Sorry I haven’t posted in awhile! To make up for it, here’s an excerpt from my new novel: Seer’s Soul.
“Come back to us, Dashenrii,” someone says as the stars whirl by overhead like a giant kaleidoscope and the pain crashes down like a tsunami and he knows that something’s wrong, very very wrong, but it doesn’t seem to matter because those stars are falling, all falling at once and they swallow him whole.
The stars are gone now, the light is dim and flickering and there are faces floating above him, faces with no bodies, and there is something missing inside him, something essential that should be there is broken and his body screams at him and the voices are hushed. “We’re not sure what’s the matter with him. Physically he seems fine, but he’s fading anyway.”
“Go back, Dashenrii. You’re not done yet, my son.” The voice that speaks to him is so achingly familiar, yet he can’t place it as his mind swirls and the broken thing inside him struggles to repair itself and the pain won’t let him wake up as the others move around him like ghosts through a fog. He tries to wake, but his shattered body refuses to acknowledge his need and he disappears once again into the darkness.
The night is deep in the Mountains of Memory, especially in those places where demons rest and ghosts walk. Over the peaks and through the valleys, deep in the crystal depths of the rivers and riding the shattering power of waterfalls are many such places. And thanks to the bravery of two elves, there is another. A cave high on the flank of Boshroc Mountain where a waterfall casts an eerie glow of reflected moonlight and blood dries on the dusty floor and the echoes of the battle past still resound in the depths.
If you follow these echoes they will lead you down a rocky, forgotten path, winding it’s way through the cliffs and past the stream that ends with the waterfall cascading from the top of the cave, and perhaps you will see the memories of the two elven guards who came to this cave and carried it’s shell-shocked warriors from the murky depths, hurrying down the path with their precious cargo, one of the carried leaving a trail of blood in his wake, the other a trail of confused pain.
You would see these echoes turning a sharp bend in the path and rushing through a pass into a lush valley at the heart of which is a great nothing, a shimmering haze that is only visible when the sun or moon shines just right. As they approach, these memories of things past, the haze fades away and the palace is revealed, a gorgeous, white marble building with it’s towers and parapets thrusting into the sky as if to commune with the stars.
And now, a pair of days later, high in one of the many towers of the palace sits an elven woman, keeping watch over the boy she thinks of as her son as he sleeps an unnatural slumber.