On Asar, history has become myth. Millennia-old experiments have become races of beings with cultures and dreams of their own, and their creators, an advanced race from afar, have birthed myths and legends, abandoned ruins and technologies, and a destiny on which the planet’s future balances. A few still walk the planet as gods.
A prophecy speaks of one who will be born, one with the blood needed to reawaken the abandoned technology of the ancient Zemurians who fled the planet in shame long ago. But few have time to contemplate prophecy in a world torn by war, ravaged by a savage despot.
The Panjatai Hegemony rules most of the known world. It wages war with its neighbors, fighting to subdue the wild warriors of the Ferghana Steppe and the tiger men of Oujda, the Ukar’a lizard-men of Thibur and the desert dwellers of Ashmara. The Panjatai ruler’s lust for power is complete, but a nightmare haunts his sleep. A nightmare of one who will end his reign. A boy, wielding a Zemurian blade, at the head of an army the likes of which Asar has not seen in three thousand years. The one foretold. The Hegemon will stop at nothing to change the fate he suffers each night in his sleep.
Maj is a simple boy, raised in a mountain village far from everything, on the outskirts of the Hegemony. To those around him he is an outsider: though his da is from Kalmat, his ma was unknown, a foreigner. Trained as a warrior by his da, Zoltan, whose skill with a blade is legendary though the source of that skill a mystery, Maj is caught between forces he cannot control bent on his destruction, his life depending on his companions, his innate gifts, and the guidance of a god.
Fleeing across Asar with death on his heels, Maj must race against time, through deadly jungles and sprawling cities, ancient ruins and vast oceans, searing deserts and dark fortresses, to learn to control his power, discover the legacy of the ancient ones, and fulfill his destiny.
Targeted Age Group:: 13+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Fantasy epics helped me gravitate toward a life of reading. They also inspired me to take adventures of my own. Due the the books I read as a teenager, I became an explorer and world traveler. The inspiration books provide seems to me to be a great way to change the world for the better.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My characters are based on mixtures of people I know and others who I've imagined, or read about. They also represent ideals and act in the ways their ideals dictate.
A storm within a storm raged over the Western Sea, and at the core of the storms a silent pressure grew. The storm clouds held the vessel, a machine of energy and light not of that planet, a roiling amalgam of forces held together and aloft by means all below would deem magical. The vessel was the property of a being, also alien, whose long torment was existence. Trapped in the world he hated, the being stoked his anger, and the pressure inside him built, and built, and built.
For centuries it had built, and it was building still. It was the pressure of a deranged mind, ancient and stubborn, bent on vengeance regardless of the bloody eras it took in the making. Soon, it would come pouring forth, and the world below would burn.
. . . . .
The spear of lightning struck and rebounded from Balrus’ bubble of energy, arcing toward the peak of the mountain far below. The god ignored it, keeping his gaze on the tiny shape of a ship bobbing in the waves. A whisper of something scurried across his mind, errant and gone before he claimed it. After so long, he ignored most of what occurred on the planet, and his mind had been slipping for centuries.
He could forgive himself the hate he felt for the place. It was a planet he had once helped destroy. A planet filled with overgrown chattel he’d come to despise, experiments he had masterminded running rampant, self-righteous in their ignorance. A planet left behind by his race.
It was a planet he might never leave. In the name of the Source, but he missed Zemuria.
His attention was focused on the ship below, riding the waves toward the lone island mountain like a leaf caught in the rapids of a swift river. From a mile above Balrus’ enhanced eyes discerned the flag of the Panjatai Hegemony atop the primitive wind-propelled vessel. To all others on the planet it was a symbol of power, but to him it was more of a project gone well and just reaching maturity, like a vine just reaching the top of the trellis it was always meant to climb after years of careful direction. And not a bit of pruning.
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