Of Wings and Things

Hello everyone. Not a whole lot to update you with right at the moment, since it's the same old story: I'm still working on both Taloner: Wekthusia and the revision of Nethbane. But while things are a little quiet, I thought you'd enjoy an excerpt from Book 9.

Exhaling softly, Lotus closed her eyes; it was easier to concentrate when she wasn’t looking at anything. Reaching within herself for a particular spell that she and Rhozu had been developing over the last several months, Lotus summoned the energy forth. Through her eyelids, she saw a flare of light.

Shivering from the slight tingle on her back, Lotus opened her eyes and turned to inspect her work, then sighed when she saw the feathered pair of white wings on her back. They glowed with faint luminance, lighting up the deck where she stood.

After having traveled so much with the lore drakes a year previous, Lotus had felt inspired to devise her own method of flight. It had helped to speed her in her travels across parts of Siege, especially over rocky terrain.

Lotus turned a half circle and flexed her wings, “feeling” them through the sensation of magic in her veins. Were she to reach out and touch them, they felt soft and real, but if she pressed hard enough, she could slide her fingers right through the beautiful pinions. She twitched them up and down just for fun, watching as silvery hues flashed along the magical limbs.

As someone who bore the title of Light Caller, Lotus had discovered that she had a particular bond with spells that were connected to light. Usually these were just in the form of illuminating an area or altering her vision so that she could see in the dark, but sometimes her magic extended to far more tangible points.

Facing the nearest of the ship’s three masts, Lotus focused, then jumped off the deck. Her wings thrust and propelled her upward, and a second later, her boots touched down on the lowest limb of the mast. Lotus grabbed the main trunk quickly as she caught her balance, smiling. She was no lore drake, but she was becoming more and more familiar with the spell each time she used it.

Looking up, Lotus readied herself and jumped again, going to the next limb up. She repeated this until she was balancing on the topmost part of the mast, her wings flexing around her to keep from falling. The lookout in the crow’s nest nodded to her, his mane rippling in the breeze.

“Fine evening,” he said, and Lotus nodded back.

“How do things look?” she asked, her hair slithering over one shoulder.

“Pretty quiet tonight,” the lookout said. “I’d say you’re safe for a flight.”

Thanking him, Lotus turned her attention to the dark ocean and prepared herself. When she was ready, she walked out to the end of the mast limb and leaned forward, falling away from her perch. Her wings caught the air with nary a sound as she glided forward, momentarily leaving the safety of the Hammerwing.

Wind rushed over her ears as she flew, and Lotus couldn’t stop the wide grin that appeared on her face. Oh, how exhilarating it was to fly! The fact that she could fly all by herself made it even more enjoyable, since she was no longer dependent on anyone to ferry her around.

Curving gently and flapping, she willed her magic to buoy her across the face of the sea. She had found that she couldn’t actually sustain full flight like a bird could, but she was able to cross limited distances without trouble.

A shout came from somewhere behind her.

Twisting with some difficult to look over her shoulder, she could just see the lookout on the Hammerwing waving, but with the rush of the wind over her ears, she couldn’t make out anything that didn’t sound like garble. What was he trying to say?

Abruptly, her leisurely flight was interrupted as something large and cold slammed into her. Lotus’s startled protest was cut short as she plunged into the cool water, closing her eyes as salt stung them. Her concentration broken, she felt her wings disappear from her back.

Giving a powerful kick born of adrenaline, Lotus broke the surface of the water and coughed, sucking in warm air. She tried to look around and see what had hit her, but was again driven down into the dark water. This time, she was farther from the surface. The blue moon wavered overhead, surrounded by a halo of light. Lotus kicked and fought against the water, losing her breath as she was hit in the side and spun around.

Stunned, Lotus blinked painfully and tried to see through the water. Something large writhed against the darkness, inspiring terror to the struggling human. A massive head loomed out of the deep below her, and Lotus suddenly found herself rocketing upward and into the air as something hard and cold clamped down around her chest and one arm. Sputtering, panicked, Lotus gasped and looked down at what held her.

A long, serpentine body extended away from her and disappeared into the ocean, its dull gray hide blotched by dark spots of rust. Her stomach lurched when it turned and dove back into the water, slamming her against a surface that felt as hard as earth. Lotus tried to scream, but all she achieved was swallowing a mouthful of brine.

Whatever was holding her twisted and turned, taking her closer to the inky depths. Now truly frightened and desperate to escape, Lotus aimed her free hand toward the creature and focused with all her strength. A beam of brilliant white and gold light plowed through the water, creating a flurry of superheated bubbles. A dull clang sounded as her magic struck home, but the thing that held her still refused to let go.

Someone help me! she thought, unable to speak with her mouth. Was she going to die?

The creature holding her jolted and a series of metallic booms traveled through the water. Lotus felt the pressure on her chest disappear as she was released. Frantic, she paddled her way toward the surface. It seemed so far away.

Something bright and shiny flashed through the water, and then Lotus felt strong hands grab her arm and shoulder. Her sluggish pace tripled as someone pulled her up toward the barrier between water and precious air.

Again, she felt her head break the surface as she coughed up water, sucking in a breath and coughing some more. She floundered and looked to see who had rescued her. The curved, beak-like hook of a lore drake mask met her gaze. To her start, she recognized Seraphim holding her above the waves.

“Your wings!” the lore drake cried. “Summon your wings, paladin!”

Beyond him, the water churned. An elongated head lifted and rushed toward them, jaws opening.

Lotus hurried to comply as the creature in the water closed, but her mind had been effectively scattered. All she could think about was that huge, lunging mouth.

Seraphim snarled something in Laeren, then shoved her violently to the side. Lotus felt herself being sucked backward as the huge thing—whatever it was—slid within inches of her back and submerged. Afraid that she was going to do the same, Lotus fought with all her might to stay above water.

“Paladin!”

Wet hair in her eyes, Lotus squinted and saw an airborne shape descending through the air. Six broad wings spread around a single figure and pushed against the night as blue hands grabbed Lotus. She latched onto Seraphim and felt herself yanked out of the water and borne skyward.

Behind her, the water swirled and made a sucking sound. Lotus looked in panic as a set of jaws longer than she was tall came toward her. Her eyes scrunched shut and she screamed as the maw clanged together and tore her sodden cloak.

A blast of lightning lit up the night, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap. As they flew higher, Lotus was finally able to see just what it was that had been trying to kill her. A sinuous shape that seemed to extend endlessly rose from the water in humps, and Lotus recognized the sea serpent as another lightning bolt struck it. The casters on the Hammerwing were fighting to distract the monster while Seraphim carried her to safety, his six powerful wings pumping and blasting her with cold air.

A grinding, metallic groan cut through the air and made Lotus grit her teeth. The sea serpent was lurching toward the ship, but it had clearly sustained some damage from the magic being thrown at it. The Hammerwing was veering sharply toward it, and as Lotus watched, the large blade on the front of the ship collided with the serpent. Several magic users at the front of the ship fired devastating spells down into the water, and with a final ear-rending groan, the sea serpent was caught under the ship and disappeared.

When her feet touched the firm wooden surface of the Hammerwing’s deck, Lotus collapsed, cold and suddenly very weak. Shivering, she looked up to make sure that the sea serpent had gone, then looked at Seraphim. The turquoise lore drake was standing over her in concern, his wings dripping water.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she nodded.

Lotus coughed again, spitting up saltwater, then eyed his wings. They were almost … translucent.

“You have six wings?” she blurted, unable to comprehend what was going on. Just how much salt water had she swallowed?

She began to choke again. Seraphim thumped her on the back as she spit up more water.

“At times,” he said. “It’s a gift from a very generous priestess I helped a while ago.”

Now that she didn’t feel as if she were on the verge of death, Lotus was able to study the wings more carefully. All six of them looked identical and somehow ethereal, as if they had been carved out of bluish ice. A faint glow was coming from them.

“Captain, that serpent may be coming back up,” one of the crewmen warned.

Seraphim nodded to his men and started issuing orders.

“I want magi on all points of the ship. Do everything you can to boost our speed and get us the blazes out of here! If that thing knocks a hole in us before we can sink it, we’re going to be limping for a long way.”

“Aye, sir!”

As his men hastened to obey his orders, Seraphim reached down and helped Lotus to her feet. With a sighing noise, his wings flickered and vanished, leaving behind the single pair he regularly sported.

“Come—we’d better get you dried off.”

Lotus was still staring at his wings, her head spinning like a top. Six wings? Sea serpents? What had she gotten herself into?

“You and that Nethbane seem to be magnets for trouble,” Seraphim grumbled as he opened the hatch and escorted her into the hold. Behind them, the wind had suddenly picked up and was blowing into in the Hammerwing’s sails with a vengeance.

“What do we do now?” Lotus asked.

Seraphim waved a hand. “Ah, don’t worry, lady. They’ll sink that thing before it can cause any more damage. It’s not the first serpent my men and I have dealt with. I’m more concerned about you staying safe, in the meantime.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Lotus said as they approached the place where her cot was crammed. She was beginning to feel very stupid about her short flight. “I didn’t mean to stir up trouble.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seraphim told her. “Now, get out of that armor. I’ll have an extra blanket brought down to you while you dry off.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Lotus rolled her eyes. She certainly hoped that the rest of her journey wasn’t going to go like this.

All content (c) 2020 W. A. Johnson

Excerpt - Taloner: Wekthusia

Hello, readers! I've been keeping pretty busy here, between looking after a very rambunctious and inquisitive son and all the produce that's been unexpectedly dropped into my lap for food storage. It's been a big challenge to get any art done in the midst of all of this, but I'm hoping to be able to get some concepts secured soon here. Work on Taloner: Wekthusia has been slow, as usual (I sure miss the days when ten pages a week felt like a breeze)

Here's a little tidbit from the manuscript for you to enjoy this lovely Autumn morning (or afternoon, or evening - whenever it is for you):

         The smell hit his nose before any sounds touched his ears. It was the odor of sweat, stale coffee, and the deep, earthy musk perfumes preferred by the elves.
         Wekthusia ground to a halt, wings tensing. He cast out rapidly with his magical sense and encountered the buzzing aura of not one, but three spellcasters. Hastily, he retracted his magic and glanced behind him. He didn’t want to go back into that nest of elves, truth be told.
         Sucking in a breath, Wekthusia grabbed at a small charm worn on a chain around his neck. He watched as the air rippled around him, signaling that the charm’s power had been activated.
         A split second later, five elves walked into sight. One wore a red-striped feather that signified some sort of commander, if Wekthusia remembered correctly. He watched as the elves approached his position and chattered in low, soft voices. None of them even glanced at him.
         Within seconds, they reached the spot where the priest was standing and continued past, one of them passing through Wekthusia as if he were a ghost. Wekthusia dared not exhale until they were several steps away, for the effects of the inter-dimensional charm only blocked him from physical sight and touch, not sound. And now that he’d used it, he’d have to wait a full twenty-four hours for it to recharge.
         The elves continued along their way, conversing about recent reports from the coast. Wekthusia thought he heard a snatch of something about Neth, but that wasn’t so unusual, anymore. Ever since the war, Neth activity had been up in almost all sectors of Siege, along with a few areas outside the continent.
         He was just about to release the charm when something one of the elves said caught his ear.
         “Did you find the Lauina yet?”
         Wekthusia’s eyes snapped onto the speaker. It was the elf wearing the red-tipped feather.
         Another elf made a gesture.
         “Not yet,” he said, “but it’s around here somewhere. Our spell net will …”
         That was about as much as Wekthusia understood clearly, but he got the feeling that whatever else the elf was saying was unpleasant. The commander snorted and made a remark about “practice” when the Lauina was found.
         Wekthusia’s stomach churned. The Illismonah knew he was here—and they were looking for him.


Pretty short, sorry. The working manuscript is still just shy of 29,000 words. I'm still working toward my Spring 2019 goal for completion of the first draft, even if I have to start writing in the middle of the night to get there.

Burnout

Ugh......... That's about all I can say right now, haha. I've been working furiously on the cover art for Wings of Fate, and I have a backup image to use if this one isn't done in time.......I really hope it doesn't come to that. The good news is that I guestimated the parameters needed for a full cover image quite accurately when I started sketching. This means that the digital painting I'm working on will fit just about where I want it for the front cover, spine, and rear cover images. Needless to say, I'm burning out.

My time and energy have been further drained by the exciting (and nerve-wracking) news from my work that I am being promoted to a lead position. I start next week, so I'll have a slew of new things to learn before January. This will probably mean less time to work on book things, but I'm digging in my heels and pushing to get Wings of Fate completed before I worry about much else.

No art to show here today, but here, have a little snippet from my side project to read through*:

Her nerves all but tingled with excitement when she saw the word “library” written in the Nuemonah dialect of Erhuon. The lock on the door was pitifully easy to break, and Moa stepped inside with baited breath.

It was better than she could have imagined. More than ten rows of shelves spanned the room, though from here she couldn’t see how far back they went. There were at least two other doors leading out of the room, but Moa didn’t care about those at the moment. She fumbled in her excitement to grab her journal and started toward the nearest shelf, eying the script on its stone face with a smile.

It wouldn’t have been difficult to lose hours or even days of her life down here; unfortunately, that possibility was taken from Moa after only fifteen minutes of scribbling. The vaults had a very still, quiet atmosphere to them, as if a spell of silence had been cast over the entire place. So, when a sound touched Moa’s ears, she paused in confusion.

It sounded like … footsteps. Footsteps in the tunnel. And they were coming toward the room she was in.

Alarm spiked through Moa as effectively as the head of a lance, followed by fear and disbelief. Was someone living down here? Had the Illismonah somehow managed to follow her, after all? Or was this place haunted?

The third possibility was no laughing matter. Moa had tracked across ruins before where angry spirits—and some things even worse—still lurked around their earthly domain. She had narrowly dodged being locked into a prison with no key or jailor on one occasion, and the experience had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Stuffing her journal and writing instrument into their pouch, Moa’s eyes flashed around the room. She spotted one of the doorways about thirty feet away, doused her light, and sprinted for the door. She had no idea what was in the room beyond, but neither did she care.

Moa blinked furiously and willed her eyes to adjust to the gloom as she entered the room and began feeling her way around to find a hiding place. After several seconds the dark shapes of what might have been crates or barrels became apparent, and she wound her way through them to the other side of the room. Moa took painstaking measures to make as little noise as possible as she tucked herself behind a barrel, her body trembling from adrenaline.

She didn’t like spookies. Her experience three years before in the abandoned jail had left her with nightmares, and she hadn’t been able to return to the place since. Moa never had figured out exactly what it was that had tried to trap her there, but she suspected that it had been some sort of demon. Her shaking increased when she thought she heard a growl somewhere in the darkness.

Out in the tunnel, the footsteps stopped. A thought tugged on the corner of Moa’s panic-stricken mind: couldn’t ghosts go through walls?

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop the tiny squeak that escaped her throat. Moa scrunched her eyes shut and prayed that whatever was outside the vault hadn’t heard it. She then forced her eyes open and peered around the barrel toward the room she’d just left, her curiosity besting her fears.

After a moment, the footsteps started again, and a figure appeared in the doorway connecting to the tunnel. Long dark hair, pointed ears … Like a fast-acting tonic, Moa felt her fears begin to melt away, only to be replaced with concern. Her unknown visitor was no spookie, but an elf.

Or two elves, she realized when a second figure appeared. Their heads turned as they surveyed the silent vault, then edged into the room as softly as a padding cat. With all the dust on the floor, their steps were so well muffled that Moa could no longer actually hear them walking.

How had these Illismonah found her? Either they had come in the way she had, or they knew of another entrance to the tunnels that wasn’t blocked. Whatever the case, Moa wasn’t about to ask them. In fact, when a third elf entered behind the other two, she decided that it might be time to find a better hiding place. The elves were all armed and held their long knives at the ready, which wasn’t a good sign.

For a split second, Moa considered climbing into the barrel next to her. Then she noticed the doorway off to her left. Unfortunately, it was across an open space, and worse than that, it might be locked.

Biting her tongue, Moa left her spot and darted for the door. To her astonishment, it was unlocked. She slipped inside and put an ear to it to see if the elves had seen her. She could hear them talking now, but they didn’t seem to be coming toward her.

Breathing a little sigh of relief, Moa turned to see where she was. To her surprise, it was another tunnel. Just like the first she’d entered, she could see what looked like doors and even stairways set every so often along its length, many of them buried by sand. Her fleeting hope that she could escape through one of them was dashed by the sight.

A small, continual breeze was moving under the door and into the tunnel, most likely fed by some other point that opened to the surface. For Moa, it also meant that there was a way in this tunnel for the air to get out, but she didn’t know if she had the time to find it. She strained her eyes to find a point of light that she could exploit as an exit, then noticed that the scent of the Illismonah was getting stronger. The elves were coming toward her door.

Glancing down, Moa saw the dust on her feet. The elves were probably following her tracks right to her position. She began to groan, then stifled the noise and looked for a defensible position.

She saw what she thought was a doorway with the door hanging ajar. Sprinting, Moa all but dove into the room and tripped over something in the near pitch black. Stumbling, she blinked and opened her eyes wide, willing them to see something so that she could navigate in here. Memories of what the Illismonah did to their prisoners floated into her head like a fog, and in a spurt of pure panic, Moa sent a mental prayer to the goddess Hanedoe.

She finally found her way to a wall opposite of the door and turned. Moa pressed her hands and rump to the bricks as she felt along for a place to hide, praying against all odds that the elves wouldn’t be able to see her in here.

Hanedoe, please, she thought. What do I do?!

Her hand touched something on the wall. Recoiling in start, Moa wondered what else was in here. Whatever it had been wasn’t moving, and she finally made out some kind of long shape resting against the bricks. There were several of them.

At once, Moa felt the fog in her brain lift. She felt a peculiar sense of calm seep through her and allow her to think. Moa put her hand back on the object she’d touched and felt along its length, working out its shape in her mind. There were two points, a pair of long, thin pieces of metal attached to a handle, a cluster of jagged metal and what felt like a sharp edge …

Was this a sword?

Confused, Moa grasped the handle and took the object from the wall. Yes, it felt like a sword, and it looked like one when she held it against the faint light of the doorway. It was a very strange-looking sword, at that, but it was a sword. Had this been an answer from her goddess? Moa’s bow would be at a serious advantage in the close confines of this room and the tunnel, but with a sword, she might be able to drive off the elves.

Gulping, Moa gripped her new find with both hands and waited. The smell of the elves was still coming nearer, and she was a far cry from a warrior. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to go about her work and be left alone.

A few seconds later, she saw them. The elves had entered the hall and were standing outside her room, their faces aimed toward her hiding place. Two of them had bows strung and arrows nocked, but they held them with the heads pointed toward the floor. Moa wondered if they could see her.

“We know you’re there,” one of the Illismonah called. He was speaking in Latis, a trade tongue that most understood. There was no threat or ire in his voice, which surprised Moa.

Still, she hesitated. Why did they have their bows strung? Then again, wouldn’t she take precautions if she were facing an unknown party down here?

“Come out, please,” the Illismonah continued. He had sheathed his knife, but was keeping his fingers on the handle. It was entirely possible that they were from a tribe who didn’t mind lore drakes and just wanted to keep tabs on whoever was moving through the area. Moa had run across people like these before.

Feeling cautious optimism starting to grow, Moa carefully stowed the sword under her quiver. She moved away from the wall and picked her way over to the door, watching for any signs of aggression from the elves. When she stepped into their sight with her hands raised in a display of peace, they still hadn’t moved.

“Hail,” she offered, also speaking Latis. The elf who’d spoken tilted his head as he looked her over. He gestured for her to step away from the room and out into the hall.

“Hail,” he returned, then grunted. “Laiuna.”

“My name is Moa,” she said, keeping her hands up. “I am a Taloner scout and mean you no harm—”

The elves’ bows came up so fast that Moa didn’t even have time to protest. Her reflexes were all that saved her from getting skewered as two arrows hissed through the air and into the room behind her, one of them grazing her shoulder on its way. Her adrenaline level surging, Moa rolled and ran for cover, the elves hot on her tail.

Moa reached for her magic and grabbed at a pile of sand even as she leapt over it, flinging it back into the faces of the elves. Shouts and curses erupted from several throats as they were temporarily blinded, leaving Moa to beat a hasty retreat down the tunnel.

Something bright blue hit the ceiling overhead, and she’d just glimpsed the magic when the beams and stonework imploded. Sand and chunks of stone cascaded into the tunnel with a loud rumble.

Heart hammering, Moa dove ahead and barely escaped being drown in the torrent. She coughed as she rolled, her eyes stinging from the sudden dust storm. A large chunk of debris crashed to the floor beside her. Moa tried to regain her feet and run, but something else hit her in the head. Stars exploded in her eyes and a tear-jerking pain cut through her thoughts. A split second later, everything went black.

Yes, if you were paying close attention, you probably caught a couple of details in there about this book. The title is, indeed, Taloner: Moa. Good night, my dears.

*All content (c) 2016 W. A. Johnson