Lavinia DeWitt and Zavier Nicholas wash up onshore with no recollection of how they got there, branded with mysterious marks. With little else to do, they travel inland and find a caravan bound for a colony town called Pennsicol, but the trip is cut short when the native Fenrir attack the wagon, leaving them stranded in the dark forest. However, the Fenrir arenât all bad; the chieftainâs son Fjorm rescues the duo from a wendigo and takes them back to camp.
After a gluttonous feast with the Fenrir, Lavinia and Zavier leave to rejoin the colonists. Upon arriving in Pennsicol, the duo are met with hostility because they are marked criminals, but are reluctantly permitted to stay the night.
The next morning, a gang of arsonists called the Scorchers raid town. Lavinia and Zavier take up armsâuntil Lavinia sees the mark on an enemy. Caught up in her spite for civilian life, she abandons Zavier to join the Scorchers. At the Scorcher camp, she discovers her ex-partner-in-crime, Judge, is their self-proclaimed leader. Guided by her hatred, Lavinia vows to kill Judge and restore the gang to their former glory...even if it means Zavier's head is on the chopping block.
Lavinia DeWitt and Zavier Nicholas wash up onshore with no recollection of how they got there, branded with mysterious marks. With little else to do, they travel inland and find a caravan bound for a colony town called Pennsicol, but the trip is cut short when the native Fenrir attack the wagon, leaving them stranded in the dark forest. However, the Fenrir arenât all bad; the chieftainâs son Fjorm rescues the duo from a wendigo and takes them back to camp.
After a gluttonous feast with the Fenrir, Lavinia and Zavier leave to rejoin the colonists. Upon arriving in Pennsicol, the duo are met with hostility because they are marked criminals, but are reluctantly permitted to stay the night.
The next morning, a gang of arsonists called the Scorchers raid town. Lavinia and Zavier take up armsâuntil Lavinia sees the mark on an enemy. Caught up in her spite for civilian life, she abandons Zavier to join the Scorchers. At the Scorcher camp, she discovers her ex-partner-in-crime, Judge, is their self-proclaimed leader. Guided by her hatred, Lavinia vows to kill Judge and restore the gang to their former glory...even if it means Zavier's head is on the chopping block.
Cold and numb is better than dead, but fuck, death is tempting. This thought trickles in as consciousness comes, along with the smell of salt in the air and the sound of waves crashing onto shore. The sudden rush of stimuli assaults her senses along with the rest of her bodiesâ aches and pains.Â
She gasps violently, followed by a fit of coughing as sand particles claw down her larynx. A burning sensation radiates through her right palm as she lies in the sand, heaving for air. Her frost-colored eyes, which threaten in a single glance, flutter open and dart about. She sits up and examines her body. Her delicate hands are coated in sand, her rangy frame wrapped only in papery linen rags. The wind, in loathing, blows a frigid breeze, whipping up her black waved hair, still crisp like fresh seaweed from the saltwater.Â
Sand shifts, and someone wretches into coughs just out of her reach. Her gaze settles on his gnarled copper curls, malnourished face, and scrawny, heaving limbs.Â
Gaining a semblance of awareness, the scrawny man scrambles back in the sand when he finally notices her. âWh-what the hell?â His voice cracks as he asks, âWho are you?â
She stares at him for a moment as though he is a mirror, his glacial eyes staring back at her, before she speaks. âWh-what?â Half a chuckle escapes her, at a loss for words. What a cowardly man, to recoil at the sight of a woman dressed in rags like these.
The man groans, his senses still out of sorts. He rubs his neck, and his eyes suddenly bulge as he feels the lack of a ponytail. âM-myââ He shudders, floundering to his knees. âWh-who are you? And did you cut my hair?âÂ
I giggle and gasp, though no one can hear me. The gall.Â
Bewildered, the woman laughs in his face. âWhat need would I have for your hair?â
âBecause people are straâaaah!â As the back of his neck throbs and stings with pain, he draws in a sharp, hissed breath. âSon of a bitch!â
Ah, so itâs to be melodrama with this one, the woman thinks. The woman rises gracefully and heaves a sigh of exasperation before speaking. âWhere are we?â
As her eyes trace the horizon, a catastrophe lies in their wake. Chunks of wood and debris mixed about the sand mark the scattered remains of a ship. The wide shoreline is strewn with corpses, some in rags, some in naval regalia, and others in simple sailorsâ livery. âTh-there are so many bodies,â the man grumbles, approaching the closest remnants of the wreck. His stomach lurches at the sight of such a massacre, and he covers his mouth.Â
The woman pays the atrocities no heed, instead turning her attention to the capsized hull that has run aground. âA ship? I donât recall boarding a shiââ Her words stick in her throat as her eyes settle on her hand, the source of that burning sensation. A fresh brand in the center of her palm, with three sharp strikes in a triangle. Memories seep back to her steadily, as though it happened yesterdayâthe smooth oak bar, and spilled whiskey. The creaky hallway tainted with cinnamon, oleander, and lye. Her peaceful bedroom with traces of lilac water and linnet down by the window seat. Resentment lingering with Johnâs orange bay rum.
But all of that is gone.
The man wanders off a few yards, deeper into the wreck. With a strained grunt, he pries open the broken hull. The salt-damaged wood creaks and the slat boards snap off, just wide enough so he can slip through without so much as a splinter. In the hollow formed by the boards, a collapsed corner of the cargo hold remains, likely the only thing not destroyed in the crash. There sits a barrel with a semi-intact corpse draped over it, the corpseâs weight and the tide sinking the barrel deeper into the sand. The man grabs the barrel for stability and shoves off the corpse, impaling it on a splintered protruding floorboard with a meaty splat, further embedding the board into the sand.Â
âUgh. Sorry bud.â He peeks into the barrel and slips his hand into its hole.
The womanâs irritated voice, still strained from coughing, calls from outside. âUm, hello? Excuse me?âÂ
âYouâre excused. For interrupting my search.â He chortles, grabbing something soft and dry. âNow, either help me or stay outside.âÂ
âWell, I never,â she huffs, joining him in the hull. With a mere touch from her, another chunk of wood collapses, and the wreck groans around them. âDid you find anything remotely useful?â
âYes, actually,â the man retorts, pulling his hand out of the barrel to reveal a fistful of gauze bandages. âSome first aid.â Grinning, he clambers out of the hull and sets off to rifle through the impaled corpseâs belongings. She follows, sticking out her tongue while his back is turned, then studies the other corpses: rags, rags, navy man, sailor, sailor, officer.
âAha!â The man titters, snatching a flintlock pistol from the impaled officerâs hip, toggling the hammer victoriously under his thumb. âPoor bastard.âÂ
The woman, ignoring his little triumph, examines the bodies of those in ragsâchains on their arms and legsâexamining corpse after corpse. A pattern develops: body with brand, body with brand, each brand in a different placeâneck, hand, shoulder, chest, back, face. She looks once more at the mark on her own hand, clear as day. Itâs identical to the brands on the corpses.Â
That meansâ
âFind anything interesting?â the man calls as he approaches, eyeing the corpses.
âYes.â She half-heartedly punts a cadaver and turns to him. âWe all have the same brands. Perhaps you have one too?â
He begins checking himself over, then stops, his hand trailing over the tender raised scar on his nape. âAh . . .â
She leans over and, sure enough, sees a brand there. âYes, you have one.â Her tongue rolls in her mouth as she thinks, then gives a tsk. âI wonder what it means.âÂ
âOh, câmon! And they had to cut my hair to do it?â he whines, kicking the sand, huffing and puffing. âCome on, then, what does it look like?â
She kneels to draw the symbol in the sand, emphasizing her creation with a confident tap-tap-tap. âLike this.â
âWhy?â he mutters under his breath, facing inland.
The sandy shore carves across for a short distance before grassy plains edge along the nearer horizon. Beyond that, a sea of evergreen trees stands sentinel, the duskâs light making them a cold, foreboding blue.Â
With no hesitation, he marches on.Â
âHey, wait a second!â She rushes to catch up. âWe have no idea whatâs going onââÂ
He outpaces her again, causing her to set off at a jog after him.Â
âAnd at the very least, I would like to know your name andÂ
status, as is proper!âÂ
He continues, not bothering to make eye contact, intentionally disrespecting her. âZavier Nicholas,â he says. âI work as an alchemist.â
âZavier,â she repeats, outpaced as he trudges on. With an angered huff, she runs ahead to stand in front of him, stops him in his tracks, and offers a polite hand. âMy name is Lavinia DeWitt. Barkeep.â
âOverjoyed,â he sneers, stepping around her.
Stubborn bastard. âSo then, Zavier, do you possibly have any plan?â
âNo. As far as Iâm concerned, the best bet is to find a town or something.â
âA town?â Lavinia huffs. âW-without any identification? We donât know how far it may be, and with these marks meaning Queen-knows-what?âÂ
Zavier stops and jerks his head back to look her dead in the eye. âThen I suggest you keep your pretty mouth shut and let me do the talking, hm?â
âWhy? Because Iâm a woman? Donât patronize me.â
His head falls back in a hearty laugh. âOh, no, no. I merely canât hear myself think when all you do is ask questions.âÂ
âQuestions must be asked. As a scientist, you should understand. Hm, Mr. Alchemist?â
Zavier rolls his eyes, turns away from her, and continues walking toward the trees. âYes, yes, whatever. But letâs hurry, I donât want to be out after nightfall.â
As the hours pass, the sandy shore tears away to forestry. Thick fir and pine trees strangle a narrow path lined by grasses, the dirt peeking through the grassroots a vivid red ochre. They walk endlessly, the small, sharp rocks and bugs littering the path stinging their bare feet, the cold winds biting and clawing at their damp, clinging rags, intensifying the chill.Â
As they walk side-by-side, Lavinia examines the manâs gait; stumbling, spindly, and awkward.Â
Of course Iâm stuck here in the middle of nowhere with a coward, Lavinia thinks. Then again. . . an idiot is still useful.
Zavier glances at Lavinia from the corner of his eye. She notices, of courseâsubtlety clearly doesnât exist within Zavierâs beingâbut ignores him and holds her head high and proud.Â
What a damn snob. His eyes trace the curve of her swiveling hips, and for a moment heâs hypnotized. Out of your league, Zavvyâthat, and she reeks of bitch.Â
He turns his head to fully scrutinize her from head to toe this time. Lavinia makes her disinterest clear as she turns her face away.Â
Yep. Sheâs a bitch.
Lavinia uses the turn to conceal a conniving smirk. Heâs a hair trigger. Probably still a virgin. Thisâll be a cakewalk.
The afternoon fades away into evening, and stars emerge from their hiding places in the navy expanse like little twinkling eyes. Watching. Waiting.Â
As the moon glows above them, a comforting sight rises over the horizon, through the parting trees. A caravan.Â
They take off running, filled with hope that the pains in their feet and stomachs may at last be over, but the barrel of a rifle aimed at them crushes all hope.Â
âAnd who might you folk be?â
This dark fantasy story follows two survivors of a ship wreck as they travel across a new world in search of safety and answers about how their pasts. Lavinia and Zavier wake up from a ship wreck with no memory of how they were stranded and where they were going. At first they journey together looking for shelter but soon their paths diverge and they end up on opposite sides of a battle for survival.
I really enjoyed the world building and attention to detail the author put in creating the harsh landscape and reality of Lavinia and Zavierâs world. It is an interesting and unique mix of fantasy-world with man eating monsters and sort of colonial Wild West where unprepared outsiders try to conquer a land they donât know enough about.
I was quiet sure what to make of Lavinia, she is a complex mixture of kind and cruel. I really enjoyed how she is not quite a hero and not quite a villain. Zavier too is both cowardly and fierce. As Lavinia points out when Zavier gets sick after tending to a wounded warrior, Zavier is the ultimate dichotomy since he is a âsqueamish doctor.â Neither character is perfect which makes them both very interesting and their choices unexpected.
My favorite characters were the Fenrir, the local tribes that are fighting the colonizers who are taking over and abusing their land. I found their rituals and warrior culture beautifully described and well thought out. Although there is a lot of fighting and darkness, the story also had bursts of humor and romance that added a much needed levity to the charactersâ interactions.
Overall, I enjoyed this fast paced read and the twists and turns the story took. This is the first in a series and ends on a cliff hanger. I am excited to see what is next for our characters.