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:

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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.

'Street Rats' - Part One

Hey there fellow digressors. Sorry I've been so absent lately -- among other things, copy-editing business has picked up a bit, so I've been busy with that. I had a day off today, though, so I spent it mostly sitting around and browsing Facebook and Pinterest. I saw some other people dealing with prompts and such, and decided to check out my huge board of prompts on Pinterest. I picked one, posted it to a writers' group on Facebook, and followed it myself. A couple of my friends urged me to write more and put it on the blog, or even to write more short stories and do the same with them. 

Well, it just so happens that I'd already considered this idea. And I've decided to give it a go. 

But here's the rub: I have way too many stories dancing about together inside my head. Most take place in the world of Sehret, and most are backstory pieces about my main characters or their families. And I am such an indecisive person that I can't decide which one to use. SO. Here's what I want to do -- over the next couple of days, I'll post the opening scenes for a few of these short stories, and give each a (very temporary) name so you can keep track of them. Then, in a few days (I'll have to figure out how many stories I'm dealing with before I know exactly when), I'll write a summary post with shortened versions of the scenes, and ask y'all to vote on which one most interests you. Whichever story has the most votes will be the one I continue (or try to continue) and post exclusively here on the blog. Let me clarify: These scenes are not in any actual book that I'm writing at the moment. They may become their own novellas or be sorted into an anthology of short stories at a later date, but right now, the only way to read them will be by coming here. Think of it as a serial novella which you get to read as it's written, and on which you can give feedback if you so desire (but please, be kind). 

Another idea I've considered is designating a certain day of the week to check the 'Writing Prompts' widget in the sidebar and follow whatever prompt it gives me, and invite y'all to join in if you want. Thoughts? How many of you would be interested in something like that? 

Anyways, now that I've gotten that intro out of the way, let me introduce you to the first (not fully edited) scene of the first short story... 

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Street Rats

(Temporary Title)

Prequel to 'The Sehret Chronicles: The Merchant's Son'

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Lans, Reshan-Shamindo Border -- Reshan Territory

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All he had to do was take it. The bread sat on the edge of the table, fresh and wafting its yeasty scent towards Tal, making his stomach grumble again. He wouldn't have felt it over the moths fluttering in there, had it not sent such a sharp stab of pain throughout his ribcage. His hands trembled from hunger and fear. How would he ever make them steady enough to steal for his brother's dinner? 

The baker turned away to deal with a customer, and Tal's heart quickened. He tensed, glanced around to be sure no-one was watching, then... 

"You don't want to do that." 

Tal gasped and spun to press his back against the wall between him and the baker's stand. His pulse pounded in his head, and his stomach churned. 

A boy of about his age with straggly black hair and keen blue eyes crouched next to him and grinned. "New to this, are you?" 

"Keep quiet," Tal hissed. His hands shook, so he curled them into fists. "This is risky enough as it is." 

"It's risky because you don't know what you're doing. Me, on the other hand? I could get that bread in less than the amount of time you've spent shaking behind this wall." 

Darr's voice rang through Tal's head. "Quit shaking and get the job done. There'll be time enough to think things through later." 

He swallowed, glanced over his shoulder, then fixed his gaze on the newcomer again. "...Who are you?" 

"Name's Ryst. This is my territory." 

"It's Reshan territory, stupid." 

Ryst snickered, making Tal flinch. "So do you want that bread, or not?" 

Tal worked his jaw. "I've stolen before." 

"Sure, sure you have." Ryst crept to the edge of the wall and peered around it. "All right. The customer is leaving." 

Tal found himself creeping up behind Ryst and trying to peek around him. His heart leapt to his throat again, and he pulled back. "Do we go now?" 

"Back," Ryst hissed, and shoved Tal back far enough to retreat himself. 

Tal barely caught himself before he could fall. Frustration rose within him, and he glared at Ryst. "Why did you distract me? I could have made it." 

Ryst sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "If you're counting on customers to distract him, then you never go during the first sale of the day. He won't let his guard down long enough to let you in until he feels safe looking away that long." 

"I don't have all day. I just need enough time to run in and grab the bread." 

Ryst snorted. "And then he'll spot you and call the guards. You might think you're fast, but you won't get away if you try something like that." 

Tal tried, but he couldn't think of a proper response. He looked away and tried to keep a neutral expression. His eyes stung, and he blinked hard to get any stray flecks of dust out of them. 

He felt eyes on him, and when he looked again, Ryst was watching him. "What's your name, anyhow? I haven't seen you around here." 

Tal swallowed hard, then cleared his throat and tried to sound as grown-up as possible. "Talsyn Lethar. I... didn't used to come here often." 

"Talsyn Lethar?" Ryst wrinkled his nose. "Too long. How's 'Tal' sound?" 

Tal shrugged. "It works." He was actually used to having his name shortened that way, but he felt no need to point it out to a thief he would probably never speak with again. 

"Fine then, Tal. How old are you?" 

"Why?" Tal glared at him again. "I don't even know your full name. Why do I have to give you my whole life story?" 

Ryst rolled his eyes again. "Fine, then. Don't tell me your age." He inched forward on the balls of his feet, then glanced at Tal. "If I snag that bread, I get a share, right?" 

"What kind of share?" 

"Half." 

"One third." 

"Half, or you can grab it yourself." 

"I have a brother to feed, dimwit." Tal tried to make the words sound hard and clipped, but his voice trembled, betraying hi desperation. Could he really get the bread on his own? Ryst was right -- he had no idea what he was doing. He'd only stolen twice, and both time were under Darr's supervision. Both times, Darr had stressed to him how this was not a permanent solution, only a quick fix until they could get on their feet again. 

But Darr wasn't here, was he? Not that he had really been there in life, either. 

It took him a moment of staring to realize that Ryst had vanished from his perch by the wall. 

Tal blinked and scrambled to his feet. Where had the rat gone? Stolen the bread, no doubt, and run off with every bit of it. Well, maybe that was fair, but it wouldn't help Tal fill any stomachs tonight. He glanced nervously about and fought the panic rising in his chest. He had to think. If Ryst's assessment was accurate, an attempt at theft now would more likely earn him a trip to jail than a meal. He couldn't afford that. He also couldn't afford to sit here all day coming up with plans if he wasn't going to follow through on them. 

He groaned and paced away from the edge, ran a hand through his greasy black hair. This whole trip had been a bad idea. It had been hard enough saddling up the old hag's gelding and getting it here. And leaving his brother on that hill outside of town, without supervision? While safer than leaving him at the house, it was still a monumental show of idiocy. He had to get out of here now. He had to grab Siran and-- 

"Hey, Tal-boy." 

Tal started and fumbled at his tattered belt for the sharpened stick that he'd hung there. He jabbed it out ad he whirled around to face the speaker. 

Ryst laughed and tossed a fresh, piping hot loaf of bread from his right hand to his left. "Still working yourself up, I see. Here." And with that, he flung the loaf into the air in Tal's general direction. 

Tal dropped the stick and caught the loaf in mid-flight. He turned it over in his hands, ignoring the way it burned his skin. The smell wafting from it made his knees weak. Upon closer examination, he saw that the loaf was whole. He frowned. 

"Good enough?" 

He looked up to see that Ryst was still watching him. Tal lifted the loaf as if putting it on display. "What about your share?" 

Ryst shrugged. "Break it off if you like. I'll eat something. Unlike you, I'm used to stealing for myself." 

The words stung, but Tal could barely hold back a grin as he stuffed the load into his bag. He had to get back to Siran. They had to get back to the house before the old hag got sober enough to realize that they'd gone. 

"Hey, shaker." 

The words made Tal stop and face Ryst again. His face flamed as he remembered that he hadn't acknowledged the efforts made to get the food now bulging in his pack. "...Thanks." 

"Actually, I was just going to say that my name is Rystar Teln." Ryst shrugged. "Just in case you were still wondering." 

Tal swallowed hard again and nodded. "...Teln. I'll remember." 

"I'd rather you didn't, actually. The name's Rystar." And here Ryst stepped forward and extended his hand. "Think you can remember that much, Lethar?" 

Tal hesitated a long moment, then took Ryst's hand and slapped his palm. He nodded. "Sure. And just call me Tal." 

Ryst returned the slap and grinned faintly. "I guess I probably won't be calling you anything, if you're not sticking around. You really going to feed yourself and that brother of yours with one load of bread?" 

"We've made do with less." Tal stepped backwards and lowered his hand. "I have to go. he's waiting." 

Ryst nodded. "Power to you, Tal. And lots of it." 

Power. Now there was an elusive commodity. Tal shrugged. "Sure." He turned again to leave, then hesitated. "Hey, Ryst--" 

But when he turned again, Ryst was gone, vanished as if he had never been there in the first place. 

Tal looked down at his satchel, then at the ground where Ryst had stood. After a long moment of thought, he turned and sprinted off in the direction of the hill where he'd left his brother. 

When he got there, clouds had just begun to roll in over his head, and the air was pregnant with telltale moisture. Tal shuddered and quickened his step. He spotted the patch of grass where he'd made Siran sit not an hour earlier. 

Nothing. The grass was bare. 

His heart leapt to his throat again. "Siran?" His voice came out hoarse, and he nearly tripped in his haste to get up the hill. He reached the patch of grass in question and patter it as if to be sure that no-one sat there. His eyes had not deceived him. Panic swelled in his chest, stole his breath from him. He whirled around and panted for breath. "S-siran? Siran, where did you go?" 

Could he have wandered into the city? Had Tal passed him in his hurry to get there? What if one of the merchants had nabbed him, declared him a Shamindo street rat and locked him up somewhere? What if-- 

"Tal?" 

Tal nearly cried out from relief when Siran sprinted over the crest of the hill towards him. Tal stumbled up to meet him, grabbed hold of his arm, and dropped to his knees before his little brother. "Siran, I told you not to wander off like that!" 

Siran's green eyes grew wide, and he tried to jerk his arm away from Tal. 

A bit of remorse left a lump in Tal's throat, and he released Siran's arm. "I'm sorry. I was just... I just didn't..." His words trailed off, and he winced, then touched Siran's arm more carefully. "Look, Siran, you know I wouldn't hurt you, right? Not ever." 

It took a long moment, but Siran nodded and wrapped his arms around Tal's neck. 

Tal blinked hard and returned the hug, then took a deep breath. It was time to be the big brother here. No more motherish panic attacks. He reached for his satchel and pulled the flap open. "I got something in the market for us." He reached into the bag and pulled the loaf into view. 

Siran's grin was instantaneous. "You got food?" 

Tal relaxed again and managed to return Siran's grin. "Yeah. I had a little help, but we won't go hungry tonight. Here..." He broke off a piece and offered it to Siran. "Chew it slowly. This will have to last us until I can get some more." 

If his brother heard his warning, he showed few signs of it. Siran stuffed the morsel into his mouth all at once, and seemed to have no intention of chewing it. 

Tal laughed. "Eacy there. Don't choke yourself." 

Siran coughed and ducked his head a little, then made a more obvious effort to chew his food. All the same, it was barely five seconds before he swallowed. 

Fair enough. Tal broke off a piece of the bread or himself and took a bite of it. The succulent, yeasty taste almost made him cry out with pleasure. He could see why Siran's self-control had gone out the window. But this had to last. He finished his piece and stuffed the rest of the loaf back into the satchel. "We'll have the rest at the house." 

Siran's face fell. "But she'll take it." 

"No, she won't. I'll hide it so that she won't ever find it." Tal offered a hand to Siran. "Trust me?" 

A pair of wide eyes met his, then Siran nodded, smiled sheepishly, and slid his grimy hand into Tal's. 

Tal squeezed his hand and led the way back down the hill. Siran's feet slipped enough times that, by the time they reached the bottom of the hill and approached the animal they'd ridden into the city, Tal had hoisted his brother onto his back and had a pair of arms wrapped tightly about his neck. It was all he could do to hold them far enough out to avoid choking. He helped Siran mount and began to fasten their satchel to the saddle. Something bumped his rear, and he swatted without looking. "Settle down, horse." 

The black gelding, Taryk, nickered and nipped again. Siran giggled. Tal grimaced and ignored the animal until he had the bag secure. Taryk bumped him with his nose, and Tal sighed and rubbed it. "You're a real chore, aren't you?" 

This must have been enough, for a moment later, Taryk bobbed his head and began to graze again.
"Oh, no, you don't. You'll eat at home just like us." Tal swung into the saddle and helped Siran center himself on the saddle. "Ready?" 

"Can we make him gallop today?" 

If this nag galloped, he'd fall apart halfway home. "We'll see. Just hang tight, all right? We'll be home soon." 

Siran nodded and took hold of the saddle horn. Taryk seemed none too pleased, but ceased his grazing, and when Tal picked up the reins and kicked, the animal tossed his head slightly and began the eternal ride towards home. 

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Copyright (c) 2015 by C. F. Barrows

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... 

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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. 

Character Interview #5: Dertryn Jesyn

Hello, fellow digressors. I apologize for my lack of activity on the blog lately -- my addled (read: demented) brain has not been cooperating. I did, however, get some work done on a prequel novella focusing on Talsyn Lethar, Siran Lethar, and Rystar Teln. It's fun. And also painful. They're all so cute... *sniffs* Oh, also, I've been on book withdrawal, because I just finished Jill Williamson's 'Blood of Kings' trilogy, and it was pretty much the best thing ever. I've had a hard time moving on. I mean, how do you move on from something so awesome? Anybody have any ideas? 

ANYWAYS. 

This week, Dertryn Jesyn showed up for an interview, and you all were kind enough to submit questions so that his poor author wouldn't have to come up with them on her own. (No really, you have no idea how much I appreciate y'all's participation. *initiates group hug* Now I just need to step up my game a bit. Character interviews are fun, but I do want to offer other things along with them.) 

(Thanks to the lovely Elizabeth Liberty Lewis for adding the scars!)

What exactly happened while you were captured to leave you scarred? 

My author failed to mention that I don't talk about that time of my life. 

*holds up Dertryn's only remaining relative threateningly* 

Fine. It was more or less a branding. I have other, less visible scars, but the ones on my face were deliberate, left there to remind me that I belonged to the Saethen. I believe Kyra Daehr could elaborate on the process. It involved demon-dragons dragging their claws down my face and leaving some burning substance in the wounds that kept them from fading. It was all very twisted, really. I prefer to think of them as battle scars. 

You do that. What were the captors like? 

Madmen and cowards, most of them. The dragons did little with me directly. It was mostly left up to the men in their employ to break me. I think the idea was to either kill me or wear me down so much that I would gladly join them. A few men protested to the idea of torturing a child, but it didn't end well for them. After that, most of the guards gladly did their part. There was one who broke the mold, but I doubt he's still alive. He helped me escape, and I'll be eternally grateful, but if he's still breathing, he's probably had that last shred of decency beaten out of him by now. 

Mhm. I'm sure. Do you have any lady friends? 

...Could you clarify? 

Lady friends. You know, anyone you're romantically interested in or who is similarly interested in you. 

I don't see how that's anyone's business but my own. I'm not attached to anyone, if that's what you're wondering. I've had a few relationships, but they were all short-lived. Apparently. I'm too hardened for most women's tastes, and the women who are attracted to that aspect of my personality aren't exactly the women I'd keep company with, if you see what I mean. 

What was your best memory from when you were a kid? 

Probably the time Paeren took us to the dragon pens. 

Paeren...? 

...Father. You can't tell me you didn't know that. 

For all you readers at home who can't observe Dertryn's physical reactions to my questions, the look he's currently giving me says something akin to, "You are an idiot." 

You fool around too much. Anyhow, when I was young, Paeren took us to the dragon pens. They weren't literal pens, you understand, but they served the same purpose. Think a horse ranch, except with dragons. Paeren even let me ride with him for a few minutes before he had to leave. Nolan wouldn't even go near the things -- said they looked hungry. He was more interested in whatever book he'd brought along that day. This all happened before the Saethan-servants invaded, of course, so I wasn't afraid of the dragons. They excited me. I could talk of nothing else the whole way home. A week before, I would have jabbered on about a trip outdoors in the same way. I was easily excited. 

You were adorable. And hyperactive. I seem to recall that Nolan hardly got a moment of peace. Have you found yourself confronted with any fangirls? Or have the fangirls all avoided you so far? 

Fangirls, no. Interested persons, occasionally. I think my author only wrote me into about three or four scenes in her book, so it's likely that most people have forgotten I exist by now. Which is fine by me. 

You do know that you're a semi-major character in the next book, right? 

...I was trying to forget that, actually. 

Oh, okay. Well, I'll just keep reminding you, then. What is your dragon Tyri like? Does he feel like a friend to you? 

First off, he is a she. And she isn't especially fond of battle. She'll go into it if I urge her enough, but she's more like a big, scaly, winged dog than anything else. She's black, with silver eyes, and doesn't like people in general. I know people have all these ideas about dragon-riders having a mental connection with their dragons, but that's a myth. We form bonds, but it's the same as any bond a man might form with a favorite dog or a horse he often rides into battle. In that sense, Tyri is bonded to me and no-one else. We were sort of assigned to each other years ago. When I got back to Serdakai territory-- 

Serdakai? Wait, is that the possessive form of 'Serdak'? All these vocabulary words... 

You invented these words and these phonetics. Stop pretending you don't know them. 

Fine, Mister Grumpy-Gills. Continue. 

Gills...? *sighs* Anyhow, when I got home, I was terrified of dragons. That was a slight problem, since our entire culture revolves around the breeding, raising, and training of dragons. It's rather hard to navigate one's way through the mountain without them. Too many pits and drop-offs that would be impossible to cross. So my fear of them was unacceptable. But they couldn't get me to go anywhere near the creatures, so they gave up. Then Tyri came along, and they tried preliminary training with her, but she was too skittish. They didn't know what to do with either of us, so an old friend of Paeren's suggested pairing us. She was small and non-threatening enough that she didn't scare me, and I didn't try to force her to do anything until we were used to each other, so I guess I became her person. Eventually I trained her, and over time I was able to work around other dragons, as well. So it worked out. She's still lazy. And very protective. It's like having a jealous girlfriend with claws and sharp teeth. 

I certainly hope she hasn't eaten any real potential girlfriends. That would be unfortunate. Do you have a favorite food? 

I don't have much preference. We have limited resources inside the mountain, and prolonged trips outside are risky, so anything that originates on the surface is a luxury. I suppose I like apples. I had one once a few years ago, and it was good. Otherwise, I'll eat what I'm given. 
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Well, there it is. Mister Grumpy-Gills made an appearance and actually answered the questions given, for the most part. Or should he be Mister Grumpy-Scales, since he's a dragon-rider...? What do you think? Do you have any more questions now that you know a little bit about the character? This whole interview thing is helpful in keeping him away from Kyra and Sohrem. None of them get along particularly well with each other. 

Anyways, I must be off now. Although I have done some work in that novella I mentioned (which currently has no title), I have done nothing in 'The Rescuer' in a couple of days. I need to go do that. *is distracted by her shiny signed copy of 'Captives' by her favorite author*

No. No distractions. I must be productive. I must cease my continual ramblings and focus my attentions on something worthwhile, something that will make the world a better place. I must cease my digressing once and for all!

...Ha.

Character Interview #3: Talsyn Lethar

Good morning again, fellow digressors! How are you today? I'm feeling more productive than usual. I recently finished writing my synopsis for 'The Merchant's Son', and am in the process of editing it. I hope to submit the proposal to my publisher of interest before NaNo starts (GOOD NIGHT, THAT IS IN THREE DAYS, AND I HAVEN'T FINISHED PLOTTING 'THE RESCUER' YET, PEOPLE). 

Anyways, if you were here on Saturday, you know that I opened up my character, Talsyn Lethar, to be interviewed. He's the first antag to be interviewed here, and while he's a bit point-blank and shameless, it was a fun interview, and I did manage to drag some answers out of him. 

Sohrem: I. Want. To. Talk. To. Him. 

I. Will. Not. Let. You. *pushes Sohrem out* Sheesh. Little brothers, huh? *ahem* Now, to the results of the interview! 

Why was your heritage something that made you ostracized? Is there a history there? 

I'm not used to having to answer this question. Shamindo are known for being lawless and taking advantage of their neighbors by thieving, ambushing, playing pranks, and the like. The reputation may or may not be earned. There's that, and the fact that I'm poor and orphaned. No-one wants to deal with orphaned, impoverished troublemakers, as a general rule. And the fact that we live close to the Reshan-Shamindo border doesn't help, because it means we're in contact with foreigners constantly. One of these days someone needs to show them what it's like to be hated just for showing up. 

Oh, I'm sure "someone" will. What are some of your favorite things to do? Do you have any hobbies or pastimes? 

What, are you joking? I'm too busy to eat or sleep sometimes, much less to do anything nonessential. Which is a big part of why I don't think I'll stay here long. 

Are you the hero of your own tale? 

I'm a survivor. Heroes are overrated. 

Come on -- you can't tell me you've never wanted to be a hero. 

I got over it. 

*sigh* What are you most ashamed of? 

I'm not ashamed. Irritated, yes, because someone didn't hold up their end of the deal. And now I have to take the flack for it. Any shame I had about anything faded a long time ago. 

I noticed. What is your happiest moment? 

I don't think we know each other well enough to be sharing details like that just yet. 

Who are you kidding? Just answer the question. 

I don't know. I've had a few. I guess the happiest moment for me was the moment I realized I could actually do something about my situation. 

You made a deal with the devil. Almost literally. 

I made a deal to escape. I'm still waiting on results, but it's still better than sitting around and being powerless. 

What's your favorite color? 

Red. 

That's it? You're telling me your favorite color, just like that? 

I'd like to get out of here as quickly as possible. 

Okay, then. This question has technically already been asked, but I'd like to see you elaborate: Why did your race mean you were ostracized? 

I don't see why elaboration is needed. People don't like Shamindo because they're unruly. If we go into bordertowns without anything truly valuable to trade, we'll get spit upon, cursed at, and the like. My brother and I and other Shamindo urchins got kicked or beaten sometimes because we stole to survive. Sometimes we wouldn't even have to do anything, because supposedly, the fact that we were Shamindo and in the general area of something that could be stolen meant we were there to steal it. Maybe the stereotypes are generally accurate, but people prefer to stab first and ask questions later, in my experience, so it wouldn't really matter if we were actually decent. They would treat us like scum anyways. 

Ah, yes. Racial tension is so much... fun. What is your greatest asset to success? 

My ability to improvise and get things done when no-one else will take responsibility for the situation. If I don't like the idea of doing something, but it's the only way to solve a problem, I'll do it. Say what you will, but at least I didn't run away and leave Siran to fend for himself when things got difficult. Neither of us would still be breathing if I'd been a weakling about it. 

And the whole "dealing with the devil" thing...? 

I did what was necessary for us to survive. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Right. I guess from your point of view, that's true. So what is your relationship like with your brother? 

He doesn't understand everything I do, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. I don't need his understanding -- I need him safe. And that means I need him to man up and let me do what's necessary. He's overly sensitive and disagrees with my methods. That's his problem. 

Uh-huh. I would beg to differ, but that would mean giving you a glimpse of your future. What kinds of things does the dragon make you do? 

It doesn't exactly "make" me do things. It gives orders, and I follow them. It's easier that way. Resisting is painful, and really doesn't get me anywhere. Sometimes it gives me orders that include inconveniencing or harming someone else. In any case, I do what needs to be done for my own good and for my brother's. And until you've been in my situation and had to make the decisions I've had to make, you are in no position to judge me. 

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And there it is, folks! *pushes Tal out of the room before he can set anything on fire* I hope you enjoyed this interview. Please comment below if you have any more questions or just... er... comments. Sorry, my vocabulary has failed me at the moment. Next week, I will be interviewing... *drumroll, please* ...Yannah Delraen! A few of you may be familiar with her. If not, know that she is one of the main characters in 'The Follower', and is apparently on a lot of people's lists of their favorite characters from the book. So stay tuned! 

Oh, and, uh... please keep watching my back, will ya? I think Sohrem still has it out for me. Actually, I'm pretty sure he does. Especially now that I've interviewed his long-lost brother and not let him get a word in edgewise. He might not be too happy with me. 

But, of course... I digress.