Book Release Announcement! (The Sehret Chronicles #3: The Survivor)

The time has come -- the day is here...

One book more!

...Okay, I shall now switch out of Broadway musical mode and get to the point of my post. You may have noticed that I have not been very active on here for the past several months. There is a reason for this -- I have been hard at work getting the third book of The Sehret Chronicles publication-ready. It's taken up a lot of my time, attention, and energy, and I am pleased to announce that at last, there is a third book on the market!

The Survivor, formerly known as The Rescuer, picks up directly where the first book, The Follower, left off. Here's the back-cover blurb, for more info:

The ragtag group thrown together by a cave-in in 'The Follower' have reached the surface of the Rhenor mountains, and have plotted their course to Delnam, where they will part ways at last. Their adventure takes them through the hostile Kirat territories, but as long as they keep to themselves and are careful to avoid the locals, they expect to reach their destination safely.

When Zarea Kal, a Kirat runaway, brings her pursuers crashing down on the camp, the group united by circumstance is rent apart once more. Now those taken captive must fight for their freedom, and those already free must survive long enough to set things right.

But even with their enemies occupied, the battle for their souls and sanity still rages, and demons -- either real or of the mind -- refuse to retreat into the shadows that spawned them.

The battle for survival is not over. It has only just begun.

This release has been three years in the making, but at last it is here, and the book is now live at the links located at the bottom of this post (you can read what's written above it, or skip ahead -- it's up to you).

Not sure you're interested based on that description alone? Here's a sneak peek from the beginning of the book:

----------------------------

Prologue

The man looked dead, but it was hard to be sure. In the light of the dying lantern above him, his face was blank, his eyes shut, and his chest too obscured for Zarea Kal to be sure it was not moving. The keys at his belt swayed and glittered like jewels, tantalizing her in a way no true gem ever could. She watched them with eyes wide, her bow primed to notch and let loose another arrow if the man rose.
Beside her, Darek whispered, “What are we waiting for?”
Zarea silenced him with a wave of her hand, and her eyes flitted about the area. A small camp, three men guarding it, none well-armed. Their chest of supplies sat open to the air, dragged out earlier by the largest of the three to allow for easier access during the supper hour. That might have been wise, considering how much they ate from it. But they'd never bothered to drag it back into the tent.
And that was their mistake.
The brawny guard still did not stir, but Zarea thought she heard him mumble something unintelligible, and she released a shaky breath. The man was alive, and she lacked the nerve to change that. Hopefully, he would have the decency to stay unconscious until they were gone. She notched another arrow and rose to a crouch. “Let's go.”
Darek nodded, and they advanced. Zarea led the way into the camp and slowed her step as she approached the man she'd shot. The sedative-coated arrow that pierced his shoulder remained in place, and Zarea's eyes flitted to the wound before she forced them to move away. She dropped by his side and fumbled with the knot that tethered the keys to his belt. She grabbed at what she thought was the right end to loosen it and yanked.
The keys jangled.
“Kali!” The hissed nickname made her look up. Darek gestured wildly to his belt and glanced at the tent nearby.
Of course. Zarea pulled a knife from her belt and began to saw. A few heart-jolting clanks later, she pulled the keys free.
A breeze blew through, and the corner of one of the tent flaps flipped enough for Zarea to see inside. Her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of the two sleeping men inside.
She inhaled deeply and pulled an arrow from her quiver, then held it in her left hand like a dagger while gripping the keys tightly in her right. Darek rushed to her side and took the keys, then moved swiftly to the chest of supplies. After several agonizing moments of peering into the lock, of sticking one key after another into it without success, finally there was a click and he pulled the key free. He glanced at Zarea and lifted the lid.
Zarea’s breath caught at the sight of the contents. Stores of dried meat, of bread, and even a bag of dried berries sat before them. They were not much to look at, but she could not turn away, and her mouth watered. How pathetic that she should desire these withered old morsels after seventeen years of having plenty without having to lift a finger.
Darek rifled through the chest to see if there was anything else of use, then gestured to Zarea and mouthed, “The bag.”
Zarea rushed back to their hiding spot and snatched up the empty satchel she'd left there. A few stale crumbs fell to the ground, and she left them for the men to find. She and Darek stuffed as much as they could into the satchel, stuffing a fair amount into their mouths, as well.
The food stuck in Zarea’s throat, and she coughed, then froze wide-eyed. She waited for the men to wake up, to rush out and see who it was that was coughing on their precious food. But no-one came.
Darek’s eyes were equally wide, his lips cracked as he whispered, “Water. They must have some.”
Zarea tried to think. If she were these men, traveling through the plains in the dry season, where would she keep a precious commodity such as water? Not in this chest – she knew that already. She would want it nearby, easy to reach when the need for refreshment hit her.
Her eyes strayed to the tent, through the flap as it waved in the wind, and she caught sight of something that might be a jug by the larger man's bedroll.
Darek followed her gaze, and his face turned ashen as he shook his head. “No, Kali. They'll wake up.”
“We need water.” Her knees wobbled, but she forced them to hold her up as she crept to the tent and pulled back the flap. She caught her breath as the light fell through the crack, all the way to the jug and the man sleeping beside it. He stirred.
A pair of hands clapped over her mouth and yanked her back from the tent. She gasped, fumbled for the knife sheathed inside her tunic.
“Keep still,” a familiar voice hissed in her ear. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
Zarea ripped herself free of Darek’s grasp. “If you grab me again, I'll stab you.”
“Go in there, and they'll kill us both.” Darek lifted the full satchel of food. “Please, Kali – we have enough for a while. We'll reach the mountain soon, and when–”
“Stop telling me what to do,” Zarea snapped, snatching her confiscated longknife from his grasp. She lifted her chin imperiously. “I give the orders here, remember? We need water, and I'm getting it. Now stand guard.”
Darek opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut and pulled his own bow free, notching an arrow as he nodded and raised it to its ready position.
Zarea took a deep breath and, with her knife raised, stepped into the tent. Every breath the sleeping men took, every twitch or mumbled word made her jump, and she had to fight the urge to turn and run as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached the big man's side and held her breath, afraid the slightest noise would bring about sudden death. She saw the jug, about eight inches tall, and nearly as wide, just past the stranger's head. She tensed, took a careful step, placed her foot mere inches away from his head, certain he would wake and sweep it out from under her. Still his snores filled the tent.
The jug was inches away now. All she had to do was lean a bit, reach out, pull it ever so carefully over his head, and...
The jug’s weight knocked her off balance, and before she could so much as reach out to stop herself, she fell and found herself sprawled over the man's brawny chest.
And that was when he gasped, his eyes flew open, and he threw Zarea back as he groped for his sword. “What...”
Across the tent, his companion stirred. Zarea slugged the man beside her and, in the split-second before he could react, snatched his smaller water canteen from beside him and took off. Hands reached for her. She pulled away, dove out of the tent. Footsteps shuffled behind her and pounded into the open.
An arrow whizzed free of Darek’s bow, and Zarea heard a strangled cry as it hit home. She dashed forward to join Darek, but stumbled and bumped against his arm, and another arrow flew loose, far off-course. It hit the ground beside the larger man, who snatched it up as though it were a child's dart thrown too far from its target. Darek stepped backwards, fumbled for the knife on his boot.
The big man swung the arrow at him. Darek ducked, cried out, used the man's weight against him to throw him to the ground, and fell with him.
The less imposing man charged at Zarea. Fear had stolen away her sense of forethought – with a flick, her knife flew, and the man fell. Zarea gasped, her hand at her mouth. She hadn't meant to throw it. She didn't even know where she'd hit him.
Darek's cry of pain drew her attention back to the fight on the ground. Zarea turned, notched an arrow.
She needn't have bothered. Darek swung a fist, and the man cried out, freeing him. Zarea did not have time to process what had happened before Darek grabbed her wrist and yanked at it. “Run!”
Zarea barely managed to retrieve the food satchel as Darek dragged her along with him at top speed. Soon they put a fair amount of distance between them and the camp, and Zarea wondered why the big man hadn't followed them. Why had he not mounted one of his horses and taken off after them by now?
But she knew why, and the reason made her double over retching.
Darek stumbled from the sudden stop and fell to his knees a few feet away.
“I killed him,” Zarea gasped, unbelieving. “Darek, I killed that man.”
Darek did not answer, and at once Zarea noticed that his breathing was different, quivering, punctuated with gasps and suppressed groans. She stumbled over to him. “Darek, what...?”
That was when she saw the blood.
Her eyes grew wide. “He stabbed you!”
“It’s fine,” he rasped. His eyes were full of pain, but he set his jaw in determination. “Just a scratch... Caught me off-guard.”
“That is not a scratch,” Zarea snapped. “We have to find help.”
“The mountain,” he coughed.
Zarea groaned. “Hang the mountain – I never want to hear of it again!”
“The mountain, Kali,” Darek insisted. “There are places there, places to rest, find water, and herbs to treat wounds. We can find them.”
“This was a mistake.” Zarea blinked back tears and fought to keep a stern edge to her voice. “Darek, I was wrong. We never should have left home. We need to go back. We need to find my mother and tell her–”
“We’d never make it,” Darek said firmly, his voice stronger than before. His blue eyes pleaded with her brown ones. “We’ve gone too far into the wilderness. We can't turn back now.”
Zarea shook her head violently. “No. We can make it, and once we're home–”
“We’d die before we got there, or they’d kill me. And I’m not sending you off on your own.” Darek gripped her hand tightly, using his free hand to push against the ground for support to sit upright. He grimaced as the pain overtook him again. “Help me walk.”
She helped him to his feet, and for several steps, he leaned heavily on her as he tried to regain his bearings. But at last, he nodded and released his hold on her shoulder. “Let go. I can do it on my own.”
“You're sure?”
He nodded, still pale, his expression tormented as he lifted his eyes towards the looming Rhenor mountains. “Let's get going.”

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If you'd like to read a longer excerpt, go the Smashwords page for the book and download a sample there (the first 20% of the book, completely free to read), or read up through the beginning of chapter two here.

Paperback Links:

Amazon

CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon
Barnes & Noble

Smashwords
Kobo

Alternatively, if you would prefer a signed copy, you can contact me at my author e-mail, contact.cfbarrows@gmail.com and order one directly from me. Books purchased from me are $12 USD plus shipping. Haven't read the first two books? That's okay! You can check them out on Goodreads or at the links below:

The Follower

(Book One)

Goodreads

Paperback Links:

Amazon

CreateSpace

Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

The Merchant's Son

(Book Two, prequel to The Follower)

Goodreads

Paperback Links:

Amazon
CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

If you read the books and like them (or just have something to say about them that you want other potential readers to know, even if it doesn't warrant a full five stars), I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave a review. Reviews are one of the most effective ways to spread the word about a book, and are invaluable to indie authors like me. But either way, I hope you have a blessed day and enjoy whatever books you do choose to read, whether they're mine or someone else's. (If you're a fan of Christian fantasy, my personal recommendation would be to check out Jill Williamson's books. They're fantastic. I'm also checking out R. J. Larson's work now, but I haven't read enough to have an opinion on her work yet -- I shall let you know when I do. The world can always use some more good, clean speculative reads.)

Have any book recommendations you'd like to share? Questions about the book I've just released? Feel free to comment below! I'll try my utmost to reply. Releasing a new book is always nerve-wracking, so I should be spending a lot of time online, checking on things, updating other things, talking about all the things on the social networking... um... places, and...

Yeah, basically, there's a good chance I'll reply this time around. And I shall endeavor to do more with the blog in general, now that the most daunting item is off of my to-do list. Maybe I'll even post more installments in the short stories I've previously posted...

...But I digress.

Character Interview #9: Shaetha Sohran

Hey again, digressors. So you've probably guessed what's happening today by the title of this post, but I'll tell you anyways. Last week, I opened up the forums (or the comments section, rather) for you to ask Shaetha Sohran questions. Well, the questions are in, and Shaetha is here to answer them.

Thanks for coming out today, Shaetha. So, here's the first question of the day. What lessons did your late father teach you about life through his sacrifice?

Oh... Um... Do I have to answer this?

Yes, you do.

But... Okay. Well... I guess he taught me that love has to be stronger than fear. The fear won't always go away, but if you really care about someone, then helping them needs to be more important than your fear. I think that's the definition of love, actually. It gives when it's hard, even when it hurts. Fear might be strong, but love has to be stronger, or it isn't really love. I suppose that's what I've learned.

What is the most difficult thing about getting over fear?

I guess for me, the hardest part is that a lot of the time, fear is based on something that's actually happened, either to me or someone else. In my case, I... I'm afraid of fire because of what happened to our house and our parents. So it makes it hard to fight my fear in that area because something bad actually happened, and for all I know, it could happen again. Not that it's likely, I guess, but it's possible. And some part of my mind refuses to let go of that reasoning, so it's a constant battle to keep disagreeing when what I fear is, in some way, realistic.

What advice would you give someone else who is trying to get over their fears?

First of all, breathe. Focus on dealing with the things you can influence in the present instead of working yourself up over things that might never happen. And pray, if you believe in God. I do, but I know not everyone does, so... I understand why praying might not come naturally. Remind yourself of what's real and what's not. Distract yourself if you have to, and spend time with people and places that make you feel safe. You can't control what happens, but you can control how you react to it. Of course... the thing is, a lot of what I've had to deal with isn't just fear. It's memories that seem like they're happening again, which then cause fear because I think it's all still happening. I can't really control those just by writing off my usual fears. Which makes it even more important for me to get somewhere safe and be near someone who understands and can remind me where I am. I don't think I'd be anywhere near getting over my fear of fire if I didn't have Lehn to help me.

What's your favorite thing to do?

As a hobby, or in general?

Either way. You choose.

Well... I know some people might think this is strange, but I love hugging. And being hugged. Is... is that too strange?

No, I know plenty of people who love hugging. And what about hobbies?

But you just said I could--

I changed my mind. Your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun? 

...I... I like drawing, but I'm sort of new to it, so I don't really know yet whether I'm any good or whether it's among my favorite things to do. And it might sound odd, but I actually like cooking. I enjoy mixing things together and preparing a meal for people I care about. Also, it makes me feel... powerful, I suppose, when I can use fire to do something good, even though I'm afraid of it.

What do you and your brother have in common? 
A lot of things, I guess, but we're still fairly different. He's more confident. And more fun-loving. And I don't think he really believes in Yahveh anymore, or at least not in the same way I do. But anyways... We do both love people and want to make others feel better as much as we can. Some people might even think Lehn is too friendly, which is kind of similar to how they think I ask too many questions and hover a little. I don't know. But I'd say that -- our love for people -- is the main thing we have in common. 

When you have the chance to listen to music, what kind do you like?

I don't get much of an opportunity to listen to music, but I like love ballads and hymns.

Are you a morning or a night person?

Morning. It feels more alive to me, and I don't like the dark. I prefer to have plenty of light so I can see things and move around.

What's your favorite season, and why?

I like spring. It has a lot of color, and it's more cheery than some of the other seasons.

Fun fact: Sohrem despises spring for a lot of the reasons you just mentioned.
...I'm sorry... But I like those things about it. I don't really prefer summer because it's too hot. Fall and winter are also good in their own ways.

Um, Shaetha, you don't have to compliment all the seasons. We just wanted to know which was your favorite.

I know, but... I don't want to make it sound like I think there's anything wrong with the other ones.

It doesn't. I think you've made absolutely sure of that by now. But anyways... If Lehn was in danger from a fire, would it be hard to save him, or would your protectiveness and love overpower your fear?

I don't really like to think about it...

Indulge us just for a minute, and then we can move on, okay?

All right... I'd like to think that I could save him, because I love him enough that I'd at least want to try. But I don't know what would happen if the memories took over. I might get stuck and be burned with him. Not that I wouldn't try, but I... I might not make it out. The decision to go in after him would be easy. It's what would happen afterwards that worries me, because I would either save him or die trying. I couldn't handle coming out without him.

If you had to use a weapon, what would be your weapon of choice?

No. I don't want a weapon of any kind.

The phrasing of the question implies that you wouldn't have the option to refuse.
I said no.

Come on -- what if an enemy attacked you or someone you loved? Would you just stand by and let them do it?
.........I... I don't know. I guess not. Maybe... maybe if I could have something that wouldn't hurt them too badly, that would just knock them out or take them down long enough for me to tie them up, I'd be all right.

Hey, you've used a sword before, haven't you? Oh, that's right -- you dropped it... So maybe that's not the best option. 
I don't want to talk about it. Are there any more questions? 

Just one. How do you feel about your name?

My... name?

Is there an echo in here?

No, I just... I guess I've never really thought about it, or not recently, anyways. I like my name well enough. People seem to think it fits me, in general. I like that there aren't any harsh noises in it.

I guess that could be considered a plus.
I think it is, anyways. You... you did say that was the last question, didn't you? I kind of have to get back to the others...

Yeah, that's fine. Just be careful, okay? You never know what might happen.
...That's comforting. Just please don't hurt anyone.

Uh-huh. Sure thing.
I'm not that naïve, you know...

Of course not. Goodbye, now.
But--

*escorts Shaetha back to her world and locks the door* Have fun storming the mountainside.

Okay, so I guess it's fairly unlikely that Shaetha will "storm" anything, but you never know. She can get surprisingly aggressive when she's under a great deal of stress and people she cares about are in jeopardy. Which are two things that have been happening a fair amount lately. But anyways. What do you think? What are some tips you would give to someone looking to overcome their fear? What's something that used to scare you (or still does) that you've pushed past to do what's right and/or achieve a goal that was important to you?

A Resolution Fulfilled... And A Character To Interview! (Ask Shaetha)

Good evening, fellow digressors. Or is it morning? Afternoon, maybe? Well, I guess it depends on when you get around to reading this post. How were your holidays? Did you make any resolutions for the new year? I generally only make one or two, and they tend to be writing-related, but maybe I should get into the habit of making ones relevant to my lifestyle. Or, hey, I could resolve to be more regular about my blog posts. 

Eh. Okay, I should have done that like a year ago. If you have any tips on how to do it, please feel very free to drop them below. 

Speaking of resolutions, though, mine last year was to finish writing 'The Sehret Chronicles: The Rescuer' by the time 2016 rolled around. I didn't make it. However, a week ago today... 

I DID IT. 

That's right -- I have a big, messy, nearly 144,000-words-long monster to grapple with now. But a complete monster. (Perhaps a bit too complete, actually, considering that it's about 40,000 words longer than either of the other two books in the trilogy.) 

I'm not sure when I'll manage to get it on the market, but I would very much like to edit and release it before I turn 22 in May. It might be feasible, depending upon how much editing I end up having to do. I have no official cover yet, but I did create one for fun a while back, and I uploaded it for use on the front of the first draft proof copy which should arrive in the next week or so (and I will show you pictures when it gets here). For now, here is the mock-up cover: 

On that note, if you feel like playing around with a cover of your own (or a poster, or anything along those lines), check out Canva. It has some beautiful pre-made designs and even some free images and special fonts that you can use. Also, it shows you when the design element you're moving is fully centered from left to right. How delightful is that for a perfectionist? 

Oh! You know what else is exciting? 'Heir War', part 1.2 of 'The Kinsman Chronicles' by Jill Williamson is coming out on February 2nd. I'm in the process of reading it, so I can't give you much of a review yet, but so far it's fantastic. I daresay I'm liking it even better than 'Darkness Reigns'. The introductory parts are pretty much over, and so there's more action going on, and it makes me happy. Note: The dark parts are still there, but the light has also begun to creep in to provide contrast, so things are starting to come together, though I have no doubt Jill will take me for a few more twists and turns by the time it's over. Or several more. Who knows? Well, I suppose she does, since she wrote them. Brilliantly, of course, as always. By the way, the official website for the series is here and, as stated there, you can visit Jill's website for more cool things related to the series and the world and characters involved in it. 

Me, a fangirl? Don't be silly. Wherever did you get the impression that I was a fangirl? 

Ahem. You, um, really don't have to answer that question. 

Anyhow. 

Since I finished writing this draft of 'Rescuer', I've been mostly occupied with (1) finding people to read and give feedback, (2) trying not to let myself edit yet, and (3) attempting rather unsuccessfully to get my brain to work on my next scheduled project, 'Distorted Dimensions', a contemporary YA science-fiction novel about a PK who encounters the town "ghost" and has to both figure out what happened to him and help bring his "haunting" to an end. However, I'm having a fair amount of trouble working on that, and have instead been straying to other stories. One is a contemporary YA with no speculative elements, but technically it's not supposed to exist because it's populated by alternate versions of the characters from 'The Sehret Chronicles'. 

My point? Well, as long as I'm procrastinating by writing other things, I might as well work on something that is supposed to exist. So expect another installment in 'The Runaway' fairly soon, provided life doesn't get in the way. But for now, I have just one more announcement for you... 

Another character interview! 

Yes, you read that correctly. Some of you may remember a while back when I did a series of character interviews, wherein I would present a character to you and give you the opportunity to ask them whatever questions you liked. I've decided to do it again, at least for one character, though I might not get into another series just now unless there's interest in such a thing. And the lucky character this time around is... 

Shaetha Sohran

Shaetha wasn't really what you would call a major character in 'The Follower', but in 'The Rescuer' she could almost be considered the protagonist around whom the story revolves (although I think Sohrem is somewhat more central). She's fifteen, nearly sixteen, an ENFJ (Extroverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging), and a Yahveh-Follower who recently came to recognize Jeshua as Yahveh incarnate. Her parents died in a house fire when she was five, and her father's last act was to run back into the house and push her out to safety. Since then, it's been Shaetha and her older brother, Lehn, against the world. She suffers from recurring nightmares and pyrophobia as a result of the event which claimed her parents, but she's getting better about being around fires and handling her bad nights on her own (whereas Lehn would usually come running to console her). She's a positive soul who tries to see the good in everyone, and this can sometimes come back to bite her if she overlooks one potentially dangerous flaw too many in someone she loves. Pressure scares her and pushes her outside of her comfort zone, but when someone really needs her, she'll rise to the occasion, so long as that occasion does not involve wielding a weapon much bigger than her hand. However, if she's been under stress without someone there to help her sort through her feelings about things, you'll find her more bossy and direct than her usual personality would suggest she's capable of being. Overall, she's a goodhearted young woman in the throes of growing up, and one of her greatest challenges is in learning how to function and thrive on her own, apart from anyone else's direction or supervision. 

Since I haven't posted an interview in a while, and it's the middle of the week right now, I'm going to leave it open for you to ask questions through the 27th. So fire away! (But not with real fire, please. Shaetha may be braver than people think, but let's try not to trigger her intentionally just now, shall we?) 

'The Runaway' - Part One

Hello yet again, fellow digressors. How was your weekend? Mine was a little busy, but not too bad. I got a copy of Microsoft Office on my laptop at long last, which should make my life as both a copy-editor and a novelist a lot easier. This makes me happy. However, because the program took time to install, and because I needed time to play with and get used to my new toy, I'm delivering this next short story opening a day or two later than I intended. (The opening for the first story, 'Street Rats', is here, in case you missed it.) 

Anyways, some of you may remember Jorthen Lavahr from 'The Follower'. Despite any mistakes he might have made, he still seems to be well-loved by readers, and it's been quite interesting trying to develop his backstory, especially as he tends to come across as 'Mr. Perfect'. As you are probably aware, no-one is truly perfect, and we all have secrets, some bigger than others. So, without further ado, here is the next short story... 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Runaway

–––––––

Reshan Territory, North-East of Jaern – Outerlands

Eleven years before the events of ‘The Follower'

There was a time when Jorthen Lavahr would have done anything for his father. If Atrin gave him an order, Jorthen would keep his mouth shut and obey, no matter the consequences. If someone from the outside asked him, he would say that hadn't changed.

But here, with the campfire crackling before him and Atrin plotting a course with their map a few feet away, Jorthen couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

“...I don't want to go.”

Atrin looked up briefly from the map, then went back to it without so much as looking Jorthen in the eye. “You'll go. The Council is expecting your arrival.”

“They're all older than me. I'm not supposed to join until I'm sixteen.”

“Ordinary people join at sixteen.” Atrin reached for his canteen of water and took a brief swig before speaking again. “We are not ordinary people.”

Jorthen swallowed. “What's so bad about being ordinary? What about...” He hesitated, but the question escaped him despite his efforts to be quiet. “...What about Amra?”

Atrin threw his prodding stick into the fire. Sparks leapt up from the coals upon impact, and Jorthen cringed to avoid them. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, but a hot look from Atrin made him slowly lower it and straighten his posture. 

Atrin ground his teeth and raised his eyebrows slightly. “I believe I remember telling you not to mention her again.” 

The evenness of Atrin’s tone made Jorthen gulp. His tongue felt thick, but he concentrated enough to make it work. “Sh-she…” No. No stammering. Stammering was a sign of weakness. He cleared his throat. “…She’s my friend. I barely got to say goodbye.” 

“You’re lucky you even got a moment with her. I should have made all the preparations myself instead of giving you time to bid goodbye to the local rabble.” 

Jorthen tensed. “Amra isn’t rabble.” 

“Look, I’m going to say this once more, and if you bring it up again, there will be consequences. Are you listening?” 

Jorthen’s muscles quivered, but he managed to nod. 

Atrin’s blue eyes burned into him. “That girl is beneath us. Always has been, always will be. Forget her.” 

All Jorthen could do was stare, unable to even avert his gaze. His mind seemed frozen, and with it every other part of him. Maybe that was why he shivered. 

Silence stretched, and Atrin picked up another stick and fiddled with it in what seemed like a casual manner. He snapped off a deviant twig that had sprouted from it and eyed Jorthen again. “You hear me, boy? No son of mine will run off with an herbalist’s daughter.” 

Jorthen wanted to retort, to ask what was so wrong with caring for an herbalist’s daughter, especially since that herbalist had kept him alive these fourteen years. But he withered under Atrin’s gaze, and he lowered his eyes to stare at the grass and mumbled, “Yes, sir.” 

“And hold your head up.” 

This command Jorthen rejected. Instead, he worked his jaw and glared at the coals of the fire before him. Half of him hoped Atrin would not notice, but the other half knew he would, and relished the rush of adrenaline that came from that knowledge. 

“…Go to the tent and wait for me.” 

The adrenaline faded as blood drained from Jorthen’s face. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard as his thoughts scattered. Atrin was taller than him. Even if Jorthen turned out to be the faster runner, his heart would likely betray him and take him to the ground long before Atrin gave up. 

A Lavahr never gave up. Never quit. Never showed weakness. 

“Did you hear me, boy?” 

Numbness overtook Jorthen as he rose to his feet and stumbled towards the tent. If he was lucky, by the time he got there, he would be completely devoid of feeling. He would no longer care. By the time Atrin arrived, he would no longer feel pain, either physical or in that corner of his mind where Amra Sheram’s freckles and glittering brown eyes taunted him. 

But he had never been lucky. So numbness would have to be enough for tonight. 

–––––––

Reshan Guard Military Base, Jaern – Reshan Territory

Eight years later

Lieutenant Cpt. Jorthen Lavahr strode down the hall and ignored the looks his frenzied stride drew from others. Well, perhaps it would not have seemed frenzied had someone else used it, but the uneven rhythm and the way he leaned forward to gain momentum were so unlike him that only a few around him neglected to move out of the way. A young recruit with silky raven hair smiled and stepped forward as if to intercept him, but he ignored her. He barely felt the impact when his shoulder connected with that of a passerby, and it only occurred to him as he entered the echoing stone foyer a few feet ahead to mumble an apology. He spotted a door ahead as it swung open and some officer he couldn’t identify entered. He should have been able to identify him. Perhaps he was from another province? 

What did it matter? Jorthen caught the door before it could swing closed and stepped through it. 

“Lieutenant!” 

Jorthen’s feet halted even as his mind raced forward and tried to plot a course to the nearest solitary place. He took a deep breath and ignored the ache growing in his chest as he turned and smiled at the recruit behind him. “Yes, Haren?” 

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” Ardran Haren’s copper hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it out of the way as he straightened his scrawny shoulders. “Permission to make a request, sir?” 

Ardran’s sudden change in posture reminded Jorthen to square his own broad shoulders, though he didn’t bother with the dark chestnut hair that likely fell over his own forehead. He put his hands behind his back and managed a slight chuckle. “Ardran, if you want to make a request, then make it. An overture isn’t necessary.” 

Ardran’s cheeks flushed red, and he ducked his head briefly. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Um…” He wiped his hands on his tunic, then quickly folded them behind his back as if to copy Jorthen. “…I… would like to file a complaint, sir. A-about my roommate.” 

One of these days, the recruits would learn the difference between a request and a complaint. Jorthen nodded. “Find Inspector Brehn. He should be in the northern training room.” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ardran turned and sprinted a few steps before halting. “…Uh, what should I tell him, Lieutenant Lavahr, sir?” 

You can tell him to keep you busy for a few minutes so I can get out of here. 

Jorthen blinked and reined his thoughts in again to form an answer. “Tell him what you just told me – that you want to file a complaint against your roommate. And give him whatever details he asks. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” Ardran nodded again and halfway turned to go, then hesitated again. “You don’t look well, sir. Should I call for a physician?” 

Abomination. Was it that obvious? Jorthen forced another smile that he hoped looked real. “I’m fine, Haren. Now you’d better hurry if you want to catch Brehn. I think he’s scheduled to meet a lady friend in about twenty minutes.” 

Ardran’s blue eyes widened. “Yes, sir.” It took only half a moment for him to forget entirely about Jorthen’s appearance and to sprint off towards the northeast section of the base. 

And people thought women were the only ones with ears for gossip. 

Jorthen glanced around to be sure no-one else was approaching, then turned and walked out of the building, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Outside, the town seemed to be made of all brown materials, and even the grass that sprouted up between cracks in the walkway seemed to have aspirations of turning to match that palette. The military base’s grey stone set it apart, as did the splash of color from the Reshan standard that waved from the battlements. Jorthen set his sights on the green of the grass at the edge of the town square and headed that way. Out here, people still recognized him, but as none had any immediate business with him, he met with no delays. 

He did not know how long we walked before spots crept into the corner of his vision and crouched to lower his head between his knees. From there, he rocked back into a sitting position, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing evenly. His pulse still raced, but with some effort, he made it slow and even out into a less painful rhythm. The adrenaline that had charged his flight drained slowly from his muscles, leaving him fatigued and aching for bed. But it was only midday, and he had two batches of recruits left to wrangle before his scheduled activities ended and the paperwork began. Not to mention any meetings he hadn’t known were coming, or any more impromptu questions from the recruits who already knew him. 

He had a good mind just to sit here for the rest of the day and pretend he’d been in some secret meeting the whole time. 

If only Atrin Lavahr had not been sitting in one of the southern meeting rooms at that very moment, likely prepared to launch a full investigation should Jorthen not return in time to perform every one of his duties. 

Jorthen raised a hand to his right temple and rubbed it, trying to rid himself of the headache growing there. How had his life come to this? When he’d joined up eight years ago, he’d managed to convince himself that the Guard would serve as an escape. True, he’d left some things behind, but at least he would be away from Atrin, except for the inevitable visits here and there. He could be independent. He could make something of himself. 

And he was something now, all right. He was twenty-two years old, easily over six feet tall, and strong. He could put on a brave face in any situation, and there was hardly a woman in Jaern who would not revel in his attentions. Even those who did not particularly like him could not hate him, such was his charm and his skill as a diplomat. 

And in this moment, he hated it. He hated all of it. Because it had all come from Atrin. He orchestrated everything, pulled strings to get Jorthen in before he was technically of age, conditioned him by various methods to push through anything, and constantly reminded him of any shortcomings he still needed to eradicate. There was not an aspect of Jorthen’s life that did not smell of his father’s influence. 

But then, had he ever really expected that to change? 

A rhythmic pounding fell on his ears, and he opened his eyes. His vision was still blurred, but if he squinted, he could see something on the northern horizon, a dark shadow in the distance, growing nearer as the pounding grew louder. A horse and rider? 

He stood and fingered the shakahn at his belt, just in case, but kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the figure in the distance. It could be a scout returning with news from one of the Reshan-Shamindo bordertowns, perhaps, but if so, why did he ride so hard? And as the horse approached, Jorthen could see that it was far from a war steed. It looked to be more of a packhorse, really, its shaggy grey coat littered with dirt and flecked with sweat, stride faltering as if it could not take much more running. 

And the skinny rider’s black hair, pale skin, and ragged clothing sent the word Shamindo ringing in Jorthen’s head. 

His pulse spiked again, and he pulled his blade free of its sheath. “Guards!” His voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat and called out again. Voices from the town behind him proved that someone heard him. If it came to a fight, he would have backup. 

At the disturbance, the grey horse tossed its head, released a shrill whinny, and stumbled to one side, then toppled, throwing its rider into the grass some yards away as if he weighed nothing. Jorthen dropped into a fighting position, but when the rider did not rise, he strode forward and tried to get a better look. The fallen horse paid him no mind as its lungs heaved in an attempt to catch its breath, but he leaned down to pat its neck as he peered at the rider nearby. He had landed facedown, but from here Jorthen could tell that he was small, barely a man if he was one at all, and that he carried no weapon. Jorthen slowly lowered his own weapon and froze as he spotted burns on the arm that was not pinned beneath the rider, and charred holes where fire must have caught his clothing. 

Jorthen kept still for a moment, then sheathed his weapon and knelt next to the boy. He touched his shoulder as lightly as he could and turned him over onto his back, then recoiled slightly at the sight of more burns on his face and neck. If treated, they should heal without leaving scars, but how had they gotten there? How much more of his body was burnt? Jorthen heard footsteps behind him and called over his shoulder, “He’s injured. Find a physician.” 

One of the newcomers repeated the order, and someone else sprinted back towards the base. Yet another person knelt beside the fallen horse to assess its condition. Jorthen stretched out a hand to feel for the Shamindo boy’s pulse. 

The boy gasped and jerked away from Jorthen’s hand as his eyes flew open. Jorthen started, then held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy, easy – I’m not going to hurt you.” 

From behind him, someone called out, “Shamindo! He’s a Shamindo spy!” 

“Quiet,” Jorthen snapped. He looked at the boy again and offered a hand. “Come on. We’ll get you some help.” 

The boy shook his head and tried to scramble away from Jorthen, but fell to the ground again, his green eyes wide, emaciated body trembling. The burns covered his hands and arms, and his tunic was singed halfway into oblivion. He could not have been much older than sixteen. 

Jorthen swallowed hard. “…Easy,” he repeated, and extended a hand again. “I’m Jorthen Lavahr. Let me help you.” 

The boy blinked at him, uncomprehending in his panic. All at once his muscles went loose, his eyes glazed over, and Jorthen barely moved forward in time to keep him from hitting his head on a rock as he fell unconscious again. 

Jorthen cursed under his breath and glanced at a Guard recruit as the boy stepped up beside him. “Help me get him to the base.” 

The boy nodded, and with little difficulty they lifted the Shamindo and headed for the military base. Until this point, Jorthen had managed to focus his distractible mind on the matter at hand, but as they walked, he could not help thinking, Won’t Atrin be thrilled when he finds out about this? 

Ask Sern!

Wow, it's late... By the time I post this, it might actually be Sunday. Sorry about that! Today was busy. Well, at least it was busy by my standards. Which basically means, I left the house more than once and actually did stuff. Yay for an active lifestyle. 

Anyways, the character up for interview this week is Sern Jesyn, father of Dertryn Jesyn, and also the former guardian of Sheth Terrem.  

Sern Jesyn

Sern is past the point where most people would be comfortable with broadcasting their age, but I'll embarrass him anyways: he's forty-seven. Right? *checks the timeline* Of course right. Anyways, he was born a Serdak, and as a young man, he was a dragon-rider/soldier. As such, he learned to be flexible and get the job done even when he didn't feel comfortable or was certain he had no idea what he was doing. If you need help with something, and ask him to assist you, he probably won't tell you if he has no clue how to get it done. He'll just figure it out, and you'll never know the difference. He married at age seventeen, and he and his wife, Syra, had two boys -- Nolan and Dertryn. 

One night fifteen years ago, raiders attacked Sern's town, killed Syra and Nolan -- then fifteen years old -- and kidnapped Dertryn. Upon hearing that searches of the nearby areas yielded no sign of Dertryn, a broken-hearted Sern disregarded his own physical wounds and left his mountain homestead in search of his son. His search only brought him near death with exhaustion, and did nothing to help him find Dertryn. A man in one of the last cities wherein Sern search forced him to take time for recovery, introduced him to Yahveh-Jeshua, and helped him find a new purpose in life, though Sern never gave up hope of finding his child. When a riot took Sheth Terrem's parents, Sern took charge of him, and became like a father to him, a fact which did not comfort Dertryn when he caught up with Sern and discovered his new situation. Sern and Dertryn have been estranged since, but a recent encounter brought them together again, and Sern hopes to regain what has been lost. Since his dragon-riding days, Sern has had many professions -- builder, repairman, tutor, evangelist, etc., as the situation demanded. Despite the fact that he lives often outside of his comfort zone, he is an introvert with little natural patience for incompetent or cruel people, and might be as likely to punch someone as turn the other cheek. He usually restrains himself, but it's difficult. 

Oh! Also, Sern was one of the few people to see Siran's (Sohrem's) predicament in Lans and make any effort to reach out to him, The response was underwhelming, but I'm sure it was at least remembered. Sern also insists on calling Sohrem by his given name (Siran), despite his protests. But I'm guessing it's more out of habit than from spite. Probably. Though Sern hides his thoughts and feelings so well, we might never know. 

Anyways, Sern will be around and taking questions through Wednesday, as usual. Since I've posted this so late, I'll try to post the results as late in the day as possible. Oh, um, about the punching thing -- he hasn't punched anyone who didn't deserve it in years, if ever. So as long as you don't start picking on people or physically assault him, he should be pretty polite. He's an adult, after all. He can usually handle himself with grace. Usually. *ahem* 

Also, I might take a break from the character interviews soon and start another series of some sort. What would you like to see? Writing tips? More music stuff? Lyme posts? Or would you rather keep going with the character interviews? (I'd probably come back to them at some point; I just might back off of them for a while.) Let me know in the comments! I'd love to hear from you. Well, not hear, obviously. Unless you want to send me an audio clip, or make a Youtube video, or something. But then I might just end up spending my entire day on Youtube and not do anything in regards to the blog. That wouldn't be very productive. But it might be fun... 

...But, as is ever the case with me, I digress. 

Character Interview #7: Sheth Terrem

Well, fellow digressors, it's the day before Thanksgiving. Wow. Where has the time gone? I mean, seriously. I can't believe 2015 is so near. There are a great many things I could put on my list of things I'm thankful for, but for now, I'll just share the results of Sheth Terrem's character interview with you all. I'll warn you in advance that Sheth, as a bookworm and an amateur historian, has certain obsessions which may be expressed through his answers. This is good for my lazy brain, which doesn't want to come up with extra questions to fill out the post. Whether it makes for an interesting interview remains to be seen. But anyways, here you are: An interview with the famous (or, er, not so famous) Sheth Terrem. 

Hey, buddy. How are you today? 

Buddy...? Isn't that what you always call Sohrem? 

Can't I have more than one buddy? And anyways, you were my buddy first, and I can call you whatever I want. So, what's your favorite food? 

I've learned over the years not to be a picky eater. My least favorite food would probably be keita bread, not because it tastes bad, necessarily, but just because I've had it so much. As for my favorite food... I like turkey. 

Turkey? Really? Out of all the food you've ever had, that's your favorite? 

I don't know. I'm not good at picking favorites. 

Huh. Turkey. Wow, what a coincidence... 

How's that? 

Nothing. It's an American thing. How do you feel about said fangirls? 

I wasn't aware I had any... 

Huh? Where have you been for the past couple of years? 

In Jaern...? Well, until recently. 

Oh, never mind. Listen, you have fangirls. So how do you feel about them? 

It seems a little strange, since I'm more used to fading into the background, but I guess I don't mind. I only hope people don't expect me to be perfect and always live up to their expectations. That could be a little intimidating. 

As a young kid, were you more interested in reading books and such, or was that something you enjoyed once you were older? 

My mother used to read to me, and I always enjoyed it. She did all my schooling, and taught me to read when I was seven. After that, we'd read to each other in turns, and eventually, she decided that she preferred for me to do all the reading aloud. My father never really got into it. He was more interested in the practical aspects of keeping the wagon together and such. I'm not even sure he knew how to read. He never approved of people sticking their heads into the clouds while there was work to be done. That made it a special thing between my mother and I. Though I do recall a few times where my father told me to keep reading, even when he pretended not to be interested. So maybe he enjoyed it, as well. 

So... Fangirls. What are your thoughts on them in general? 

I guess it depends upon how they handle themselves. I don't think infatuation is healthy, but it's only natural to admire people sometimes. So in that sense, I think fangirls are all right. Just so long as you don't make the person you admire the center of your life, or anything. 

Hm... So here's a question of my own: Have you ever been a fanboy? I mean, you read a lot, or used to, so you must have admired some character or historical figure in there, at least. 

I admire Rhedan, one of the instigators of the Rhenor Civil War. Well, technically, Dahker started it by attempting to overthrow the theocratic system. He organized a series of protests and speeches, and convinced a great number of people that the nation would be better off without Yahveh at the center. I think Dahker felt like the government was pushing faith on its citizens against their will, and he wanted to be free from it. But it got out of hand. 

*whispers* Grab some popcorn, fellow digressors. We might be here for a while. 

Excuse me? 

No, no, keep going. *eats popcorn* 

...I'm sorry. I guess I lecture too much. It's just a fascinating bit of history. 

Pleeeeeaaaaase? 

You must be bored. 

Procrastinating, actually. Go on. 

All right... Well, Dahker started a revolution, with the intent of reforming the government. It worked, but instead of just removing the expectation of belief, the unbelieving population turned on the Yahveh-followers, and tried to either kill them, drive them out, or make them renounce their faith. I only know what I've read in history books, but I get the impression that Dahker completely lost control of the revolution in the weeks after the rebels overthrew the system. 

Rhedan was a childhood friend of Dahker's, but he was also a Yahveh-follower, so he opposed the revolution, and then when things got violent, he helped a lot of other Followers escape into various tunnels and such outside of Rhenor territory, though by then it was called Khanor territory, and religious literature was forbidden. Some of them enocountered Kirat settlers and intermarried with them, which produced the Serdak, also called Dragon-Riders. Some left the mountains entirely and became the Reshen, the people in whose territories I've lived my whole life. And Rhedan and some others took a huge risk by venturing back into Khanor territory to witness to people and bring contraband literature to help those who still lived there and wanted to know more about Yahveh. Rhedan eventually gave his life while helping some believers escape Khanor law enforcement. Years later, Dahker left the Khanor and gave himself over to the Reshen, which makes me think that he didn't intend all the harm that came to be. 

Sooooo... Who do you think was right? 

Honestly? I'm not sure either Rhedan or Dahker were completely right or wrong. I don't believe the government should force anyone to believe in anything, however true it might be, but actually the revolution resulted in an outlawing of Yahveh-followership, essentially forcing people to say that He did not exist and forbidding them to practice their belief in Him if they did have it. If I had lived in their time, I think I would have been caught in the middle. But Rhedan ended up helping a lot of people, and he never gave up, no matter how bad things got. So you could say I'm a "fanboy" of Rhedan's. But of course, he was human just like everyone else, so I'm not blind enough to think he didn't have flaws. And... I just said entirely too much, didn't I? I'm sorry. 

No, actually, you aided my procrastination -- er, filled out the interview quite well. *ahem* What would you have said to your parents before they left if you knew they would (inevitably) die? 

...I think I still would have tried to convince them not to go. I would have told them I loved them, promised my father that I would stay sensible, and assured my mother that I would be all right. Now that I'm a Yahveh-follower, I would tell them about my faith and try to convince them to believe, too, but of course I didn't know about any of that back then. So... I guess that's it. I don't really want to talk about it anymore. 

Okay... Oh! Here's an extra question especially for Thanksgiving: What are you thankful for, Sheth? 

I'm thankful the Reshen still allow Yahveh-followers to practice freely, thankful that Sern stepped up and took me in all those years ago, and thankful that I met Yannah at Jaern. I'm also thankful to my parents for giving me a good upbringing, even if they didn't always get everything right. And since everything good comes from Yahveh, of course I have to be thankful to Him for caring and looking after me even when I make mistakes or question Him. And... I'm also thankful that not everyone gets upset with me for rambling like this. 

Oh, you get it from your mother. AUTHOR. You get it from me. Not your mother. I'm not... You know what I mean. 

...Right. May I go now? 

Sure. Happy Thanksgiving, bud. 

I'm not sure what that is, but all right... 

----------------------------------------------------------- 

Well, there it is, folks. I think Sheth's bookishness showed a little bit there. Just a little. That's okay; apparently, it's part of why people love him. It's also a very big part of why Sohrem doesn't like him, methinks. Oh, well. It's cute when he tells Yannah his stories. Maybe he should be a writer someday. 

Anyways. 

So what are y'all thankful for? I'm thankful for a loving family and friends who don't think I'm crazy even when I'm convinced that I am, for the means to treat this disease I have, and for the freedom to worship God freely and serve and write about Him without fear. I'm thankful for a brain that can still come up with stories, no matter how addled it might be, and for hands that can still hold a pen or use a keyboard so that others can experience those stories. I'm also thankful for my readers, who apparently find enough merit in my ramblings and far-fetched stories to keep reading them. 

How about food? Does your Thanksgiving dinner consist of traditional foods like turkey and pumpkin pie (the best parts of the meal, IMHO), or are you more unconventional? Will you watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? I'm really not sure about that last one, myself. It seems to get less and less interesting for me every year, but I'm a traditionalist, so I'll probably at least watch part of it. I wonder what balloons they'll have this year, or whether we'll mostly just see the reporters' heads blocking the way...? Oh, well. I guess any view is better than none. 

...But, of course, I digress. 

Ask Sheth!

Hey, digressors! Sorry I'm so late with this post; it was a busy day, preceded by busier ones, and there are more of the same fast approaching, so free time has been somewhat restricted. But without further ado, I shall introduce to you this week's character to be interviewed, Sheth Terrem. (Yes, fangirls,  please contain your shrieking, or we'll never get this interview underway.) 

Sheth Terrem

Sheth Terrem was born to Kheleth immigrants, and spent most of his growing-up years in the back of a wagon. His parents were merchants, largely of animals and their byproducts, but also of various other transportable goods. When Sheth was sixteen, the family made a stop in the Reshan-Shamindo bordertown of Lans and, while Sheth guarded the wagon, Shamindo cultists attacked the town and robbed him of both parents. The city council assigned him to live with Sern Jesyn, a Serdak dragon-rider turned evangelist who eventually led him to Yahveh-Jeshua. Seven years after moving in with Sern, Sheth is on his own, and has been called up for service in the Reshan Guard, despite his pacifistic stance. Now traveling with a ragtag combination of Reshen, Khanor, Shamindo, Kiratai, and Serdakai, Sheth struggles to stay strong in his faith without alienating certain others around him. Sheth is an introvert with a dry sense of humor, and loves books and stories. If he could be anywhere in the world, he would likely choose to return to his childhood home-base of Delnam and read a good book with his dog, Tori, beside him. (Poor Tori -- she must miss Sheth quite a bit, as I'm not convinced that the Guard allows recruits to keep pets.) Sheth is currently courting (or whatever you call the process) Yannah Delraen, and is in an uneasy truce with Sohrem Terahl, who assaulted him once for fighting with Yannah and making her cry (long story, Sheth and Yannah have since reconciled, and it wasn't really worth the assault). 

Sheth is the protagonist of 'The Follower', and also (arguably) of 'The Merchant's Son'. He's been bumped from that role for 'The Rescuer', but he's still in there, and he still has fangirls. Hm. I wonder if Yannah ever gets jealous...? 

Anyways, here he is, peopleses. Have fun asking questions. I shall do my best to post the answers a bit earlier in the day on Wednesday.