A youthful Maya must harness her courage, cunning, and ancestral knowledge to protect her family and people in a world still reeling from an ancient apocalypse. Her unwavering determination becomes her greatest weapon in a harsh, primitive landscape where humanity struggles to survive.
Maya’s elders instilled in her their wisdom, and she excels in mastering forgotten skills — combat, hunting, foraging, and wilderness survival. Yet even as she thrives in this unforgiving world, she dreams of reigniting the long-extinguished flames of human innovation.
When an unexpected threat emerges, Maya becomes thrust into a perilous quest that will test the limits of her abilities and resolve. Facing challenges at every turn, she must unleash the full power of her training and instincts to safeguard not just her loved ones, but the future of humanity itself.
In this gripping tale of survival and rebirth, follow Maya as she fights to preserve civilization’s flickering light in a world balanced on the edge of darkness.
A youthful Maya must harness her courage, cunning, and ancestral knowledge to protect her family and people in a world still reeling from an ancient apocalypse. Her unwavering determination becomes her greatest weapon in a harsh, primitive landscape where humanity struggles to survive.
Maya’s elders instilled in her their wisdom, and she excels in mastering forgotten skills — combat, hunting, foraging, and wilderness survival. Yet even as she thrives in this unforgiving world, she dreams of reigniting the long-extinguished flames of human innovation.
When an unexpected threat emerges, Maya becomes thrust into a perilous quest that will test the limits of her abilities and resolve. Facing challenges at every turn, she must unleash the full power of her training and instincts to safeguard not just her loved ones, but the future of humanity itself.
In this gripping tale of survival and rebirth, follow Maya as she fights to preserve civilization’s flickering light in a world balanced on the edge of darkness.
Chapter One
The first light of dawn hasn’t yet softened the darkness when a shrill whistle cuts through the morning chill like a flint blade. I sense Zephy tense beneath my hand, her body rigid as the sound rouses her from dozing into full alertness. Her fur bristles along her spine. She growls menacingly as she casts a wary eye toward the black tangle of trees before us. Zephy’s alertness mirrors my rising tension as I scan the treeline, my hand reaching for my bow.
“Easy girl,” I murmur, but my heartbeat quickens in response to the unspoken alarm. Mum and Eli, working in the hut, react in silent unity; hands grabbing bows, arrows, and knives without a word. Granny positions herself between Lily and the newcomers, her hand hovering near her knife. Warriors in the truest sense, every one of us understands the drill. Our tense anticipation is rewarded as movement at the forest’s edge catches our attention.
Out of the forest’s shadowy embrace, two figures stumble into view. Tuck, his usual swagger replaced by urgency. Beside him, Lars leans heavily against Tuck’s shoulder, his face pale even in the dim light. The two rangers appear like they had been through hell - mud cakes their clothes from what must have been an unforgiving journey, a dark stain of blood trailing down Lars’s temple from a cut above his eye.
“What in the blazes happened out there? Another sinkhole?” I jest, but my attempt at levity falls flat.
Lars manages a reply through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ran into trouble.” He’s young, barely out of his teens, but at this moment, he looks as if he has aged years.
“Trouble has a knack for finding you, doesn’t it?” I reply.
I catch Tuck’s eye, and the tight line of his mouth says all I need to know. Whatever happened in the woods was no joke. It’s real, and it threatens us all.
Despite Tuck’s surly demeanor, he had been one of Dad’s most trusted friends for as long as I can recall. Their unlikely friendship started when Tuck and Lars had stumbled upon our hut during one of their trading expeditions.
Dad, always keen on news from the outside world, had welcomed the nomadic pair. Starting as a beneficial partnership, it eventually blossomed into friendship. Tuck and Lars brought not just goods, but also information about the shifting landscapes and potential threats beyond our borders.
Kiran lets out a low whistle, the sound slicing through the tense air. He strides over to Tuck with that commanding presence of his, the one that reminded us all why he was the leader of our family. Relief flashes across his rugged features as he claps Tuck on the shoulder, a gesture heavy with unspoken words and years of battles fought side by side.
“About time, but great to see you in one piece,” Kiran grunts, a half-smile wrestling with the concern etched into his brow. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with Grizzlys.”
“Feels like it, too,” Tuck replies with a wry grin, though his eyes betray the fatigue of their journey.
I watch them for a moment, these two seasoned warriors, experiencing a pang of something akin to pride. They had faced down death more times than I could count, and yet here they are, exchanging gruff pleasantries as if they’d merely returned from a leisurely hunt.
I prod Lars for more details. “What exactly happened, Lars? Got too close to a bear’s den?”
He usually had a grin plastered on his face, but he just offers me a sheepish smile. Pain or fear dims his usual spark — I can’t tell which. His gaze skitters away, fixating on something past my shoulder. Lars was no coward; whatever put that look in his eyes was serious.
“Maya,” he starts, then hesitates. His hand goes to the gash above his eye, a stark reminder that our lives hung by the thinnest of threads. “It’s not what…”
“Save your strength, Lars,” I cut him off gently, placing a steadying hand on his arm. “Ayla will patch you up, and then we can talk.”
He nods, gratefully sinking down beside the dwindling fire where Mum, our healer, is already preparing her poultices and herbs. Endless dark possibilities race through my mind. Whatever news Lars and Tuck brought, it was a harbinger of the trials to come. As I watch Zephy pace, her instincts attuned to our unease, I realize we’d need every ounce of our cunning and strength to face what lay ahead.
An uneasy silence settles over our group. The unspoken questions hang heavy in the air, and I can sense Dad’s patience wearing thin. Finally, he breaks the tension with a demand for answers.
“Spill it, Lars,” Kiran’s voice slices through the tension like a flint knife. His tone brooks no argument, and I can see the lines of concern etched deep in his weathered face. It was more than a wild beast.
Lars looks up at my Dad, conflict written all over his bruised face. “I didn’t want to bring trouble home... but we’ve got the Watcher clan on our backs. They’re claiming we’re stepping on their land.”
Kiran stiffens, his knuckles whitening around the haft of his spear. “Watchers?” he spits out the word as if it were poison.
“Easy, old friend,” Tuck chimes in, his voice smooth like river stones worn by time. “Kirdic’s blowing hot air. You are aware of how he gets. Blaming us for crossing boundaries that haven’t shifted in living memory.”
“Boundaries and pathways marked by blood and ash,” Kiran growls, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. I know that look — it was the same one he wore before every hunt, every fight. It was the look of a warrior bracing for impact.
“Kirdic’s looking for a fight,” I say, feeling the pressure of my bow in my hand. “He’s never been one to let agreements stand in the way of what he wants.”
“Let’s not give him the satisfaction,” Tuck replies, flashing me a brief grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll sort this out like we always do. Words first, blades if we must.”
“Words can be as lethal as any weapon,” I say, watching Zephy’s ears twitch in agreement. In our world, a wrong word could be just as deadly as a bear’s claw or a raider’s arrow. But if words failed us now, we’d stand with Kiran — as warriors, united against whatever darkness loomed on the horizon.
“Those agreements with Kirdic are as solid as the stones we walk on,” I say, stepping closer into the ring of tension. “We’ve stayed to our side, respected the lines drawn in the dirt. If he thinks we’ve crossed over, he’s more blind than a bat at dawn.”
“We’ve not taken a step without measuring it twice,” I continue, my voice laced with a conviction that mirrors the sharpness of my arrows. “Kirdic’s accusations are baseless.”
As the gravity of the situation settles like morning dew upon us, Ayla — ever the healer — moves with a grace that belies the urgency unfolding. She kneels beside Lars, her slender fingers working deftly as she tends to his wounds.
“Here, dear,” Ayla murmurs, applying a concoction that smells of chamomile and honey — the sweetness somehow soothing even the surrounding air. Oblivious to the mounting tension, she dabs the potion gently on the gash above Lars’ eye. “Nature’s balm will mend more than just flesh.”
Lars winces, but his eyes shimmer with gratitude, reflecting Ayla’s tender care. It is a moment of softness amidst the hard edges of our reality.
“Thanks, Ayla,” he says, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his bruised face. “I’d rather face a bear again than let Kirdic think he’s got the upper hand.”
As she wraps a bandage around his head, Ayla replies, “Bravery isn’t always found at the tip of a spear. Sometimes, it’s knowing when to walk away and heal.”
“Retreat isn’t in our nature,” Kiran interjects, his gaze locked onto some distant point only he could see. “Not when our land is at stake.”
“Nor is foolishness,” Ayla chides gently, standing now, her presence a calm force within the storm brewing around us. “We’ll find a way through this, together.”
It was rare for Mum and Dad to have disagreements. However, when it involved protecting our family, Dad was unwavering in his stance.
And in that moment, I knew they both had good points. Because if two things defined us as warriors, it was our unyielding spirit and the unbreakable bonds of family. We would face the Watcher clan. We would defend our territory. And we would do so as one — as a clan united, ready for whatever challenges awaited beyond the treeline.
Granny once told me that in the time before the great disaster, there were people who would stand up for you. But in our world, we have to fight for ourselves.
“Let’s gear up,” Kiran barks, his voice slicing through the dawn quiet like a shard of flint. I strap my knife to my belt, and bow over my shoulder, its familiar weight a comfort against the unknown threats that lay ahead.
Ayla takes a jar of red ochre paint and applies the war paint to our faces.
“You guys look ridiculous,” Lily chuckles.
But battle or avoiding battle was partly about intimidation, and any extra edge we could get was worth it.
“Stay sharp, everyone,” I call out, watching Eli hoist his bow and quiver over his shoulder with practiced ease. His grin was gone now, replaced by a steely determination that makes me proud to call him brother.
Tuck, with his knapsack of supplies slung across his back, claps Lars on his good shoulder. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, eyeing the bandage around Lars’s head.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lars replies, grimacing as he tests his weight on his injured leg.
Weapons checked and supplies secured, we set out towards the Watcher clan’s territory. Zephy paces beside me, her stride tense, her mismatched ears twitching at every sound. The forest seems to hold its breath as we pass, the silence punctuated only by the snapping of twigs beneath our boots and Zephy’s low, warning growls.
We reach a clearing where the Watcher clan awaits, their outlines harsh against the soft light of the sun peeking through the foliage. They are a formidable sight — warriors standing shoulder to shoulder, weapons in hand, faces set in scowls of contempt. Kirdic stands at their forefront, his bulky frame imposing even from a distance.
“Keep it together,” Kiran murmurs as we stride into the clearing.
Loud jeers, shouts, and sneers greet us as we enter, the air thick with animosity.
We respond in kind, showing that we were not afraid of their display of strength. A heated shouting match followed by more civilized negotiations was often enough to resolve a dispute and prevent a fight. But today, I know from the fire in their eyes that only battle would quell their rage.
Zephy’s bark shatters the tension, a clear and potent warning that echoes off the trees. Her fur bristles, her stance mirroring our readiness for battle.
“Come to grovel at our feet?” one of the Watcher warriors spits, brandishing his axe.
“Watch your tongue,” Eli snaps back, his fingers itching near the fletching of his arrows.
“Peace,” Kiran says, though the word feels like a lie on his lips. “We’re here to talk.”
Stepping forward, Kirdic booms, “Talk is cheap when borders are crossed.”
“Enough,” I interject, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. “We’ve kept to our lands, and the boundaries and pathways are well defined.” “Any trespassing was accidental, not an act of war.”
“Your words mean nothing, girl,” Kirdic sneers. “It’s blood that speaks the truth. We caught these two,” pointing towards Tuck and Lars, “on our territory.”
Kiran’s hand rests on the hilt of his knife, his muscles taut as coiled snakes. The standoff is palpable, each side waiting for the other to make the first move.
“Then let us speak plainly,” Kiran says, his voice a deep rumble of thunder. “Their incursion was not intentional, and clearly you have punished them for it. No blood needs to be spilled today. But make no mistake, we will defend what is ours.”
Kirdic snarls in response, “Words won’t solve this. The incursion was intentional, they were stealing our prey.”
The two groups stand opposite each other, their hands tightly gripping weapons. It is clear neither side is going to back down.
“Kirdic,” Kiran’s voice cuts through the stillness, “We can either settle this by fighting and there will, undoubtedly, be casualties on both sides. Or You and I can settle it one-on-one. If it’s blood you want to hear, then let it be our own.”
A murmur rolls through the ranks of both clans, a wave of approval mixed with concern. Eyes dart between the two warriors, measuring the gravity of Kiran’s proposal.
“Agreed,” Kirdic growls, his tone dripping with disdain. “I’ll enjoy putting you in your place.”
My money is on Dad. When his original clan was wiped out, he was the sole survivor. He had to learn to fight and fend for himself from a young age. Then he met Mum, and they started our family clan.
They step into the clearing. The space soon becomes an arena defined by the circle of warriors. The morning light filters through the leaves above, casting patterns that dance over their hardened faces.
With knives drawn, the clash of wills between Kiran and Kirdic is almost palpable. Slowly, they circle each other, like wolves sizing up their rival. The warriors seem to hold their breath; even Zephy falls silent, her keen eyes tracking their every move.
Kirdic strikes first — a quick, vicious lunge aimed at Kiran’s midsection. But Dad’s experience is more than a match for brute force. He sidesteps with a fluid grace that belies his size, his knife hand deflecting the attack with precision. The sound of flint scraping against flint rings out, a harsh note in the morning symphony.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Kiran taunts, his eyes locked onto Kirdic’s. Every muscle in his body is coiled, ready to spring. There is no fear in him, only the calm certainty of a warrior who has faced death before and walked away unscathed.
The dance continues, each movement deliberate, as they look for an opening. Kirdic’s face twists with frustration, his strikes growing more aggressive but no less futile against Kiran’s seasoned defense. It is clear to all watching that this is not just a fight for territory — it is a battle for respect, for leadership, for survival itself.
Kiran sidesteps Kirdic’s next attack and takes advantage of his brief opening by swiftly slashing his knife, landing a grazing cut across Kirdic’s arm, and drawing a line of crimson blood. Kirdic lets out a bellow of range.
The intensity of the fight crescendoes as Kirdic, with a guttural cry, launches a series of rapid thrusts. Kiran, anticipating the next thrust, drops below it and slashes with his knife, nicking Kirdic’s ribs. Their feet kick up dust, marring the grass of the clearing with the scuffs and pivots of their deadly dance.
The Watcher clan leader’s eyes flash with fury, and he feints left before barreling forward with a powerful thrust aimed at Kiran’s chest. But Dad is no green boy fresh to combat; he parries the strike, grabbing and forcefully twisting Kirdic’s wrist until he stumbles backward off balance, his knife dropping to the ground.
Before Kirdic can recover, Kiran is upon him, gripping his wrist with one hand while holding the edge of his knife against the vulnerable expanse of his throat. Kirdic knows any countermove will result in a slit throat.
“Yield,” Kiran commands, his voice a low rumble that resonates through the tense silence.
Kirdic stands still for a heartbeat, then two, his chest heaving. Every warrior around the clearing tenses, prepared to jump into the fray, if honor is forsaken. With a nod that is barely perceptible but clear as day to those who know what defeat looks like, Kirdic yields.
A collective exhale sounds from both clans as the tension that had gripped us all evaporates. Kiran steps back, offering Kirdic his hand — a gesture of respect that does not go unnoticed. The Watcher clan leader takes it, and they stand facing each other, not as enemies, but as leaders who had tested each other’s mettle and found it worthy.
“Let’s go home,” Kiran says, clapping me on the shoulder as we turn back toward our camp. Zephy, ever watchful, trots beside us, her presence reassuring.
“Kiran,” Kirdic calls after us, a note of grudging respect in his voice. “Our paths will cross again.”
“May they be peaceful when they do,” Kiran replies without looking back.
Hushed conversations about the confrontation fill the walk back. We speculate on the Watcher clan’s next move and what this victory might mean for us going forward. Eli is already plotting strategies for the next confrontation, while Tuck recounts the fight with embellishments only he could think of. Zephy stays close, her keen senses alert to any danger that might still lurk unseen.
It is a day of victory, of survival. As the sun dips towards the horizon, casting long shadows across our camp, I can’t help but think that, despite the great turmoil our world had gone through, we are still carving out a life worth fighting for.
As the fire crackles, casting a warm glow around the hut and onto the faces of my family — warriors. We gather, the tempting aroma of roasted turkey filling the air and mingling with our voices and laughter. We share the meal and tales of our adventures and the mishaps we encountered along the way.
I lean back against a wall, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing into my bones. Zephy nestles close, her head resting near my feet, vigilant even in repose. Kiran is sharpening his knife with a stone, the rhythmic scraping a comforting sound in the quiet evening.
“Thoughts?” he asks without looking up, knowing I had plenty.
“Kirdic’s no fool,” I start. “He’ll honor this peace, but it won’t stop him from pushing boundaries. We’ll need to be vigilant.”
“Agreed,” Kiran nods. “But we’ve proven that we won’t tolerate bullying. That means something in these times.”
Eli chimes in, twirling an arrow between his fingers. “If they come at us again, we strike hard. Let the forest echo with our strength.”
“Let’s hope for a quieter day,” Lars adds, smiling weakly as Ayla reapplies a poultice to his wound.
“Quiet?” Tuck chuckles, tossing a twig into the fire. “When have we ever known quiet? We thrive in the clamor of life, my friend.”
“True enough,” I say, gazing into the flames. “We find harmony in the discord. Adaptation is our melody.”
The conversation ebbs and flows like the tide, touching on tactics, past skirmishes, and shared memories that bound us together. Through it all, Zephy remains a silent sentinel, her ears twitching at distant sounds only she could detect.
“Kiran, be cautious,” Tuck suddenly warns, his expression turning grim, “we have heard rumors of movements to the North … a large group moving fast.”
“Thanks for the warning, Tuck,” Kiran replies. “But you know we can take care of ourselves.”
“Well, thanks for your hospitality and an interesting day, but we must get back on the trail. We’ll check out those rumors and report back. We’ll catch up with you after you embark on your long trek,” Tuck advises as Tuck and Lars get up to depart.
“Good to see you old friends,” Kiran gives Tuck and Lars a warm hug goodbye, “and try not to forget where the Watchers’ boundaries are,” he says with a half-smile.
“We’ll do our best, but you know turkeys don’t respect boundaries. Farewell, brave family,” Tuck says, as he and Lars head back onto the trail.
We consider them part of our clan, but they are nomads, never happy unless they are on the move. Sometimes staying for a night or like today for a shared meal. I experience that same pull of the wild … to explore unknown places, but my family responsibilities stop me from wandering too far, at least for now.
“Rest up,” Kiran eventually declares. “Tomorrow, we prepare for the hunt. Hunting not just for game, but for our continued existence. More than just hunters; we’re guardians of this new world.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement circle the fire. One by one, our family settles into their usual spots for the night, the weariness of the day claiming us. I stroke Zephy’s fur, her warmth and steady breathing a balm to my soul.
In this post-apocalyptic world, where every dawn is uncertain, we find solace in our unity, our strength, and the unwavering loyalty of a scrappy dog with one floppy ear.
The apocalypse is now an ancient memory, and the innovation of architecture and technology is relegated to legend. Maya’s grandmother passes on the stories of lost civilizations. Maya loves these tales of history, and little does she know that her knowledge will soon become crucial to her survival. She lives in a tribal culture in which territorial disputes cause tension between clans. In addition to rival tribes, mutated beings called Hazars–the embodiment of sin from the ancient world–lurk, and when they capture Maya’s family, she must fight to rescue them.
Maya is a very well-developed character. Despite her youth, she stands apart from other characters in her natural leadership abilities. Maya is a skilled warrior commander, leading her fighters in battles against the Hazars. Despite tragedy and injury, she never wavers in her resolve. The world-building is captivating, giving glimpses of relics of civilization, such as the ruins of buildings. There is also an element of magic, making Huntress: Embers of Redemption an intriguing blend of fantasy and post-apocalyptic dystopian fiction. The story is fast-paced and bursting with action and adventure, and Steve Morgan’s prose is engaging.
Huntress: Embers of Redemption would be enjoyed by all audiences, but it would be especially appealing to young adults. Maya’s strength and unwavering determination make her an inspiring role model for younger readers. The plot is well-organized, but there was quite a lot of repetition of thoughts and declarations that caused my attention to stray. Additionally, the book is written in present tense, but occasionally, past tense is used inappropriately. I also was startled by some phrasing that seemed inconsistent with the setting, such as a statement in first-person in which Maya’s “legs and lungs [are] pumping like a train.” In this primitive world so many generations removed from the use of trains, this simile seemed incongruous. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the story and would recommend it.