Tsuran, a war hero turned deserter whoâs locked within the Iron Mountain Prison, planning his escape.
Nasna, a conflicted assassin who infiltrates the prison, hunting a target thatâs eluded her for decades.
When fate places these two in the same prison cell, it is only out of sheer necessity they donât kill each other outright. But when an accident reveals Nasnaâs identity to Tsuran, they strike a deal in order to achieve their individual goals.
They must learn to trust each other if they are to overcome giant beasts that lurk in the darkness, insane prisoners that control shadows, and even Death itself
However, they soon find that these obstacles are the least of their troubles. Their pasts call to them and they are both forced to make a choice that changes the course of their lives forever.
As exciting as it is heart-wrenching, Promises to the Damned is a tale about being imprisoned by the traumas of our past and of the friendships that can free us. Filled with moments that will make you cheer and others that will make you cry, itâs a canât-put-it-down, must-read adventure from beginning to end that will leave you clamoring for more.
Tsuran, a war hero turned deserter whoâs locked within the Iron Mountain Prison, planning his escape.
Nasna, a conflicted assassin who infiltrates the prison, hunting a target thatâs eluded her for decades.
When fate places these two in the same prison cell, it is only out of sheer necessity they donât kill each other outright. But when an accident reveals Nasnaâs identity to Tsuran, they strike a deal in order to achieve their individual goals.
They must learn to trust each other if they are to overcome giant beasts that lurk in the darkness, insane prisoners that control shadows, and even Death itself
However, they soon find that these obstacles are the least of their troubles. Their pasts call to them and they are both forced to make a choice that changes the course of their lives forever.
As exciting as it is heart-wrenching, Promises to the Damned is a tale about being imprisoned by the traumas of our past and of the friendships that can free us. Filled with moments that will make you cheer and others that will make you cry, itâs a canât-put-it-down, must-read adventure from beginning to end that will leave you clamoring for more.
Their eradication will come by their own arrogance. I watch their moves, the pieces they set, the games they play. It amuses me how prepared they see themselves, but they do not see that I have moved as well. My pieces are in place. The Fire is Coming, again. And when the fires end, when the last song is sung, only then will a better world come.
-The Last Bridgemaker
Nasna sat as one shadow among many. These shadows crowded the corners of the room, draping over the chained prisoners like personal hoods. No one spoke, no one moved, for they all knew they were dead. And the dead should not be disturbed.
The only light came from a few smaller lightstones embedded in the ceiling. The room, a mere holding cell for today, had no windows or doors. Nasna knew there would be small holes in the walls to let breathable air in, but otherwise the guards sealed the room. Only a Builder could escape. Nasna had been in rooms like this before, and they never appealed to her.
Criminals convicted of crimes ranging from the pettiest of thefts to the most heinous of murders stood inside this wooden container of a room, all waiting for their dread to become reality. They stood among many, yet still much alone. And they waited for the Abyssal to claim them.
Nasna looked at those around her, at those sent away for the safety of Rajalend. She, however, was not a prisoner. Rajalend had convicted her of no crime, nor sentenced her to any prison. Of everyone here, she was the only one who wanted to be in this room.
The room was quiet, but Nasna could not meditate or drift off into dreams of bright and swift days. No, todayâs task weighed too heavy to abandon all sense right now. Her fingers itched to retrieve her looped string from her bindings, itched to create and form, but she kept her hands still, prepared to end and deform.
She wished time would speed up and let her get it over with.
Nasna sat as unmoving as the rest, though her scrutinizing gaze was busy taking in every detail of what and who she could see. No one bothered her. Prisoners took a single look at her wrappings and tried giving her as wide a berth as possible.
Nasna had wanted to choose a gray color for the wrappings, to help meld in with the awful prison garb, but her ruse required white cloth. When someone looked at her, all they could see were strands of white bandages wrapped around every inch of skin, including her entire head and neck. At a glance and even with a close inspection, no one would notice the crimson red skin of an ordĂŽn hiding underneath. They would only conclude what she wanted them to: that she was nothing more than a disease-ridden human on her way to die a criminalâs death.
Yet, she was here for so much more.
Nasna glanced over at her target once again, taking in as many details as she could through the slits in her head wrapping.
Female human. Age: mid-thirties. Hardened expression and broken nose showed a thug-like occupation. Hair remained full with a healthy sheen, showing sheâd had access to nectar. No affiliation tattoos, so came from a low-rung gang in lower AlâRajak, since it was the only nectar tree in all of Rajalend.
This woman, Sitora Whitestone, was the only human woman of the prisoners. There were a handful of human men, but most of the prisoners were tatzons. And while masquerading as a human was degrading, Nasna had to admit that physically speaking, sheâd never be able to impersonate a tatzon.
The wrappings would have disguised the fact that she didnât have gray skin or those tattoo-like markings every tatzon had. But most of the tatzons here had three arms and no amount of cloth could mimic another arm growing from her side. Even a two-armed tatzon wouldnât do for her, since the first arm, the only arm tatzons were born with, was the priarm, which was always longer and larger than other arms.
All of this combined to mean that the human, Whitestone, was Nasnaâs only viable option. Failing to make the switch would delay her mission.
A crack of wood sounded through the room, and everyone looked up. At the far wall, a split appeared in the wood, rising from floor to ceiling. The wood of the opening then rolled back on itself like a scroll, revealing a hallway and the guards beyond it. The wood stopped and two Builders materialized in front of the hall, unpossessing the tree. These four-armed Builders grinned at the tatzon prisoners, many of whom reached for the iron collars strapped around their necks which prevented them from possessing.
Half a dozen guards, dressed in finer uniforms of Rajal green and brown, lined the hall, some with spears, most with sharp axes. The Builders only had their arms, grown from their sides like a spider, but the power these arms granted them made them more dangerous than a hundred spears. A pair of guards stepped forward, both with grins.
âYour transport is arriving soon,â one said. âSo, itâs time for you all to get moving.â
The prisoners filed out of the room, never letting go of the tatzon next to them. An intimately relational species, these tatzons clung tight to each other, though it was doubtful anyone knew each other. It was customary to separate friends and Partners from each other and send them to different prisons. Nasna watched the pairs, watched their linked arms, as they left.Â
She looked to her side, where no one sat. Where no one had sat for too many years.
Most of the guards watched the prisoners, but the two Builders caught Nasnaâs eye. She gave them nothing more than a nod. She had already given them their instructions. They just needed to follow them. And they would. Even out here, the name of the Shadow Strikers carried weight and fear.
Nasna did not rise from her bench, but waited until the guards ushered out all but Whitestone. The rest of the guards followed the convicts, but the Builders stopped the woman.
âYouâre to wait here.â
Whitestone frowned even more than before, but the Builders glanced at Nasna and then vanished from sight as they possessed the surrounding wood. The opening curled back together and sealed, as though no one ever opened it.
âHey! Whatâs going on?â Whitestone cried. She scratched her head and stepped back from the wall, only then noticing Nasna. The woman looked between her and the opening, but said nothing more. She moved back to a corner, monitoring the wall and Nasna.
Everything had gone according to plan. Everything was set. Yet Nasna did not budge from her seat. For a moment, she wondered if there was any other way for her to do this, but something stirred inside her and a voice spoke from beyond.
It is time. You know what you must do.
She nodded and tried to push her doubts, and the rising bile, down. Her Path had spoken, all she could do was follow.
Nasna rose from the bench and strode to Whitestone. The woman turned to her, hands rising.
âWhoâre you?â Whitestone asked. âThis your doing?â
Nasna approached.
âHey, back off.â With a practiced movement, Whitestone jabbed at Nasna. But with an even more practiced movement, Nasna glided between the strikes and placed a hand on Whitestone.
With a single touch, Nasna felt all the energy within the woman. This coursing energy of life and power filled Whitestone just like it did with every other person. For whatever reason, energy always had the distinct feeling of a river, but Nasna couldnât explain why she thought that.
Whitestone attempted to strike again, but Nasna sent a paralyzing pulse through the womanâs energy, stilling the river within. She froze solid, her fist halted inches from Nasnaâs temple.
Nasna, however, hesitated. And as she did, something inside her strained.
The voice from beyond, the voice of her Path, rose in her again. Kill.
âIâm sorry,â Nasna whispered as she grabbed hold of a single droplet of energy within Whitestoneâs heart, grabbed onto the raw force of life, and released it. She could almost hear the tiny eruption that killed Whitestone, though that could have been her imagination.
Whitestone collapsed to the ground, and the bile rose higher in Nasnaâs throat, but she kept it down. After all, as far as deaths went, this was quick and painless. Especially compared to what had awaited Whitestone in the mountains. What Nasna had done was merciful. A kindness.
As the lie swirled through her mind, nausea hit. Nasna tore at her head wrapping, pulling the cloth away from her mouth to let the vomit spill onto the floor and not the wrap. Even when it stopped, her body shook, and she had to sit down and take in a few deep breaths.
She shut her eyes tight and tried to think of happier things, tried to take herself from what sheâd done. But images of a child with sky blue skin and hair as white as clouds flashed across her mind, which only made her heart race faster and her grip to tighten around the bench legs.
Focus. Walk the Path.
Nasna gasped out all her breath as her Path took the memory back, keeping her safe from it. It did not hurt. In fact, everything hurt less now. She readjusted her wrappings and rose to her feet. This was no time to wallow. She had a contract to fulfill.
She headed for the opening, but paused and forced herself to glance at Whitestone. The woman was as she left her, crumpled next to Nasnaâs breakfast. Her heart twinged and she dragged Whitestone away from the vomit and positioned her in a more respectful way, legs straight, arms crossed, eyes closed.
âIâm not sure if you worshiped,â Nasna said, kneeling. âBut I wish a swift journey through whatever vortex you find yourself in.â It wasnât much of a prayer, but she doubted this woman would have cared. Soon, Nasna wouldnât either.
Soon, her Path reassured her. It will be over soon.
Nasna nodded. Yes, it would. Soon Clear Sky could rest. Soon Nasna would be free of weakness.
She knocked on the opening, waited a moment, and watched the split form again as the wood rolled back. The two Builders reappeared, glancing between Whitestone and Nasna.
âMake sure sheâs disposed of well,â she said. âAs long as no one finds her or hears anything about this, you can expect to live a long life without ever seeing another Striker.â
One cleared his throat, but avoided her gaze. âWe wonât say nothing, of course. I, er, the transportâs here and they⌠well, they needââ
âJust close up this room and continue your duties. Take care of her later.âÂ
And be respectful with the body, she thought. Her Path forbade her to utter the thought out loud.
The Builders nodded, closed off the room, and led Nasna away from another kill.
The tree they were in was a white-flecked oak, tall but not thick, perhaps only a few hundred feet across. This meant that while there were many floors, there were only a couple of rooms on each. The holding room was a few floors up, so the Builders led Nasna down the stairs to meet with the rest of her now-fellow prisoners. A few glanced at her, but if any of them wondered about Whitestone, they didnât say.
They emptied from the final stair to the main loading area in the tree. It was a wide open space with a rectangular hole in the floor, flat along the edges and extending down to the earth, some fifty feet below. There were another dozen guards here, including another pair of Builders, all armed and watching the prisoners.
By some unspoken signal, this second pair of Builders walked toward the wall next to the hole and vanished, possessing the wood of this still-living tree. A large split formed down the center of the wall, similar to what happened in the holding room but on a grander scale. The wood of the tree, its very bark, curled back and away, opening to the outside world. A sharp wind cut its way in, sending a shiver through Nasna. Through the tree opening, she saw the rocky tundra of the surrounding land. Few trees grew here at the base of the Iron Mountains, so her vision was unimpeded for many miles northward. Save for the massive beast entering through the gap.
The opening spread all the way to the ground, so the goat could enter the hole, its head level to the floor Nasna stood on, making this a Large beast. It had thick and rounded horns curling over its head and long, sharp tusks curving down from its upper jaw. On its back, it carried a large wooden construction, which was long and rectangular. Straps of thick leather held the transport to the beast, while wooden beams stretched over the shoulders and down the sides to keep it upright. In front, right behind the goatâs neck, was a separate construction that had opened windows. Inside she saw three tatzons, all with three arms, which would have been the Wranglers, beast possessors, who drove this transport. The fourth Wrangler possessed the goat right now, the only reason it was staying so still and compliant. Transports like these were common in Rajalend, though Nasna had never seen one with such poor construction as this one. A prisonerâs comfort wasnât anyoneâs primary goal, it seemed.
The wood near the transport rippled and some prisoners made a step back, though they werenât near it. As if growing a new branch, a wooden footbridge grew from the tree out over the hole and connected with the doors of the transport. The Builders whoâd done this materialized close to the bridge, unpossessing the tree.
Every tatzon, including the guards and possessors, stilled as the door of the transport clicked open. The door slid to the side and three newcomers strode out. They each wore crisp blue uniforms, thick and warm, yet sleek and elegant. Even their leather boots were dyed a dark blue. This made quite the contrast with their bright white hair, light gray eyes, and varied-colored skin. The one in front had orange skin, while the two behind him had blue and violet hues. Their features were like a tatzonâs or humanâs, except far more angular and lacking the misshapen imperfections common to the other races. They stood shorter than most tatzons, yet the large leathery wings, kept tight against their backs, made their figures more impressive. The wings matched their skin color and added a few feet to their height, and Nasna knew from personal experience how much larger they were unfolded.
Nasna glanced the leader over. Male ordĂŽn. Age: orange in cyan cycle. Keeps a thin dagger hidden under the left flap of his coat, a high likelihood of it being made with ivory or crystal. Eyes stay focused on his target, keeps his hands at the ready. First estimation: Exorcist.
She looked the other two over. Given how their eyes darted to each possessor, and they wielded spears, they both would be Sensors.
The Exorcist ordĂŽn stood at the end of the bridge, looked the prisoners over with little effort to hide his disdain, and gestured to the female Sensor behind him. She carried a large satchel from which she pulled a file of papers. Without a single announcement or introduction, he read from the papers, reading off names. The tatzon guards broke from the stillness and grabbed prisoners and brought them forward. One by one, the ordĂŽns read a name, and the guards brought each individual forward. This was why Nasna had to infiltrate these prisoners now. The tatzons could be disciplined if they wanted, but once out here, it was easier for them to overlook things. OrdĂŽns, however, had no such variations. They took their orders seriously.
She was no exception.
âSitora Whitestone.â
The two Builders from before, those sheâd given her instructions to, came up beside her and led her to the ordĂŽn. As she walked toward them, she couldnât help but stare at their wings, a primary marker of an ordĂŽn. And the significant difference between her and the rest of her kind.Â
When she reached the bridge, he looked up from his papers and furrowed his brow. âStop. Builders, has this one contracted the hans?â
The Builder on Nasnaâs right cleared her throat.Â
âYes, she did.â
âThis was not in any of the reports weâve received concerning the prisoners.â
âYes, sir. It occurred before we could send the new updates, sir.â
âI assume you have the update with you, then?â
The second Builder stepped up, handing over the papers Nasna had brought with her. The Exorcist read over the papers. These papers were forged, of course, but by the Shadow Strikers. Nasna needed to trust the skill of her associates. Though, she was glad the head wrapping veiled her expression right now. She was never great at hiding her emotions.
After several minutes, the Exorcist rolled the forged papers and handed them to the ordĂŽn behind him.
âWe bringing her, sir?â
The Exorcist did not take his gray eyes off of her. âWe let the Warden decide what to do with her. Itâs our job to escort prisoners. Itâs his to decide their fate.â
They nodded and the Exorcist continued to read off the names of prisoners. Nasna followed the ordĂŽns up into the transport, taking a seat in the far corner where they chained her feet to the floor. But sheâd made it through the easiest part of this job. Nothing onward would be as straightforward.
But after twenty years, she would soon know peace.
This thought did not make her smile.
Set in the dreary and cruel Iron Mountain Prison, Promises of the Damned is a dark fantasy that highlights the importance of trust and connection, especially while faced with incredibly tough situations.
James has a solid writing style that creates a unique and fantastical world which is very different than anything I have ever read. Focused around two main characters, Nasna and Tsuran, the story immediately opens up with both intrigue and murder. Nasna is an assassin, who while excellent at her trade, inherently hates it. It becomes clear that she is constantly on edge and at war with herself, as well as hearing the voice of her "Path" in her head. The reader is then left to decide if she is losing her mind, and thus an unreliable narrator, or if this voice is normal for her character's species as an Ordin (this question does get answered when you learn more of the backstory for Nasna). She infiltrates the prison and impersonates another prisoner while on an assassination quest.
Tsuran, imprisoned at Iron Mountain, is of the Tatzon species and is a designated Guardian. He has been there for a very long time and often battles with Solitude as his partner was killed. Tatzon's are a species that must always have a partner, otherwise loneliness will become corporeal and have very damaging mental and physical effects to their bodies.
After an event early on in the plot, the prison Warden decides to punish Tsuran by making Nasna his cellmate. From there these two become an unlikely duo, and one you'll find yourself rooting for as things escalate. They will deal with spirits and beasts of differing scale and power, have to push themselves to the brink within their own fantastical powers, and ultimately make choices that challenge who they innately are. All of this is interesting and keeps the reader engaged throughout.
That said, there are numerous species woven into the story, which did get a bit confusing at times. These species are all fantastical and have a place within the world that James has crafted, but sometimes it felt almost forced with so much going on during the storyline. There were points where I had to go back and reread sections because I'd forgotten which species had what power or physical appearance.
Overall though, I would definitely recommend this to anyone who enjoys fantasy and is looking for something different than what's available right now.