In the beginning, a simple farmhand. Later, a slave.
Sevos apprentices under Talpo of the Burned Glass as one of his chosen Disciples. He learns of the world and its strange mutations. The way of the sword and its purpose. He learns of magic, science, and human nature. Will he be steered in the right direction by his master, or will he be tricked by the sly? Destroyed by the strong?
A journey across the continent. A yearning for the unknown. A search for truth in a place of a war.
Targeted Age Group:: 16+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I had this scene in my head. It was of this beautiful woman standing in armor atop some rubble, hair flaring in the wind, a fallen army at her feet. In front of her was a dark-haired man and these doppelgangers behind him, beginning from his adolescence and ending at his childhood self.
This scene wouldn't leave my head, and so I plotted the story of his coming of age, and the lead up to that scene.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
A good portion of my characters are based on, or inspired by, real people. "Talpo", the main character's mentor, is an anagram for Plato. His master before him, Rectossa, is an anagram for Socrates. It's not in the names for everyone, but those that aren't are still inspired by the idea of certain historical figures.
They wouldn’t tell me anything about their conversation, regardless of how much I poked and prodded. My father simply told me to enjoy myself and my mother nodded along, adding that all would truly begin for me once winter passed. Knowing I’d get nothing more out of them, I relented and eventually even took their advice. With the sudden change in seasons I’d no longer any chores to do — all was delegated to my father, who was the only one who could care for the farm in the harshness of the season. This gave me an independence to spend my days however I wished. A strange new freedom for me to adjust to. Thus, the winter before my departure felt endless. I didn’t, after all, have many interests at my age, nor anything to occupy myself with.
To pass the time I would often sneak into my parents’ bedroom, grab a book off one of their shelves, and crawl beneath their bed to read it. Eventually, annoyed by the violent wrestling they’d do above as I tried to study, I would risk taking the books into my own bedroom to read instead.
My days were not spent alone in quiet isolation, either. For once in a long time my family and I had finally begun to bond again. To enjoy each other’s company. Though part of me knew it was only because of this one bitter fact – that I’d soon be leaving them — the nights of bonding made it more bearable, and I forgot such thoughts before they could fester.
The day before my leave Talpo helped my mother find the singing voice she’d lost as a young woman and taught my father how to hold a beat with a ladle and a pot. We created music, all of us together in the dining room. I danced off-beat and stumbled over furniture while Talpo laughed and harmonized with my mother’s tenor. She sang Stella’s part from Lomer’s play Pledgefall (something I myself had taught her) while Talpo sang the part of the wise old grandmaster.
This day is imprinted permanently into my memory: the crackling fireplace, the poetic music, the furious storm outside. It is saved in my thoughts like a well-oiled painting.
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