Introduction | When Comes the Firetide: Emergents

So begins the second part of  When Comes the Firetide,  the first saga of The Tybraes Cycles.

The War between the Shae and Ganroth have sundered an already divided Tybraes.  No longer can the Erahs hide or be neutral.  The Avali have been displaced by the abhorrent Dusters, plague-ridden creatures of a hive-like mind.  The Calhalla feel the Ganroth Vud-Ntaesk army bearing down upon their no-longer secret Mossreign kingdom. And the Jasuuk have, from the beginning, always been torn between survival amidst their former masters and loyalty to their own race.  As the mysteries of 'The Motherless' begin to unravel, a new prophetic voice arises to challenge that of the elder seer Bazl.  The Ganroth child, Yaffa may prove to be an invaluable asset to aide Massafera Tyque's savage coupe.  She is a powerful Jyotishr with knowledge beyond her years. As Khes Adaia struggles to understand her own role in the battle with Uvall, she now must face the threat of this new enemy. Some believe the child could be an ally, but such uncertainties are dangerous when an evil in their own midst tears them assunder from within.

Return on January 28th for the opening chapter of Part Two:  Emergents.  If you want to refresh on anything from Part one, or need to catch up, the Table of Contents is in the bar at right. Or, if you are on mobile devices, check out this helpful Table of Contents and Notes Reference Post . I have attempted to keep all the notes up to date without spoilers (if I can help it.) But please be aware that as they are updated for part two readers, part one readers may find an occasional slip-up. I try my best to be wary of this.

In the meantime, here is a small sneak peak and an introduction to two new characters. Enjoy!

---

CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT:

Natan Village, Southern Dagger Fells Cord, Eastern Inere Rain Shadows (Desert), Southeastern Tybraes
1st Som of Duty, month of Foundations 8178

Ripening was still three weeks away but even just inside the Inere Rain Shadows the heat rising from the dry cracked earth was a Summer's heat on a mid-Spring day.  Though built in the foothill shadows of the Dagger Fells, Natan benefited only from the occasionally captured storm bounced down from the North. These were not frequent enough and rarely lasted long.  Aafon would not have minded to feel one whilst he was passing through.  Striding through the vacant streets, scorched by an unfiltered sun, the amber-skinned Ganroth raised an arm to peer at his hide, convinced he might yet turn brown.  Alas, no signs yet of toasting.

Damp from sweat, his ginger hair was beginning to snake up, hinting at its natural loose curls. What was not braided on the right, swayed long and loose on the left.  Though he rarely admitted his vanity, he cursed it now wishing for a tie to pull it back. The temptation to shave his head had grown immensely at apex every day as he walked the desert.

A shock of white caught his eye and the man stopped.  The first sign of life he had seen in the entire village.  Delightfully, he noted, in the tavern.  Adjusting his course, he sauntered to the unattended doors and stepped inside.  The near black shade within elicited an involuntary sigh that bordered on an erotic, pleasure-filled moan.

“Hello?” He called in a sweet sing-song as he draped his shirts and satchel over a chair.  “I am not here for killing Shaes or Erahs... so... you can come out. I am just... I could use a drink, actually. Water would be very nice.”

Wandering to the bar of the tavern he leaned over to look about.  The beaded braids that lined the right side of his head clattered onto the bar top, the swath of loose red hair draping down to hide his face.  It was from the left that the timid white Shae woman stepped out with a sword pointed toward him.  Although he knew she was there, he remained calm and continued foraging for a bottle of something that appealed to him.

“There are a lot of very bitter drinks here. Is it a 'hard-living-in-the-desert' thing... or, am I just late to the party?”  The three hoops in his bottom lips clinked softly on the bottle neck as he brought it to his nose for sniff. That bottle was promptly set aside with a sneer.

“Why are you here?” Her voice was quiet, a clever attempt to help her keep it steady.

Hooking a finger in a bottle of aniseed cordial, he straightened and turned his glittering black eyes on her. “I told you, not to kill Shaes or Erahs.”

“That's what you're not doing. What are you doing?”  She narrowed her pale pink eyes.

A sly grin curled his lips. “You're a clever one.  I like you.”  Gesturing with a gracious flourish of one hand, he inclined his head as a Deignier introducing himself at court, “I am Ntaesk-kato Aafon Dnar. Which is to say, I am exactly fourth ranked echelon in an army that I am, as you can see... not in.”

“Deserter, then.”  The sword had not lowered at all and her grimace had yet to disappear.  Her eyes flicked over his tattoos but notable lack of scarification only briefly.  It was of more note to her his horns and their slight glossy sheen.  The base was black but by the tips they were a honey-gold.  Such fine coloration and lustre was not a common trait, certainly not typical among lower classes.   “Seem awfully pretty for a soldier, Aafon Dnar.”

“Why, thank you, My Lady.”  Regarding what he could see of her from over the bar, she did not look like barmaid or prostitute.  There was a poise to her, but with no more than two modest hoops in one ear she did not strike him as nobility.  The tavern-owner perhaps. She held the sword as one who had lessons, learned enough to protect what was hers. But neither did she carry it as one who wielded it often.  Appeared older than himself, though not by much, he could see the desperation on her face and began to wonder even more just why the town was so quiet.

“Weren't actually a compliment.”

Hopping back onto a table, he braced his boots on the back of chair and popped the cordial's cork. There seemed a noticeable deliberate diction to her improper grammar. Vehement distrust or deliberate deceit, he kept a keen eye to determine which.    “As I am going to assume you're not comfortable sharing your name, I'm just going to call you 'Lily'.  If you would not mind, Lily, I am quite curious why there is no one in all of Natan... except it seems you and myself, and this seems to distress you greatly.”  He sipped at the cordial, not overly impressed by it but it was better than cactus milk. “Which, I might add, does hurt my feelings, as I am-- your words-- 'awfully pretty,' and I like to think that I am good company. Better when there is not a sword leveled at my head... even at such a distance, although, frankly it must really only be tiring out your arm at this point. Fairly certain even a pretty-faced deserter could have disarmed you by now if he'd meant you any real harm.  This one just wants a drink... starting to want fig-cake too. Is there fig-cake here?”

The woman's brow quivered at his remark and after a moment, she slowly lowered the weapon to the bar top and scowled.  “If the town was not already, you could talk them to death.”

“Everyone is dead?”

- - - -

This is just an excerpt. Come back on January 28th for the full first chapter of When Comes the Firetide: Emergents.