archaeology. Have I intrigued you enough yet?
If you happen to be a person who hasn’t read a cozy mystery, here’s a list to get you started including many of those I alluded to above. You might also enjoy this brief blog on the history of the cozy genre and how it filled a niche.
Richie Billing covers the cozy genres in a conversation with authors Jami Albright and Sara Rosett, where they also talk about marketing a series, author branding, and book launches on The Fantasy Writer’s Toolshed. I hope you find it as enjoyable and informative as I did.
Thank you for visiting and supporting an indie author. For more cozy reading, check out my paranormal romance novels at bydllewellyn.com.
Enjoy a Three-Part Supernatural Horror Story – Exactly 100 Words Each
One: Brother’s Maker
Thick rivulets of blood moved down the wall like snakes slithering into Hell. Lucius thought going there himself would be better than mucking out this foul slaughter. Hiding his brother’s crimes from Prince Remus. Death by fire, their punishment if caught.
Linus, too far gone to understand the danger, had killed another valuable hunter. Lucius labored to obliterate the evidence while Linus crouched over an arm sucking out the blood and marrow like a human sucking meat from a crab leg.
Lucius had turned his brother. Watching him deteriorate was penance. Figuring out how to stop it, his only purpose.
Two: Brother’s Keeper
After staring in frustration at the naked woman, Lucius grabbed crumpled newspaper from the trash bin to cover the crime. Blood soaked through, turning print back to pulp. He added more. Didn’t help. Blood spouted like a geyser from her coveted jugular.
Lucius yanked his brother, who’d pounced on her again, away from her neck. “You couldn’t have gone another block?” Linus whipped towards him. Lucius stifled a gasp.
The nerdy, giraffe-legged brother was there… until the eyes turned soulless again, reflecting the red pooling beneath their feet… and Linus’s stark hunger.
Pain stabbed Lucius where his heart once beat.
Three: Brother’s Killer
Lucius cradled Linus’s head… Just his head, which he’d been commanded to remove. Pulling his blurry gaze away from his brother’s headless body nestled in an earthen rectangle, he examined their fateful surroundings. The backend of a damp graveyard, dew glistening on grass, dripping from cypress trees, giant yews. None of it felt real. They’d been vampires for five decades, inseparable until Linus’s self-control deserted him.
Too many council laws broken, making one brother a fugitive, one a hunter.
“You never believed you could be ended. Didn’t you once think brother, that it would be me forced to end you?”
Had to add this. I love making book covers, even for tiny fiction.
First drafts rejected. But I Keep Trying.
I was happy with my first attempt to do a 100-word story. The publisher, not so much. But that’s okay because I learned a lot in the process. These bits about vampire brothers were inspired by a minor character in my Starlight Chronicles series. I admit, pure horror is a challenge for me, though I love reading and watching it, the darker the better. I read Bram Stoker in my youth, along with Mary Shelly, which means those sweeping, tantalizing, horrific impressions are there, deep down, and now that I’m writing fantasy, I’m compelled to draw from their brilliance.
Vlad the Impaler has been an endlessly fascinating figure in history and fiction for me, no matter how many ways his story has been told. And today’s supernatural fantasy authors are finding entertaining ways to retell the tales. Many of them inspired me.
Luke Evans portrayed an excellent fictional Vlad. Dracula Untold sparked my imagination and gave a feel for the period and setting. I was disappointed with its box office failure, which ended hopes of a sequel. In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the trailer.
Please take a moment to read the drabbles above and let me know if I’m on the right track for a story told in exactly 100 words. Better yet, share your own 100-word story in the comments.
I am so excited to have my dear friend and author, Lucky Noma, back on my Spotlight! And, wow, does he have an awesome new release to share!
Lucky was one of my first guests several years ago. Since then, we have regularly chatted, worked together on projects, and provided feedback on each other’s work. So, when I was recently blown away by his latest book, CHROMATIC CONCORDAT: Gray Rising, I jumped at the chance to feature it and visit with my friend for a fun Q&A.
Let’s Meet The Author
Lucky Noma is a writer who blends fantasy and horror to create immersive, multi-layered stories. His works, including Fractured Soul, Sand Scriptures, and African Horror Story, explore deep narratives with unique perspectives. Through novels and short stories, he continues to craft worlds that captivate and challenge readers.
Not the gray of clouds, or ash, or dusk, but the kind that eats at the edges of everything. Born silent in a Dominion where colors sing, burn, heal, and kill, the world called her a void. Her village called her cursed. And Havayah? She called herself no one, a hollow.
But a hollow is a dangerous thing to underestimate.
When the Ma’or Council brands her a threat for lacking Chromatic attunement—the sacred bond to color that defines life — an empathic investigator named Nefesh makes a choice: to protect her instead of condemning her. Together, they uncover the Council’s devastating plan — to use the shattered Prismatic Nexus, remnants of the world’s raw luminance, to achieve absolute control over the color spectrums while casting out those they deem “colorless.” The rebels fighting against them promise liberation, but their revolution holds its own darkness.
What no one realizes is that the girl they dismissed—the one born without a single thread of color—has no intention of playing savior. Through underwater cities and skies stained with power, Havayah will forge her own path. Because when the world gave her nothing, she learned to take everything.
This is not a story of saving the world—
Let’s Get Started
Thank you very much for joining us today, Lucky. First, I must say that this description is absolutely captivating! Makes me want to crack that beautiful cover and dive in. Which is what I did.Let’s begin by reflecting on the past. What inspired you to write fiction, and how long have you been writing?
LN: Thank you, Darci! Always great to be here—though if I make too many typos, let’s just call it creative spelling. That sounds like something Nefesh would say, but eh, well—where do I even begin?
I would say my journey into fiction started with falling in love with stories as a reader first. When I discovered City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett, I was captivated by the world-building and how it blended fantasy with deeper themes. Then came A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin and The Axe and the Throne by M.D. Ireman—both masterclasses in character development and moral complexity. Those books showed me that stories could be both entertaining and profound.
What drove me to write was an itch to create a unique world system—with diverse characters appearing in my mind, demanding to be put on paper. So I did what was necessary. As with most of my fantasy novels, I started by building the map, then gave the characters room to roam free. Sometimes, I see myself as nothing more than a scribe, just recording their deeds
—And, remarkably, this year marks a decade since I first sat down and started writing. It’s been quite the journey, filled with late nights, countless revisions, burnt manuscripts, and the realization that it would take two lifetimes to write all I intend to. My first novel, ‘A Kingdom Bleeds,’ is still unpublished—and it was the project that started everything for me. Sometimes, I think of it as my training ground, where I learned what writing demands of you. Perhaps one day it will see the light, but it holds a special place, though I fear my writing has changed, and I’d need to rework everything about it. That might take another year or two. Hmm.
DLL:I can hear Nefesh saying that, and I’ll be sharing a few of my favorite Nefesh quips later so we can enjoy his singular wit. Thank you for the fabulous book recs. The Axe and the Throne grabbed my attention, especially. I confess, I haven’t made it far through the Game of Thrones series. I haven’t had that sort of time for marathon reads, but they’re all loaded on my Audible app.
I love your “map first” inspiration technique! The world fleshed out before your characters begin to navigate it. Awesome. One of the things I enjoy most about interviewing writers is discovering all their unique processes, and this one really struck my imagination. I’m glad you found your training ground because we can benefit from your excellent progression with each amazing story and culminate our journey inside the captivating world of Chromatic Concordat.
Where do you find your mind bending story ideas?
LN: I’m drawn to the void, where I fight my existential demons and where everything feels surreal. My ideas often emerge from mundane life moments that can change in a heartbeat. Of course, this didn’t happen overnight. I was always drawn to thought-provoking stories that mess with your perception. Shows like Legion completely rewired my brain—or let’s look at Mononoke, not the Ghibli film, but the anime series—and just last December, a movie—have you seen it? The way it used abstract visuals and psychological horror to tell stories about human nature blew my mind open.
These stories taught me to look for the uncanny in everyday life. The natural world is already bizarre if you pay attention. Have you ever really looked at how trees communicate underground through fungal networks or considered what consciousness might feel like to a creature that lives only for a day? I collect these oddities like others might collect stamps.
And, to be honest, my best ideas come when I’m least expecting them. Sometimes, it’s when I’m stressed and need to press pause on reality by dreaming up sequences. Other times, and like with almost every other author or writer, it’s when I’m half awake, between sleep and needing to pee.
What’s wild is the feeling when you catch one of these ideas—There’s this rush of ‘wait, what was that?’ and then this compulsion to chase it down. Half the time, I’m terrified of what I might find, but that’s how I know it’s good. If it makes me uncomfortable to write it, chances are it’ll stick with readers, too.
DLL: Ooh, I love that about chasing it down and being afraid of finding it. This explains so much about your writing, Lucky, and makes me glad you didn’t give up the search. I could use a little rewiring, too.
Your earlier books focus on dark fantasy-horror. Your latest, Fractured Soul, SandScriptures, and CHROMATIC CONCORDAT: Gray Rising, explore the human condition through thoroughly multidimensional, abstract, yet relatable representations of life. Your storytelling is captivating in all your books. Can you discuss your evolution in storytelling from dark to esoteric fantasy, comparing the genres you’ve explored and sharing what you prefer?
LN: Evolution. Hmm. Well, let’s retrace my steps and see how that happened. Err, with African Horror Story, I was drawn to primal fears and survival instincts. I wanted to explore horror through a cultural lens, examining how fear manifests within specific traditions and beliefs. The story follows Onam’s desperate struggle against both human monsters and supernatural forces, creating tension through immediate physical and spiritual danger.
Fractured Soul marked my transition toward more conceptual storytelling. While still retaining dark elements, I explored more abstract concepts—the commodification of identity, the fragmentation of self, and the price of wholeness in a world where everything, even one’s soul, can be bought and sold. The surrealistic elements allowed me to build a world that serves as both setting and metaphor.
With Sand Scriptures, my work became even more metaphysical. I challenged myself to create a protagonist who begins as literally nothing—a grain of sand—and follows a journey of becoming. Sand Scriptures did represent my deepest dive into philosophical themes, using fantasy as a vehicle to explore existential questions about consciousness, purpose, and the nature of stories.
Chromatic Concordat represents my current ‘evolution’ like you said, blending the psychological depth of my earlier works with the abstract conceptualism of my later ones while making sure fantasy served as its backbone. Through Havayah’s story of a world where colors have power, I examined marginalization (as in Havayah’s case as she’s born without color attunement), power structures, and self-determination. The world-building is both concrete and symbolic, allowing readers to engage with the story on multiple levels.
While I love high fantasy and horror with psychological themes and great world-building, I also try to blend all three together. To choose my absolute favorite would be difficult, as I love writing across multiple genres. Each approach offers unique tools for storytelling—horror provides visceral impact, high fantasy allows for expansive world-building, and more abstract fantasy lets me explore complex themes through metaphor.
What drives me isn’t necessarily the genre, but finding the right narrative framework to explore the questions that fascinate me about human existence, identity, power, and the realization that even the damned can be great, as seen with all my characters.
DLL: Awesome! Thank you for sharing this insight into your talent for blending those three genres into something unique and compelling.
In Chromatic Concordat, your main characters, Nefesh and Hayayah, are incredibly compelling. They truly drew me into this intricate world, enticed me to follow their journey, and assisted me in navigating the fantastical realm you’ve crafted with such vivid detail while entertaining me. Can you share what inspired their creation and how it came to be?
LN: Havayah’s character came from exploring what it means to be defined by absence rather than presence. In a land where color determines everything about your place in society, your abilities, and even your worth. I wanted to create a protagonist who had to define herself without any of those external markers. Her journey isn’t about discovering some hidden power, but rather about recognizing that existing outside the system gives her a unique perspective and advantages that no one else can see.
Nefesh (Hebrew name for soul or breath — PS: Don’t check out the Hebrew meaning of Havayah) — was developed as someone deeply embedded in the color system developed by the Ma’or Council who begins to question it. His empathic abilities made him uniquely positioned to see beyond society’s prejudices. While most see Havayah as a void or a threat, he sees her as a person first. His character explores how privilege can either blind us or, if we’re willing, help us become allies to those without it.
The relationship between these two characters allowed me to explore themes of belonging, systemic oppression, and the false dichotomy between revolution and conformity. Neither character fits neatly into the roles their world has assigned them, which is precisely what makes them capable of challenging it.
DLL: And exactly why your story is hard to put down.So, of course, I looked up Nefesh. But I won’t add any spoilers!
I know I’m captured by the writing when I mark so many passages, and with your permission, Lucky, I would like to quote a few of my favorite lines.
“Hmm,” Nefesh said, tilting his head further until his ear touched his shoulder. “Tell me, do you believe coffee has political aspirations? This cup, for instance, harbors anarchist sympathies. Note the way it refuses to acknowledge established thermal conventions.
…
“[W]hen you heard about this case, did you feel like all the colors in the world took a single step to the left?”
“I… what?”
“Never mind. It’s not important. What’s important is that my coffee cup was right.” He turned to the cup, bowing. “I apologize for doubting your revolutionary insights. Clearly, the established order of things is more fragile than we thought.”
“Your anxiety, it resonates with salted caramel mixed with a hint of urgent telegram. You have a case for me. Something that made you skip breakfast – no, wait.” He leaned forward, sniffing the emotional residue around her. “Something that made you forget you skipped breakfast. Interesting.”
Havayah’s perspective:
Dr. Kerah approached with a reassuring smile, but the expression sat badly on her face like borrowed clothing that didn’t quite fit.
“Tell us about the first time you realized you were different,” Dr. Kerah said, her voice taking on the soft edge of a blade wrapped in silk.
Nefesh’s grip was firm. He pulled her from the tumult of her thoughts and into the razor’s edge of action.
“Why, indeed?” [Nefesh] said, his fingers brushing over his beard. “Perhaps I was lured by the irresistible charm of chaos. Or perhaps I thought someone needed to remind you that you’re not alone.
He approached the submersible like someone greeting an old acquaintance, his fingers brushing against its surface. “She’ll hold. Stubborn things like this always do.”
And here’s a bit of that amazing world-building that is easier to share than me trying to put words to it:
From the Seder Ha’Gev Codex,
“Reflections on the Edge”
Circa 890 CD (CHROMATIC DIVERGENCE)
The Spectral Frontier can’t be called just a place–oh no, I refuse to accept that, but it is a conversation between the colors that only those who dare abandon their attunement can hear…
It is said that to venture into the Frontier is to risk the Blanking. But Blanking is not death. It is becoming unmoored from the Prism, stepping beyond the comfort of color into the void where light breaks forever. To some, it is freedom; to others, damnation.
So, I have the same question, Lucky, regarding this highly imaginative yet strangely believable color-attuned futuristic society. Was it a dream? Where did this amazing place spring from?
LN: Thanks for sharing those quotes, Darci… Means a lot.
Well, Chromatic Concordat and its world, The Spectrum Dominion, came from a fascinating convergence of inspirations rather than a single source. It wasn’t exactly a dream, though I do keep a dream journal that occasionally feeds into my creative process.
However, the initial spark came during a period when I was interested in synesthesia—the neurological phenomenon where stimulation of one sensory pathway leads to experiences in another, like ‘seeing’ sounds or ‘tasting’ colors. I became fascinated by how differently people can perceive the same world based on their sensory processing.
This interest collided with my observations about social hierarchies and how arbitrary differences become the basis for systems of power and exclusion. I began wondering what a society might look like if color perception wasn’t just a personal experience but a tangible force that determined one’s place and power.
The Chromatic attunement system grew from there. The idea that colors had life became both a literal magic system and a metaphor for how societies categorize people. Havayah’s character emerged as the ultimate outsider—someone who exists outside this fundamental system of classification as she’s born gray.
I also drew inspiration from my tiny background in art theory and the emotional and cultural associations we have with different colors across cultures. The underwater cities as we have in the Azure Depths where Nefesh is from or Ruboria, the Sea of Fire, the Dead Deep, came from wanting to create environments where color wasn’t just visual but immersive and essential to survival according to its inhabitant’s attunements.
What I find most interesting about creating this world is how a fantastical premise—a society structured around color attunement—allows me to explore very real questions about belonging.
The world may be ‘strangely believable,’ as you put it, because beneath the fantastical color magic, the emotional and social dynamics are drawn from real human experiences of being classified, marginalized, or fighting to define oneself outside the categories others impose.
DLL: “This interest collided with my observations about social hierarchies and how arbitrary differences become the basis for systems of power and exclusion.” Yes! And how intriguing to use color. My love of art and color must be why this society speaks to me so strongly. Header art like these samples contributed to my immersion and enjoyment of the story.
I know that this complex story flew from your fingers in a relatively short time. How long did you live with it before you began writing it? What was it like to have something like this take off and grow such expansive wings? How did you go about developing the history?
LN: For a few weeks, just before I lost my KDP account (around late October), the core concept lived in my head. I kept returning to the Spectrum Dominion, adding layers and complexities during quiet moments and commutes.
I had to answer some questions, too—how would this society function? What would its history be? Who would be marginalized, and how would they resist?
And when I decided to commit my ideas to paper—or rather, to Google Docs—I spent about a week arranging the five color provinces and establishing the fundamental rules of this universe. Creating the map (which took about another week) was crucial. Seeing the physical layout of Ruboria, the Viridian Expanse, Azure Depths, Aureus Fields, and Violetia helped me understand how these societies would interact, where tensions would arise, and how my characters would navigate this world.
NaNoWriMo provided the perfect opportunity to dive in headfirst. I wrote about 40,000 words in November and solidified the story’s backbone. Next, I watched as Nefesh and Havayah built their relationship, uncovering their motives and ultimate goals.
Between December and early January, the world took on a more definitive turn, with Havayah and Nefesh realizing what they had to do to survive—and maybe even change things. What started as a narrative about a colorless child and her protector first evolved into an adventure. Then, I watched as it delved into action and noticed how attached Havayah was to Nefesh.
In Chapters Twelve and Thirteen, she proved this in ways that kind of left me stupefied. Alongside working on the plot, the history of the Spectrum Dominion also expanded during this phase, growing from a basic framework into a comprehensive timeline spanning 10,000 years—that is, from Before the Chromatic Divergence (BCD) through 1,000 years after, known simply as Chromatic Divergence (CD).
Notable time periods are: The Colorless Era (10,000 BCD – 0 CD) and it’s Early Civilizations (10,000 BCD – 5,000 BCD); The Golden Age of Philosophy (5,000 BCD – 3,000 BCD); The Age of Strife (3,000 BCD – 1,500 BCD); The Great Recovery (1,500 BCD – 500 BCD); The Dawn of the Luminary Collective (500 BCD – 0 CD); and The Chromatic Divergence and Its Aftermath (0 CD – 100 CD).
Developing the history was both methodical and intuitive. I started with the pivotal moment—the Chromatic Divergence—a time when the Luminary Collective, led by Iris, activated the Prismatic Nexus, a device that gave the world color and worked outward in both directions. What kind of world existed before colors became abilities? What immediate chaos would follow such a fundamental change to human perception? How would society eventually stabilize and structure itself around these new abilities?
I found myself creating key historical figures and events—the Luminary Collective, the Spectrum Wars, the formation of the Ma’or Council—and each development suggested others. When I created the Blanking Rebellion (450–455 CD), I had to explore its causes and consequences.
After that, I took a crucial two-week break in late January, stepping away so I could return with fresh eyes for February’s editing, spotting gaps and connections I had missed during the writing rush.
DLL: An astounding body of work in three months! I’m blown away. Do you want to share the strange journey called KDP? It might be something those getting started there should be aware of.
LN: Yeah Darci, I think The KDP journey can be unpredictable—one day you’re publishing, the next you’re navigating policies you didn’t even know existed! If you’re starting out, always keep backups of your work, explore multiple platforms, and remember: every setback is just a plot twist in your author journey. Stay creative, stay resilient, & post on substack!
Can you give us a rundown on your works and what’s coming?
I think I’ve talked about A Kingdom Bleeds, African Horror Story, Fractured Soul, and Sand Scriptures earlier. With that said, I’m excited to introduce my newest project, Bonewave Broadcast: Aural Inferno.
This one follows 17-year-old music producer Raya, who “borrows” her grandfather’s skull for a music video, only to witness it levitating and creating rhythms to her beats. Instead of panicking, she and her friend Tunde record these supernatural sounds, creating a track that’s compelling.
When Raya uploads the remixed track online, it triggers widespread hallucinations and physical transformations among listeners. The village becomes ground zero for horrifying metamorphoses—extra ears growing from necks, mouths forming on palms—as music industry representatives arrive with sinister, inhuman intentions.
They—Raya and Tunde–discover their recording has opened a channel to a dimension called The Aural Inferno, with an entity known as The Station Master using their track to cross over. Guided by her grandfather’s skull (which had been blocking these transmissions for decades), Raya and Tunde race across a changing landscape to find the frequency that will close this portal.
Bonewave Broadcast blends techno-body horror with cosmic terror, drawing from traditional folklore while updating it for the digital streaming era. It explores the dangers of broadcasting what we don’t understand and the terrifying consequences of hitting “upload” without considering what might be listening on the other side.
As I like to warn potential readers: WHATEVER YOU DO—DO NOT TOUCH THAT DIAL.
DLL: I adore it! From color to music. I can’t wait to explore more of your artfully shattering perspectives of the human condition. And what a fantastic genre blend. Someone said recently that creating and blending sub-genres is one of the biggest pros of being an independent author and publisher. You have definitely taken that to the next level.
Let’s explore more of the additional passions you’ve integrated into your writing journey: music and graphic art. The artwork, map, and cover in Chromatic Concordat are stunning. Now, you’re writing books in fantasy worlds inspired by color and music, respectively. You’ve even created a music album for Chromatic. Can you share a little about your exploration with these elements and how they influenced your process and final product?
LN: The intersection of different artistic mediums has always been the wellspring of my creative process. Writing never existed in isolation for me—it’s part of a broader artistic conversation where music, visual art, and narrative all inform each other.
With Chromatic Concordat specifically, I found myself creating musical pieces that captured the emotional tenor of certain chapters before I’d even finished writing them. This approach helped me maintain consistent emotional tones throughout related scenes. The album became a sort of emotional blueprint for the narrative arc, with specific leitmotifs representing character journeys and thematic elements.
The artwork evolved similarly, with scenes and landscapes helping me visualize the geography more concretely than words alone could achieve. There were several instances where a visual composition revealed narrative possibilities I hadn’t considered.
What I’ve discovered through this multimedia approach is that different art forms access different parts of my creative consciousness. When I’m blocked in one medium, changing to another often unlocks solutions. A melody might capture an emotional quality I’m struggling to express in prose, or a quick work using Krita or Procreate might resolve a spatial relationship between characters that wasn’t working on the page.
The final product benefits from this cross-pollination, I believe.
DLL: Your brain reminds me of the original Tron. Eeek. Dating myself here, but that just popped into my head.Those totally cool Light Cycles and those tricky grids.
Your video shorts are stories unto themselves, and I always enjoy your visual worlds on YouTube and Substack. And that is just a drop in the bucket for your content (which disappears to make way for new content, so you’d better follow Lucky to get the latest and greatest). Can you discuss how important these art and music endeavors are to your process and how they relate to your writing?
LN: Thanks for your nice words, Darci.
The video shorts have become an unexpected but vital extension of my storytelling practice. Often, they are experimental side-projects—visual haikus that distill ideas or rather just a little something extra.
I find there’s something liberating about the nature of having extra content. I can test concepts, styles, and emotional tones, all without pressure.
The relationship between these multimedia pieces and my writing works in both directions. Sometimes, a video can emerge from narrative fragments that don’t quite fit into my current manuscript but deserve their own expression.
Music functions similarly, as it’s both input and output. Creating soundscapes that help me access emotional states I need to inhabit for certain characters or scenes.
What I’ve come to understand is that these aren’t separate creative endeavors but different dialects of the same artistic language. They form a pact where ideas migrate between mediums, strengthening each in turn. The novel might be the most visible outcome, but these other expressions are essential to how I process and understand the stories I’m trying to tell.
DLL: Okay, you’re blowing me away again. “[D]ifferent dialects of the same artistic language… a pact where ideas migrate between mediums.” Wow!
When it comes to writing, art, and music, what techniques, tools, or methods have you found most helpful and enjoyable? Do you have any favorite tips to share?
LN: My creative toolkit has evolved through lots of trial and error, and I’ve found that having the right tools makes all the difference in translating imagination into tangible work.
For visual art, I’ve largely abandoned the Adobe ecosystem in favor of more specialized options. Krita has become my driver—it’s not only free and open-source, but its brush engine rivals premium software for concept art and illustration work. When I need to replicate traditional media effects with digital precision, Corel Painter’s realistic brush textures are unmatched. On the go, Procreate has revolutionized my workflow; its gesture controls and portability mean I have more to work with.
Music production has been transformed by some fascinating tools. RVC (Retrieval-Based Voice Conversion) has been a game-changer for creating character voices or exploring different vocal styles without needing multiple singers. I’ve started using Humtap on mobile to quickly translate melodic ideas. I can hum a tune while walking and have it transformed into a full instrumental sketch. Final production usually happens in BandLab for mastering and spatial effects, with WavePad as my mobile audio editing solution when I’m away.
As for writing, the mechanical process benefits from good analytical tools. ProWritingAid has become an indispensable revision partner—not just for catching errors but for identifying patterns in my prose I might not notice otherwise. AutoCrit is also excellent for genre-specific feedback that helps maintain the right tone and pacing.
The most valuable technique across all mediums has been learning to toggle between creation and editing modes—never trying to perfect while still generating. I’ll draft music or prose in complete free flow, then switch to a more analytical mindset for refinement. This separation prevents the inner critic from blocking initial creativity while still ensuring the final product meets my standards.
DLL: Have you considered teaching or inspirational speaking? I’ve expanded my knowledge not just a few times from our many discussions, and now I’m realizing we hardly scratched the surface of your experience.
You’ve mentioned how demanding the work is for all these creative pursuits, but I understand how that creativity motivates you, as you so articulately expressed. What would you say are the rewards for all the labor? What would you like to do better? Are there other things you want to try?
LN: The rewards of creative work go far beyond external recognition or success. For me, the most significant rewards include:
1. The deep satisfaction of bringing something new into the world that didn’t exist before
2. The flow state that comes during moments of pure creation
3. The continuous learning and growth that happens with each project
As for what I’d like to improve, I’m working on balancing perfectionism with productivity. It’s easy to get caught in endless revisions rather than completing and sharing work. I’d also like to better integrate different creative disciplines —
There are areas I want to explore further, like collaborative projects with other creators, experimenting with new mediums, and taking on challenges that push me outside my comfort zone.
DLL: I agree with focusing on finishing and sharing rather than revising to perfection, which we know is likely an unreachable state. We are always our own worst critics. It’s something I need to work on as well if I want to finish my novel by my goal. As you know, when I share a draft for feedback, I end up sending revised versions ad nauseam. It’s the strangest phenomenon. As soon as I hit send, I’m seeing things that I want to fix. Vexing!
I’ll take the opportunity to reveal that we’ve been sharing a fun collaboration, which I’m honored to take part in. I won’t give it away here, but I am so excited to add my writer’s voice in contrast with your mind-bending conceptual fantasy tales and see where it takes us, maybe by the end of the year. So, readers, stay tuned.
Can you share where we can find your stories, art, and music?
LN: Thanks, Darci! You’re awesome. If I had a dollar for every cool thing you’ve done, I’d be rich—but still not as rich as the experience of checking out your work.
Enjoy this gorgeous track from Chromatic Concordat.
Thanks so much for your kind words and for visiting today, Lucky! What parting advice do you have for aspiring writers and creators?
The truth is, I’m in no position to give definitive advice, but I think Edward Bloom from Big Fish offers some wisdom worth sharing:
“There’s a time when a man needs to fight, and a time when he needs to accept that his destiny is lost… the ship has sailed, and only a fool would continue. Truth is, I’ve always been a fool.”
“A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.”
“The biggest fish in the river gets that way by never being caught.”
DLL: Awesome! A favorite Tim Burton movie of mine, as you know, and so apt! Thanks for sharing. Congratulations on your latest release, and all the best to you.
Reached 46 of 50 in my annual reading challenge. It was easy this month with four great reads. Lovin’ another fabulous urban fantasy series from Lindsay Buroker. Death Before Dragons. No one does page-turning, urban fantasy set in the PNW, featuring witty banter and fascinating, relatable MMFs better!
Tried a new author, Dianna Love. I really enjoyed this no-nonsense, direct writing style with great action and compelling characters. Glad I tried this book out on a deal. I’ll be going on to the next book in this Wild Wolf Pack series set in the urban fantasy world of the powerful Gallize shifters—Corbin.
Check out my September Spotlight interview with Jade Griffin if you haven’t already—lots of great insights and behind-the-scenes glimpses into the life of a TTRPG writer.
Looking forward to more fun books in October, a lively interview with northern Nevada YA author Sue C. Dugan, and at least two short story writing challenges. Oh, and my last two chemotherapy treatments! I should say, I’m looking forward to the end of my treatments. Until radiation that is.
If you were a giant god sentenced to eternal torture, how would you entertain yourself during a reprieve?
You may know the story of Prometheus, the lover of mankind who gave us fire and endured a similar punishment exacted on him by Zeus, but here is the lesser known story of Tityus. Tortured for being a cad.
In the lull between new moons and the vulture’s next meal, only one thing eases this giant god’s torment—inflicting torment of his own.
###
Tityus gave only half a thought to punching the giant birds in their wrinkled bald faces because doing so was futile. He knew this because he’d done it a million times over thousands of years, and it hadn’t yet stopped the beastly vultures from chewing out his liver every twenty-eighth day, starting precisely at six p.m., Eastern European Time.
It was now seven.
The voracious creatures will finish digging into his side in exactly one hour, after which Tityus will endure more agonizing pain with the regrowth of his immortal organ, only to have the endless punishment repeated at the next new moon.
In the lulls between, the giant often wondered who suffered worse torment: the birds who were sent to Hell to eat the same meal every month for eternity or Tityus, who had to provide it.
He decided that punching the bobbing heads would make him feel better. Caving in half their ugly faces was immensely satisfying, as was their distressed flapping of wings and distorted screeching through shattered beaks.
Yes. It was well worth the pain of extra flesh tearing away from his body by the force of his blow. It got better when the vile birds flew off to find a ledge and repair themselves.
A sound between a moan and a sigh seeped from Tityus, echoing through his stone and moss-covered grotto deep below the base of Mount Parnassus. Zeus might be liberal in handing out sentences to his dozens of offspring when they went astray, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping track of every single one, always watching, always ready to condemn.
The giant dared to hope his father had witnessed his act of bored defiance.
Since he’d been given a bonus reprieve, he took the opportunity to recline more comfortably on his loamy pallet, which stretched beneath him across his nine-acre earthen home.
Tityus picked up the remote and flipped through the programs his sister had selected for him to view on an eighty-foot screen hanging on his southern limestone wall. Only recently had Persephone produced the ingenious device to give him a diversion between bouts of torture.
Thinking of his sister made the giant god smile. Sephie was the only one who believed he’d been goaded into his crime of passion by Hera and pleaded his case every chance she got. Even the goddess who bore him and the one who raised him hadn’t taken his side, though both had reasons to blame Hera for their problems. It seemed everyone stuck together when it came to condemning him, but not Persephone. His sister’s loyalty and affection never wavered.
She also understood how critical viewing a pair of humans suffering misguided love was in sustaining him between bouts of torture. The entertainment distracted him from the looming specter of gnashing vulture beaks and the indescribable agony when his tormenters slurped up strips of his flesh like so many earthworms wriggling beneath his home.
###
It took the better part of the first week growing back his liver to make his choice. Tityus was lost in the pleasure of planning his victim’s torment when a leafy vine began winding its way up his leg.
Since his limb was the length of a stadium, it took time for the greenery to get close to his face, but Tityus was patient as always while he waited for Persephone to make her appearance.
The vine stopped its horizontal travels at his hip, then shot straight up as it thickened into shapely limbs that stretched into a torso. A lovely neck and face appeared next, and soon the dulcet tones of the Queen of the Underworld chimed through his grotto.
“Hello, Brother. That gleam in your eye must mean you’ve made your selection.”
He dialed back his voice to keep from blasting his sister off his hip. “I have, though each couple was as tempting as the other. Thank you for that. Choosing was half the fun.”
She clasped her hands together and grinned. “That is what I hoped for. It has been too long since you’ve enjoyed a good vacation. I’ve been pleading your case again, brother. Father thanked me for the reminder that retribution against his children harms humans, too. But then, he got that look.”
“Ever my champion, dear sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Well, your horrid eternal torment does not fit the crime you were tricked into and didn’t even complete.” Tityus shined his affection on his sister with his moon-sized green eyes and nudged her into his palm with a forefinger.
She made herself comfortable before finishing her outburst. “It is agony each time your groans shake the Underworld.”
“You are too good to me, Sephie, a balm to my soul. Won’t you stay a while?”
“That is why I’m here.” She reached out and patted his thumb. “I will convince Father soon. Meanwhile, you deserve a reprieve from toying with your humans.” She sank into his palm, propping on her elbow and resting her head in her hand, her vines twining into a canopy and anchoring themselves around Tityus’s fingers. “Now, who did you pick?”
“If I only have time for one show, this pair has the potential to give us a top-rated performance.” Tityus clicked the remote, and the giant screen came to life.
The sibling gods peered down at the two people crouched in a square pit at the center of an archeological site near the west bank of the Nile.
###
Sarah had no clue what she did to Nathan’s insides when that earnest concentration scrunched up her pretty brow. Parts of him clenched enough to be uncomfortable when she pushed her glasses higher on her pert nose, smudged with red dust. Not only did his heart thump erratically, but he almost groaned out loud.
That embarrassing prospect broke the spell. He cursed under his breath. If she could read his foolish thoughts, she would for sure request his replacement. He took heart that his dig partner had given him a few hopeful signs.
Nathan returned his attention to the pottery shard they were carefully easing out of the three-and-a-half-thousand-year-old soil. This newest section had turned up an amazing cache of tools, human bones, two delicate cat skulls, and three nearly intact clay jars.
He peered closer at the shard, brushed away a few more flecks, and hiked a brow. He nudged Sarah.
“What does this say to you?”
“I saw it too, Nathan,” she said in her sweet, yet husky voice, which got him going again, “and I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
Her excitement washed over him.
“We could be confirming our theory,” she said. “Do you agree?” He was struck by her glittering aqua eyes and gave himself a mental shake before answering.
“It’s harder to deny when we add this to the rest. But Sarah, we’ve been breathing the dirt in this six-foot square hole for eight hours. Let’s secure our finds and get out of here. It’s time to celebrate with a night out in Luxor.”
“You want to finish the day’s work without cataloging these beauties—without even deciphering these symbols first?” She cocked her head. “Have I worked you that hard?” He laughed.
“I just need to get clean, then go sweat at a club with dancing and liquor. Morning will be soon enough to inspect our treasure.”
“I suppose getting sweaty for a different reason would be a nice change of pace. You’re on.”
But those words passing through full pink lips and the vision of Sarah writhing on a dance floor forced him to stay crouched for a minute longer as he battled waves of yearning.
Maybe torturing himself with a carefree evening in her company wasn’t such a grand idea… On the other hand, it could be his long-awaited opportunity.
###
Tityus paused the video. Small boulders slid down the embankment behind them when he spoke. “You can see he’s got it bad and has no idea she’s been exploring her sexuality. I’ve got a few maneuvers planned to help her decide things.”
“Can I assume her choices won’t include Nathan?” Persephone’s amber eyes gleamed.
“That’s the plan… after we squeeze more entertainment from them first. You did well, Sister. I can smell his pathos.” Tityus closed his eyes and inhaled the moist, earthy air. It caused a cyclone to whirl a path around them and rattle Persephony’s flowering vines.
“Abundant suffering is in store for poor Nathan,” Tityus continued. “That, and the chaos of their confusion, will go a long way in helping me endure my next round of torment. I’ve already conjured hours of lush images for my dreams.” He cracked an eye open. “We might even enjoy collateral damage. We’ve got a third party involved.”
The silence that followed the giant’s cessation of speaking left a vacuum in the subterranean chamber. Crickets sounded in the recesses. Frogs croaked near the waterfall, and a shiny beetle whirred by on heavy wings.
The walls shook again when a thought made Tityus chuckle. “Is our uncle aware of your new penchant for misguiding love-struck humans?” The Queen of the Underworld let out an undignified snort.
“Hades does not care how I occupy my time, only that he can call me to him whenever he wants. Speaking of the demanding one, I feel his pull. I promise to be back for another installment. But don’t wait. You can catch me up.”
Tityus was used to Persephone’s spontaneous appearances and abrupt departures and didn’t mind when the forest of greenery disappeared with his sister in a wispy puff. He clicked his remote to open the next scene.
###
Nathan was sweaty just as planned, but he’d never had so much fun getting into this state of bodily dampness.
Sarah arranged for several friends from the university to meet them at the discotheque. For the past two hours, the girls made it their mission to keep him jerking and grinding on the strobe-lit dance floor. He’d finally pleaded for a break to cool down and freshen up.
Revived and happy with the results—he looked damned fine if he said so himself—Nathan pushed his way through the crush of dancers and back to the bar where he’d left his charming companions with another round of drinks. When he was close enough to spot them through the crowd, he came to a dead stop, his heart plummeting like a stone.
Sarah sat on a stool close to her friend, whose lips were pressed against Sarah’s ear. At first, it looked like Eman was just trying to be heard in the din. Then, he noticed their clasped hands. Eman’s tongue darted into Sarah’s ear, and Sarah laughed, pulling back, her eyes glittering with excitement—and something else.
How could I have had things so wrong?
The shock wore off in the next instant, but that only let a whole slew of other confusing emotions overwhelm him as he stood there gaping until the thought of what he must look like penetrated the fog.
Before Nathan could move, Sarah caught him acting like a statue, and her smile turned into a frown. Eman followed her gaze, held up the drink she had waiting for him, and grinned, clearly having no idea his world had just collapsed.
Nathan’s arm went up in a halfhearted answer, and he somehow got his legs moving again.
An hour later, hunched over his third whiskey, crushed between the chattering girls at the table Eman snagged for them, Nathan wondered how he was surviving his bitter disappointment and the suffocating nightclub. On the upside, he no longer doubted how deep his feelings went for Sarah.
The alcohol had at least numbed the sharpest jabs to his heart, but despair continued buzzing nauseatingly in his ears. Nathan would have no clue how to answer if anyone asked him what the girls had talked about for the last hour, and he didn’t think he was even nodding at the right places anymore.
He had to get out of here.
“Will you be good getting Sarah back to the site, Eman?” he said, breaking out of his stupor. They each turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call it a night and head back.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe you should have a coffee first.”
That was sound advice, but the thought of watching Sarah and Eman whispering together another minute made him want to throw up.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Nathan attempted to smile at his lame humor, but judging by Sarah’s furrowed brow, his face must have looked as wan as he felt.
He slapped a few bills on the table, mostly to ensure Sarah had enough to get back if Eman couldn’t drive her.
“Enjoy the rest of the night. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”
Sarah looked like she might say something, but nodded and turned to her friends without another glance his way.
Nathan barely managed to keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat as he headed to the exit.
###
This time, the flowering vines trailed down the side of the cavern before finding purchase on the giant arm sticking out of the earth. The writhing greenery tickled, waking Tityus from a satisfying dream about Nathan’s puny human heart being crushed to a pulp.
He cracked open a giant green orb and waited for Persephone to materialize on a dirt mound covering his shoulder.
The more Tityus buried himself in the earth, the better he dreamed. He didn’t dwell too much on the reasons for that, though Zeus would be the first to say he had a mother complex. Tityus wouldn’t deny it. He was born of Gaia, after all, his giant newborn self nearly breaking his mother in two on the way out.
Persephone, wearing her favorite skull crown, leaned on her beautifully turned mahogany staff to peer into his eyes. “Well? Was it as entertaining as you hoped?”
“Better.” The rumbling word rippled the damp soil covering him and tossed up handfuls of pebbles.
“What do you think Nathan will do now?” Persephone said as she steadied herself. “Can he endure working with Sarah? Keep his job? Wait! Do you think he’ll give up his precious career?”
“You made it in time for the next installment,” Tityus said. “When Nathan left the club around two in the morning, he was in a state of mind perfect for the rare Luxor mugger to take advantage of. The thief robbed him and beat him senseless. That event alone will get me through the next liver donation. Sarah is about to discover he never made it back.”
Persephone raised her cupped hand, and a bloodred mist swirled in her fingers. When it dissipated, she was holding several bunches of purple grapes, the size of which no human had ever seen. She plucked half the fruit off one and tossed it into Tityus’s mouth before asking him a question.
“Is he alive?” Tityus nodded as he chewed. “You realize having him harmed could make your plans go the wrong direction,” she pointed out. Another enthusiastic nod jolted her off her feet.
“Gambling on humans finding their way despite our interference is what makes this hobby so satisfying,” he said after swallowing his second bunch of grapes.
His sister picked herself up and smiled. “Then, let’s get comfortable and watch.”
Tityus clicked his remote, and the shadowy, moss-covered grotto walls brightened from the desert scene as if a portal had opened over ancient Thebes.
###
The morning sun lit up the endless waves of sand and gleamed off an enormous pyramid. The archaeological encampment was tiny in its shadow.
A lone figure crouched in the pit under an umbrella, working meticulously at an eye-level spot in the strata. Part of her attention was clearly reserved for listening because the anxious archaeologist kept bobbing up her ladder at the slightest sound to scan the dirt track meandering toward Luxor.
“Hey, Charles,” Sarah called out, her voice overly loud. “Have you heard from Nathan?”
A man crouching in the adjacent pit answered her. “Not since you asked me fifteen minutes ago. But I’m concerned, too. I sent Jack to hunt for him. I’m sure he must have holed up in a hotel room to sleep off the whiskey. You know what a lightweight he is. We should quit worrying.”
As soon as that last word drifted over the sand between them, the crunch of tires had them both springing up their ladders and peering over the edges of their pits.
Back in the grotto, Persephone, nestled in the dip of Tityus’s shoulder, voiced an observation. “That must be Jack with Nathan. If I’m wrong, I’ll find you eight victims for next month’s programming.”
Tityus stopped chuckling when he spotted a golden eagle much too large to be natural, swooping over the dig site. It wheeled between the tents and landed delicately on a clothesline strung with camp blankets.
“Uh… Sephie, dear. Do you think…”
“Yes,” she drawled. “It’s Father. Hell’s Gate! How does he always know?” She barked out a laugh. “Never mind. Stupid question. We’re better off working on plausible deniability.”
They looked over the scene again to find the car had arrived at the encampment and parked under a cover. A burly, bearded man stepped out of the driver’s side, opened the door to the backseat, and helped out a slighter man clearly in pain and struggling to move.
“Nathan!” Sarah shouted. Swift and surefooted, she scrambled up her ladder and ran to the car.
The eagle made another pass over the scene. Tityus and Persephone eyed each other when a screech that could only belong to the powerful Olympian who was their sire sounded all the way to the grotto. The humans carried on, oblivious to the mythical winged creature in their midst.
Sweat beading his brow, Nathan straightened and faced Sarah as she came to an abrupt halt and gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth but dropped it in the next instant.
“Oh my god,” she bit out. “What happened?”
Embarrassment emphasized the damage on Nathan’s face, but his voice was dignified. “I had a run-in on the way to the taxi stand and woke up in an alley with my pockets inside out. Thankfully, Jack thought to check the police station.”
This time, the humans looked up when a screech rent the air. They each watched, eyes wide, as the majestic bird of prey disappeared over the horizon.
“You scared me to death, Nathan,” Sarah said with a hitch as she turned back to her colleague.
A pale Nathan was growing wobblier by the second.
She stepped closer and softened her words. “I know what I did to you last night. I’ve been confused about… things. I’m really sorry. Today… Somehow… Well, everything is clearer. Will you forgive me?”
Hope bloomed on Nathan’s face, though his distorted lips and a puffy black eye turned the expression ghastly. He cocked his head. “What are you saying, Sarah?”
“Eman is off to Cambridge. We said goodbye last night, for good. You’re the one I want to be with. Can I hope for the same?”
The burly Jack cleared his throat, effectively returning the couple to their surroundings. “While it’s clear this exchange is doing Nathan good, he’s about to drop where he stands. Are you ready to have a lie-down, kid?”
Sarah raised her shining face to Nathan, wrapped her arm around his waist, and guided him to the med tent.
The warmth in her eyes was the final death knell for the giant’s precious hiatus. Tityus punched the button on the remote violently enough to crush the entire thing, and the desert view went dark, throwing his grotto into shadow.
Persephone was already turning wispy with her disappearing vines. “I am sorry, Brother. But you understand that I must return to Hades. I promise to do what I can to cool our father’s wrath.”
Tityus wanted to cringe at the bitter irony and miserable resignation creeping into his rumbling laughter as it trailed after her.
“You will do better for me by staying clear of Zeus for now, and away from here, dear sister. But don’t wait long for another visit.”
In the lull left by the departing Queen of the Dead and her greenery, Tityus settled his ginormous body beneath the earth where he clung to his last comfort—his dreams of unrequited love suffered by miserable humans—as he waited for the next new moon and the vultures to circle… The End… Until the next new moon…
The End… Until the next new moon…
I wrote this for a contest. I absolutely adore this premise. My friend, Lucky Noma, was inspired to write his version of the tortured giant and how he might wreak havoc on mankind for the sole purpose of providing a diversion. Stay tuned, because Lucky and I are planning a Tityus anthology.
What story would you come up with for this bored giant’s entertainment? Let me know in the comments.
If you would like to support an independent author who loves to share her stories, this story along with an eclectic anthology of more fun tales is available for $1.99 at your favorite bookstore. Thank you!
~ Mareduke is the last of his kind, and if the humans have their way, no dragons at all will exist in Kassia. Then, he meets two remarkable beings intent on changing his fate. ~
New Artwork!
I hope you enjoy this story I submitted to a contest where the prompts required a dragon meet a toddler in the forest, and the followed from the encounter. This was a joy to write.
Mareduke’s bloody, scaled head froze mid-dip. He reeled his tongue back in and stared at the child across the water. A long, cool drink was critical to his state of near-death, but he gave it up to inspect the reflection cast into the mountain lake by the tiny person on the grassy ledge.
An image of a girl, not much more than two, wrapped in a cloak, wavered over the gleaming surface. The sun glinted on that spot as if shining a beacon on the proof he sought. He raised his eyes to the embankment again.
The toddler was real, and she was staring back.
His snort displaced the water below his face. She would just have to watch while he drank because he was losing blood faster than his magic could heal him. There were too many wounds. Enough to end him if he couldn’t hydrate and rest.
The humans’ trap this time was multilayered and rigged with an exorbitant number of blades that had pulled Mareduke further down a natural pit with every move he made. They must have spent weeks designing all the intricate hazards.
He had come close to losing his head to a saw blade, and a broadsword had missed his heart by inches when it lodged between his ribs. But when he quit panicking long enough to halt the agonizing plummet, he was able to gather his magic and break free with enough momentum to gain altitude and escape the armed contingent of dragon assassins waiting for him on the surface.
He had spit his wrath at the failed murderers as he flew away, but they jeered at him when his usual rain of fire barely amounted to a drizzle and his wounded body listed sideways. He didn’t care. At this stage of life, he was accustomed to the humans and their collective superior attitude towards him and his dying species.
Still, he couldn’t understand their brutal solution to his thievery. He wasn’t there to hurt them, just grab a meal, a plump sheep or two, only because they had a penful of the tasty morsels too tempting to resist. Why did all humans insist on trying to kill him before his time? As far as Mareduke knew, he was the end of the line, and the idea, when he let himself dwell on it, that humans couldn’t share the whole of the Kingdom of Kassia with even one of his kind offended him.
The dragon had pushed himself to get to this refuge where he could recover his strength. He was surprised he had made it. Maybe it was the loss of blood that brought him this tiny vision because humans rarely came to this lake so high in the mountains, and a child would never survive the trek with or without accompaniment. Yet, it was getting harder to deny he beheld one standing at the water’s edge alone, appearing as if she were on a picnic.
He settled on his haunches, resting his chin on his front paws to better observe her. She hadn’t made a sound, only sticking her finger in her mouth as she looked around before focusing on him again.
This was the most bizarre thing he’d experienced in his young dragon life. What was she? He presumed she was human, but she could be anything. He considered how he might find out since neither of them could speak to the other.
Mareduke examined her for clues. Her cloak was made of fine, blue-dyed cloth with a glimmer weaving through that spoke of magic. Her wavy mop of strawberry-blond hair and clothing appeared clean, though her feet were bare.
That made him wonder if she was cold, but then he thought not. It was mild this time of year, even at this elevation.
While he sorted her out, she made herself comfortable as well, plopping down on a fluffy tuft of grass, her stubby legs sticking straight out, toes wiggling as they stretched toward the water. She got busy plucking nearby wildflowers until she gripped an entire bouquet in her small hand.
In between peeking at him, she observed other bits of life in her immediate vicinity, her finger returning absently to her mouth. He watched in amusement when she sniffed the pungent flowers, and her nose wrinkled. Still, she offered her collection a happy smile.
Mareduke grew more entranced when nature began to react to the tiny being. As it had done to her reflection earlier, sunbeams coalesced above her, dust motes dancing around her head like tiny fairies. Two bees drifted toward the flowers before darting at the nectar. Butterflies flitted around her smiling face.
A few woodland creatures crept close. A rabbit rose on its hind legs above the grass, wriggling its nose in her direction. A pair of doves settled in a branch and cooed. A doe and her fawns watched it all from the shade of a tree. Squirrels, hedgehogs, and even a young fox made an appearance. None of the creatures paid attention to Mareduke, their fascination centering on the pleasant child.
Mareduke thought that even with her mysterious aura, she had parents somewhere who were worrying about her. But what was even more curious than her origin was how she had come to be here.
The dragon froze when something crashed through the trees.
The life clustering around the child scattered, leaving her blinking at their sudden absence. She stood and turned towards the growls and cracking branches. A mountain troll was nearing, clearly unconcerned with announcing his presence. Typical. They stink, too. Mareduke should have smelled the vile creature long before he heard him, but he’d been distracted.
He needed to decide what to do about the child directly in his path. The troll would sooner snack on her than look at her, and the only thing to stop the voracious brute was Mareduke, but he was still weak from his injuries.
When the bulbous head popped out from the trees, Mareduke wasted no more time thinking. He flapped his wings and, in two strokes, landed between the oncoming threat and the helpless toddler.
The troll’s red-rimmed gaze fixed on Mareduke as he bore down on him with a club gripped in both hands. The ground shook under them as the beast closed in, his roars deafening.
Mareduke laid his wing over the ground and motioned for the little one to hop on. But she just stared at him as if unaffected by the approaching menace.
The absurdity of his situation made Mareduke want to snort in protest. Here he was, a perpetual target of human violence, getting ready to lay down his life for one of their offspring, if that’s what she was, because she couldn’t grasp that it was imperative to climb on.
He inhaled with everything he had in him for one good burst of fire, even as he indulged in the stories they would tell of his sacrifice on behalf of the enemy. That glorious notion deflated a bit when he remembered there was no one but a baby to witness his death.
Still, he drew in his breath. If he were destroyed, she would have no chance at all. He launched his fire. The paltry flames stopped the oncoming troll—for all of ten seconds.
The child tucked beneath him tapped the bottom of his chest with a fist so small he could barely feel it. But it got his attention. She smiled at him and clapped her hands, and Mareduke experienced an entirely new sensation. The air turned heavy, then seemed to curl in on itself.
His stomach lurched, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were in a flower-covered meadow surrounded by jagged mountain peaks. He didn’t recognize the mountains, and there was no sign of the troll.
###
When Mareduke’s world stopped tilting, he took in his surroundings. A hut squatted near a giant oak tree with a stone fireplace taking up an entire end. Smoke curled from the chimney. There was a garden with neat rows of vegetables. A milk cow poked its head through a half door in a miniature barn as it chewed its cud. A raven cawed from the roof, and the child’s face split into a wide smile.
She waved at the bird, which squawked louder, stretched, and flapped its wings before flying to the ground and landing at the dragon’s feet, where it proceeded to change into a tall, bearded man in flowing robes.
“Well done, Eliana,” the man said, smiling down at the child. “You found him.” He peered up at Mareduke. “Can you understand my words, dragon?” Mareduke dipped his snout, and the man continued, “Judging by your copious wounds, your guardian was nearly too late.” Guardian?
Mareduke glanced at the small, grinning face, catching the flicker in her blue eyes.
“Have you no knowledge of the Western Woodland Fae?” the man asked him. Mareduke cocked his head, and the man explained. “The fairies who guard all living creatures in Kassia, though their relationship with dragons is the most sacred. One like Eliana is born every eight hundred years, give or take, with a special affinity for dragons, and a destiny that compels her to do all in her power to preserve the species.”
When Mareduke continued to stare, he added, “You must have raised yourself, young dragon, just as I theorized. You are truly alone, then?” Mareduke bobbed his snout. “What is your name? Wait, allow me to place my staff over your heart. I will be able to hear you in my mind.”
Curious to experience this, Mareduke allowed it. The oaken staff was strangely warm and comforting, which made it easy to respond. I am Mareduke. Will you please tell me who you are and where this is?
The man stepped back and said with a poignant smile, “Eliana. Meet Mareduke, quite possibly the last of his kind.” His smile brightened. “Though Eliana and I harbor hopes that won’t be the case. Don’t we, child?”
The tiny person laughed and said his name in a musical child’s voice, and the sound struck a chord in his heart.
“I am Pantheos, young Mareduke,” the man said after a bow and a sweep of his staff. “An old wizard, retired from the academy where I spent a lifetime studying dragons and their history, all in preparation for meeting up with little Eliana here when it was time. Your time, Mareduke. Finding you is one part of our task. The other is to find your mate. If we don’t, then all hope for the dragons is lost. What do you think about this purpose?”
Mareduke snorted and shook his great wings as the staff again touched his chest. It was liberating to have a voice, and he spoke. I hatched alone and believed I would die alone, accepting that fate marked me as the last of my kind. I never considered that another dragon waited for me somewhere. Can it really be possible?
“We have evidence she exists, or at least existed,” Pantheos said. “Her name is Cindra.”
All at once, Mareduke’s weakened state got the better of him, and he plopped on his haunches.
“Please, forgive my thoughtlessness!” the wizard said.
He pointed his staff at the well behind them, and a splash sounded from a bucket dropping into the water, followed by a creaking when the wizard’s magic operated the crank to pull it back up. Pantheos stepped to the well, retrieved the bucket, and brought it to Mareduke, repeating the process Mareduke supposed until the wizard was sure he wouldn’t keel over.
As he lapped up the sweet water, Eliana settled on his front leg close to his head and patted his cheek.
He flinched when a voice spoke in his mind, sounding anything but childish.
I am sorry you suffered such abuse today, Mareduke. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the part of Eliana that always exists, and I am very pleased to meet you. I would have found you earlier if my information had included your foray into that village. But everything Pantheos and I knew of you pointed to the lake once you ventured out for food.
He tilted an eye at her. Your kind must hatch fully developed, like dragons. Otherwise, how can you sound like a grown person? Her little-girl laughter lifted his heart, and he was sure his healing sped up by a day. She explained more.
I am an old soul, aware of my occupation inside this organic being who must grow in a mother’s womb before existing. I am both child and your spirit guardian, and my entire purpose is to see that you survive to have offspring of your own. But we must first find a way to make peace between dragons and humans.
How are you speaking to me now, and why not at the lake?
First, you needed to get used to the idea of me as a child, and I needed to observe you. When your heart opened to the possibilities, we were able to connect.
When Mareduke woke this morning with an empty stomach and the misguided plan to raid that village, no one could have persuaded him that by the end of the day, he would no longer be alone.
He puffed out a tiny bit of air to ruffle her hair, making the child laugh. Her ageless voice sounded again.
So long as Pantheos and I draw breath, you will never again feel the bite of loneliness.
Mareduke aimed his snout at Pantheos’s staff, and the wizard nodded, touching it to his chest.
I understand a little now about the soul called Eliana, but please tell me more about the child and how she retrieved a grown dragon on her own and brought us here. His big green eye swiveled back to the tiny being. Don’t you have parents?
“Eliana is my ward,” Pantheos said, “and her powerful Fae magic is why we have this arrangement. It is part of my destiny to help her learn to control her magic and to train her as a guardian. Though her soul has experienced this before, the child must learn how to function in this role. Her parents knew what she was when she was born, and they sought me out. She has a mark, you see.”
The pintsize Fae swept her cloak over her shoulder and showed Mareduke the small dragon’s eye on her forearm. The mark was more proof that he should listen to them, and Mareduke wondered how he could have lived all this time without knowing about the Western Woodland Fae and the guardians.
Trepidation struck him. Eliana felt it and turned to her mentor. Once again, the staff covered Mareduke’s heart, and the dragon spoke his worry in their minds.
If humans are my enemy, what about the danger to those who come to my aid?
“Well, yes,” Pantheos said. “You’ve grasped the tricky part. That is why you do not recognize these landmarks. Eliana brought you through a portal to a place the humans cannot find, the land of the Kassian gnomes. You won’t see them, but the nature-loving beings are all around this clearing, watching, never having seen a dragon.” Mareduke glanced around in interest as Pantheos continued.
“And you’ve addressed the other reason her parents left her in my care. Our best chance to meet our destiny and all the challenges it will bring is to combine our strengths. The plan is for you to help us locate your mate. Time is of the essence because the last known female dragon faces the same hazards as you.
“We’ve traced her territory, which includes the Western Woodlands. But we have not received word of Cindra for some weeks.” After this troubling news, the wizard rubbed his hands together. “Now. Did you consume any sheep in that raid? Or do you require a meal?”
Eliana pressed her hand to Mareduke’s chest and conveyed his answer in halting toddler words as if the ageless one had retreated. “He ate before being caught in the trap. He’s good for a day or two.”
“Fine,” Pantheos said. “We’ll catch you up and plan our expedition while you finish recovering.”
Mareduke’s head was spinning. Yet, everything his new friends said felt right. Eliana felt right, even if her dual nature was a bit disconcerting, and he knew this little glen was where he was supposed to be at that moment.
As for the future, he thought to himself, could there really exist another dragon in Kassia? What if something has happened to this one called Cindra? What if it hasn’t and we meet, and she hates the sight of me? Or worse, I can’t stand her?
He snorted, filling the air with small puffs of smoke. None of that mattered if it meant he was no longer the last of his kind.
###
The third time Mareduke had to insert himself between the villagers and the magnificent silver dragon belching molten fire, he began to seriously question the necessity of pairing up with his own kind.
No one told him female dragons were bigger than males, stronger, and could set half a town on fire with one blast.
And Mareduke had made her angry.
It took two weeks to investigate the leads the three had narrowed down and one more to pinpoint the most likely location for them to find Cindra.
Having left Pantheos and Eliana in a safe place, Mareduke arrived at the south edge of the Western Woodlands just in time to save what was left of a town under attack by the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
Cindra had strategically wiped out the village center and the humans who could best organize a defense. The villagers were scattering in all directions, disappearing into the woods, jumping in the lake, and hiding in rock crevices up the side of the adjacent mountain. And still, she circled her quarry, laying down fire to cut off retreats and destroy crops, livestock, and any other industry critical to the inhabitants’ livelihoods.
His best guess, if anyone were to ask him, was that his female counterpart didn’t like humans. And she just added him to that list, judging by how she bore down on him now, which made Mareduke grateful for his smaller size. She might be a powerhouse, but he could fly circles around her, and he proceeded to do that as he led her away from the village by stages to the secluded mountain meadow where his friends waited.
He just needed to figure out how to calm her down before they arrived.
Did the humans offend you?
He tossed that question her way as he dove under her belly.
She twisted her body and flew backward, aiming fire at him when she had a clear shot. He swerved, and it hit a shelf of snow and caused a small avalanche. He circled a mountain spire, disappearing from her view, then found a spot behind her to try again.
Is this how you treat all your new friends? he couldn’t help asking.
I have no friends, you muddy-colored dragon. Who do you think you are, interfering with my retribution? Flames shot from her nostrils. Are you a coward, hiding behind my back?
Mareduke snorted.
I can’t help that your size shields me from your eyes, even as it blocks the sun.
Cindra roared.
Mareduke had stopped feeling intimidated halfway to their destination, and he continued even as he ducked her fire.
The humans try to kill me on a regular basis. But I am bigger than them, and I don’t believe in using my advantages to harm others.
Well. Aren’t you the saintly one? Is this why you showed up out of nowhere? To protect humans?
Uh… Sort of. My friends and I have heard of you. You do realize there aren’t many of us around?
So what?
Why are you angry?
Why do you care? And where are you taking us?
Hmmm. So, she noticed. He didn’t think anything other than the truth would work, so he went for it.
My friends have been searching for you and want to meet you. They only recently found me, and when they told me you existed, I wanted to meet you, too. I’m Mareduke. Will you be peaceable if I take you to them? They are beings of the two-legged variety.
Since you’ve made me curious, I promise not to harm your puny friends, but I’m not promising to stick around. I have things to do.
Eliana stood in full sight, grinning at them as they circled the meadow and clapping her hands in delight.
What is that? Cindra’s voice in his head was scathing as she emphasized each word. That tiny being is one of your friends?
Her name is Eliana. Mareduke made sure to put plenty of warning in his own tone. And yes, she is my friend.
Where are your other friends?
There are only two. Now, will you land with me and let us explain?
I said I would, and I will.
###
Eliana’s toddler charm had little effect on the dragon with the bad attitude, but Cindra’s reaction to Pantheos when he stepped out of the trees surprised Mareduke. She went down on one fore-knee and bowed her head.
“You know who I am?” Pantheos asked her after returning a bow. The silver head bobbed. “Would you be amenable to drinking this potion so I can hear you? It is how I communicate with Mareduke.”
Cindra agreed with another nod, and Pantheos spoke in an ancient tongue as he turned his staff halfway around, then back again, and a bucket of water appeared in front of each dragon. It was only then that Mareduke realized he was parched.
The huge dragon waited patiently for Pantheos to add a few drops to her bucket. As she drank, Eliana stepped close enough to reach out and touch the silvery, scaled face. Cindra ignored her until the small hand caressed the bridge of her snout. She stiffened before aiming a sable eye at the bold child. When Eliana’s laughter bubbled out, Cindra jerked back and rose to her full height.
Mareduke spotted the warmth in her gaze before she hid it.
“I am pleased to finally meet you, Cindra,” Pantheos said.
It is an honor to meet you, High Mage. My mother told me the story of how you came to her aid. Your intervention with the humans enabled her to reach the nesting grounds. Otherwise, I might not be here. Cindra’s visage darkened. The humans killed her not many years later.
“I am sorry. I was informed of the tragedy and tried to find you, but you’ve kept yourself well hidden, other than coming out for those raids that have made you notorious.”
Do you know of my father, High Mage?
“Please, call me Pantheos. Yes, and I was there to help your mother through her despair. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of both your parents, maiden dragon. That is why my young apprentice and I have not given up our search. It was Mareduke’s abilities that allowed us to finally succeed. It is our purpose to ensure your parents’ fate does not befall the two of you. You are the last of your kind.”
Cindra, after casting a scornful eye at Mareduke, looked down her snout at the toddler, who was still smiling at her.
Who, or should I say what, is this child?
“She is a dragon guardian. Do you know of such ones?”
I’ve heard of these fae. I have respect for her people and leave them out of my reckoning. It is only the humans who deserve my wrath. And you are keeping me from my next engagement. So, I’m afraid I must take my leave.
Mareduke scoffed.
That’s it? You can’t give us any more of your precious time to learn about your other choice?
Let me guess. My other choice involves mating with you. No thanks. I’m fine on my own.
Mareduke’s brownish-green scales glowed bronze, and his emerald eyes blazed with his indignation. A chuff of surprise was Cindra’s only reaction to the impressive sight, and she spread her wings in preparation for taking off.
Mareduke got in the last word when she was aloft.
We might be fine on our own… but should we be?
The last four words were louder in their heads than he intended because Cindra was already a mere speck in the distance. The reverberation elicited a squeal from Eliana as she plopped on her bottom.
It was the ancient guardian who spoke next in a voice covering the distance to the disappearing dragon.
We will meet again, dear friend.
###
Mareduke was not sure why he made the effort to track down the unpleasant maiden dragon … again. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand her pain. Part of him would like to give in to vengeance for the violence that ended his own parents’ lives. But he’d long ago come to terms with his principles over killing. Nothing good came of it.
He thought Cindra might believe that, deep down, somehow sensing that her destructive ways ate at her. Convincing her to change was another matter. Eliana and Pantheos assured him it was worth a try, so they flew with him to yet another human village they had pegged on their map of Cindra’s territory.
Mareduke didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel her in his heart, which assured him they were on the right path. He wasn’t ready to face the idea his sensitivity was due to a mate bond already forming, so he put that thought away.
They saw the blaze rising above the trees before they spotted the silver dragon camouflaged against a low cloud. He sent his thoughts to his passengers.
She is one headstrong beast. But this village was prepared. Do you see the trebuchets lined up around the perimeter? The brave ones are determined to load them even as some die under her fire.
“And it appears half contain buckets of tar, while half are fireballs,” Pantheos observed. “That is quite a defense.”
I foresee those wicked devices causing her death, the guardian said in a grim voice. We must disarm them.
I will not risk you, Eliana. We should put you down somewhere safe.
You needn’t worry about me, Mareduke. We have one shot at a pass while they are focused on her. Let’s go.
The little one was right. Mareduke flew low and fast, knocking the legs out from most of the machines before the humans realized another dragon had descended on them.
The flaming ammunition dropped to the ground, and the villagers scrambled to put out their fires. But they were prepared, tying cloths over their mouths and pulling covers over each spot to snuff out the flames.
Still, Mareduke couldn’t fly to them all fast enough.
“To your right!” Pantheos shouted.
The trebuchets still standing were repositioned, tar buckets set ablaze, and aimed their way. Besides the tar, fire from above rained down from a device before he could topple it. Mareduke twisted and shot up, managing to dodge the tar, but the flames hit his flank, and he faltered under the searing pain.
Hang on! He alerted his passengers. I can get us away.
Even as he listed to the side, he managed to power his wings enough to lift above the machines, but not out of range of a tar bucket, which hurtled towards his chest. If he ducked the wrong way, the flaming missile would splatter his precious cargo. He braced himself for the pain, staying his path.
A silver wing arced between them and the tarry danger. Mareduke roared out his fear for Cindra. The bigger dragon smashed the bucket to the ground with her outstretched wing, which collapsed the remaining trebuchets, but not before her wing was doused with the thick, molten goo. She careened sideways, then crashed to the ground.
The smell of gaseous tar and burning dragon flesh filled Mareduke’s nostrils.
The humans closed in with more tar and torches.
Set us down next to Cindra, Pantheos commanded. Mareduke wasted no time landing in a way that allowed him to shield the injured dragon struggling to stand.
Cindra’s voice, full of pain and frustration, rang in his head, her eyes glowing with admiration.
What are you doing, you murky dragon? Go! Get that child away from here!
Prismatic beams flared from Pantheos’s staff in every direction. The humans stopped to shield their eyes before spotting the source standing atop Mareduke’s back.
“I am the High Mage, Pantheos. I bring a decree from the King who has sworn to protect the last of the dragon kind, provided my apprentice and I find them alive. We have fulfilled our task. These sacred creatures are all that is left. It is not right to destroy them.” He paused, “Or that they exact revenge on you, but that will change. There will be a peaceful coexistence. Eliana and I will see to it. Now, stand down and let us leave with the injured dragon.”
One of the men stepped forward.
“Many have died today. What does King Lathan say about that?”
Eliana reached for Pantheos, who picked her up so she could face the crowd. A beam of sunlight washed over the child. A pair of doves appeared from nowhere and landed on each shoulder, cooing gently. Butterflies likewise appeared, flitting delicately over her head.
The sweet, halting voice of a child sounded across the smoldering village. “There has been much death on both sides. It must end here.”
Though many in the crowd appeared swayed by her compelling tone and peaceful magic, the man called out again, “Until there is a king who will decide differently. My descendants may yet avenge our dead.” “That may be,” the little one said, “if you decide that to be your legacy. For now, let there be peace, and let me go home with my friends. For I promise you, one day you will need them.”
Artwork by D. L. Lewellyn using Photoleap and Canva.
If you would like to support an independent author who loves to share her stories, this story along with an eclectic anthology of more fun tales is available for $1.99 at your favorite bookstore. Thank you!
Hundreds of amazing romance titles are free April 22 at RomanceBookLovers.com. Enjoy the day filling your e-readers, then find that cozy niche and let romance take you over. ☕💟☕
Week Long Sale!
While I am offering Tigris Vetus for FREE (scroll down for its latest review), I never participate in an exciting #RomanceBookBlast event without offering my other books at special prices. Enjoy shopping Amazon for all five books this week, four of them on sale.
This month marks one year since Tigris Vetus was released into the world, concluding The Starlight Chronicles’ epic paranormal romance.
When I set out to write my first novel, I had no idea Selena’s story would expand into three volumes. Finishing Book Three was a huge accomplishment for me as it took twice as long to write as the previous two books put together. I wanted it to be… well, epic… and romantic, and different from other paranormal romances that I’ve read and loved. I hope you find awesome things to love about this series, too.
To celebrate, I’m giving away a signed copy of Tigris Vetus on Instagram.
Scroll for details on the giveaway and the series, including a character sketch of Aviel Enair, the anti-hero you will hate to love in The Starlight Chronicles.
Tigris Vetus
When destiny gives you three paths, choose the fourth.
I doodle this in my art journal because it seems like the answer to my riddle. Some say having choices is a good thing, but I’ve learned that three possible roads to the future lead to confusion and heartache.
It all started when I shot an alien prince on a highway near Lake Tahoe. Well, to be honest, it began when I met a towering man with chestnut eyes who captured my heart despite his best efforts to keep me out of his dangerous world.
Andras is my mate, but he’s compelled by fate to team up with a rival alpha to support my prophetic mission. Elliott and his pack are family now, and Elliott looks at me the same way Andras does. Both men tug on my heartstrings—and that’s not my biggest problem.
After a battle with said alien prince, we regroup at my brother’s fishing lodge in Ketchikan. I haven’t seen Dylan in years. There’s a reason for that, which makes me sadder than even our separation. Then, my vampire friend enlists my help on a mission. When Andras finds out, I discover what happens when you poke an angry bear.
I’m about to make it worse when my instincts urge me to leave my bear and my dragon to follow the ancient tiger, aka the alien prince, to his lair—my third path in a destiny of choices marked by the moon goddesses of Anurash. ~ Selena Aires
Ursus Borealis, Book One
Why not get started at the beginning with Ursus Borealis? Available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited, or grab a beautiful paperback.
Ursus Borealis
Bears are supposed to live in the woods, just not the kind who send you to the moon.
Selena Aires
I promised my friend in his final days that I would find the place I was destined for. Neither of us had a clue what that meant, but searching for it after he’s gone helps me cope with my grief, and I pack up my art supplies and hit the highway. When I stop for gas in Quincy, Thomas is waiting for me—in spirit. So, I stay—and find my dream cottage with a studio and hiking trails out the back door and a quaint old tavern called the Starlight with a cozy booth in the corner. I set out my sketchbook and pencils and get busy drawing faces—my way of getting to know people while I enjoy a beer.
It works. I’m making friends and filling my journal with the kind of diverse characters typical of a crossroads pub. But diversity doesn’t explain why the people coming to life on my pages are the stuff of fairytales. The most fascinating is Andras Johns, and I’m wondering more often whether the towering man who sets me on fire with one look is the prince in the story or the beast lurking in the woods.
Andras Johns
I’ve been the alpha of the North Star Pack long enough to know better. My policy? Never mix it up with a human and risk exposing a vulnerable species to the hazards of my world. But there’s a new face in town. A beautiful, human face. What do I do the first time Selena Aires gives me her smile? I smile back. It’s a mistake—and I know I’m done for, which is a problem because an alpha can’t break his own rules.
And those hazards I mentioned? They just ramped up. The tempting Ms. Aires couldn’t be more off-limits. If only she didn’t have her own ideas about that.
By D. L. Lewellyn 