When powerful siblings discover a terrifying truth, will they embrace a new destiny or turn to darkness?
Ashaya Blacksun has had a weight lifted from her shoulders. Freed by her father's abdication of his crown, the former princess's delight over choosing her own path is barely dimmed by her strange and haunting dreams. But when her beloved twin brother doesn't return home from a ranging expedition, the unconventional young woman fears something has gone terribly wrong.
Born into royalty, Sirich Blacksun quietly seethes that he's no longer heir to the throne. Still determined to maintain a position of leadership, he sets out to investigate the disturbing news of carnage in the south. But when he crosses paths with a powerful figure straight out of lore, the temptation to ignore his beloved father's bold vision in favor of his own ambition becomes increasingly difficult to resist.
Sneaking off to find her missing twin, Ashaya's travels over deadly terrain are plagued by intensifying visions that point to a dark fate. And as Sirich's strange new companion shows him a new way forward, the frustrated would-be king faces a frightening choice.
When powerful siblings discover a terrifying truth, will they embrace a new destiny or turn to darkness?
Ashaya Blacksun has had a weight lifted from her shoulders. Freed by her father's abdication of his crown, the former princess's delight over choosing her own path is barely dimmed by her strange and haunting dreams. But when her beloved twin brother doesn't return home from a ranging expedition, the unconventional young woman fears something has gone terribly wrong.
Born into royalty, Sirich Blacksun quietly seethes that he's no longer heir to the throne. Still determined to maintain a position of leadership, he sets out to investigate the disturbing news of carnage in the south. But when he crosses paths with a powerful figure straight out of lore, the temptation to ignore his beloved father's bold vision in favor of his own ambition becomes increasingly difficult to resist.
Sneaking off to find her missing twin, Ashaya's travels over deadly terrain are plagued by intensifying visions that point to a dark fate. And as Sirich's strange new companion shows him a new way forward, the frustrated would-be king faces a frightening choice.
The change was abrupt. Merek had never seen such fog. It loomed ahead as if the gods had poured a thick cloud upon the earth. It seemed a living thing, twisting slowly, devouring itself. The Order of Preceptors had not written much of this place, but whispers of its past were steeped in mystery and legend, among darker tales. This “giant’s breath,” as some called it, made those tales seem more believable.
“What are we doing here again?” Mitchel, his apprentice, asked from the back of his horse.
“You know damn well why we are here,” said Merek.
“No, why are we here?”
“We volunteered, remember?”
“You volunteered.”
Merek looked over to him. “Mitch, you’ve always wanted to go on these wanderings as much as I have. We get to travel and meet interesting people. In return, we simply have to report back the condition of roads and any specifics worth noting to the council.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “And sleep on the ground most nights.”
“Is there some other reason you would rather be home? Do the stories of this place scare you?” Mitch did not respond. “Is it my sister?” Merek prodded.
“Why would you say that?”
“I see the way you look at her.”
Mitch looked to the isle ahead. “Ashaya? Nonsense.” Merek smiled as Mitch’s cheeks turned a rosy red. Mitch glanced away. “Let’s take a look so we can go home and report.”
“No, Mitch, you go home. Tell them we made it,” said Merek.
“I was only japing. Mostly.” Confusion crept into Mitch’s tone. “Go home? Now?”
“Yes.” Merek climbed off his destrier and patted his neck. Shadow seemed uneasy here, nickering at him. Merek removed the leather band from his long silver-blond ponytail. His scalp ached from the constant pull.
Mitch brushed the hair from his eyes. “What is there to report? Looks to be just another isle. Why would you stay here alone?”
“The council is likely already arriving in Wolfpine. Go report to them. Small isle or not, I want to have a proper look,” Merek said, staring across the water.
“An isle where people go missing!” Mitch pointed out. “So the ’ceptors say.” “And the fisherman!” “Do you believe every story your mother told you while putting you to bed?”
“Fine.” Mitchel had that look on his face. He had been Merek’s apprentice long enough to know there was no point in arguing. “What will you do?”
“I will find a way across on the morrow and have a look around. It should only take two days, three at most.”
Mitch stood quietly for a moment. “I do not like this place.”
“Why? Is it this place, or what you have heard of this place?”
“Both. And it smells like shit.” Mitchel turned to him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go. I will be fine.” They both turned toward the snapping of a dead tree limb in the wood behind them. “I think.”
They both chuckled. Merek noticed a subtle tension around Mitch’s grey eyes. “Go on, you will be fine. Besides, we managed to stay out of trouble on the way here by keeping near the coast. You can take the Middle Sea to Capeton and be home within two days if the winds are favorable.” Merek lifted the short skirt of his black, boiled-leather armor and dug out a sack of coins, tossing it to Mitchel. He caught it clumsily, almost falling from his horse. The sack clinked as he pulled it from the air.
“Alright. But for the record, this is not my idea. I will tell your family—”
“I will tell them myself. I will not be far behind you.” Mitchel mounted his horse and turned back toward the wood.
“Are you—”
Merek could not help but smile. “Dammit, Mitch!”
“I just wanted to be sure. I will see you in a few days.”
Merek watched him vanish into the wood and turned back toward the isle. Shadow turned to him, nudging Merek’s shoulder with his muzzle. “Do not look at me like that. He needs to know that I will not always be by his side.”
Before the fog stood hundreds of trees, blackened and gnarled, with their limbs twisting downward. Their bark resembled charred parchment, each tree reaching toward the earth with a hundred scorched arms, weeping in their corruption. Mitch was right. The air smelled of decay but with a tinge of sweetness riding the breeze. There existed a vast difference between what he looked upon across the water and where he stood now.
Merek stretched his arms out to his sides and looked up, enjoying the sun’s warmth on his face. Small waves rippled before him, and the song of leafhoppers echoed behind. Merek sighed deeply, closing his eyes, savoring the last drop of sunlight. He turned back to make camp in a wooded area a few hundred yards behind him, where the strange ruins lay.
His journey had begun many fortnights ago, although he had lost exact count of the days. He was leagues from his home in Vaegomar and had no boat to get to the isle. Perhaps there is a bridge of some kind. If not, I may have to swim.
“Shadow, do you thirst, boy?” He led his horse to the small brook snaking through the trees near the clearing. He found a small pool where the water settled. Hundreds of blood-red lotus flowers stabbed at the surface. Shadow followed willingly, nickering and flicking his tail. Because he was a large horse with skin as dark as coal, most thought his name was due to his coloring, but he had taken to Merek as a foal and followed him around the training yards when he was put under saddle. His twin sister, Ashaya, had always been jealous as she had wanted him to ride for herself.
As dusk took hold and the blue moon’s light began to shine on him through the towering pines, Shadow almost seemed to have a dark purple hue. His black mane ruffled in the cool breeze, the trees whispering around them. Although they had taken the easternmost route with sparse wood, he had felt some relief from the days prior, spent in the Bloody Sands and its unforgiving sun. They had left the last proper inn four or five days before, somewhere in Ethorya, along with their last decent meal and feather bed. That barn in Thurel did not count.
Merek approached the ruins—what appeared to be a short stone wall. The stone was blood-red splotched with white quartz. He squatted down and ran his fingers over its surface, noticing the remaining stones to be almost molded together. He had never seen this type of work from any stonemason in Wolfpine. The overgrown stone path seemed to lead back to the isle.
Shadow snorted again, and Merek knew what he wanted. “Are you in need of assistance?” he asked the horse as if he would reply. He spied a broken sapling laid over the wall with black sap oozing from its break like a festering wound. That would be a good place to air out his saddle. The ride had been long, and they both needed a proper bath.
He removed the saddle and readjusted the caparison on the horse’s back, taking a moment to stop and look around. He had spent a lot of time alone in the wilds of Vaegomar, but an uneasy feeling came over him as the sky grew darker. Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach. The breeze seemed to whisper his name. Shadow still nickered at him as he looked around the darkening wood. He patted the horse reassuringly. “Oh, well. I did tell Mitch to go home. I suppose it is just us.”
As Merek wandered through the pine, gathering kindling, he thought of his siblings. He had spent many nights with Ashaya and his older half-brother, Sirich, in the wilds of Vaegomar. They had always enjoyed camping, hunting, and hawking, longing to get out of the confines of their keep. He had seen little of Aahsgoth but yearned to see more, which is why he had asked to take this ranging.
Merek’s stomach growled with hunger as the light faded. He had already taken stones from the brook and built a fire ring. He added his kindling and pulled a worn piece of flint from his dirt-stained saddlebag. With just a few strokes from his dagger, a large spark leapt from the blade, and budding flames quickly danced to life, engulfing the dried pine needles and kindling. Sirich would have jested with him about building such a large fire. His half-brother seemed to enjoy the darkness. This was more to keep the bloodthirsty pinflies away, and to hopefully cook supper. He would check his snares shortly, but first he reached for his bedroll and laid it out next to the fire to warm. It was old and worn doeskin, but it would have to suffice.
The darkness deepened around him. I should not have sent Mitch back. Merek enjoyed his company, but he had promised his family that he would send word. Dammit, I should have stopped at Marshwood to send a corvid.
Merek removed his armor and frayed, tattered half-cloak from his shoulder. He stood and walked over to a young ash tree and hung the garment over a low-hanging limb as if to display it to any passersby. Like his armor, it was dyed black with his house sigil, a red glyph of the sun, emblazoned on the lower portion of the cloak almost as wide as the cloth itself. The red glyph was a simple circle surrounded by eight points. It always reminded him of a wind rose on one of the many maps he had seen back home in his father’s study. He finally removed his bracers. His forearms were blistered and raw where the edges of the leather had bitten into his skin through his undershirt. He left his undershirt on as the cold thickened around him.
His stomach again reminded him to go check the snares he had set. He had not been here long, but the red moon now peeked out from behind the larger blue moon as if it had been in hiding. It had been a few hours. Hopefully a rabbit or perhaps a small doe had snagged itself, or it would be salt beef again this night—further depleting his rations. He stood and felt the sting of a pinfly and grunted as he swatted his neck, leaving a splotch of blood in its place. Bastards.
He leaned his head back and rolled his eyes. “Gods!” he cursed. “Shit for supper.” As he checked his last snare, he adjusted the small hemp noose and hoped for a good meal to break his fast come the morning star. As he headed toward the flickering light of his campfire, the shadows danced among the trees, and he thought he heard a faint voice through the light breeze. Perhaps it was just leaves rustling or whispers of the wind. But then he heard it again. This time, he was sure he was not alone.
“Who goes there?”
“My lord?” said a high-pitched voice as it drew closer.
“Who are you?” Merek replied.
“My name is Ivan, good sir. I’m sorry for startling you, my lord. I have been traveling north and saw your fire.”
As the boy approached the light, Merek could see he was no more than ten or twelve, although it was hard to tell with the shadows tangling with the trees. He had no facial hair and shoulder-length dark hair. He was a commoner, judging by his sun-faded and tattered linen tunic, dusty brown breeches made of coarse wool, and lack of shoes. He had a small linen pack hanging over his shoulder, a long walking stick in his left hand, and a short blade with a silver handle sheathed in leather on his hip. A small wool bandage was tied around his wrist.
“Are you alone, boy?” Merek asked, looking around. He picked up his sword from beside the bedroll.
“Yes, my lord, as I said—”
“Please, call me Merek. No need for such formality here.”
The boy nodded. “I just saw your banner there, my lor… eh, Sir Merek.”
“Sir?” Merek smiled. “Are you from the east?”
“You are from a noble house—unless that is not your sigil?”
“It is,” Merek nodded. “What do you know of noble houses of Vaegomar?” “Vaegomar? Is that in the north?”
“Yes, the northernmost kingdom, although we have no king. Where are you from, Ivan? Why would you be here alone?” Merek did not notice anything unusual other than this young boy in his camp. He turned back and sat down beside the fire.
“I am from High Rock, a village on the Rainy Isles, as far south as south goes. My father sent me to buy cotton.”
“What does your father do?”
The boy hesitated. “He makes candles.”
“The son of a candlemaker, this far north on foot? What do you know of this strange place?”
“The isle? Father says it’s haunted.”
So, others hear the same tales. “Do you not have merchants in High Rock, Ivan? Certainly, there are many on the coast.”
“Yes, my lor… sir. We did, but he died a while ago. We haven’t seen any traders since.”
“You are welcome to share my fire,” offered Merek. “I only have salt beef for supper, though. A bow and well-placed arrow would have saved the day.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’d better keep going. I travel by night to avoid the heat.” “Are you sure?” Merek asked. “A young boy traveling alone at night without a sword is not safe, and that dagger will not do you much good. There is no shortage of wolves, and sand-people still raid travelers from here to Ethorya.”
“Yes, I’ll be alright. Have you passed a village or market lately?”
“Water’s Edge, three days north in Thurel, is a small trading village. You will find your cotton there if you stay on Marcus’ Pass.”
“Who is Marcus?” Ivan asked.
Merek laughed as he grabbed his small pouch of salt beef. He handed the boy a piece and bit a chunk from his own. He spoke as he chewed, “The last so-called king of this region, Marcus the Fourth, for whom the old road is named. Well, as much as you can call it a road. More like an overgrown path.”
“I see.” The boy seemed puzzled. “So… are you a prince or something?”
Merek looked down, smiling. “I used to be.”
“I’ve never met a prince before.” Ivan stood. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be on my way.” “Leaving so soon?”
“Yes. My father is waiting for me.”
“Fair enough.” Merek picked up his waterskin, took a drink, and offered it to the boy.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink wine.”
Merek laughed. “It is only water.” He shoved it toward the boy. “Take it. I have another, and plenty of water here to refill it.”
The boy hesitantly took the skin and a drink. “Thank you for your kindness. May the Elder give you a blessed night.” The boy bowed and turned toward the darkness.
“Be well, Ivan,” Merek replied as he walked over to a tree to relieve himself. He watched the boy disappear through the trees.
Merek pulled his second waterskin from the saddle bag and filled it in the stream. The leaf hoppers had grown louder, and their song filled the night around him. Shadow stirred uneasily. Merek heard another song through the blanket of chirping. “Wolves. They are not near us, and they wouldn’t approach a fire.” He patted his horse on the back. “Get some shut-eye. We have to ride at dawn to meet this mystery ahead.”
Merek sat down on his bedroll, which was now warm to the touch. He took off his boots and laid them near the fire, adding additional logs for a few more hours of warmth. He pulled the saddlebag over and slid it under his head, lying back and studying the sky. Embers from his fire raced toward the peaks of the pine trees, resplendent against a sea of stars. The moons, now high in the sky, stared back at him as he closed his eyes.
As Merek took a deep breath and tried to relax, he thought more of this place. Something hung in the air here that seemed oddly familiar to him. Legends of the Crescent Isle were abundant, likely from tales of haunted ruins, wraiths, witches, and mages. Merek wanted to see for himself. Galen had told him of one such tale where people would offer their children to so-called night demons. They were probably fairytales, from the imaginations of singers and storytellers, but it did intrigue him.
Wolves still howled in the distance. Shadow snorted again, but Merek ignored it as the crackling of the fire had finally put him at ease. He missed his love, Elya. He longed to feel her warmth tonight, to hear her voice. He thought of her soft lips, her long black hair tickling the small of her back. The curve of her hips and buttocks, her smooth skin, the way her tongue showed between her teeth when she smiled. Arousal filled him as his thoughts wove into a dream. He faded into sleep with a slight grin as she straddled him. He held her hips as she rode him slowly, looking into his eyes, moaning in pleasure.
One moment, he felt her warmth—then he felt the pain. It struck like lightning. Merek opened his eyes and inhaled loudly. He looked down to see his hands sticky with blood, grasping at a silver handle buried in his chest. His lifeblood dyed his undershirt black around the blade and quickly expanded outward, raging fire now coursing through his veins.
Merek rolled over to try and stand. A hazy darkness marred his field of vision. He was on his elbow, trying to reach forward as his other hand found only dirt. He could not push himself up, his strength leaving him. He lifted his chin to glimpse bare feet in front of him. Merek tried to speak, tried to breathe. He managed a gurgled “Wha… Why?” Blood filled his throat; he spat and tried to breathe once more. As he fell on his back, the stars all seemed to merge into one.
Then darkness.
“I told you, my lord,” said a muffled voice. “I told you I’d found him.”
The wolves continued to howl, and the fire in Merek’s veins went cold.
William may have stepped down from his throne, but while ruling on the council, he’s still invested in making changes that will last for an eternity. His children may aid in such an outcome: Merek explores an isle where people go missing. Sirich, accompanied by a loyal friend, travels to places seen and unseen, hoping to be healed from a strange illness. Ashaya has no interest in the political affairs of Wolfpine until her brother goes missing. Now, she’s on a quest to find him, not only to learn a hidden truth, but also to navigate the transformation taking place within herself.
A crimson past waits to be revealed, one that will assist all characters involved in this story. Will this new future compromise the kingdom? And who will succumb to greed, deception, and even death?
The Crimson Gods was a challenging novel to read. It’s written in a similar style to George R.R. Martin’s series, A Song of Ice and Fire, where each chapter is told from an individual character’s viewpoint. I’m a huge fan of Martin’s series, but this type of storytelling can make it difficult to engage in the reading experience, especially if there’s too many characters. For this reason, I was not fully invested or immersed in the author’s world.
I was lost for a time as I tried to understand the narrative, yet I persevered to the very last page because... The story drew my attention with an intriguing opening: The Crimson Gods opens with a compelling hook. The author does an excellent job of leading me into the world with vivid description, which establishes some stakes. The language and wording is well-written, though by page 82, I didn’t know why I should care about the characters. Still . . . a mysterious secret caused me to forge on, and the story did satisfy a few curiosities, extending enough incentive that I kept reading until the end. Honestly, I’d like to read the next book in the series.
Readers who enjoy George R.R. Martin’s novels, might discover an interesting new world in Christian’s novel, The Crimson Gods.