Tiberio trained his burning stare on her.
“So I believe. But our gods of Lux Lucis see things we do not. So I pray to them for grace, wisdom, and hope.
“My father believed in his war. My brother did not, not until the final days of his life.
“Yet the gods have taken them both.”
She felt heat throughout her body. It was difficult to ignore Tiberio’s penetrating glare.
“When Caio was himself, he wanted nothing to do with battles. He wanted to love and heal and uplift all the people of our world, light skins and dark. His death and my father’s death have somehow brought peace back to our kingdom. I only hope the generations of Rezzia to come will remember their sacrifice.
“Perhaps they gave their lives to usher in a new world. It seems the gods did not want Rezzia to be left alone, without a Haizzem. After my brother and father died, the gods painted these markings on my arms.”
She held up her red and black palms. Thorny vines worked their way around her forearms, down to her elbows. She grew uncomfortable as the markings began to itch and burn.
Tiberio gritted his teeth as his eyes pushed the heat of the sun into her body. Lucia tried to push herself to finish.
“I did not want this role. I wish my brother and father were still here. But I will fulfill the duty the gods of Lux Lucis have given me, with all the grace they can lend.
“I ask you humbly, to pray for the souls of the lost, the uncounted soldiers, the Strategos, the king, and the young Haizzem. Let us remember them.”
She poured the remains of her father into the pit, and then Caio’s ashes on top of his.
The Reveria resounded with the chant, “We love and adore Her.”
Exhausted from the funeral, Lucia wrapped herself in white sheets and prayed to her goddess for a peaceful night’s sleep. The warm black before her eyes felt soothing.
She dreamt of lying naked on a deserted beach, with her body roasting under the sun’s rays and the chaos of the ocean a comforting noise inside her head. The azure sky stretched around the horizon, welcoming her mind’s expansion.
The waves tumbled onto the shore, one after another, seeming to panic before crashing down against the sand and sea. The ocean reclaimed each reluctant wave.
She looked down at her normally olive skin and found only pink and red all over her body. She touched her skin between her breasts, and a searing burn pained her to her core.
She stood on the hot sands, then ran down the slope and finally dove into the ocean.
“My Haizzema.” A man’s voice woke her.
“What is it?” she yelled, gathering the sheets about her in the dark. A thin line of candlelight stretched across the clay floor, through the barely open door.
“There is a family here. They claim Lord Danato sent them with something that must be done before the sun rises.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She touched her skin to see if it was warm. It wasn’t.
Lucia dressed herself in a presentable long robe and exited her chamber. Five guards stepped right and five stepped left, giving her a view of a tattered family of four, more sufferers of the new plague. The four of them sat with their legs folded and stared down shamefully at the elegant rug. The little boy and girl leaned against their mother, their bare feet twitching.
“My Haizzema, they assured us—”
“It’s no problem. Don’t worry,” she said.
The father lifted his head slightly, but kept his gaze downward. “Your Grace, we are dying. Can you grant us the gods’ mercy? At least heal our children, if nothing more. Last night my son stopped breathing. We were sure he had died. He’s still with us, but for how long? His episodes come at all times. Please.”
“Our only son,” the mother said with a whimper.
Lucia looked around to see if any tall figures hid among the shadows.
“Can you heal us, my Haizzema?”
The boy, no older than four, fell forward onto his stomach and began choking violently. He fought to suck in air, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. His arms flailed as his parents fell to their knees and put their hands on his body.
Lucia ran to the boy and lifted him into her arms. His tiny face flushed with pain and begged her to save him.
Can I heal them?
“I can.”
HERE ENDS BOOK I OF SPLENDOR AND RUIN
LOOK FOR BOOK II, THE GODS DIVIDED, COMING SOON
Afterword
Thanks very much for reading this story.
This is my first novel. I spent two years writing this one, but I hope to put out at least a novel a year from now on—maybe three every two years (famous last words?).
I feel incredibly blessed to be following my dream. I want to thank my wife for her support. Believe me, she’s tired of hearing me talk about this book. She’s a saint. My amazing son, Athens, has been very patient with me, too.
In case you’re wondering about the chapter titles, the more obscure titles are allusions to Homer’s Iliad, the tale that this story was written in homage to. I also have also a shout-out to Robotech and The Decemberists among the chapter titles. The 85 chapters are there because of my childhood obsession, Robotech, a saga that was also split into three parts of 36, 24, and 25. You see, I’m a geek.
As an indie author, I don’t have a publisher or a publicist or a marketing team. I’ve got me and my computer and a need to figure out how to write my next book (with a fried brain) while promoting this one … with a second child on the way—which is another thing I’m thrilled about, by the way.
Whether I’ll be able to write many more novels, as I’d like to, could depend on whether people enjoy my stories and tell their friends about this crazy Moses guy.
One powerful way to support any author is to write honest reviews of his or her books on Amazon, B&N, GoodReads, LibraryThing, Shelfari, etc. Reviews don’t have to be long and thoughtful. Even just a couple sentences or a paragraph can do the trick. But if you write a review, please be honest. You don’t have to use the kid gloves with me. Although, mean reviews will make me pee my pants.
Another amazing thing you can do is to drop me a line and let me know what you thought about this book. I’d love to hear what you liked about it and what you think I can do better in my next novel, which should be the next book in this series, The Gods Divided (Splendor and Ruin, Book II). If you’d like, I can also add you to my newsletter list, so that I can let you know about future releases. My email is [email protected]. If you don’t get a response within a few days, that probably means I didn’t see your email, so feel free to write me again.
You can also follow my blog at www.ScienceFictionFantasyBooks.net and subscribe to email announcements of new blog posts, as well as my newsletter.
And if we never chat or meet in this lifetime, that’s cool, too. My biggest goal as a writer is to inspire my readers to pursue their own passions, while pursuing my own. Now please, go forth and rock some worlds.
Speaking of rock, I don’t think I could’ve written this book without loud music blaring in my face. Or if I could’ve, the journey wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. I’ll mention some of the music I listened to in the Acknowledgements, and then you’ll find a sample chapter from a new book written by a friend of mine who was also one of my editors for The Black God’s War, D.P. Prior. The book you just read (this one) benefitted a lot from his help, so if you enjoyed this work, you might enjoy his work, too.
Thanks again. Reading this book was the greatest gift you could ever give me. From my heart, I appreciate it.
Acknowledgments
My three editors: D.P. (Derek) Prior (a.k.a. “the fount of knowledge”) has probably done more to help me improve this book than anyone else. Joshua Essoe gave me some of the most brilliant suggestions I got about the novel, in addition to helping me with countless smaller issues. And Jillian Sheridan helped me tremendously with her incredible language skills. Anne “Arkali” Victory was an out
standing proofreader.
Brandon Sanderson read my first chapter in early 2010 and gave me some priceless advice. David Farland read my manuscript at one of his workshops and helped me tremendously. K.C. May and Penelope Schenk went above and beyond the call of duty as beta readers.
Here are some other people and websites I’d like to thank:
AbsoluteWrite, Authonomy, Chuck Taylor, Clancy Metzger, Colette Vernon, Colton Goodrich, Craig Saunders, Critters.org, D.T. Conklin, Damien Stolarz, David Anthony Durham, David Dalglish, David Kerschner, Debra L. Martin, Evan Braun, Grace Siregar, J.A. Konrath, Jan Bird, Jared Blando, Jessica Billings, Kevin J Anderson, Kylie Quillinan, Laura Resnick, Leah Petersen, Leigh Galbreath, Lenny Gredel, Libbie Mistretta, Lou Anders, Mark Phillips, Michael Tobias Herbert, Miranda Suri, Molly Siregar, Monique Martin, Nikki Neal, Rich W. Ware, Rinn Falconer, Scott Nicholson, Shaun Farrell, Steven Forrest, Tania Gilchrist, T.M. Roy, William Campbell, and Zoe Winters.
The writing of this story was powered by the album The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists. The editing was powered mainly by Black Symphony by Within Temptation. I also listened to this playlist a lot:
Lose Yourself, Eminem
Hurt, Johnny Cash
No Quarter (Live), Led Zeppelin
Grux & Shake Me Like a Monkey, Dave Matthews Band
Bard’s Curse, Kit Soden
Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga), The Decemberists
Boy With a Coin, Iron & Wine
Catch and Release, Silversun Pickups
Joni(Stardust), Jozef Slanda
Different World & The Pilgrim & The Reincarnation of Benjamin Breeg, Iron Maiden
I want to say thank you to these musicians and to the muses who inspired them.
To make my playlist for book 2, I asked for song suggestions on my blog, on Twitter, and on Facebook. That effort turned up 20 amazing songs. If you want to hear the songs in my playlist for book 2, see my blog post on 7/28/11:
http://sciencefictionfantasybooks.net/?p=1902
About the Author
When I was ten, I fell in love with an anime series: a space opera spanning three human generations, a saga that unfolded over 85 consecutive episodes and four months of after-school TV. Watching Robotech was a spiritual experience for me. I still remember how high I felt after watching the final episode for the first time. How many pleasures in life are better than a well-executed drama?
After that experience, I decided I wanted to be a storyteller when I grew up, hoping to someday inspire others as Robotech inspired me. Although I’ve written professionally and for pleasure over the years, it wasn’t until recently that I got back to my heart’s desire when I was a boy: telling the big story.
I’ve never had so much fun.
Bonus Excerpt
Here’s an excerpt from D.P. Prior’s new release, Cadman’s Gambit, the first in his new series. Because his novel literally just came out, I haven’t read it yet. But if Derek can write half as well as he edits (he was one of my editors for this novel), his book should be incredible.
I may add another excerpt when my friend D.T. Conklin releases his first novel later in 2011. He’s a gifted writer, and I’m really looking forward to his debut, Eulogy.
Now here’s the first scene in the first chapter of D.P. Prior’s Cadman’s Gambit:
THE SWORD OF THE ARCHON
The whole world reduced to a point between the eyes of his opponent. The roaring of the crowd keeping beat with the pounding of blood in his veins. His sword dancing the tune of the flesh without the buffer of thought. Shader revelled in the ecstasy of combat but couldn’t wait to see the back of it.
Galen’s eyes flicked to the right as he feigned a thrust, turned his wrist and struck at Shader’s unprotected left—just as he was meant to. Shader parried and touched the tip of his blade to Galen’s chin. The big man fell back wiping the blood from his dimple and muttering beneath his moustache. First nick he’d had, Shader reckoned. Had to hurt his pride. Shouldn’t have boasted, then he wouldn’t have so far to fall.
He waited, sword loose at his side, as Galen tugged his uniform straight and puffed out his chest. The red jacket of the Templum Dragoons could get a whole lot redder yet if the bluff old sod didn’t yield. Galen frowned, raised his sabre and eyed Shader like he meant to hack the head from his shoulders. Some people never learn.
The attack was sudden—a flurry of jabs, an eviscerating slash, a butcher’s hack, all deftly blocked or slicing air.
‘Stay still you ruddy blackguard!’
The crowd laughed. Galen scowled. Shader lifted his blade in salute.
Scratching his whiskers, Galen began to circle him, thin strands of hair standing to attention over his great pink head. Shader had to give him credit: he was no coward and no mean fighter too. He’d watched him come up through the rounds, bashing aside the competition with a combination of skill and brute force. Good qualities for a swordsman; the kind that led to fame. Shame he was horribly outclassed.
Galen bellowed and charged. Shader swayed aside and scratched the back of his thighs as he passed. Could have hamstringed the idiot, but that would have been taking the contest a little too seriously. Galen spun and swiped, kicking, stabbing, spitting his frustration. Shader gave ground, rode out the storm and then broke off, resuming the en garde stance. Galen sucked in air, mopped sweat from his brow, and advanced. Shader stamped his lead foot, half-stepped, and then jump-lunged, jabbing him below an epaulette. Galen roared. His sabre arced down and Shader ducked, coming up straight into the path of a fist. His sword thrust on instinct and exited through the back of Galen’s hand. The big man yelped and then squealed as the blade tore free.
‘Forgive me.’ Shader put up his sword and took a step towards him.
Galen screamed and hacked with all his might. Shader deflected the blow but numbness shot through his arm. He switched the sword to his left hand, the blade twirling and glittering, sliding between Galen’s basket-hilt and fingers to send his sabre clattering to the floor. Shader pressed the point of his sword into Galen’s nostril.
‘I think you’re beaten.’
Galen went rigid, scarcely daring to breathe. His eyes flicked from Shader’s blade to his own.
‘You fought well, Galen, but it’s over.’
The big man’s chest heaved, threatening to pop the polished buttons from his jacket and rip the brocading. His head pulled carefully away from the tip of Shader’s sword, a finger probing inside his nostril to gauge the damage. Blood pooled from his pierced hand, dripping down his fingers and spattering his boots.
‘Do you yield?’
The crowd had gone deathly quiet. Galen scanned the Coliseum, face flushing as he acknowledged his supporters.
‘Yes, I bloody yield!’ He snatched up his sabre and stormed from the arena.
Shader spotted a dash of purple hurrying through the crowd and smiled. Adeptus Ludo scurried down the concourse, one hand flapping, the other holding his spectacles on his nose as he chased after Galen. Shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and affection, Shader bowed to the crowd, only now becoming aware of their sheer numbers. They filled tier upon tier of bleachers set between fluted columns and gaping arches. The applause fuddled his thoughts, burying them like an avalanche. He swayed as the sky lurched, stumbled and would have fallen had strong hands not steadied him.
‘A disorienting feeling—giving up the focus of combat for the baying of the mob.’ A clipped voice, measured and familiar. Ignatius Grymm.
The Grand Master led him by the shoulder towards the clerical enclosure, ramrod straight, one hand resting on the pommel of his dress-sword. Ignatius was everything the Elect were created to be: immaculate, efficient, and utterly obedient to the Ipsissimus. The old knight genuflected, bald patch an island amidst iron-grey hair as clipped as his voice. He lifted one arm to receive the benediction, sunlight glinting from mailed sleeves, the Monas symbol bleeding from his surcoat like a mortal wound.
‘Who
do you present to the First of the Servants of Ain?’ asked Exemptus Cane, trembling with infirmity, clutching tight to the handle of his stick, a thin line of spittle glistening in the crease of his chin.
‘I present,’ Ignatius declaimed for the entire crowd to hear, ‘Deacon Shader, former Captain of the Seventh Horse, leader of the charge that broke the Verusian line at Trajinot, and now Keeper,’ he turned to take in the Coliseum, ‘of the Sword of the Archon.’
Give a blade a legendary name, Shader thought, and men would do anything to win it. Men like Galen. Men like all the others he’d beaten on his way to the final. If the Archon wasn’t just a myth, the last thing he’d need was a sword, and it wasn’t very likely he’d approve of such a brutal display in order to claim it. The Templum was many things to many people, but for Shader it was consistent only in one: the paradox of a brotherhood of love, born from the ashes of the Old World and enforced by the legions.
Exemptus Cane nodded, licking his lips, wet and rheumy eyes sliding to appraise Shader.
‘Are you consecrated?’
‘I am, your Eminence.’ Had the senile old fool forgotten that he’d been the one doing the anointing? That was the sad truth about the Templum, Shader thought: all that talk about the uniqueness of each and every Nousian, but in reality they were just numbers drifting down the stream of obscurity.
‘Good, good.’ The Exemptus seemed to have run out of things to say, his tongue clicking as he looked over his shoulder towards the supreme ruler of the Nousian Theocracy.
Ipsissimus Theodore was seated like a god, white robes perfectly contiguous with the gleaming throne, a huge leather bound Liber open on his lap, giving the impression he continually meditated upon the scriptures, that he was in fact their human embodiment. He was a small man, gaunt and deathly pale, the white biretta perched perilously too far to one side of his head. Bright eyes stabbed at Shader from within sunken sockets. Eyes full of vitality and the rumour of a quick mind.
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