An Ancient Evil. A Promised King. A world besieged.
This return to the Prophecy of Hope Saga weaves a tantalizing tale of supernatural forces increasingly embroiled in a war older than time. All have felt Mhorag’s presence. All have desired him, most without realizing what they are truly seeking. But Sgarrwrath remembers well the Source of all his desires, and what it is to burn in Mhorag’s life. With the shields of the earth broken, the Flame divided, and the Prophecy of Hope hanging by a thread, Sgarrwrath’s quest for domination is interrupted once more by the name of Mhorag whispered in every land like a prayer. For some in the growing darkness there is no greater dread; for others there is no greater hope. But in this new age of rage and wonder, what is hope?
Once the Resistance had believed hope lay with the race of Men. One throne for the world was the price of that ill-fated Empire of Light. Their Mark of the Promised riven, the Royal House of Caladrius weakens, leaving the throne in the grip of darkness, and the world at war, yet the deepest foundations of light are not destroyed. Nudhug Caladrius’ bones of promise have arisen from their tomb to stand against the growing void.
And hearts are not so vacant as Sgarrwrath would hope. He knows the Source of everything must fall if his void is to stand. He cannot rest in the knowledge that he too possess Flame in the stolen heart of Arawn, nor in the fact that he also has bones of promise in the form of the Heir of Caladrius; nor in the fact that he has brought down the days of peace, sealing the proven Guardians in their secret realm of Light while binding their vulnerable seed, the Colorless, in the void. Because he, above all, remembers what it is to burn beneath the weight of Mhorag’s life. He knows the taste of Mhorag’s golden blood. It has driven his every thought since the beginning of time. And now it calls to him again, drawing his hungry gaze to the heavens where the stars are aligning to reveal the Living Flame. All hangs in the balance as the forbidden desire that started it all culminates in a battle of wills that will darken the stars, shatter the Sun, and raise the dead.
Targeted Age Group:: YA and up
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Mhorag, Prophecy of Hope Book 2 in the continuation of my fantasy series, The Prophecy of Hope Saga, which was inspired by a time in my life when I thought no one cared. I believe that moments of pain can be redeemed, that in the right hands they can be turned into opportunities for something greater. In some ways, my personal story is ripped from today's headlines. I am certain you have heard of the United States' Opioid Crisis. Well, writing was really a part of my family's long, dark journey through addiction. My brother was a heroin addict. Writing was a gift to me, a treasure of darkness, during those long, heart-breaking years. Many of the characters in this series were first created during that time. I didn't know then that what started in desperation would grow into something amazing.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Well, as explained above, many of them came out of a need to survive. The character Sgarrwrath, was very pivotal to where the series has really gone. Before I met Sgarrwrath it was really a collection of random characters and random stories. It was not a series. Sgarrwrath really drove everything together. So, to answer the question, I have often said that without my brother, Sgarrwrath would never have found his voice; and without Sgarrwrath this series would not exist. Sgarrwrath came to me after the tragic death of my brother due to a reaction to the fentanyl laced into the heroin. Sgarrwrath's story was my journey through the unimaginable time of grief and pain. And everything really kind of grew from there.
Darkness is alive.
In a strange sort of way.
Its substance is twisted and complex.
Some say it presses in, but true darkness is not so easy to spot.
True darkness begins with a thought. It kisses and whispers, and you let it in. It grows so easily in the deep, moist recesses of life; you scarcely recognize the trap until you are already locked in its cage, and all else is crushed, dominated, and silenced within the black. Such is the nature of darkness.
I should know. I am that darkness. I remember when I was no more than an errant thought in the mind of another. I remember being the wretched stain marring the glory of the Kingdom. I remember biting a god and tasting life for the first time. I am a predator, but I feel like prey, as my heart races in the utter black of this hour, and my substance penetrates upward from the hollows of existence, slowly, painfully infecting the rotting world above, as battered souls still clinging to their lives suffocate in the quicksand of my rising void, as I advance through the broken shields into the matter of life, eating it away like acid.
What does my prey fear in this moment? What do you fear as the world finally fades to black and light dies, and the only evidence of something more is the thud of my hidden heart, driving you slowly mad?
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
A heart I had stolen.
A heart without body, without blood yet still beating all around.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
And what do I fear as I listen to the cries of my prey, starved and trapped? Am I so different from them, always clawing for more, never escaping the horror, the futility of my own existence?
Layer upon layer, year upon year, I grow stronger, and yet I cannot stop the whispers breathed out against me so long, long ago.
Hope is still graven into the very fabric of existence, scarred into time and space, emblazoned into the ancient foundations above and below. Foundations I have yet to overthrow! And as I rise in this time between times, in this place between places, over this world between worlds, I am forced to acknowledge yet another disruption to my beautiful darkness on this, the eve of damnation.
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