Authors

 Sitrep: so, I'm still working on figuring out our housing situation. Not fun.

Anyway, I started Shelby 9, Peacekeepers and I also sent Lowering the Hammer to Rea.

 

 

On to the snippet!

 

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Chapter 1

In Hyperspace, Sigma Sector

 

Scamp looked from one to another crew member. Everyone was awake despite the boredom of their journey. They were all excited, the prowler was headed back to their contact point with the Federation.

They were traveling with news of the location of El Dorado. He was nervous, he didn't want to blow it. No one did. It was probably the single most important thing that Batmobile and her crew of SEALs had ever done. As Chief Thompson put it, it might be the single most important thing that they could ever do. Definitely historic... if it played out.

He listened quietly as they talked at the evening meal. "Do we even know if the ship is still there?"

"Oh, its there," PO Sia Clarkson insisted. She had a tablet in front of her and was keeping tabs on the ship's systems.

"How do we know?" PO Chase Denvery asked.

"It's too big to go far. Even if they get their sublight drives going it will take time to get them very far. Once Fleet jumps in, they can run them down."

"Yeah, but I meant escaping in hyperspace," Chase insisted.

"How?"

"All that antimatter and stuff they stole? Not to mention all of the work they've put into the ship over the past couple of decades?" Chase said helpfully.

The tiger frowned thoughtfully. After a moment she flicked her ears. "I think if they could have moved her they would have."

"Well, they didn't have any real incentive to do so and a lot to not move before Admiral Briggs showed up and set off his here I am broadcast," PO Randy Guetta stated.

The tiger nodded and flicked her ears.

"Word is that the ship and her original crew fell out of hyper after a long jump. They were dry on fuel. We don't know what they did to try to survive. They ended up in stasis," PO Ben Sully said from his seat at the table. "In theory with all the antimatter they stole they could get her in hyper again."

"And we know this from where?" Randy asked.

"We caught a few of the crew who were being used by the pirates,"  the ship's AI Alfred stated. They all looked up to the ceiling.

"Caught them?"

"They were technically aiding and abetting the enemy in a time of war. They were duped into it. They were debriefed thoroughly and then given discharges," Alfred stated flatly.

"A bit light isn't it?"

"Not our call," the Noechimp said with a shrug. "I'd hope someone would not hold me to the letter of the law if someone played me. I'd be so pissed at myself it wouldn't be funny."

Sia nodded. So too did some of the others around the table. The tiger reached down to pet the pup and then playfully tug on a flappy ear. He pretended to snap at her. She managed to dodge the snap and then tapped his nose in response.

"The byplay was noted by Ben who leaned over to eye the pup. Scamp lowered his eyes in response.

"Anyway," Ben said as he took a sip of coffee. "Intel knows that part of the story. They were found, woken up in small groups, isolated, fed a story, and then dispatched to do odd jobs. They were carefully insulated from the real world and events. I'll say one thing about the pirates, they can do a damn good job playing people," he said gruffly.

"Practice," Randy growled.

"That and sex. They were very good at playing the sex card," Ben replied as he looked at the cup.

"Oh."

"Just humans though. Only humans were awake. The survivors said they never saw any of the crew who were neo or alien. Which..." he grimaced and looked away.

The pup looked at Sia in confusion as her fur bristled and thens lowly went back down. Her ears were flat. She didn't look happy.

He glanced at some of the others. None of them looked happy. It was a little intimidating. He knew it wasn't about him personally though. He just wasn't certain why they were bristling like that.

"Anyway," Ben said gruffly. "We know what we know from them and some other sources that the brass didn't identify."

"They didn't have a location though obviously," Chase growled. "Rather convenient," he said darkly.

"Hey, do you know our exact position? Or where we found the signal from Admiral Briggs?" Ben retorted.

Chase blinked and then after a moment shook his head.

"Yeah, thought not. The rank and file just keep their heads down and do their jobs. These people were mostly techs. Engineers. Give them a job and that is their entire world." He pointed a subtle finger to the tiger in their midst who was tapping at her tablet and looking at it intently.

Chase and Randy snorted.

Sia looked up from her tablet. "Um, something I missed?" she asked.

That sparked a chuckle from the others.

<<V>>

2 light months outside of the Sector Capital

Captain Ellie Dunn felt relief as the third week passed and the enemy hadn't noted their arrival.

Her battlecruiser command France had been sailing in on a ballistic course to her final monitoring point for a full 6 weeks. The Kurama class battlecruiser had made a painfully slow and gentle final translation from hyperspace at that point over 2 light months out. They'd given a burp of fuel to get them moving in the right direction and then went into silent running mode.

There were few ships of their scale left in the fleet. She had heard the whisper from her crew that they should run to Beta sector but had ignored it. Her family was on the battle moon after all, there was no way she was just going to abandon her 3 kids. The same for many of the senior officers, they all had family. She was pretty sure it was by design to ensure their loyalty.

Well, that and some of the privileges that they'd gotten. Better schools, larger condos, and all of that, she thought in mild amusement. Just because she knew she was being played didn't mean it wasn't working, it just meant she wanted it to happen on her terms, she noted.

Besides, she'd been warned that there was a self-destruct package embedded in the ship. If they didn't report back by a certain time period the ship would blow up. She had no idea if the threat was real but she had to take it for real. She didn't want the crew to know however.

A light cruiser would have been a better choice for the asssignment, however none were available. There were few left in the fleet. Most were out and about on assignment so France and her division mate Tormentor had been tapped for the duel mission.

And who's fault was that? She thought with a pang. They all knew that the bitch Catherine the so called Great Ramichov had been the real one to blow apart Horath and the fleet there. Some might be... reassured by her ruthlessness. They'd certainly seen it when she had reportedly killed her own family down to her siblings after all. There had been something to respect in her. She had shown empathy by helping people after the gladiator stadium masacre, she had shown her steel and cunning by eliminating her mad father and getting them out of the deathtrap that Horath had proven to be. All while under the eyes of the Federation invasion no less.

Ellie had to admit, setting off the nova bomb to cover their tracks had been a sick twisted yet brilliant act. She hadn't had many bones with it at the time because she'd managed to get her husband Henry and the kids off the planet. She did regret loosing her parents though, but not his damn mother. The in laws were no loss. That bitch could fry.

Her lips twisted slightly in an aproximation of a smirk.

After the destruction of Horath she had no problem believing there was some sort of self-destuct on her ship, none at all. Possibly in the coding, possibly in a warhead, possibly the hardware. There were too many places to go looking. It wasn't worth upsetting the crew over it.

"No change in traffic patterns," CIC reported on the tick. She glanced up and then over to the open hatch.

"Very well," she murmured. They were so far out that everything they were seeing was months old. But that was the way she liked it. She didn't want the bastards to see her and come after her. It might be tough to sus out what they were seeing with just passives, but they would make the most of it. Besides, it gave CIC and the computers something to do in combining sensor feeds and refining the results.

Over the past few weeks they had gotten good at building a profile of traffic around the star system.

She glanced at the empty helm tank. At the moment it was not manned, an enlisted sailor was holding the position and playing a video game to stay busy. The mermaid clone was asleep in the water dweller quarters. They had 3, all sisters and all experienced at their jobs. Half of her crew were down for the ship's 'night'. A quarter of the crew were in stasis to help draw out their time on station.

One year, she thought. One year and then her family was free. They could run when she returned to the battle moon.

46 weeks and 3 days remaining until they left. After that another six months to pick their way across the sector to the battle moon, and then they'd be free.

It couldn't happen soon enough. She felt a keen pang at all of the time she was missing with the kids. They were growing like weeds. Then again, the 2 eldest were teens now so maybe it was best that she didn't have to deal with adolecent hormones? Her lips twitched again. Henry was going to have his hands full, she thought in amusement.

It was funny that each of the brat pack had been concieved after a long deployment. Would this deployment cause a fourth child to be born in a few years? Each reunion was passionate and memorable. Maybe, she thought cheerfully, though she was getting a bit on in years to have kids she reminded herself firmly.

<<V>>

SG3R211-94

 

Admiral Dwight Harris stared at the plot as he worried. It was now a race, he noted. The bulk of Second Fleet was split between 3 positions, the capital where he was at, the nearby Gate star system formerly known as Tortuga Sigma, and in penny packet pickets and patrols across the sector.

But, he was working to consolidate his command even though TF 2.7 was off establishing a naval station near where they suspected the battle moon to be. He had made it clear to the admiralty and to Admiral Irons especially, he wanted in on the upcoming action. He flat out refused to be left behind and sit on the sidelines guarding the sector capital. Not when he and his people had a score to settle.  The more he'd thought about it, the more he believed that one task force would not be up for the battle. They not only needed to pin the battle moon down, they also had to run down any leakers... and eventually board the damn thing.

All with the risk of the empress blowing it up in their faces at any time of her choosing, he reminded himself tartly.

"We owe it to our dead to see this through to the finish. One way or another," he murmured to himself.

He had recently cut orders to consolidate his remaining command by replacing his deployed cruisers, carrier groups, and battle cruisers with his destroyers as well as some borrowed from Fifth Fleet. It stripped his screen bare but that was fine, he needed those larger ships back with him.

Whoever the admiralty sent to relieve him would replace those pickets. I might even steal their screen as a replacement, who knows, he thought in amusement.

Once they sent a fleet through the gate he planned to pull everyone together and meet with TF 2.7 and then move on El Dorado.

That was, if the prowler came back with a positive report.

<<V>>

 Yep, Noah's Arks has published!

About:

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  The world fell into despair when an extinction level event was confirmed. However Doctor Noah Erkin rolled up his sleeves with his team and got to work. Fascinated by the new readings his team was bringing in; they reforged mankind's understanding of physics. Noah and his team took their findings to governments and corporations however no one was interested in what had been discovered, the shock and despair was running too deep.

  But one company decided to take a chance on the new science and together they will scramble against a ticking clock to launch an escape plan for mankind. Thru trials and tribulations they'll push to build the arks to preserve as much life from Earth as possible.

Failure is not an option!

Amazon: Noah's Arks on Amazon

B&N: Noah's Arks on B&N

 Sitrep: So, I was shocked to open my email and find the manuscript there waiting from Goodlifeguide. Awesome!

So, I will publish that hopefully in the next few days. (It is getting crazy now)

On to the snippet!

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Chapter 2

 

Politicians across the world debated the news. There was no way to suppress it; too many people knew about it across the world. The media was struggling with accepting it, which gave them some traction and an opportunity to get ahead of the problem.

Most science advisers scoffed at the idea of getting ahead of the problem. Many got roaring drunk when they dug into the science and found it was real. They rapidly went through the five stages of grief. Acceptance for some was hard to come by. Many politicians were stuck in denial.

A conference was called to discuss the problem. The media covered the conference, but the scientists who presented to the conference had no good news, only bad news. The news was televised reluctantly. Talking heads on the various news channels explained the details in excruciating details. There were skeptics and deniers, but the majority of trusted scientists were in consensus. The black hole anomaly was real and coming to them. There was no stopping it.

This sent the population into a depression spiral. A despondent population stopped working as apathy set in. Religious organizations reported a sudden uptick in interest.

The end of days was plastered everywhere. Every scientist agreed that there was no way for mankind to survive. The apathy was palatable.

Riots were sparked, and a loss of control worked its way into some nations. The people on the space stations were not immune to the apathy but had tasks to keep doing in order to insure their continued survival.

“This is why the governments decided long ago to not tell people if the world was going to end,” Dutch Firecreek said in disgust as they watched the news. Dutch was a pilot for the Stellar Works Aerospace Corporation, a company that had set up shop in the space stations in orbit of Earth and the Moon. They had several space stations, a growing tug business, several gas mines on the outer gas giant planets, and interests in asteroid mining.

“Yeah, to keep order and property values up,” Jake Black, his colleague said sarcastically.

“Not just that.” Dutch gave him a dubious look. “To also give them and us a chance to find a solution. You can’t do that if you are trying to survive, right?”

“True,” Jake said grudgingly. He had been a pilot in the Air Force before he had been bitten by the space bug. The Air Force had gotten him through college but hadn’t given him the stick time he had wanted. Everything was migrating to drones.

It was a little ironic that the company also ran drones and he spent more time managing a dozen drone tugs rather than actually flying inside a craft.

“Right now the chicken littles are ruling the roost,” the news anchor said on the video screen. “What happens if this turns out to be a case of the boy who cried wolf? Like that asteroid Apophis?”

“Oh, nice one,” Jake said with a nod.

<<O>>

Two of the governments went into denial about the anomaly. North Korea was a third, followed by small countries that had no presence in space. Each country released their own version of statements that the reports were in error and that the anomaly was a vicious hoax or would miss the star system. They bent the facts that had been presented by the science community badly, irritating many there.

Anyone who denied the reports or tried to counter them was arrested and jailed. A few were shot. The crackdown did cut down on the riots and apathy over the course of a week, however.

The media stated it was one of the stages of grief. “We each go through it in a different way. Anger seems to be prevalent now. Denial is obviously in the works for others. Eventually we will all have to accept our fate.”

<<O>>

Dirk Bradly, CEO of Stellar Works, also known as SWAC, refused to accept that they were all dead men walking. He firmly believed that they could work any problem as long as they had time and the resources to do so. Besides, the governments were offering a lot of money to companies to design and launch probes. The catch was that they wanted a paper study within one week.

He had a quorum of votes from the board agreeing to push forward with the probe and any other paper studies. He was grateful for that trust. He knew many on the board were running scared.

Many companies signaled interest in the proposal. Grants were sent out within hours of a company submitting an application so it was clear that Uncle Sugar as the U.S. government and the various Space Departments in it was called was serious this time.

His company had a readymade probe from a previous project. They had been underbid but the probe design was solid and they even had some of the hardware still on the shelf. It was all proven tech. They also had a new ion drive for a tug. The tug was running fuel back from the gas mines in the atmosphere of Uranus and Saturn. Therefore, it too was proven tech. He married the two in a spec doc and shot it off to the engineers and gave them twenty-four hours to come up with an initial plan and another seventy-two hours to have a complete blueprint.

They howled and complained they wanted to design it from scratch, but he was adamant that they go with as much off-the-shelf components as possible.

They had a lot of overtime and sleepless nights but managed to meet the deadline. He had the CAD drawings rendered by public affairs and then marketing had their turn at the cover sheet and design proposal. That meant his company was the first to submit a proposal.

He was not surprised when his office began to field calls from the DOD and NASA over the probe. They didn’t just accept it and wait; they wanted to run with it even though bidding had not officially closed yet.

He had his legal team and sales work out the contract specs even as the engineers began to draw the components from inventory and then begin to do tests to make sure they would survive the rigors of space. They came back to him asking about the margin, and he flat out told them to go costs plus 5 percent profit. No higher. They were surprised but passed it on.

An hour later, the contract was approved.

A day after that they had received initial approval from NASA while his company’s engineers signaled they had completed virtual stress tests and other simulations and were ready to go. Money came in; it would come in via a series of drafts as they met each goal.

He released the funding and the engineers got back to work.

<<O>>

   Noah's Arks is a 1 off initially intended for Multiverse 8. Like a few other stories it grew and grew until I turned it into a 1 off novel.

If there is enough interest I might write a sequel some day. 

  Anyway, I sent it to Rea over the weekend and she shot it back to me Monday. I punched out the final edits and then shot it off to Goodlifeguide. Fingers crossed I'll get it back before Thanksgiving.

 On to the snippet!

 

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Chapter 1

 

Mike Drasco nervously wiped at his hands on his ripped jeans as he finished setting up the big telescope. It was a cool New Hampshire night, down below 40 and dropping in the chilly October evening. His partner was Tisha, a pretty girl who had become his lab partner in physics class.

They had to do a report on astronomy, which was right up Mike’s alley. He was keen to show off the massive telescope array he and his dad had put together, along with a lot of other things. He had an entire speech prepared. He knew the locations of famous stars to heart and had a feeling she did too.

He started with the classics, the North Star and then Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. The computer hooked up to the telescope helped to enhance detail and filter out the light pollution coming from lights from homes nearby.

The back porch was dim, the lights were out, and they just had the glow from their laptops at the moment. He hissed and waved to his little sister who moved the blackout curtains aside to look at them. He growled.

Tisha turned and giggled as his little sister stuck her tongue out at him and then scampered off. She smiled and he ducked his head and blushed.

“Okay, where were we …?”

“Ursa Minor … has the North Star,” she prompted softly. She blew into her hands and then picked up the cup for a sip of hot chocolate.

“Oh, here,” he took his jacket off and put it on over her shoulders. She smiled softly and ducked her head as she put the cocoa down and put the lid on the mug to keep it warm.

“Okay, so, some of the classics ….” He pointed out Venus and Jupiter, which made her smile. He explained that some planets could only be seen at dawn or dusk. She nodded. He mentioned timing and then went on to explain how constellations moved and even spun from season to season.

They examined the moon and picked out a few things which she sketched and took images of. She loved the live view of three of the space stations in orbit. She sucked in a breath when he managed to catch a sublight tug moving to the moon.

“That is so cool!” she breathed with a grin.

“There are eighty-eight modern constellations. We can see thirty-six from North America. We don’t have to know all of them, just make observations on a few. Doctor Richalu will want a zinger. I think we can make his day with a couple of asteroids.”

“Oh! Wouldn’t it be cool to find one and name it?” Tisha said with a grin.

“Yeah, it would, and dad did twice,” Mike admitted.

“He did?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, one for my mom, one for my gram.”

She blinked.

“The bigger one he named for my gram. Something about she’s a big cold blooded … um …,” he stopped himself and rubbed the back of his head.

She snorted softly.

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t get on with his mother-in-law either,” she murmured.

He nodded and eagerly went back to his lecture. They moved closer to share body heat and to see the screen better. He eventually got a blanket he’d left out and wrapped it over her. She snuggled up to him.

Things were looking up, he thought. Don’t blow it, he thought as he switched to the next constellation before they switched to the asteroid hunt.

“Can we see other planets around other stars?” Tisha asked.

He didn’t laugh at that. “Unfortunately no, this scope isn’t as powerful as the big ones. Besides, they see planets by looking for wobble over several nights. See, they take the image from tonight, tomorrow, and so on, and then compare the images in software to pick out the planets.”

“Oh.”

He pointed out Alpha Centauri and then Sirius and then the Cassiopeia constellation. She smiled at that one.

When he went to find Perseus, he noted that some of the stars were missing in the constellation. He knew it was hit or miss; it was best seen in December. But something was off; the computer could only find some of the stars not all of them.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked as he ran a diagnostic.

“That’s funny,” he said clearly puzzled.

“Odd,” Tisha said. She was amused that he had goofed up.

“No, I know it is there, but …,” he frowned. But then she cleared her throat and he became distracted with other things. She kissed him.

<<O>>

In the morning, he talked to his father over breakfast. His father was an amateur astronomer and had gotten his son into the hobby as well. He’d been amused that his son had used it to get a girl. Amused but not surprised, after all it had landed him the love of his life.

When Mike showed him the images he’d taken with the camera attached to the telescope, Bob laughed and promised to look into it. “You were probably nervous and had it pointed at the wrong part of the sky,” he teased.

Mike blushed.

The following evening they sipped hot chocolate and went out to check again. They couldn’t find the constellation. “What is going on?” Bob demanded. “I’ve got the coordinates right …,” he tested the system on other constellations. They worked. “See?”

“Is there a space station overhead or something?” Mike asked.

“For this long?” Bob demanded. He frowned. “Maybe …,” he scratched at his chin and then pulled out his phone and tapped out an email.

“What are you doing?”

“Contacting a friend to see what they can see.”

<<O>>

Two other amateur astronomers reported that they too couldn’t see the constellation. They in turn called others. Word spread until it hit the professionals.

Doctor Hyu Phao Lao promised to look into it. He initially brushed the absurd idea away, but curiosity got the better of him and he dug into it.

When the twelve telescopes in the array he managed could not see anything even on the infrared, he grew concerned enough to contact his boss and a couple of other people in the community.

<<O>>

 

About:

  Nightmarish creatures looking for a new nest stumble upon an unused path into the heart of a new unsuspecting sector… Prisoners being tormented in a space prison plot an escape… Scientists begin work on the greatest project of civilization… The descendants of terraformers repair their titanic ship and make their way back to the outer Federation… these and other stories lurk within the pages here…

 

Amazon: Amazon 

B&N: B&N

 Sitrep: So, the cover to Multiverse 8 has been completed:

  There are 5 stories in it, 2 Federation, 1 PRI, and 2 new independent sci-fi stories. (one of which was recommended to be turned into a full novel/series!)

Anyway, that gives me 5 books in the hands of the Betas and Goodlifeguide. I think I'm well ahead! :)

They are:

World Builders (in the hands of Goodlife so it will be published anytime this month!)

 Noah's Arks (due in December)

Lowering the Hammer (Pirate Hunt 4)

Jethro 9 Siege

Multiverse 8

If any of the Betas want any of the books let me know. (you know who you are!)

I would also like to get 1-2 books into print. Possibly New Dawn and Jethro goes to War 1 next year. We shall see.

  For those of you wondering, (a little birdy told me) my bibliography is in the beginning of every book, and in the Federation books at the back you will find a 'Recommended Reading Order'. 

  In other news: I am poking at my Johnny 5 bust again and looking at the Delorian time machine print again too. I need to reprint a few parts that broke (or in this case were glued to parts that broke) so I can get things moving with J5 there. (upper strut mounts) I'm hoping to get somewhere with it soon.

Here is the snippet:

Backup Plan

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Edessa

 

The Guiding Intelligence finally felt like he was making some headway with the Gravemind when their people in the capital reported that the Xenos were pushing for more automation and less reliance on their kind.

It was a point of concern for them.

As a contingency plan built into their subconscious, they gathered a copy of everything they had, including nanites. They had reverse engineered the nanites so had recently begun manufacturing their own. Soon they would no longer be reliant on the Xenos for that critical resource.

Until then they had to be careful. They sent encrypted orders to the researchers to slow their research and be more thorough in their testing before providing results and conclusions. The same for the engineers.

They also dispatched two of their own ships outward. One would hide in deep space; the other would head to a neighboring sector. Both were contingencies against the possibility of their loss and destruction.

The temptation was strong to send it to the nearest one but that was Pi sector. That was occupied by the pirates and the Federation.

The Gravemind and independent leaders debated the odds of survival of a ship. If the Federation had not closed the jump lines across the sector, they could easily get a ship through. If, however, the Federation had managed to take over the sector, any ship would be detected and run down or destroyed.

Worse would be the detection. They did not need or want unwanted attention from the Federation.

Pity, they had holdings in Pi and the neighboring sectors, and some of their creators had been last sighted in those regions of space. It would have been nice to get back into contact with them and update them with their findings.

Instead, the ship was forged to run across the sector north to Xi sector. They could move in there and establish another Well of Souls and a backup of their kind somewhere in that sector.

>>><><<< 

In Hyperspace

 

Captain Charon MMXXIII was a humorless clone. It had a mission and it was programmed to complete that mission or die with his ship. The captain took the mission on with solemn dignity of his build, neither complaining nor attempting to shirk its fate.

As a clone, his mind had been drawn from the Well of Souls. He was not a draft, a fresh mind enslaved to the greater purpose in order to serve the collective. His genetic profile had been weeded and cleansed of any defects. He was wholeheartedly committed to the cause.

He did have enslaved minds on board his ship running some of the lesser functions. Their manic energy was useful when properly harnessed. The critical command positions were held by clones of course.

Charon 23 turned to look at Preserver II, his ship’s sister ship in the cause. It was a copy of his own save for two small details.

Each ship was a cruiser grade construction rather than a transport. Most weapons stripped out to house copies of the Cryptorium facility. The ships were flat black and shaped like beetles.

Preserver II differed in her mission. She had been set up to travel further since she was to go to an adjacent sector and set up its Cryptorium there. But the second difference was as in its captain.

Charon 23 was still grappling with the differences. It wasn’t certain if the initiative its clone brother had been programmed with would help or hinder the cause. Only time and the fickle winds of fate would show them which way the bones would fall.

>>><><<< 

Preserver II

As a Charon build, Captain Charon MMXXIII was known as a steady hand in a starship. Charons were transport captains who ferried the Necrons around. Normally they were selected to transport material and units between sites or, more likely and in this case, to ferry a unit out to a new location to set up a fallback cryptorium.

Charon 24, as he was known, had been grown in the same vat bath as 23. His hatching had been delayed by several months due to a temporary industrial priority shift. When they had returned to his ship, he had been hatched in order to oversee the final fitting out of the ship.

Unlike his vat brother, Charon 24 had a few extra modifications to allow for independent thought and action. He was, after all, to take his ship into unknown territory. He had a contingency order to return the ship if he could do so safely and discretely.

His clone brother had no such command. Twenty-three would most likely shut down when his function was complete and he was made redundant.

Charon had no idea what his original bio-parent’s name was nor did he care. His original bio parent might have been a volunteer or a draft; again, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered was the mission.

He was unaware if the Xenos were sending out their own ships to set up fallback bases. That was not his concern. His concern was to not alert the Xenos to his presence. The Xeno-Necron alliance was expanding rapidly through the sector like a wildfire. There were cracks starting to show in the unholy alliance though, which was why the Guiding Intelligence had triggered the backup contingency.

As Preserve vessels go, this one was better than any other in the history of the Necron cause. It was purpose built, a rarity. Normally, a Preserver was a captured ship that had been rebuilt to fulfill its programming. Occasionally, it wasn’t even fully suborned but a portion of a vessel, sometimes just a few shipping containers. When they arrived at their destination, the shipment would be “lost” at the destination and a new cryptorium would be forged somewhere.

As the best Preserver mission to be sent out to date, the ship had some beings selected from the Well of Souls to support and maintain the mission. Each had their own role to play.

The Guardian, known as Cerberus, Guardian of Tomorrow, was a Necron knight. He was a giant brute mech with the core of a cyborg. Black Gothic armor covered the mech body with spear points jutting out of the backpack. The mech tended to stomp around when he moved through the ship. Each step was powerful enough to shake the deck. It was so energy intensive and large it usually limited its movements around the interior of the ship.

He normally liked to squat in front of the chamber to the Well of Souls or to the armory.

Kha MMMXXXIII was the Cryptek Technomancer, the chief engineer of the starship. The Technomancer was quiet and went about his duties silently. His body moved swiftly and silently, seemingly floating through the ship.

Kha controlled two-thirds of the bots and lesser cyborgs that maintained the vessel at its peak efficiency. The Technomancer moved from one spot to another checking ship systems constantly.

Zramek the Harvester was the Necromancer assigned to the ship. He was a black brooding cyborg dressed in black robes who seemed bitter at the assignment but determined to follow it through. He looked like a dark Gothic priest with his pointed hat and shoulders. To the uninitiated, he would be terrifying. Most of the time a mortal only saw him once while strapped to a table being dissected and reformatted into a new form with a new purpose to serve the collective. Any mortal that had been drafted in such a way might harbor memories in their flesh and were therefore terrified and extremely deferential to the Necromancer.

Most likely because they didn’t want anything else cut off and reshaped, Charon thought moodily. Zramek was known as a harvester, but he occasionally experimented with ideas on how to “better the race.”

The Caretaker was one of his underlings. She was a cyborg Arachnes, a half human, half spider robot. She spoke with a sweet voice. The Caretaker cared for the fleshy parts of the cyborg amalgamation within the ship. She controlled some of the spiderbots in order to tend to the cyborgs who were fused to the wall or machinery in one fashion or another.

Samuel was the XO of the ship. He was another mostly silent being who went about his duties quickly and quietly.

Salem was once a small black domestic Neocat that had been a helmsman on a tramp freighter in his previous life. He was now a cyborg tied into the ships systems. He tended to roam the ship when they were not in hyperspace. He liked to sleep and would try to hide in odd spaces. The spiderbots always found him and rousted him out to attend to his duties.

There were clones of each of them on each vessel. There had been little interaction between them. Many had been programmed to not be interested in such matters. The Guardian was a humorless near automaton, rigid in his mission parameters.

The Charon could not help but debate their mission. The Necron species was in a better place than it had ever been before. Yet, still they moved with caution.

The hated Federation, which burned them from their hiding spots, was far away. They had an ally and had almost every technological resource that they needed to continue with their great crusade.

And yet they still proceeded with caution. They still acted like they could be destroyed at any time.

It made him question his mission. Of course he did it privately; it would not do to show adherent behavior. That could get the attention of the Necromancer with disastrous results for his existence and the mission.

He only had a slight care for this existence, enough to want to maintain it. He was aware that he was the best Charon of his subspecies build. A lot of that had to do with the quality of his cybernetics and his nanites.

Since his mission was so far reaching, he had been given a lot of latitude in his programming. That included initiative. He was programmed to think, to plan, and to watch out and avoid trouble.

He had temporarily toyed with his mission orders. He was supposed to go to a neighboring sector but initially the orders had been vague. South was obviously out, and they had been programmed against going into Pi sector and accidentally alerting the Federation of the Necron/Xeno alliance prematurely.

But there might be another direction. He considered headed west into deep space towards Upsilon Sector. There was a massive void between the arms of the galaxy, but if he could transition it safely, it would be a big leap for his kind.

He was uncertain of his chances though so he kept his ship in line with Preserver I until he needed to make the final decision.

>>><><<< 

 Sitrep:

So, I am almost finished the cover of Multiverse 8. Here is the snippet from the next story:

Congo City

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Purple Skies Star System, Tau Sector

 

Doctor Peter Ellington didn’t know his family well. His parents had died in a riot when the pirate plagues had killed many people. As humans they had been immune to the plagues but not to the violence from others. He had been living on the streets and had gotten pneumonia. He owed his life to a medic from a visiting hospital ship that had picked him up and brought him to the aide camp for treatment.

He had entered the foster care system there. He might have ended up as a tragic statistic but he had been determined to make a life for himself. He had proven he was gifted so he had been given more opportunities than other people in the same situation might have.

“Okay, folks, the grades will be posted by this evening. Oh, if you need adjustments, see me or Richy. We will be at the auditorium tonight trying to pitch the next expedition,” he said. He turned.

“Speaking of which, if we want to see it happen, please invite anyone interested in it to attend. We need to find a way to stop the beetles. I feel that the jungle may be the key to that threat,” he said firmly.

A few students smiled slightly at his insistence. They knew their professor’s hobby horse intimately.

“Make sure those of you who are on digs or other expeditions, check in with your team leads right away. I mean it! They might have changed the schedule, and you could get left behind,” he warned. He surveyed the students. “It has happened before,” he warned darkly.

He dismissed them and a gaggle of students immediately mobbed his assistant Richy. Richy did his best to handle the questions. Pete stood by and handled any leakers.

There were a bare twenty students so they got through that relatively quickly. Richy smiled and sat down on a stool in relief.

“Ever wish you’d gone off on the science ship?” Richy asked.

“Sometimes. Not anymore,” Pete admitted.

A science ship had come by the star system and had done an orange peel orbit around the planet to map the surface. Anomalies were highlighted and the entire data set given to the government.

The scientists had done many things during their brief time in orbit. They had taken readings, talked to people, cataloged artifacts, and tisked tisked about the lack of museums and such.

The science vessel’s crew had goaded the government into creating a college university system again. The government had done so in order to elevate their people into the future, and Pete had been one of the gifted students who had gotten through it. He had even taken a few classes with the scientists on the ship until they had departed the star system.

There had been hope that there would be additional visits. But then the war with Tau had broken out and everyone had been busy looking for escape plans in case of invasion. Now that the war with Tau was winding down, they were keen to look into the lost cities and relics of the past.

One such location was Congo city, a reputed lost city near the equatorial region. The data from the science ship and their own old maps had mapped it out. Expeditions had tried to go there, but few had returned. Those that did or those that just overflew the region reported that the entire area was overgrown with seven centuries of jungle growth. Pete was keen to know how the jungle handled the beetle menace, which was devastating plants across the planets in the region.

Traenor Industries, an offworld company, had come in when they had heard about the lost city. They were eager to go there and check it out. They had a contract with the government to get loot from the city when they opened access to it. Pete was a bit dismayed by that fact, but at least they would catalog everything and make the data available to the scientists.

He was practical enough to understand the government’s reasoning. The government wanted to get a city going and to get the lost riches to fund growth and to combat the beetle pest. With them they could have a brighter future, perhaps even grow the college into a proper university.

The government was tapped out on sending another expedition, however. There was an economic depression hammering the planet and region. The beetle pest and the quarantine to keep it from leaving the world were tying their hands badly.

Pete had convinced his college to pay half of the costs for his expedition to the jungle. He had to fit it in between semesters, however. They had six weeks to complete the expedition, but only two days to find an investor to pay the rest of the money he needed, or it was a no-go. Pete had put in as much money from his meager savings as he dared.

He needed the data from the field. But there was more to it than that.

The official reason was to chart the progress of the beetles devastating plant life on their world and on the neighboring worlds in the region. He and his assistant were also supposed to look for some natural predator or some immune plant that killed the pest.

The idea was to find something that might give them a glimmer of hope to kill the pest. He had his doubts though.

He had another more personal reason to go to the jungle though. Her name was Amy.

>>><><<< 

In a few short days, Prince of Thorns becomes a teenager and will be the same age as Jorg himself for the first few pages of the novel!

I never expected to be an author. I certainly never expected this guy to pay off my mortgage. And I absolutely didn't expect to still be signing copies of the book in my local Waterstones 13 years after it was published.

The shelf life of an author is typically one book. Fantasy authors more often get a trilogy, because that's how fantasy rolls. But yup, not many of us hang around for long, and the past 13 years are littered with the bright flashes of many fine writers who came along about the same time as me.
I've said - so often that I'm bored of hearing myself say it - that all forms of writing success require large doses of luck. Skill at writing and at story telling are what buys you the lottery ticket. After that you need the stars to align.
It's easy to focus on the hyper-rare examples where the celestial alignment has been of atonishing proportions, and to feel a measure of discontent. But I'm constantly aware that so many fine writers have failed to flourish where I've been fortunate enough to make a living for over a decade now.
So, in part this post is a big thankyou to all you readers who've made that possible.

It's scary to look back at my bibliography and think that (with the exception of the Impossible Times books) each of those novels represents a year of my life. I have grown significantly older doing this...
People often talk to me about pride and about legacy, as if these stories are somehow more of an achievement than the myriad things everyone else has spent the last 13+ years on. I don't subscribe to that point of view, at all. Almost every book is a line drawn in wet sand and if the wave that will wash them away hasn't arrived in 13 years, then it's certainly going to hit the beach at some point, and sooner than most folk think.
I'm pleased and grateful that I've been able to share these stories, but 'proud' isn't a word I'd use. It's ... complicated.
Anyway, enough navel gazing. Just as I had no idea what the 13 years after Prince of Thorns hitting the shelves would look like, I have no idea where we'll be when the book reaches 18 or 21. Will anyone remember Jorg on the 25th anniversary in 2036 ... who knows. 
For now though, the ideas keep coming and the itch to write continues to require scratching. I've finished three books this year, and hopefully will have a 4th done by Christmas.
Thanks for reading!


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While we can certainly be forgiven for not seeing our personal wounds as jewels, our most powerful wounds often have as many facets and hidden depths as an exquisitely cut gemstone. They are sharp, with hard edges that not only reflect back light but distort it somewhat.

As writers, we know that our character’s wounds are some of the most fertile ground for creating a rich, fully realized protagonist. But before we can explore this with our characters, we have to understand it ourselves. And because we have all been wounded in some way—and those places are always tender—it can be uncomfortable to look too closely.

In order to use our characters’ wounds to full effect, we need to understand that wounds aren’t simply an attribute to be filled in on a worksheet. They are the rocket fuel for our character’s backstory, the backstory that drives their motivation and colors their world. It must be deeply organic to that character and so intricately woven into their emotional DNA that it distorts the way the see the world and themselves.

While everyone’s wounds are uniquely theirs, they are also universal in that they’re something we all share.  What differs is their nature, how we carry them, and the many—often unexpected—ways they shape us and our behavior.

Because of course the impact of any given wound isn’t limited to that initial injury. I was reminded of that last week when I was out walking and twisted my ankle. It was nothing serious, but by the time I’d limped around favoring it for a day or two, everything else was out of whack as I contorted my body to accommodate the injury.

Emotional wounds are just like that, only worse by orders of magnitude.

Even when we know our character’s painful past, we often don’t use it to full effect. We don’t manage to weave into the very essence of who our character is—because make no mistake, wounds fundamentally shape us, especially those incurred in childhood when we are so defenseless. With wounds of the heart or soul—the ones that violate some deep fundamental part—it is the repercussions of that initial wound that create the most scarring. The blame, the self-doubt, the suffocating shame, all serve as a way to cut us off from our core self.

Emotional neglect, a betrayal, a rejection, a lie, are all painful enough, but often become the lens through which we see ourselves. We accept that rejection. Believe that lie. Justify the betrayal due to something fundamentally flawed within us rather than the betrayer. Or worse, we don’t see it as a betrayal at all, but simple evidence of how flawed and unlovable we really are.

The emotionally abandoned child believes they are undeserving of love.

The abused believes they deserve the abuse, that love will always hurt and often comes coated in shame.

The child of addicts learns to fundamentally mistrust the safety and stability of the world around them.

The child raised in a religion that vilifies all human behavior will inevitably see themselves as sinful and unworthy.

Any kind of abuse—emotional, physical, sexual—is often the starting point for a long, twisted, distorted journey from our true selves. And our worldview takes shape around that bad information we’ve deduced because of it.

One of the biggest challenges we face as writers is how to hook our reader emotionally and forge a connection in those first few pages without becoming the literary equivalent of the stranger in the checking line, blurting out every gory detail of the drama of their lives without even having been asked.

The secret, I think, is to show or hint at the character’s contortions and defense mechanisms that have sprung up around that deeper wound. As readers, we’re trained to look for clues and hints, so we’ll spot those coping mechanisms and be intrigued—we’ll want to know why.

So as writers, we need to ask ourselves: In what ways does our character limp through the world? How do they favor that wounded place inside? What distorted belief do they cling to with both hands?  What ways do they disassociate from parts of themselves that brush too closely to that wound? In what ways do they wear their wound like a chip on their shoulder, insisting to the world it has made them tough, impervious to future wounding?

And why are these characters indelibly scarred by these events, when others might brush them off or take them in stride?

I believe the answer to that last question is that because for some, the psychic soil has been well prepared and cultivated—their soil broken down and covered in so much manure before the wound even shows up—that the individual is supremely susceptible to the final blow.

But what about characters who don’t have a tragic or traumatic event in their past?  What about lesser, garden variety wounds? The kind we acquire from the simple life lessons of growing older or growing up? Because the majority of the time, these shaping wounds are incurred early in life—either in our childhood, teen, or early adult years.

These less traumatic experiences still shape us, although to what degree will vary widely from character to character and will depend on things like the psychic equivalent of adrenaline, momentum, individual pain thresholds, and how cultivated the soil was.

We all have memories from our childhood, of playing with other kids, either on the playground or in the neighborhood, then taking a fall, skinning our knee or scraping an elbow. Chances are we bounced right up and kept on going, utterly impervious to any pain. At least until it was time to come inside and wash up for dinner. THEN we could feel that sucker throbbing and stinging.

Science has also shown that pain thresholds within the same person vary depending on how stressed our systems are. When we are under chronic stress, our body produces a lot more of some chemicals and fewer of others. The reformulation of our brain chemistry intensifies pain response—both physical and emotional.

So even if the story you’re writing does not involve characters with large traumatic wounds in their past, common everyday wounds can be equally fertile ground for deepening character.

• Why does a character have a gambling problem?
• A shopping addiction?
• Why are they terrified of clowns? Cats? Blimps?
• Why do they feel the need to be perfect?
• So competitive?

Each of those behaviors could be fueled by either a traumatic wound or a common every day one. It is the tone and theme of your story that will decide which it should be. Or rather I should say, it is the nature of your character’s wounds that will determine the tone and theme of your story.

We are often our own worst enemy—there is no denying that. Many writers feel that their character is his own antagonist, and that is likely true. Our desperation to avoid acknowledging our wounds, to avoid awakened that old pain and our deeply held beliefs about the nature of that pain are often an enormous component of getting in the way of our own happiness. It is hard and scary to look that deeply inside and reorient our world view, even it if ultimately frees us. It is scary to be thrust back into the same powerlessness and vulnerability we had in that moment. That is why we need stories to show us how.

Some of our character’s most transformative moments will come from facing those wounds, freeing themselves from the weight of them, and beginning the healing process. And of course, the stories we write aren’t about the wounds—but how we can overcome them.

We need stories to show us that being wounded or broken doesn’t lessen our character’s—or our own—humanity in any way. It is, in fact, what make us deeply human. The best stories show us that having been wounded doesn’t mean we are less than, or broken beyond repair, or unworthy. Instead, they illuminate all the different shapes wounds can take and the many different paths to healing that await us, if only we have the courage to look.

Do you know your character’s defining wounds? Can you brainstorm three to four ways these wounds create behaviors that readers can see on the page?

 

(Originally published on Writer Unboxed April 13, 2018)

 

Hoping to find an ally from the convent, Sybella instead discovers yet another initiate who has been misled and misused by the former abbess of Saint Mortain. But with long held secrets exposed and allegiances revealed, Sybella must form an uneasy trust borne of desperation to combat enemies at the French court who would have them branded as traitors and heretics.

Some mistakes cannot be fixed—that is Genevieve’s growing fear. Though she may have been a fool, she is no coward and will do whatever it takes to set things right and ensure her Queen’s—and Sybella’s—safety. It will take all of Genevieve’s strength of will and cunning, along with Sybella’s willingness to embrace her growing power. But even that may not be enough.

Plans fail, fragile loyalties are tested, and bridges burn in this riveting conclusion to the Courting Darkness duology. Here, the Daughters of Death finally embrace the full depth of their power—and try to make whole that which has been broken, including themselves.

 

Want to read more? You’re in luck! My publisher is providing an e-sampler of the first eleven chapters. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it! (And if you get so excited that you feel like pre-ordering the book–be sure to save your receipts! There will be a pre-order gift. Details coming soon!)

As I wrote Dark Triumph, I wanted to be sure and populate the book with some of the colorful characters from the Middle Ages that I had come across in my research, and yet it had to feel organic to the story and not wedged in there.

As Sybella and the wounded knight were racing through the countryside, trying to escape pursuit, I had to do some serious thinking as to who they would actually run in to, and of those people, who would help, who would hinder, and who would turn them in in a heartbeat for a reward. Since they would need to slip into the forest to evade capture, I decided to draw from those who lived in the forests or obtained their livelihood from the woods, and settled upon a group of charcoal burners.

Oddly, it is often the outcasts in society who are most accepting of other outcasts. Their very disenfranchisement sometimes makes them more willing to challenge the status quo or thumb their nose at rigid authority. While charcoal burners were not (probably) true outcasts, they did keep to themselves somewhat, confined by their livelihood to dwelling in forests and tending their charcoal fires rather than living in cities or villages.

In the middle ages, one of the most efficient fuels at the time was charcoal. Coal itself was rare and difficult to mine with their technology, but charcoal could be made through the slow burning of wood, then stopping the process before the wood was fully burned to ash. Charcoal burning was a tricky thing, requiring fairly esoteric knowledge of how to build the fire pits just so, how to pile the wood so it wouldn’t burn too quickly, and how to read the smoke to discern when the charcoal was ready. There were a number of occupational hazards, primarily involving collapsed fire pits and burns. It was also an occupation full of hazard, for a stray spark or ember could start a conflagration in minutes.

As I continued to research charcoal burners, I came across a curious mention of the Carbonnari, a branch of Italian charcoal burners. They started off as a guild, as many medieval trades did, and developed into an organization or brotherhood similar to Freemansons, only with their charcoal burning trade being at the center of their rituals and organizations. While their organization and political involvement was most evident in 19th century Italy, it is believed the groups’ origins began in the middle ages. When I learned they had a French counterpart called the Charbonnerie, I knew I’d found my outcasts.

As a writer, a dozen questions immediately went off in my mind. Who were they? What would compel them to become political and engage themselves in the affairs of the kingdom? How would they make those decisions? And, most importantly in a world populated with patron saints, whom would they worship?

Any deviation from normal church doctrine in the middle ages was rigorously opposed, so it made sense to me that they would worship someone not approved by the church, one of the older gods who’d not make the transition to patron saint.

Dovetailing nicely with this was my personal fascination with the concept of the Black Madonna. There are various theories for the origin of the Black Madonna, whether it was simply the color of Jesus and Mary’s skin before Renaissance artists reimagined them as fair skinned and blonde, or an origin that spoke to possible African roots. There is some speculation that the huge popularity of the cult of the Virgin Mary in the middle ages was a redirecting of earlier earth/mother goddess worship.

But interestingly, over the years I’d also run into mentions of the Black Artemis, rumored to have been worshipped by the Amazons, or Black Demeter, the aspect of the earth goddess when she was in deep mourning for her daughter Persephone. I took all those threads and swirled them around until I had the Dark Matrona, the unsanctioned aspect of Dea Matrona, the former earth goddess now patron saint. I decided that her darkness would be of a more spiritual nature, not unlike the Egyptian god Osiris, for in the Egyptian pantheon, black was not only the color of the underworld, but regeneration as the rich dark silt from the Nile river allowed them to grow their crops each year, and so black was also the color of regeneration, which dovetailed nicely with the book’s themes of finding hope in the darkness.

 

While the Nine Old Gods of Brittany are my own invention, they were built on a number of historical, geographical, and ancient theological precedents, so I thought I’d share some of those here for those of you who are curious to know what my inspirations for world of His Fair Assassin were.

As the Catholic Church struggled to gain acceptance among people who were reluctant to let go of their own pagan beliefs, it made a conscious decision to actively subsume those beliefs into Christianity, white washing and Christianizing them along the way. They felt it would make it easier for people to accept the new religion if they could recognize parts of their old beliefs in it.

Brittany was also home to the last remaining group of druidesses, called the Gallinezae, who were said to possess mysterious power. Additionally, Brittany had nine bishoprics, or districts, that were based on the nine earlier Celtic tribes who inhabited the land.

Since Brittany was originally inhabited by the Celtic tribes, I built the mythology of His Fair Assassin on a Celtic foundation. It’s also important to note that I drew from Continental Celtic roots for my mythology rather than the Irish Celts.

Trying to accurately recreate any Celtic beliefs is tricky however, because the Celts themselves did not create any written record of their beliefs or practices; it was all passed along through the oral tradition. In fact, druids in training were required to study for twenty years in order to learn all their lore and history by committing it to memory.

Consequently, nothing of the Celtic religion or spiritual beliefs and practices was written down until they were invaded by Rome. In addition to viewing the Celts practices with scorn, the Romans often interpreted other pantheons according to their own, thus a mother goddess must be equated with Zeus’s wife Hera, or a god of the Underworld with Hades, etc. This Interpretatio romana colored everything we knew about Celtic practices up until fairly recently when improved archaeological techniques and methods began revealing a more complete and accurate picture. The funny thing is though, by the middle ages the myth and folklore of these earlier Celts would have been very much written over and ‘tainted’ by the Romanization of those myths, so that those living in the 15th century would have been more familiar with this Romanized version. Since I set the story in that timeframe, I wanted to be true to that worldview rather than our own, more knowledgeable one.

Here is a list of the Nine Old Gods of Brittany along with their Roman/Greek or Celtic influences/inspiration:

Saint Mortain – god of death. The Celtic equivalent to Dis Pater, the Romanized Celtic god of death, with some similarities to the Welsh Arawn. Greek and Roman counterparts would be Pluto and Hades, but the Celtic Dis Pater had other aspects to him that tied him to older beliefs that enveloped not only the underworld, but the entire cycle of life and death. Also inspired by the Breton figure of personified death, the Ankou.

Dea Matrona – Gaulish mother goddess, responsible for the earth’s bounty. Similar to the Celtic Anu or Ana.

Saint Amourna – daughter of Dea Matrona and one of the twin goddesses of love. Amourna is the gentle aspect of love. The Celtic pantheon had no goddess of love per se, so she definitely has aspects of Aphrodite or Venus. However, the idea of twin sister goddesses representing the dual aspects of love was my own invention.

Saint Arduinna – daughter of Dea Matrona and goddess of love’s sharp bite, protector of virgins. There was a Celtic goddess Arduinna who was a goddess of the forest. Boars, highly revered by the Celts, were sacred to her. Similar to the Gallo-Roman Diana.

Saint Mer – goddess of the sea. While there is no known Celtic god of the sea, there were many deities of springs and lakes, most of whom were goddesses so I decided to make the deity of the sea in my world in keeping with the feminine representations the Celts seemed to favor.

Saint Camulos – god of battle and warriors. Wears a corona of oak leaves and ram’s horns. The Romans equated him with Mars, but I also drew slightly on the cult of Mithros.

Saint Brigantia – goddess of wisdom; brought medicine and healing knowledge to mankind. Based on the Celtic goddess Bridget, who is one of the most widely known pagan goddesses to have become a saint. Her Greek and Roman counterparts would be Athena and Minerva.

Saint Cissonius – god of crossroads and travelers. I took the Celtic Cissonius, god of trade, and expanded on it a bit.

Saint Salonius – god of mistakes and patron saint of bastards. Ah, this is my most historically tenuous god. I have always been a fan of the trickster god who appears in so many pantheons, and I saw a fleeting entry on the Wikipedia Celtic Gods and Goddesses page that reference Salonius, god of mistakes. Alas, when I later went to reference it, the entry was gone and I couldn’t even find it in the Google cache search. Although it seems fitting that my god of mistakes might have been born of one of my own.

Anne of Brittany was a real historic person. At twelve years old, upon the death of her father, she inherited one of the last remaining duchies in Western Europe. By all accounts, she was a remarkable girl. Groomed since birth to inherit the duchy, she was reading and speaking Greek and Latin by the time she was five years old.

Her substantial inheritance was complicated by two things. One, she was a woman at a time when traditionally women did not inherit kingdoms. Since the time of Charlemagne, Salic Law had been invoked to prevent women from becoming rulers. When Anne became Duchess of Brittany, it defied all the conventions of that time. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, not only was she unmarried, but her father had promised her hand in marriage to at least half a dozen European nobles, if not more. As he plotted and strategized, trying to keep his lands and title safe from the French Crown, he dangled his daughter (and her substantial dowry) as bait for the aid he needed from other princes and dukes. Consequently, when he died, she had been promised to more than one suitor.

To say that this created problems for her in keeping her duchy independent is an understatement. Which is why she needed the help of assassin nuns. What? Doesn’t everybody call for assassin nuns when they’re having political difficulty? If not, they should….

 

In preparation for the publication of COURTING DARKNESS, and because I realize not everyone has time for a re-read of the original trilogy, I thought I would put up some “refresher” posts to help readers reacquaint themselves with the His Fair Assassin world before diving back in. First up: the legends and folklore of Brittany that planted those first seeds in my imagination, lo those many years ago . . .

As I combed through history, looking for the perfect setting for this story, four things caught my attention and eventually solidified into the world of His Fair Assassin. The first was a twelve year old duchess who inherited a kingdom, that inheritance hugely complicated by the fact that she had been promised in marriage to half a dozen princes and nobles.

Next was a mention of the Gallizenae, nine druidesses who lived on the Ile de Sein off the coast of Brittany and possessed mysterious powers.

While Googling for images of the Ile de Sein, I came across of photo of a small, medieval chapel standing next to one of the old, pagan standing stones that are so plentiful in Brittany. It was such a vivid illustration of one of the things that has always fascinated me—how the Catholic Church was so successful at absorbing bits and pieces of the older, ancient religions.

I also learned of a Breton folklore figure call the Ankou, a personification figure of Death.

 

Then lastly, I read about the Passage de l’Enfer—a Breton folktale of fisherman who receive a knock on their door at midnight and were required row the souls of the dead across the ocean at night. Those legends soon became intertwined in my mind and the story idea began to take shape . . .

I get asked this a lot, so thought I’d try to address it here.

Courting Darkness is meant to be able to be read without having read the original His Fair Assassin trilogy. But it is not the first book of Sybella’s adventures.

If you read an ARC and were lost—I’m sorry. That is one of the absolute downsides to ARCs—they are unfinished and sometimes relatively unpolished copies. I made THREE more rounds of line edits after the ARCs were printed. A large portion of those changes were to help make Courting Darkness more accessible to new readers and help bring former His Fair Assassin readers up to speed.

I think we succeeded in making it less confusing to new readers. But part of that depends on what sort of reader you are.

Some readers hate to read reviews or synopsis and love trying to piece together the backstory from context clues. Others like every detail spelled out and like a lot of explanation in the narrative. There are definitely readers who hit Courting Darkness cold and thoroughly enjoyed it! Where exactly their reader preferences fell on the above spectrum, I’m not sure.

Part of the problem as a writer was finding a way to revisit the events of Dark Triumph without utterly violating who Sybella is as a character. She is an extraordinarily private person whose past was so difficult that she blocked out most of it for four years. Those early memories will never be something she takes out causally to mull over. To have her do so felt like it cheapened her experience, turning it into something exploitative, even though it would have filled readers in on what had happened in her past. But honestly, I think those experiences of hers will mean more if they are experienced with her rather than recounted in a narrative recap.

So I believe (hope?) you can read Courting Darkness first. With luck, you will enjoy it enough that you’ll want to know more about Sybella and give Dark Triumph a try—it will answer so many questions you might have! But it is very likely that reading Courting Darkness will be a richer experience if you’ve read the trilogy first. But if you haven’t, don’t despair! Sybella’s full backstory will be revisited more fully in the second book in the duology—when events give her no choice but to confront it.

 

(LATE) ME ALERT!!!

I’ll be attending Nine Worlds this weekend since I had such awesome fun there last time. I’ll be there on the Friday and Sunday, but not Saturday as some friends of mine have inconveniently decided to get married right in the middle of the year’s greatest geekfest! Don’t people check their calendars anymore? *eyeroll*

Schedule:

FRIDAY 10 am (bright and early): Megan Leigh (Breaking The Glass Slipper podcast) interviews little old me about all kinds of stuff! Signing at the Big Green Bookstore stand right after.

6:45 pm – Twisted Tales: a panel about the darker side of fairytales

SUNDAY

1:30 pm Things You Never Thought Could Be: a panel about YA fiction.

For more info click here and type ‘Wooding’ in the search field.

 

When I’m not in panels I shall very likely be in the bar, er, ‘networking’ or in the gaming room nerding out on all the boardgames I can find all at once. Also I use conventions as an opportunity to hunt down potential rivals and assassinate them, so if they’ve written a good book in the last year or so and they’re at Nine Worlds, they’re probably on my list.

 

 

At last! All is revealed! Here is the doorstopper I’ve been working on all this time. Release date 15th February 2018. Available for preorder now. All the info here.