Hobbiton hill

The God Hater - Bill Myers

2011-02-24T12:46:00.000-07:00

In conjunction with the CSFF Blog Tour, I received a free copy of this book from the publisher.

The February CSFF Blog tour is highlighting Bill Myers’ The God Hater, published by Howard Books. Here’s our review:

Expect to be drawn into a page-turning suspense story that will also make you think as you read the pages of Bill Myers’ novel, The God Hater.

We meet the feisty atheist, Nicholas Mackenzie, in the opening chapter. He’s a philosophy professor who is quick to malign religion, willingly debating Christians and shredding their arguments.

But things change when McKenzie’s brother, Travis, asks for his help with a computer-generated world he has created. Travis needs a philosophy to guide the civilizations in the computer program.

Once the reader enters this alternate world, things become more and more intriguing. Myers is able to lay out apologetic arguments without bogging down the story. Instead, we’re drawn into the story while engaging with ideas about creation and the Creator.

We appreciate that Nicholas is not a cardboard evil atheist but Myers, in making him a sympathetic character, addresses the issues of reason vs. faith in a more satisfying way. We don’t see just a one-sided argument but rather a story that impacts people.

The God Hater is an excellent novel that we highly recommend. You can look at the book here. Visit the author’s web site here. And you can connect with Bill Myers on Facebook here.

The following are participants in the CSFF Blog Tour. Please visit their sites as well for further thoughts about The God Hater.

Noah Arsenault
Red Bissell
Thomas Clayton Booher
Keanan Brand
Rachel Briard
Beckie Burnham
Morgan L. Busse
Carol Bruce Collett
Valerie Comer
Karri Compton
CSFF Blog Tour
April Erwin
Amber French
Andrea Graham
Tori Greene
Katie Hart
Ryan Heart
Joleen Howell
Bruce Hennigan
Becky Jesse
Cris Jesse
Becca Johnson
Jason Joyner
Carol Keen
Emily LaVigne
Shannon McDermott
Matt Mikalatos
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Mirtika
MollyBuuklvr81
John W. Otte
Sarah Sawyer
Chawna Schroeder
Andrea Schultz
Tammy Shelnut
Kathleen Smith
James Somers
Donna Swanson
Jessica Thomas
Steve Trower
Fred Warren
Dona Watson
Nicole White
Dave Wilson

Brothers, Part 5

2011-01-11T17:46:00.000-07:00

Faramir’s view is of winning very different. To him, how one achieves the goal is just as important, perhaps even more important, than the goal itself. Dickerson writes in Following Gandalf that,

“he would rather suffer military defeat than do evil to gain a military victory” (p. 78)

Faramir tells Frodo in the Two Towers,

“I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not if Minas Tirith were falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs” (p. 314)

We see this willingness to do the right thing regardless of the consequences when his father confronts him on his choice to let the Ring go. His father tells him,

“Ever your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle,That may be well in times of peace, but in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death” (Return of the King p.86).

Faramir’s answer is simple, yet powerful: “So be it.”

While Boromir is willing to break some rules to get a military advantage, his younger brother is not.

Written by Becky Brasby

Brothers, Part 4

2011-01-09T17:34:00.000-07:00

Now we get into the second place where the brothers differ: how do you win?

For Boromir, the military victory is the greatest prize. It doesn’t matter how one wins, just as long as one does. Boromor saw the Ring as a means to an end. Yes, it may be evil, but it would be right to use it if it accomplished a greater good. He is against the idea of destroying it. He tells the Council,

“Valor needs first strength, and then a weapon. Let the Ring be your weapon, if it has such power as you say. Take it and go forth in victory!” (Fellowship p. 300)

The means isn’t important; the victory at the end is. The goal is important, not how one achieves the goal. Dickerson writes in his book Following Gandalf,

“For Boromir, what matters is military victory. If one has to be ruthless to win, one should be ruthless” (p. 61)

Boromir is willing to break some rules if it gives him a military advantage. If he needs to steal an evil ring to win, then fine.

Written by Becky Brasby

Brothers, Part 3

2011-01-07T20:12:00.001-07:00

Unlike his older brother, Faramir doesn’t love battle. He is a warrior and willing to fight, but not for the sake of glory. He tells Frodo in the Two Towers,

“I do not slay man or beast needlessly, and not gladly even when it is needed” (p. 307)

Later, he also says,

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory (Two Towers p. 314).

For Faramir, his life isn’t consumed by the glory of a warrior. He is interested in other things besides battle. Duriez points out that he loves music and old songs and tales (The J.R.R. Tolkien Handbook p. 93)

So why does he fight? What is his motivation? He fights to protect those behind him. He tells Frodo,

“I love that which they {sword, arrow, warrior} defend: the city of the Men of Numenor” (Two Towers p. 314)

Faramir fights to protect others, not to bring military glory to himself.

The Ring offers a military advantage. If one want military success, using the Ring is very tempting. This is a big reason Boromir tries to obtain the Ring; he can win more military victories. When dreaming about owning the Ring, he says,

“The Ring would give me power of command. How I would drive the hosts of Mordor, and all men would flock to my banner!” (Fellowship p.133)

When reflecting on Boromir’s fall, Faramir says that if the Ring were an object that gave military advantages, Boromir might have desired it and be allured by it since he is proud, fearless, and anxious for the victory of Minas Tirith and his own glory. Since Boromir is more concerned about military victory, the Ring has a stronger pull on him than Faramir.

Written by Becky Brasby

Brothers, Part 2

2011-01-05T13:50:00.004-07:00

The first difference is how the brothers view war and battle. Both men are great warriors, and perfectly able to fight and lead men into battle. Yet their motives and how they view it are very different.

For Boromir, battle is where glory is to be earned. Matthew Dickerson, speaker and teacher, writes,

“He sees war and battle as opportunities for personal glory and, in particular, the chief place where glory is to be earned” (Following Gandalf p. 60)

Boromir loves the glory of battle and sees it as the greatest honor a man can have. For him, the military victory is the greatest prize. As Foster points out in his book A Guild to Middle-Earth,

“Boromir cared little for anything save arms and battle” (p. 35)

For him, the glory of battle is very important. It is his motive to fight: to win glory.

Written by Becky Brasby

Brothers, Part 1

2011-01-03T06:00:00.002-07:00

Boromir and Faramir are characters in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. At different points in the books, the brothers meet Frodo and have the opportunity to claim the Ring.

One would think their reaction would be similar. After all, they do have a lot in common. They grow up in the same environment and both heard the opinion of their father, who wants the Ring.

Both are men of Gondo and were great military leaders and perfectly able to fight and lead men into battle. One would think their reaction would be the same, and yet when given the same chance to take the Ring, they react opposite of each other.

Boromir tries to steal the Ring, but Faramir refuses to take it. He wants nothing to do with the Ring, and helps send it away to be destroyed. How can these brothers react so differently? On the surface, they appear similar, but when we start digging deeper into the story, we begin to see major variations in their character.

Written by Becky Brasby

Dragon Bloggin': A new kind of fiction: Marcher Lord Press signs author for Twitter novel

2010-12-31T13:15:00.000-07:00

Dragon Bloggin': A new kind of fiction: Marcher Lord Press signs author for Twitter novel

Who Are The Pharisees? « A Christian Worldview of Fiction

2010-12-30T11:53:00.000-07:00

Who Are The Pharisees? « A Christian Worldview of Fiction

More on the Lost Genre Guild

2008-12-30T09:02:00.000-07:00

Trying to define Christian speculative fiction is sometimes like trying to herd chickens or sweep water, but The Lost Genre Guild has made a strong effort. Take a look at their definition here.

Check out their examples in the left column. They've done a nice job enlarging the boundaries for Christian speculative fiction to include topics I hadn't thought of. How about space opera? Or cyberpunk?

Their list of featured books include some recent offerings that are excellent, such as Shade and Never Ceese. Take a look.

And check out these blogs for more offerings about this helpful website:

Brandon Barr
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Grace Bridges
Valerie Comer
Courtney
Frank Creed
Amy Cruson
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Andrea Graham
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Timothy Hicks
Joleen Howell
Jason Isbell
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Kait
Carol Keen
Lost Genre Guild
Mike Lynch
Magma
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Crista Richey
Mirtika
Hanna Sandvig
James Somers
Robert Treskillard
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Phyllis Wheeler
Timothy Wise

Launching The Lost Genre Guild

2008-12-29T08:36:00.003-07:00

The Lost Genre Guild is a group of artists banding together to promote the lost genre of Christian speculative fiction. Take a look at their website.

I love this statement on their website: "Seeing as God monopolized creativity an infinity ago...." The link between God and creativity is often overlooked, even by Christians. How can we limit creativity?

The Lost Genre Guild is seeking to promote Christian speculative fiction.

The Christian Science Fiction/Fantasy group is touring the Lost Genre Guild this week. Take a look at what others have written about this new endeavor:

Brandon Barr
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Grace Bridges
Valerie Comer
Courtney
Frank Creed
Amy Cruson
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Andrea Graham
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Timothy Hicks
Joleen Howell
Jason Isbell
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Kait
Carol Keen
Lost Genre Guild
Mike Lynch
Magma
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Crista Richey
Mirtika
Hanna Sandvig
James Somers
Robert Treskillard
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Phyllis Wheeler
Timothy Wise

Christian horror

2008-11-19T06:00:00.002-07:00

Becky Miller has a fascinating discussion about Christian horror here as she's reviewing John Olson's book, Shade. Check it out.

Worthy?

2008-11-19T06:00:00.001-07:00

Melchi, the homeless giant in John Olson's thriller, Shade, is a man with no calling other than fighting the Mulo - the mysterious evil ones. Hints of his destiny as the child of prophecy dot the action and Melchi is determined to remain pure to his calling.

After he rescues Hailey, a graduate student being lured by the Mulo, he struggles with something unexpected: he likes her. These thoughts he finds impure. In fact, the story is peppered with his self-condemnation. He is sure at every turn that he has made himself too impure to fight the evil.

He doesn't notice what we notice, that he continues to fight effectively. He is gracious and giving, thoughtful and devoted. He doesn't notice these traits, either, but if he did, I'm sure he would not have recognized them as helpful.

Melchi worships a being that seems to be God. And yet, he doesn't understand God's grace and forgiveness. In fact, we learn that he does think he is following God but doesn't consider himself worthy to even read God's Word.

I found it interesting that Melchi remains true to his early training. He willingly offers his own life to battle evil and yet he doesn't have a complete understanding of God's grace.

How will he defeat evil if he can't even battle his own impure thoughts? Melchi nearly succumbs but you'll have to read the book to get the full picture.

Olson has done a clever job of revealing an issue common in Christian circles today: that of ministering only in our worthiness. Can we truly serve God if we are tempted? If we give in to sinful desires on occasion? Can we even worship if we are not worthy?

Shade is a good book. On one level, it's a great action-filled story. But there's another level of meaning to consider as well.

Check out Shade here and here.

Also see what others are saying about Shade:
Brandon Barr
Jennifer Bogart
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Valerie Comer
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Joleen Howell
Jason Isbell
Jason Joyner
Kait
Magma
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Eve Nielsen
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Robert Treskillard
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise

A Christian thriller

2008-11-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

In the movie, A Beautiful Mind, we were drawn into the world of the brilliant mathematician John Nash, seeing the world through his eyes. We are drawn to his incredible ability to crack codes for the Pentagon and panic when he must flee from Russian gunfire - an unexpected turn in his patriotic duty.

So it's jolting when we learn that Nash has been seeing delusions. His roommate doesn't really exist and there is no code to crack. He's a schizophrenic, unable to tell reality from hallucination.

That same kind of tension opens John Olson's book, Shade. We meet Hailey who is hospitalized after escaping something that doctors are sure was a hallucination. The confusion that Hailey feels - is she delusional or is she recalling reality - blends into the writing style of the book. We feel that same confusion.

We meet Melchi, the giant man who rescued her, and believe he is real. But he struggles with forces and beings that we can't identify. Is he delusional as well? Does he even exist or is he a hallucination? Hailey struggles - and so do we.

Don't read this book if you're trying to put yourself to sleep at night. You'll be fighting off sleep at 2 am to finish the next chapter. It's a good read with lots of adventure and an intriguing look at hallucinations vs. reality.

Check out Olson's book here or here.

Tomorrow we'll discuss the faith journey that guides Melchi and lures Hailey.

Check out what others have to say about the book:

Brandon Barr
Jennifer Bogart
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Valerie Comer
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Joleen Howell
Jason Isbell
Jason Joyner
Kait
Magma
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Eve Nielsen
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Robert Treskillard
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise

Shade by John Olson

2008-11-17T06:00:00.000-07:00

I'd like to introduce you to John Olson's thriller, Shade, as we jump on board the Christian Science Fiction/Fantasy November blog tour.

Olson has crafted a fascinating mix of fantasy, faith, mystery and even a dash of romance to produce a book that's hard to put down. It's full of surprises and insights as we follow a mysterious giant devoted to fighting an elusive evil force.

Shade can be found at Amazon by clicking here. You can also visit Olson's website here.

Tomorrow we'll discuss the twists and turns of Shade, including its wild ride through the world of delusions and reality.

Here are others blogging about Shade:
Brandon Barr
Jennifer Bogart
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Valerie Comer
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Joleen Howell
Jason Isbell
Jason Joyner
Kait
Magma
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Eve Nielsen
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Chawna Schroeder
James Somers
Robert Treskillard
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise

Perelandra

2008-10-28T07:55:00.002-06:00

We're reading through C.S. Lewis' Perelandra right now. I had assigned this book to my teenagers and discovered quickly that Lewis' writing style was too dense for them. So we switched to me reading it out loud while they draw cartoons. (This method lets me explain some of Lewis' ideas as well.)

Because it had been years since I read Perelandra, I qas reminded quickly of his complex writing style - and of the depth of his story.

Perelandra is science fiction, the story of two British professors who end up on Venus battling for the spiritual foundation of the emerging planet. Lewis has crafted a parallel story to Eve's temptation, where the Lady of Perelandra must decide whether to obey God (called Maleldil on Perelandra) or to take the path of martyrdom, choosing to sacrifice herself for the supposed good of her husband and children.

Of course, the evil tempter twists and weaves stories that sound wonderful while holding an ugly trap.

Our hero, Ransom, first battles verbally and, later, physically trying to maintain the Lady's innocence and God's plan for this new life.

What's fascinated us, as we read, is how Lewis understood so well all the human rationalizations for our decisions. How the tempter tried to deceive the Lady is how we have been deceived many times.

But Lewis always offers a twist, a fresh look at God's work.

My almost 13-year-old son would like to see more action in the story, although he's been riveted lately as Ransom pursues Weston across the floating island and onto the sea. Lewis couldn't resist philosophizing often, but the story is creative and opens the door to some fascinating discussions. It's a must-read.

Communicating to our youth

2008-10-21T06:00:00.000-06:00

My 12-year-old son read The Lord of the Rings six times in one summer. He'd finish the story and start back in on page 1. He was drawn to the intrigue and adventure of that classic.

Jeff Gerke at Marcher Lord Press maintains that our youth are writing - and reading - fantasy. The way to communicate to them is through speculative fiction, although the mainstream Christian publishing houses don't always get that.

Hence, I appreciate Bryan Davis, who writes adventure and mind-bending fiction that appeals to the young reader. When they are bombarded by a culture eager to take them down divergent pathways, it is nice to place quality literature in their hands that does not cultivate corruption.

Check out Bryan Davis' latest adventure novel, Beyond the Reflection's End. You can see more info at Amazon and also at his website. Any fiction that communicates to young people is worth supporting.

Bryan Davis: Beyond the Reflection's Edge

2008-10-20T06:51:00.006-06:00

Isn't that an intriguing title: Beyond the Reflection's Edge? Davis has produced the Dragons in our Midst series for young adults, but his newest book is the first in a contemporary adventure series for young adults.

We'll take a further look at the book tomorrow but for now, check out the listing at Amazon.

Bryan Davis' website is here and his blog is here.

The Christian Science Fiction/Fantasy Blog Tour is featuring Bryan Davis' new book. Visit these participants for other comments:

Brandon Barr
Jennifer Bogart
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Jackie Castle
Valerie Comer
Courtney
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Shane Deal
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Marcus Goodyear
Andrea Graham
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Timothy Hicks
Joleen Howell
Jason Joyner
Kait
Mike Lynch
Magma
Terri Main
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Eve Nielsen
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Ashley Rutherford
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Chawna Schroeder
Greg Slade
James Somers
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise

Joke

2008-10-17T06:00:00.000-06:00

Just bear with me on this one....

A Roman Catholic priest, a Pentecostal minister, and a Rabbi all served as chaplains to the students of the University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa. They got together 2-3 times a week for coffee and conversation.

One day, one of them said to the other two that preaching and serving the sacraments to human beings wasn't all that difficult. A real challenge would be to preach to a bear!

One thing led to another and the three of them agreed to do an experiment. They would go up in the Smokie mountains, find a bear, and attempt to convert him through preaching or the sacraments. They agreed to get back together seven days later and discuss how it went.

When they assembled a week hence, Father Flannery had his arm in a sling, was on crutches and had various bandages on his hands and legs. He shared his adventure first: "Well I went into the woods and found a bear all right, and when I found him I began to read him the RC Catechism, but that bear wanted nothing to do with that and began to slap me around. So, quickly I grabbed my holy water, sprinkled him, and doggone if he didn't become gentle as a lamb. The bishop will join me next week and we will give him first communion and start the process of confirmation."

The Pentecostal, the Rev. Billy Bob Bible spoke up next. He was in a wheelchair, with his arms and legs in casts, and with an IV drip. In his best fire and brimstone voice, he claimed "Well brothers, you know that we don't believe in sprinklin'. I commenced to reading the Bible to the bear, but the bear wanted nothing to do with that, or me. So I grabbed him before he left and we began to wrassle, and fell down a hill into a creek. Quick-like I jumped up and dunked his hairy soul, and doggone if he didn't become gentle as a lamb in an instant. We spent the rest of the day praisin' Jesus."

The rabbi had been silent all this time, and in fact was lying in a hospital bed. He was in a body cast and in traction with all sorts of monitors hooked up to him. He was in bad shape, but was able to look at the other two and say "Looking back on it, I should have started by reciting the ten commandments to him. Circumcision may not have been the best way to start."

Tosca Lee's Havah

2008-10-16T11:11:00.003-06:00

Tosca Lee has just released her new book, Havah,and is offering some free prizes over at her blog. Tosca's first book, Demon, placed second in the speculative fiction category of American Christian Fiction Writer's book of the year. Demon also won some other great awards in the last year, which makes Havah more interesting. We'll have a more detailed review on Havah later.

Here's Tosca's note about her new book:

"On the occasion of Havah's release last week, I'm giving away free
stuff on my blog!

"I started on the 10th, but there's time to enter until the 18th! The
turnout has been so good that I'm giving away three copies of Havah
instead of one, in addition to a copy of David Rohl's Legend, about the
possible location of Eden's garden, as well as two DVDs on Adam and Eve
and Cain and Abel. Full details on my blog on October 10th's post, but
there are reminders on subsequent entries since.

"Please stop by. I've got some thought-provoking questions about the story of Eve
posted, and will announce some exciting news by some time tomorrow.

Check out her blog.

FIRST Wild Card: Summa Elvetica

2008-09-27T21:57:00.000-06:00

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Theodore Beale

and his book:

Summa Elvetica: A Casuistry of the Elvish Controversy

Marcher Lord Press (October 1, 2008)

Marcher Lord Press officially launches on October 1: http://www.marcherlordpress.com/Launch.htm

They will be giving away amazing bonus gifts to everyone who purchases Marcher Lord Press novels on opening day.

Whether you're a voracious reader, an up-and-coming novelist, or you're just buying this for your teenage son who won't read anything but fantasy, these bonus goodies will be treasures you'll love.

But remember, these bonuses are good only for those who order books on Day 1.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Theodore Beale is an American living in Europe. He has published decidedly Christian speculative fiction with decidedly secular publishers: Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.

He works primarily in the computer game industry, where he has launched and guided a small business into a successful career. He is an entrepreneur and a musician, and, if you do a little digging, you'll find he's interesting in other ways, too.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

Summa Elvetica: A Casuistry of the Elvish Controversy, Theodore Beale, Marcher Lord Press, October 2008, $12.99

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Marcus Valerius looked up from the faded Numidican manuscript in irritation. The light from the study window was growing dim. Already he’d been forced to light a candle in order to make out the obscure scratchings of the historian Quintus the Elder, whose colorful accounts of his encounters with the pagan desert tribes were as dubious as they were vivid. The imperative knocking at the door threatened a lengthy interruption, one that might cost Marcus what little daylight remained.

“Come in,” he called, resigned.

The latch creaked, and a familiar, sun-bronzed face peered around the corner of the door. It belonged to his cousin Sextus, whose brown eyes were dancing with mischief.

“This better be good,” Marcus warned him. “I was just getting to the part where the tribal chief is about to sacrifice the centurion to his devil-gods.”

Sextus nodded absently. “Oh, yes, you said you were going to read up on old Quintus, didn’t you? Well, if it’ll save you some time, I’ll tell you how it ends. The legions march in, the heathen see the error of their ways, and Amorr triumphs over all. Hallelujah and amen!”

Marcus stared at him, and with some difficulty, rejected the first three responses that leaped to mind. “Thank you, Sexto. Your help is…beyond words. Now, go away, please.”

His cousin grinned back at him, and maddeningly, did not leave but rather folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the entryway.

Sexto was a half-hand shorter than Marcus, but with a slim build that made him appear taller. Like Marcus and the rest of their family, his eyes were dark brown, but he was no scholar and his skin was deeply bronzed by the sun. He wore a plain white tunica devoid of any equestrian stripes, he was barefoot, and his belt was an unadorned strip of worn leather. Besides the intrinsic arrogance that radiated from him like heat from a fire, only the finely carved silver buckle clasping the belt showed any sign that he was a Senator’s son, let alone a Valerian.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

“To plague me?” Marcus guessed. “To keep me from my learning?”

Sextus steepled his hands and did his best to appear pious. The effect would have worked better if he had stopped smirking first.

“I’m here in my priestly capacity, believe it or not. The Father Superior sent me with a message for you. You’re to go before the Sanctiff.”

“What?” Marcus was sure he hadn’t heard correctly. “I’m supposed to go where?”

“To the Sanctiff,” Sextus repeated. “Yes, you, and right away, too. Father Aurelius is already on his way here—he’s to escort you to the Palace.”

He grinned and arched his eyebrows. “Now tell me what you did to get in that kind of trouble, Marco! Did I miss out on something?”

Marcus swallowed hard. This wasn’t just impossible, it was beyond imagining. Amorr had no king. The Lord God Himself ruled over the Republic. However, as the earthly head of the Amorran Church, the Sanctiff was His voice and His viceroy from the banks of the Tiburon to the shores of the Rialthan Sea.

And Marcus had no idea why the Sanctiff wanted to see him. No idea at all.

* * *

The Holy Palace boasted twelve spires ringing one massive cupola, a symbolic representation in marble of mankind’s Savior and His twelve disciples. Marcus, with Father Aurelius by his side, were being escorted into it by the Palace’s hard-faced soldiers with their red cloaks.

To Marcus’s relief they did not march him into the Hall of Judgment. That place was dreaded by every sane and sober Amorran. He had first feared they were taking him there to stand before some inquest. But instead the guards conducted them to what appeared to be a small, private antechamber just off one of the palace’s central corridors.

The room was dark, lit only by seven guttering rushlights. It was cool, but not cold, and two of the stucco walls were obscured with wooden shelves that held fat scrolls of various lengths. Marcus couldn’t see the back wall behind the lights, but he stopped looking about the room when his eyes alighted upon an elderly man sitting alone in its center.

His Holiness was reclining on an unimposing, leather-wrapped chair that looked as comfortable as it was worn with age. He wore none of the trappings of his awesome office, only the simple blue robe of a Jamite brother. The robe was darker than his cerulean eyes, which were encased by thin folds of sagging flesh and surmounted by a pair of bushy white eyebrows. But he smiled warmly at his visitors, and Marcus could easily have thought of him as someone’s good-humored paterfamilias were it not for the gem-encrusted ring of office adorning his left hand.

“Thank you for coming, Father Aurelius.” The Sanctiff’s voice was deep, but to hear it up close in this small room instead of echoing off the marble of the palace steps made it seem more friendly than intimidating. “I have received excellent reports of your work with the junior scholastics. And welcome, Marcus Valerius. I wished to see with my own eyes the latest prodigy of the Valerian House. Perhaps you shall do for the Church what your illustrious forebears have done for Amorr’s legions, hmmm?”

Marcus blushed before the Sanctiff’s praise. It was as if the old man had seen into his mind and read his deepest, most hidden desires.

“Thank you, your Holiness. I only seek to serve God and Amorr, to the best of my small abilities.”

The Sanctiff’s aged lips wrinkled in a wry smile, and he glanced toward the shadowy corner of the room.

“Admirably courteous, is he not? I should think any concerns regarding his comportment are groundless. Don’t you agree, Caecilus Cassius?”

Marcus drew in a sharp breath as a thin-faced man in a black robe emerged from the darkness, accompanied by a cheerful-looking Jamite priest in the blue robe of his order.

Marcus knew the man whom His Holiness addressed so familiarly. Or rather, he knew of him. Caecilus Cassius Claudo was the Bishop of Avienne, one of the Church’s leading intellectuals. His famous treatise, the Summa Spiritus, written on all the diverse races of Selenoth and their distinct places in the Will of God, had sparked a raging flame of lively debate that still roared through every scholastic circle in the Republic. Marcus himself had written a short commentary on the Summa less than a year ago.

“That remains to be seen, your Holiness.” Claudo’s arid voice was acerbic and high-pitched. “Certainly, a number of his expressed opinions are impudent in the extreme.”

“Oh, come now, Claudo,” the Jamite broke in, laughing. His round face was ruddy, and Marcus liked him immediately. “A refusal to abase himself before your lofty eminence does not indicate an inclination towards boorish behavior. Why, it’s nothing more than a sign of sheer good sense!”

He smiled broadly, making it clear that he was only teasing his proud colleague, then graciously inclined his head towards Marcus and Father Aurelius.

“Since His Holiness does not see fit to introduce us, I shall take the matter in hand myself. I am Quintus Servilius Aestus, a humble priest in service to the Lord Immanuel, and, of course, His Holiness. My distinguished colleague is none other than His Excellency, the Bishop of Avienus, whose work I believe you know quite well.”

Father Aestus shook their hands warmly, first Father Aurelius’s, then Marcus’s own. Marcus was in awe, for he was truly in the presence of greatness—not once, not twice, but three times over. Father Aestus was one of the few intellectuals who dared to publicly cross wits with the famed Bishop, and he was rumored to be working on his own magnum opus in opposition to Cassius Claudo’s brilliant masterpiece.

The Sanctiff cleared his throat, and Father Aestus smoothly effaced himself, but not before directing a disconcerting wink at Marcus.

“Father Aurelius, you know why I have summoned you,” the Sanctiff stated, “and your presence here answers the question I posed to you earlier. However, Bishop Claudo and Father Aestus have their own questions for your young scholar, and with your permission, I would allow them to inquire of him.”

“Of course, your Holiness,” Father Aurelius replied obediently. He was an astute man, and did not need to be told when his presence was not required. “May I have your permission to withdraw, your Holiness?”

“Go with God, Father,” the Sanctiff said, extending his left hand. “And the grace of Our Living Lord be upon you.”

Father Aurelius bent over and kissed the sacerdotal ring of office, then gave Marcus a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he left the room. Marcus suddenly felt alone and intimidated, surrounded as he was by three of the republic’s most formidable minds.

Bishop Claudo’s dry voice broke in on his thoughts. “Marcus Valerius, I have read your commentary on the Summa Spiritus. It is…not without merit. But when you say that one does not know, indeed, that one is not even capable of knowing, whether a particular form or being possesses an immortal soul, are you not treading perilously near a concept that could easily be construed as heresy? Or is this passage nothing more than the sophmoric pedantry of a young scholar who has manufactured a reason to doubt the immutable fact of his own existence?”

Marcus gulped. Claudo was cutting straight to the point. Are you a heretic or a fool, boy? That was the real question being posed to him now. The Church didn’t burn heretics at the stake anymore, but nevertheless he knew he had to be very careful about what he said next. He closed his eyes and thought quickly before answering.

“Only a philosopher or a fool doubts his own existence, Excellency. It is true, however, that the two all too often prove to be one and the same. I assert that I am neither. The verb ‘to know’ contains a number of interpretations, and in the sentence of which I believe you are speaking, I made use of the concept in its most concrete sense, the sense in which a thing is proven beyond any reasonable possibility of doubt. As in the case, for example, of a mathematical equation.”

Marcus paused. Was that a frown clouding over the Sanctiff’s face? He shook his head, took a deep breath, and tried to clarify his meaning.

“Your Excellency, as you know, where there is surety, there is no faith, no belief per se. And therefore, knowledge of the soul rightly belongs in the realm of faith, not mathematics.”

He placed his right hand over his heart.

“Do I have a soul? Yes, I believe so, with all my heart. But regardless of my faith, it is either so, or it is not, as the Castrate wrote so wisely. My personal belief does not have the capacity to dictate the truth. Indeed, before the eternal Truth of the Almighty God, my own humble opinion is of no account.”

Claudo snorted and his eyes narrowed, but he did not say anything. Father Aestus looked as if he were about to burst out laughing.

The Sanctiff smiled.

“He has you there, Claudo. Unless you did not apprise me of a divine revelation, all your wonderfully conclusive eloquence remain just that—eloquence.”

Claudo shrugged. “It is so. And yet decisions must be made, though the decision-makers be fallible.”

He regarded Marcus coldly and stepped back into the shadows.

Marcus stared at the carpeted floor, chagrined. He wondered what was wrong with his answer, and hoped he hadn’t greatly offended the acerbic ecclesiastic.

“I, too, have a question for the young scholar,” Father Aestus announced. His green eyes danced impishly. “Do you ride?”

“Do I… Horses?” Marcus asked, taken aback.

“I wasn’t thinking of cows,” the Father replied tartly.

“Yes, oh yes. Of course.”

Every Amorran nobleman rode, especially those of the Valerian house. Marcus wondered what kind of trap was being laid for him now. It just didn’t make any sense.

“I have no further questions, your Eminence.”

Father Aestus bowed theatrically to the Sanctiff and joined Bishop Claudo behind the makeshift Sanctal throne.

Marcus was thoroughly confused now, and by this point, wouldn’t have been too surprised if the Sanctiff suddenly leaped out of his chair and demanded that he demonstrate an ability to juggle apples. How was he going to explain this strange business to Sextus?

“I anticipate no objections, then?” the Sanctiff asked the two Churchmen.

“None at all,” Father Aestus said cheerfully. Bishop Claudo slowly shook his head in silence.

“Very well.” A smile creased the Sanctiff’s lined face and he leaned toward Marcus. “I realize this has been a little unusual for you, my son. But I have a problem, you see, and you, Marcus Valerius, are going to help me solve it.”

“Me?” Marcus shook his head. “How could I help you, your Holiness?”

“Let me tell you about my problem first. You see, these illustrious jewels in the crown of the Church,” he nodded toward Claudo and Aestus, “have each penned a marvelous work on Man and his place in this world. The Summa Spiritus you have read. The Ordo Selenus Sapiens you have not, though Father Aestus will no doubt be interested in what you might have to say about it. In many points they are in agreement, but on one very important point they are at variance. It is that particular point which I would like you to help me settle.”

Marcus nodded. “I am yours to command, your Holiness. But what is this point of contention, and how could I ever help you settle it?”

The Sanctiff sighed wearily. “I am an old man, Marcus Valerius, and my days of seeing through this glass darkly will soon come to an end. I cannot travel to Elebrion. I would not survive the trip. But you, my son, shall accompany Bishop Claudo and the good Father in my stead.”

Marcus put his hand over his mouth, and his eyes opened wide with shock. Now he understood what the Sanctiff had in mind, and the sobering realization of terrible responsibility hit him like a blow to the stomach.

“By the blood of the martyrs,” he cried despite himself. “You’re going to decide if the elves have souls!”

Chapter Two

The last vestiges of the setting sun had long since disappeared by the time the small troop of crimson-cloaked guards escorted Marcus past the sturdy gate of his uncle’s domus.

By day, Amorr belonged to God. But its night was claimed by the worst of His creations. Peril lurked in far too many shadows of the narrow, high-walled, circuitous streets called vici. Even a mounted nobleman born to Horse and Sword could find himself beaten, stripped, and if fortunate, merely robbed, by the cruel gangs of half-human breeds and bandits who ravaged the city by night.

Still, even the most lawless of brigands feared crossing the path of the Redeemed, the most fanatical of the Church’s militias. The Redeemed were former gladiators, now rehabilitated—hardened men of violence who had chosen to leave the bloodstained sands of the Coliseum behind them. Slaves they had been and slaves they were still, but they served a different master now.

The glory they now sought was not of this world, and the fervor of their faith was as illustrious as it was utterly ignorant. Not for them, the eloquent debates of Form and Meaning, or Substance and Soul. Marcus was not entirely comfortable in their hulking, creaking, red-cloaked presence, but he appreciated their company in the darkness of the Amorran night.

As they neared the estate, slaves from the household swarmed around Marcus’s horse. He inclined his head politely toward the troop’s commander.

“My thanks, captain. A good evening to you and your men.”

The captain saluted grimly, bringing his fist to his chest, without a hint of personality crossing his scarred, sun-weathered face. He showed no sign of interest in either Marcus or his House. He’d done his duty, nothing more.

“Glory to God, sir.”

Without another word, the ex-gladiator turned his mount around in a swirl of crimson and horsestink. The five Redeemed riders followed him, torches held high, returning confidently into the noisome shadows of the city.

Marcus watched them go, fascinated. He wondered what it would be like to be such a man. To be so sure, so secure in one’s faith, surely that was a wonderful thing! And yet, what was a man’s mind for, if not to use it?

It was another question to ponder, but far less pressing than the one that looked to have him departing on the morning following the morrow. Marcus sighed, and dismounted, waving aside the proffered hands of a tall slave offering him assistance. He patted the soft, fleshy nose of his big grey affectionately before handing the reins over to another slave, this one young, olive-skinned, and thin. But human.

Like most patrician families, it was beneath the dignity of House Valerius to own halfbreeds or inhumans. This slave looked familiar. He wore the blue badge of the stables, but for the life of him Marcus couldn’t remember his name.

“What are you called?” he asked the young slave.

“Deccus, Maester Maercuss,” the boy replied in heavily accented Amorran, not meeting Marcus’s eyes as he carefully stroked the grey’s ears.

Marcus nodded. Now he remembered. The boy was a Bethnian, one of the lot purchased by his uncle’s head steward at the spring auction. Erasto had bought twenty-five or thirty. Bethnians were absurdly inexpensive now thanks to Pontius Balbus’s crushing of a rebellion in that province the year before. But they knew their horses well. Barat would be in good hands with this boy.

“Then please take good care of him tonight, Deccus, and tomorrow as well,” Marcus instructed. “It seems I’ve a journey ahead of me, and he must be fit for the riding.”

The slave nodded, and a faint smile crossed his lips at the sound of his name. The Valerian slaves were treated no worse than most and better than some, but the decuria of the stables was a rough place for a youngster to serve and Marcus knew it could have easily been months since Deccus was last addressed by anything but a curse. The use of the boy’s name might be a small enough kindness, but it counted for something. At least, Marcus hoped that it did.

Rumor spread faster than sickness in the slaves’ quarters, so by the time he entered the atrium Marcipor was already there waiting for him. Marcipor, Marcus’s bodyslave, was a handsome, broad-shouldered man of Savondese descent, the bastard of an officer captured twenty-four years ago by his uncle. They were of the same age, almost to the day.

It was obvious that Sextus had not kept the news of the Sanctiff’s summons to himself, because Marcipor’s blue eyes were alight with curiosity even as they carefully avoided meeting his own. His demeanor was proper—far too proper, in fact—and Marcus stifled a smile as Marcipor overacted with an uncharacteristically elaborate bow as he offered Marcus a fresh tunic of light muslin to replace his dusty day-clothes.

“Why don’t you just come right out and ask me?” Marcus wondered aloud as he held out his arms and let Marcipor assist him out of the sweat-stained tunic.

“This slave would not dream of such presumption, Master.”

Marcus snorted.

“Save it for the girls, pretty boy. My uncle should have sold you to the theater long ago. It’s a pity Pylades didn’t have you for a protégé.”

Marcipor grinned and abandoned the servile pretense. He puffed his chest out and struck a dramatic stance. He was a striking young man, with a strong jaw and a close-cropped, golden beard. More than one slave girl living in the vicinity of the Valerian house had given birth to a fair-haired, blue-eyed baby after Marcipor had passed his sixteenth year.

“Indeed,” he said, “I daresay I would have outshined Hylos. But you must tell me about this mysterious summons. Is it true you saw the Sanctiff? The whole domus has been utterly agog with rumor ever since you left with Father Aurelius! Sextus says they’re going to ordain you early and make you a cardinal!”

“What?” Marcus burst out laughing as he donned a clean tunic. He knew a bishopric was his for the taking. No noble, not even one with plebian blood, would expect anything less. And it was even possible that an archbishopric might be in the cards. But not even a scion of House Severus could hope to be crowned prince of the church before reaching thirty.

“Sextus, as you so often inform me, is an idiot.”

He folded his arms, enjoying the feel of the fresh muslin against his skin A pity he hadn’t the time to visit the baths before vesperna.

“So, what’s the bet?”

He was sure there was a stake involved somehow, for both his cousin and his slave were inveterate gamblers. Marcipor’s coin-hoard far exceeded his own, in fact, more often than not he was in debt to his slave. Marcipor’s rates were usurious, but paying them was easier than trying to extract money from his uncle’s iron fists.

“The archbishopric, of course. Even your lily-white hands aren’t clean enough for the lazulate. Which is a good thing, seeing how you’re barely even a man yet and you’ve too much living to do before you seal yourself up in that white mausoleum for the rest of your life.”

“You’re lying, Marpo.” He knew Marcipor far too well to fall for this. “And if the bet is which one of you I’ll tell first, well, you both lose. I can’t tell you anything. In fact, I don’t even know if I’ll be free to talk to anyone when I return.”

“Return…? So you’re going somewhere!” Marcipor’s face grew calculating for a moment, but then his eyes widened with surprise. “Wait a minute, you can’t go anywhere without me! Unattended? Your uncle would never hear of it! And if you think you’re going to take that irresponsible lunatic of a cousin—”

Marcus held up a hand. “Peace, Marpo.” He yawned and shook his head. “Of course you’re going to go with me. Assuming I go anywhere, that is, for I must ask Magnus’s permission first. But you should probably start getting things together for a six-month journey tonight, because if we do leave, my understanding is that the Sanctiff intends we shall begin the day after tomorrow, and I can’t imagine even Magnus would deny him. Now leave me to attend him. It seems everyone in that ‘white mausoleum’ is too holy to bother with food anymore. I’m hungry enough to eat a boar.”

* * *

The great man was reclining alone in the triclinium, accompanied in his evening meal only by his three favorites.

The room was large, but stark, with no decorations on the white stuccoed walls to detract from the only furniture: a low, tiled table that filled the center of the room and couches on three sides. The colorful tiles told the story of Valerius, the founder of the house, and showed the wounded hero lying in a grove being tended by the wolf who licked his wounds and succored him until his triumphant and vengeful return to Amorr. Magnus often entertained a score or more of Amorr’s great here, senators and equestrians, but fortunately tonight he was as near to alone as Marcus was ever likely to find him.

Lucipor, the ancient, grey-bearded slave who was old enough to be the ex-consul’s father, lay on the couch to his left. Dompor and Lazapor, the household’s resident scholars, shared the couch on the right. As a young girl washed his feet inside the entrance, Marcus could hear Lazapor raising his voice as he took issue with something his uncle had said.

“You underestimate them, Magnus. The villagemen seek no justice, they only slaver after power in the City! What you consider to be an open hand extended in a spirit of generosity, they only see as weakness. Make the mistake of allowing one snake into the Senate, and I assure you, a thousand will soon squirm in behind him!”

Marcus entered barefoot. At the sound of his entrance, his uncle turned to him with what appeared to be relief. There was a rancorous tone to Lazapor’s voice that indicated this evening’s debate was not an entirely civil one. Marcus wondered at his uncle’s habit of engaging in disputation while dining, and yet the custom had clearly not affected the great man’s appetite. Lucius Valerius Magnus, ex-consul and senator, was great in many particulars, not least among them was the impressive size of his paunch.

“I shall, as always, take your words under advisement,” his uncle said to Lazapor. Marcus noted that he had gracefully evaded disclosing his own position on the matter. “Marcus, my dear lad, do come in and rescue me from these disagreeable scholars. Now, is it true that you were summoned to the Sanctorum, or has my son reverted to his childhood custom of telling fanciful tales?”

“Yes,” Dompor said, “we have long expected miracles from you, Marcus, but you seem to have outdone yourself this time. Our darling Sextus is fond of saying that your piety is surpassed only by the Mater Dei. Are we correct in assuming that His Holiness has asked you to serve as his father confessor?”

Marcus usually enjoyed the humor to be found in Dompor’s acerbic tongue, even when he was its target, but this was no time for such indulgences. He smiled faintly at the slave, then met his uncle’s eyes.

“I need to speak with you, Uncle. Alone.”

Magnus’ greying eyebrows rose with surprise, and he raised his hand. Without saying a word, his three companions rose from the couches and departed. Lazapor seemed a little annoyed at the interruption, but Lucipor’s face was marked with concern. Dompor, never one given to worry, appeared amused as he surreptitiously slipped a small bell from his tunic and placed it on the table. For it was not only unusual, it was almost unprecedented, for the great man to banish all three of them from his domestic conclaves.

But Marcus’s strange request did not seem to concern Magnus. He rose with an audible grunt of effort.

“I don’t recall any recent vacancies,” he mused, stroking his chin. “Did Quintus Fulvius die already? I’d heard his see was likely to open soon.”

“It’s not a see, Uncle. I haven’t even decided to take the cloth yet.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, I haven’t, truly,” Marcus insisted, vaguely irritated that everyone else seemed so sure of his future when he himself had not come to a decision yet. The heat of his denial seemed to amuse his uncle, but his amusement vanished as Marcus told him of the Sanctiff’s intentions.

“Elebrion? Sphincterus! That blasted Ahenobarbus bids fair to open up a vat of worms with this notion. I can’t imagine what possesses him to meddle with something that could threaten our northern border while we’re already engaged to the east. Soak my foot, but he always did have a tendency to stick that wretched red beard of his wherever it’s not wanted!”

Marcus blinked. He was unaccustomed to hearing His Holiness, the Sanctified Charity IV, forty-fourth Sanctiff of Amorr, described in such familiar and unflattering terms. Furthermore, the Sanctiff was not only clean-shaven, but his hair had been white as long as Marcus could remember. Red beard? Marcus reached over and took a pair of figs from the bowl on the low table and popped one into his mouth, then took a deep breath and attempted to contradict his uncle.

“I shouldn’t think he’s intending to do anything but learn more—”

“You’re a scholar, Marcus, not a fool. Stop for a moment and think the matter through. Do you think the High King of the elves is so easily hoodwinked? I’ve fought with elves and I’ve fought against them, and I can tell you that if there’s one thing they’re not, it’s fools, my boy. They’re pretty enough, but there’s steel underneath, lad—never forget it! And their blasted wizards have lived ten times longer than our oldest greybeard. Take it from me, Marcus, no one survives that long without learning something, no matter how stupid he might be to start.

“So, they’ll know very well why you’re there, and they’ll know what’s going to happen if those tonsured imbeciles in the Sanctorum completely lose what little remains of their common sense and decide that elves are nothing more than talking beasts.”

The great man shook his head in dismay. “Considering what I’ve heard of King Caerwyn’s court, I imagine he’d consider an infestation of monks preaching celibacy and the church to be an act of war. Tarquin’s tarnation! I suppose we can hope this new High King is cut from a different cloth.”

Marcus waited patiently as his uncle glared at him as if he were a proxy for God’s own viceroy. Despite this unexpected outburst, he still did not believe Magnus would bar him from the journey. There were too many potential advantages to be gained by his participation.

If Marcus took the cloth and was ordained, he would be permanently banned from holding a seat in the Senate. But political power was not the only one in Amorr worth wielding. Marcus’s older brother was the politician of the family, having won election as one of the city’s fifteen Tribunes earlier this year. And his two older sisters had already provided his father with four members of the following generation, including three potential heirs.

The great man’s son, Sexto, had two older brothers who were junior officers in the field serving under his father. A third brother had already successfully stood for tribune. So it was not as if the family were in dire need of another soldier or politician.

When Magnus finally spoke, he laid an avuncular hand the boy’s shoulder. “You’re a good lad, Marcus. Even if Ahenobarbus is sticking his head in a hornet’s nest, the opportunities that will likely present themselves to our house are promising. But be careful! There’s more going on here than you can possibly imagine. Keep your eyes open, keep your wits about you, and don’t let yourself get overly caught up in all that priestly disputation. Try to think about the world you’re in before worrying too much about the one to come.”

“Yes, Magnus.”

“Now, go say goodbye to your mother, but don’t tell her where you are going. Leave that to me. It will be hard on her, with Corvus gone.”

“Yes, Magnus. Although I doubt she’ll even notice I’m not here, not with Tertia’s twins.”

“There is that. I’ll write to your father, lad. He must be apprised of these developments, too. I don’t know if he’ll be terribly pleased, unfortunately, but I’ll knock some sense into him. He expects you to follow in his footsteps. But you were born to think, not brawl or bawl out legionnairies. Oh, and Marcus, you will tell Sextus that he is not to even think of tagging along after you. If he does so much as ride to the Pontus Rossus I’ll have him lashed and halve his allowance for the next three moons.”

Marcus grinned as he bowed respectfully, then reached for the bowl of fruit before departing. Sexto would brave a lashing if need be, but he’d never risk the coin.

“I’ll tell him, Magnus. And thank you, sir. I shall not forget your advice.”

* * *

The great man pursed his lips as he watched his young relation exit the triclinium, an apple in either hand. This news of Elebrion was an unforeseen and unwelcome development. Should he have braved Ahenobarbus’s displeasure and forbidden the old charlatan his nephew? He’d made much harder decisions than this before, given orders that had cost thousands of men their lives without hesitation or regret, and yet something about this one bothered him. Marcus was his brother’s youngest son. In Corvus’s absence, was there not something he could do to safeguard the lad?

The boy was trained, but he was no warrior. His bodyslave was no better: a lover, not a fighter. Perhaps Magnus could send a soldier along to safeguard Marcus. Able soldiers were easy to find, but with them it was discipline that counted most, not skill, and besides, they were taught to fight as a unit.

Perhaps a gladiator?

But gladiators were but men, and Magnus knew all too well the price of a man. What can be bought can always be bought once more by a more generous purse. And it wouldn’t be only elves that would be interested in the buying.

Once word of the prospect of a Church-sanctioned holy war against the elves got out, every petty merchant with a load of tin or cattle skins to sell the legions would be pressing hard to get his fingers into the unending flow of coin that would erupt from the Senate. Worse, he knew very well that some of the more enterprising tradesmen were perfectly capable of taking it upon themselves to help the Sanctiff reach the decision that would be of the most benefit to them.

But what sort of fighting man could not be bought by Man or Elf?

Magnus reached over, took the bell from the table, and shook it. The bronze clang had barely stopped when servant came rushing into the room and nearly collided with him, taken by surprise at his presence out of his recliner

“Find Lucipor,” he commanded. “I want him now. And bring that fool of a son of mine, too. He may be useful for once, as hard as that is to imagine.”

The slave bowed and ran off. He did not, Magnus noted with mild irritation, seem to feel any need to inquire as to which of his sons the senator required.

* * *

Marcus awoke with a start. He sat up on his sweat-damped pallet.

The sun was already risen and a few rays of morning lightened the shadows cast by the thick walls of the domus. Looking around, he discovered that he was alone in the cubiculum, though he did not know if Marcipor had risen before him, or, as seemed more likely, had not returned to the Valerian compound last night.

One of the houseslaves brought him a bowl of water upon request. After he washed his face and hands, he determined to go to the baths as soon as he’d broken his fast. It might well be his last opportunity to do so in quite some time.

He found Sextus already in the triclinium, sprawled in front of a low table laden with fruit, bread and meat left over from the night before. He was idly feeding his dog, a curly-tailed mongrel he’d acquired off the streets the year before.

“You’re up late,” Sextus commented as he popped a piece of orange into his mouth.

“Yes.” Marcus wasn’t that hungry, he realized. He’d eaten rather a lot after speaking with his uncle and his mother.

“How did Aunt Julia take the news of your departure?”

“Placidly.” Marcus ignored the accusatory tone, somewhat surprised that Magnus had seen fit to inform Sextus of his upcoming travels. “Her eyes were dry.”

“Another Aelia, she is,” his cousin said wryly, then laughed.

“You don’t understand the benefit of a father gone campaigning and a mother uninterested in your affairs. I wish Magnus would leave me alone like that. He’s even forbidden me to ride out with you, although I suppose you’ll have that sorry excuse of a slave to keep you company.”

Marcus flicked a grape at his cousin.

“You can’t honestly tell me that you’d abandon Amorr for a long ride through the wilds of Merithaim, Sextus. You do realize that I’m part of an official Church embassy? There won’t be any gambling or girl-chasing, and I don’t recall ecclesiastical debate being one of your favorite pastimes.”

“Chance is everywhere, my dear boy. And wherever there are guards, there you will find men who roll the bones. As for girls, I daresay that Elebrion is full of them!” Sextus’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Elven girls. I’ve only seen one or two, but they were lovely. Gorgeous! Tall, slender, skin like milk. If you look past the pointy ears and the haughty attitude, why, they might be Vargeyar maidens, and there’s no harm in that!”

“No harm? You wouldn’t survive your first day there. You’d make love to the first sorceress you saw and find yourself turned into a toad before nightfall.”

Sextus paid him no heed.

“Perhaps I shall marry two of them, no, three, actually, and found a new Pannonia. It’s a pity there aren’t more half-elves around these days. Why did we kill them all, do you happen to remember?”

“To spare their women your unseemly lusts,” Marcus said dryly.

He removed a piece of meat from the table, examined it, and tossed it to Sextus’s dog The ugly beast snapped the morsel down with noisy relish.

“I have in mind to go to the baths today, since I don’t think I’ll find one along the Malkanway. Care to join me?”

“Gladly.” Sextus raised a small pouch from under his couch. “We can do that after we take care of this. I have orders to drag you off to the Arena. Believe it or not, that’s what got me out of aiding with the sportulae today. No fights, unfortunately, but since Magnus has correctly ascertained that you and Marpo are able to defend yourselves about as well as a pair of declawed kittens, I’ve orders to take you to the stables and buy you a bodyguard capable of protecting your virtue from those hot-blooded elven slatterns.”

“The Arena? A bodyguard… Do you mean a gladiator?”

“Uh, yes. I know you’ve never been, but you do know what they are, right? Big, bloody-minded brutes, usually knock about trying to kill each other?”

“Why would I need a bodyguard? If the Sanctiff sent six Redeemed to bring me home last night, I’m sure he will ensure that his ambassador is well-guarded in our travels.”

“That’s the problem. I think Magnus wants to make sure that there’s someone who couldn’t care less about the perfumed princes of the Church and will remember to keep an eye on the embassy’s most junior member.”

Marcus shrugged. That made sense, he supposed, although he found it hard to believe that he could possibly be in any real danger. Except, of course, from the elvenking. But if High King Mael decided to attack the embassy, one more bodyguard would hardly make a difference.

* * *

By the time they reached the gladiator stables in the shadow of the Colosseo, Marcus was pleased to step into the dark, low-ceilinged building just to get out of the sun. His pleasure lasted only a moment—the smell of sweat, leather, and blood was so strong that it almost made him reel as he looked around the interior of the wooden structure.

Plaques and weapons adorned the walls, separated by the occasional rude shelf holding bronze and silver cups that Marcus supposed were trophies. Seated at a makeshift desk was a big man laboriously attempting to write numbers on a scroll. It turned out to be the training master working at his accounts.

While the big man raised his eyebrows at Sextus’s request to purchase a gladiator, he was clearly annoyed when Sextus asked to see only dwarves, and only those dwarves fighting under the aegis of the Red faction.

The time it took to summon them seemed like an eternity in that dark and odorous place, but before it became unbearable, the master begrudgingly presented nine of the stocky, broad-shouldered creatures, and Marcus quickly realized the man’s attitude derived from his correct notion that a quick sale was not in order. None of the nine would make for a good travel companion. These dwarves were bitter, angry individuals, degraded into a near-bestial state by the harsh oppression of their slavery.

“Perhaps one of the other factions might have dwarves as well?” Marcus suggested hopefully as the last of the sneering, scowling gladiators was escorted back to the factional cells.

“Not a one,” said the training master. He was a tall, powerfully-built man with a terrible scar across the left side of his face. “Whites don’t take breeds. Greens do, but they usually go in for orcs and gobbos, and those don’t mix real well with dwarves. Blues had twelve until last week, but they all got killed in the re-creation of the Iron Mountain siege.”

“I saw that!” Sextus said. “It was incredible. Especially that catapult they built—for a moment there I thought they were going to turn it on the crowd! Say, why do you shave their beards?”

“Reminds ‘em where they are. Reminds ‘em what they are.” The training master looked appraisingly at Marcus and Sextus, possibly wondering what these two wealthy young masters would want with dwarves in the first place.

“They forget sometimes, else.”

“Are these all you’ve got?” Marcus said. He was doing his best to keep the distaste off his face. Not for the dwarves, for whom he only felt pity, but for the training master. “Isn’t there anyone else?”

The training master shrugged. “There’s two up in the infirmary. I don’t know what you want with a dwarf, but neither one is up to putting up much of a fight. Unless that’s what you want, of course.”

Marcus stared at the man in disbelief. Fortunately, Sextus grabbed his arm and squeezed it before he could open his mouth. What did the man think they were, a pair of decadent thrill killers?

But then, this was Amorr, the greatest city in all the world, and not even its public dedication to the Lord God Almighty enabled it to escape Man’s fallen nature. For every saint here, there were ten sinners, and for every man genuinely devoted to faith, good works, and charity there were three given over to the worst forms of depravity and sadistic decadence. No doubt this man, laboring as he did in this terrible place, saw the evil side of man far more often than its reverse.

“Take ‘em back,” the training master said to an overmuscled pair of assistants. Then he beckoned toward Marcus and Sextus. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the ones in the infirmary. They’re both good fighters, but one was lamed in the last spectacle, and the other one took a pretty good stick in the ribs.”

They followed him up the stairs and into what could easily have passed for one of the lower circles of Hell. The one-room infirmary was dark. It stank of disease and decades of blood dripping from the wounded and dying to soak into the wood of the floor. Marcus was appalled, and he saw even Sextus swallow hard at the olfactory assault on their senses. There were forty beds. A third of them were full, attended by only one slack-jawed attendant, who appeared to be half-witted, at best.

“We keep them alive, if we can,” the training master said, not blind to the reaction of his visitors. “Doesn’t pay to let them die before their time, you know. And it’s not every stable that puts poppyseed in the wine to take the edge off the pain.”

Yes, he was a real humanitarian. Still, it was true: there was none of the moaning and thrashing that Marcus would have expected from such a sad collection of maimed and maltreated individuals. Most were unconscious. The two or three who were not seemed to be lost in a dreamy state that left them blessedly unaware of their surroundings. Marcus did his best to avoid looking directly at any of the ghastly injuries, but even so he saw far more than he would have wished.

The training master stopped at the bedside of a grim-faced dwarf with deep-set eyes, orange-red hair, and a somber mien. He blinked in apparent surprise at being approached.

“This here’s Lodi,” the training master said. “He took a goblin spear in the side six days ago. But he’s a tough old wardog. Took down four or five goblins and two orcs by hisself, just in that one fight alone. He’s left-handed, likes a war hammer—no surprise—but he’s not too shabby with a blade, neither. Not all that quick, but he’s patient and makes for a mean counterfighter. What do you have, Lodi, eighteen wins?”

“Twenty-three,” the dwarf answered in a deep, cracked voice. It sounded as if he had not spoken in days, which was quite possibly the case, considering the level of neglect here. His eyes were glazed with either exhaustion or poppyseed, but he was coherent. “What do you want?”

“A bodyguard,” Marcus answered, stepping forward and meeting the dwarf’s eyes.

Those eyes were dark with suffering, and yet contained none of the hatred or helpless fury that so indelibly marked the rest of his kin. There was a week’s growth of reddish stubble covering his face, but it was clear that not even being clean-shaven had ever caused this dwarf to forget that he had once been free. Blood had seeped through the dirty bandage on his side, but some time ago from the dark, crusted look of it, and there was no sign of green or yellow discharge.

“Can you ride, with that?”

“Won’t make for much of a bodyguard, I’d say,” Sextus commented.

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed.

“A bodyguard?”

“Yes,” Marcus said. “I’m going on a journey and I will require one.”

“Will that get me out of here?” the dwarf asked, glancing at the training master, who nodded. “You’ll have to tie me to the beast, I think, but you’ll hear no complaints from me, even if it chafes me raw.”

“Or you bleed to death?”

The dwarf turned toward Sextus, and the wordless reproach in his dark eyes caused Sextus to fall silent.

Those perfect personifids

2008-09-24T08:07:00.003-06:00

When the new catalog came in the mail, my mother was upset. She had signed up with this company because it produced very good quality vitamins and herbs that had helped her health. But now the company had swept all that to a couple of pages in the back of the catalog, clearing the way for all the cosmetics that it had added.

She wasn't opposed to looking good but she watched the company leave its first mission of helping people feel good.

We in America worship the physical more than we want to admit. We judge people by their clothing selections and by their makeup. Have you seen the videos showing how models are not only airbrushed these days, but their bodies totally re-sculptured into whatever will have the most appeal?

This is the issue in The Personifid Invasion that intrigued me. (Check out yesterday's post for a review).

In selecting an artificial body, people were able to avoid all the hassles of a weak body. Instead, they had the chance to get the body they wanted (depending on their budget, of course). They avoided death and also avoided aging, fatigue, and weakness. This artificial body was virtually indestructible.

Interestingly, one of the side effects in the storyline was that those personifids who were not able to keep their bodies in good repair were eliminated because their ugliness offended others.

In fact, one of the characters in the story (I won't identify because that might be a spoiler) tried to destroy her personifid body by bashing it against rocks. She was trying to break into the inner core which housed her soul, thereby committing suicide. She failed but her body was mangled. The response from others was to look away or to send out robots which cleaned up the distasteful in appearance.

I cheered when the followers of Tri-Une reacted with compassion, helping her repair the body.

But the book raises an interesting question: how do we view our bodies? In America, I think we expect perfection while trying to hide our own imperfections. We value the body too much.

Paul told the church at Philippi that God had generously granted them the privilege of suffering as Christ suffered. (Phil 1:29 -Some versions dilute the word to "granted" but the original Greek is clear that it was an honor to be granted this privilege.)

How did Jesus suffer? He suffered more than on the cross. He suffered from tired feet, hunger, fatigue, sore muscles. He took on a human body and he had to live with the weaknesses of it.

The Personifid Invasion reveals the vanity of ditching our frail bodies for something that seems to be more perfect. In the end, it doesn't matter how ideal the physical is. It matters how rich the soul has become.

For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?
Mark 8:35-36

Note: The Personifid Invasion will be available for purchase at Lord Marcher Press on Oct. 1. Be sure to check out the site for more books and prizes.

The Personifid Invasion

2008-09-23T06:00:00.001-06:00

Imagine a world where there are no more headaches, no back problems, no aching muscles. No death.

Imagine that your soul could be preserved in the core of an artificial body, invulnerable to the weaknesses of flesh and bones.

That’s the world of the personifid, which are humans transformed. A simple procedure, after paying your fee of course, captures your soul as your body perishes and places that soul in a safe impenetrable core of a body you choose.

That’s the world explored in R.E. Bartlett’s The Personifid Invasion, which follows her first book The Personfid Project.

We follow the story of two adult siblings in search of their lost sister. In entering the city of San Edhem, they discover a city overrun by interterrestrials. On ancient Earth, these “inters” were known as demons.

While a sister is drawn to the clever deceptions of the inters, Followers of Tri-Une use courage and prayer to battle the interterrestrials.

I found The Personifid Invasion’s storyline engaging, one of those books that keeps you up til 2 am, turning the page while knowing you should turn out the lights. The computer technology was engaging while never distracting from the plot. There’s plenty of humor to balance the harshness of life in San Edhem with a little romance tossed in for spice.

But especially I was intrigued by the ideas presented in the book. Why would people exchange physical bodies for artificial ones? Or, why would any refuse to accept this potential for immortality? Why endure the pain of emotions or pangs of hunger when one could simply float in a body that endures forever?

It’s a fascinating idea and one that I will examine further tomorrow.

The Personifid Invasion will be released by Marcher Lord Press on October 1 as we all celebrate the birth of the “premier publisher of Christian speculative fiction.” Get your copy and settle in for a great read.

Marcher Lord Press

2008-09-22T07:23:00.004-06:00

We're in countdown time now. Jeff Gerke's Marcher Lord Press will break down the door on October 1, placing three new books on the table for fantasy fans.If you haven't visited Jeff's site yet, the intro page alone is worth the price of admission.

I met Jeff at a writer's conference earlier this year and was impressed with his energy, wit and commitment to quality writing. He brings a fresh voice to fantasy publication. You should also check out his writing site: Where the Map Ends.

Marcher Lord Press will be offering three books on October 1, as well as a whole slug of prizes. If you haven't yet signed up, get your name in. Here are the books coming up:

Hero, Second Class by first-time author Mitchell Bonds.

The Personifid Invasion by R.E. Bartlett

I'll be posting a review on The Personifid Invasion tomorrow.

Summa Elvetica : A Causitry of the Elvish Controversy by Theodore Beale.

Take a look at these blogs as well, to get lots of viewpoints on the newest fantasy indie publisher:

Brandon Barr
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Kathy Brasby
Jackie Castle
Valerie Comer
Karri Compton
Courtney
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Kameron M. Franklin
Andrea Graham
Todd Michael Greene
Katie Hart
Timothy Hicks
Joleen Howell
Jason Joyner
Kait
Mike Lynch
Terri Main
Margaret
Shannon McNear
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Ashley Rutherford
Hanna Sandvig
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Greg Slade
James Somers
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise
Tina Kulesa
Jason Waguespac

A special angle on good?

2008-09-12T06:00:00.000-06:00

Most actors sing the praises of playing a juicy villain, savoring the richness of the evil when compared to a hero’s role. Sure, they get the girl when they play the hero, but the character is often vanilla-bland.

I want to look at JRR Tolkien’s classic, The Lord of the Ring,
in that context. Tolkien includes vivid descriptions of evil in his tale. Sauron’s darkness seems to march incessantly. And aren’t the orcs evil personified? The malevolence is palpable in the story and hope seems dishwater-thin against the power of evil.

Yet Tolkien’s heroes are not bland and their eventual victory comes because evil cannot fathom good and therefore can’t defend against it.

How could Sauron understand the sacrifice of two little hobbits? How could the Nazgul defend against those who were willing to die for the larger good? The villains were motivated by greed and fear. They didn’t understand the inspiration of loyalty and selflessness.

In LOTR, good and evil battle on fields of swords and bows, but the real battles happen on another plane: that of character. Evil doesn’t understand character. Evil trusts in power and deceit but, in the end, is utterly destroyed by courage and sacrifice.

Many authors paint a compelling picture of evil but Tolkien, who walked a life of faith in God, understood virtue well enough to compose an even-more compelling picture of good.

The Personifid Invasion

2008-09-11T07:31:00.004-06:00

I have a preview copy of The Personifid Invasion by R.E. Bartlett, about to be released by Marcher Lord Press. The prologue is up at Marcher Lord Press and I'll be posting a review soon.

But for now, think about this: what would you do if you opted for a new body, nearly indestructible, which housed your soul? Would it be a good trade-off? What are the ramifications of that decision? And what about the Tri-une Followers who won't join in the new opportunities? More to come on these questions soon.

Be sure to visit Marcher Lord Press often in the coming days. They've got lots of things going on as they launch their new indie company. You can sign up for prizes and put yourself in the starting blocks for launch day on Oct. 1!

Meet Jeff Gerke

2008-09-04T06:00:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure if Jeff Gerke has a split personality or if he's just beside himself (OK, enough of the dumb cliches), but he's interviewing himself over at Where The Map Ends. He's rushing around preparing for the launch of his Indie publication company, Marcher Lord Press. This may explain his need to have two of himself... or more.

Anyway, it's a great interview and he shares some insights about Lord of the Rings - obviously one of our favorite speculative novels as well.

We'll be posting updates on Marcher Lord Press in the coming weeks and be watching for a review of the first book out by Marcher Lord Press. We have a pre-pub copy that we're reading now and planning to tantalize you with later! Stay tuned....

Time Masters

2008-09-03T07:38:00.003-06:00

If you can imagine time travel, a Scottish warrior, sword fights, evil masters, chocolate chip cookies, and true love wrapped into one epic story, then you’re ready for Time Masters Book One: The Call by Geralyn Beauchamp.

Starting in year 3698, we move back to the 1600’s and then 2000’s with great ease due to the abilities of the Muiraran people. Technology is not the key to this epic but people are. We empathize with Dallan McDonald, the Scottish Weapons Master snatched from 1672 and brought to the future for preparation.

Added to this is the mysterious Maiden, whom Dallan met as a boy in what he assumes was a dream. But she owns his heart and, although Dallan doesn’t know it, is the key to his future as well as the future of the world.

Mixed in the adventure are the counselors John and Lany, who must first verify that Dallan is the right one for the call, and then convince him to pursue the Maiden, who is Muiraran but believes she is human.

The characters draw you in with humor and emotion. Blended with that are lively action scenes, including several where Dallan must battle the evil Philip trying to steal the Maiden forever.

Beauchamp’s novel was a finalist for India Excellence Book Awards. Her website gives more details about the book as does her blog. Also, the book is available at Amazon.

Time Masters is a rollicking run through time, with true love - or maybe saving the world - the goal at the end. Check it out.

2008-08-29T06:00:00.000-06:00

Rebecca Miller was interviewed at Where The Map Ends last month. She has fascinating comments about Christian publishing and the state of fantasy, science fiction and more. Take a look.

Broken Angel and fundamentalists

2008-08-28T10:42:00.005-06:00

In reviewing Sigmund Brouwer’s book, Broken Angel, there have been discussions over the last few days in blogland about fundamentalists. Broken Angel is a futuristic tale about a government by fundamentalism and how their legalistic ways impact people.

As I said yesterday, I have dear friends who are fundamentalists and I can tell you some things I treasure about them. They are passionate and willing to put into action what they believe. They will put their money where their mouth is. They stand firm when others compromise. They are quick to pray and quick to help, even when it inconveniences them.

But I disagree with them on several points as well, including our topic of fantasy. For some, fiction is forbidden since it is not true. But how do they explain Jesus’ parables? Sometimes truth is more eloquently stated through fictional works.

I know parents who forbid their children to watch the Lord of the Rings movie series because of the magic and fantasy elements, totally ignoring the beautiful images of courage, honesty, honor and good that course through the story.

While I find LOTR a brilliant story about how good overcomes evil, these fundamentalist parents fear the wizards and warlords.

Some have cast out C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia books because of satyrs and witches. They miss the beauty of Aslan going to stone table, a chapter which brought tears to my eyes.

For the fundamentalists I know, a key to getting through this life to heaven is by staying unstained by the world, which happens through separation. They wish to present themselves to Christ as an unstained bride.

I think that it is Christ who does the washing and it is Christ who makes the bride pure. Not rules and effort. The bride comes unstained because of Jesus’ work, not mine.

Rules or relationship. I think it may come down to that. Read Broken Angel and see what you think.

Looking literally

2008-08-27T06:00:00.002-06:00

In yesterday’s post, you were introduced to a new book, Broken Angel, by Sigmund Brouwer. Brouwer has created a futuristic world in his book, one where fundamentalists have pushed their literal interpretations to the forefront of politics, and now run things.

The topic is a thoughtful one. I have close friends who are fundamentalists, believing that a literal interpretation of the Bible is the proof of faith. They are committed and passionate in their faith and I will not belittle them.

However, I want to introduce you to a resource that may shed a little light on biblical texts. The Dictionary of Biblical Imagery (general editors are Leland Ryken, James C. Wilhoit and Tremper Longman III) explores the images, motifs, symbols, figures of speech and literary patterns of the Bible.

Once I said to my three-year-old nephew, “Oh, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” And he looked solemnly at his leg and my leg before shaking his head. No.

I was using a figure of speech that he didn’t yet understand. Those are common in our literature today and were common in the writings of the Bible as well. Those who insist on a literal interpretation of texts often lose the very meaning of that text because they don’t examine possible images or figures of speech.

As Brouwer suggests, literal isn’t always best.

Broken Angel

2008-08-26T06:31:00.002-06:00

A broken hero negotiates a run for safety in a future world where fundamentalistic government has distorted Christianity. This is the suspense thriller Broken Angel by Sigmund Brouwer.

The book is thought-provoking with well-drawn characters plunged into a world where fundamentalism and literalism rule the day. We'll talk a little more about that tomorrow.

Check out The Amazon link:.

Brouwer’s website is here.

Brouwer’s book is being featured in a blog tour that contains many fascinating posts. Take a look:

Brandon Barr
Justin Boyer
Keanan Brand
Jackie Castle
Valerie Comer
Karri Compton
CSFF Blog Tour
Stacey Dale
D. G. D. Davidson
Janey DeMeo
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Karina Fabian
Mark Goodyear
Andrea Graham
Katie Hart
Timothy Hicks
Christopher Hopper
Joleen Howell
Jason Joyner
Carol Keen
Magma
Margaret
Shannon McNear
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
John W. Otte
Steve Rice
Ashley Rutherford
Hanna Sandvig
Chawna Schroeder
Mirtika or Mir's Here
Sean Slagle
James Somers
Donna Swanson
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Laura Williams

Visual Fantasy

2008-08-20T06:00:00.001-06:00

The story of creation in Genesis is the story of God creating order out of chaos. The recent Batman flick, The Dark Knight, poses a question: can good overcome anarchy and chaos? Genesis says yes and this painting reflects the chaos being tamed as God spoke.

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Motiv8

2008-08-18T06:00:00.000-06:00

Eight Christian fantasy writers are on a blog tour over at Motiv8. L.B. Graham discusses the importance of names in fantasy. Do names matter? Graham says yes, and gives some vivid examples. Take a look.

God's purpose

2008-08-15T06:00:00.000-06:00

Although the storm has lessened on the Christian music front, it still rages among Christian readers. The question is this: can a Christian artist entertain a secular audience without losing the flavor of Jesus in the work?

When Amy Grant decided to perform for a secular audience – and tone down the obvious references to Jesus – many Christian fans abandoned her. A Christian writer has the same questions: am I writing for believers or non-believers?

Jeff Gertge wrote an insightful piece about the issue. Even if you’re not a writer, you need to consider his ideas.

As Christians, we make decisions: do we strengthen the body or evangelize the lost? Even in our reading choices, are we seeking books that help us in our own spiritual journey or show us how to bridge over to those who are searching for spiritual truth?

Check out Jeff’s thoughts. It’s an important issue for Christians who are reading or writing speculative fiction and Jeff does a nice job explaining.

http://www.wherethemapends.com/writerstools/writers_tools_pages/tip_of_the_week--91-100.htm

Visual Fantasy

2008-08-13T06:00:00.000-06:00

The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.

Gen 1:12

Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them.

Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy;

Psalms 96:12

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Trivia Tuesday

2008-08-12T07:39:00.002-06:00

New question: Name one of the books being released by Marcher Lord Press in its debut on October 1. Marcherlordpress.com

Answer:

Hero, Second class by first-time novelist Mitchell Bonds

The Personifid Invasion by R. E. Bartlett

Summa Elvetica: A Casuistry of the Elvish Controvery by Theodore Beale.

By the way, go check out Marcher Lord Press's website for more information.

Visual Fantasy

2008-08-06T06:00:00.000-06:00

God made the two bright lights: the larger light to rule the day and the smaller light to rule the night.

Gen 1:16

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Never Ceese review

2008-08-04T06:00:00.000-06:00

It caught me by surprise but using a werewolf and a vampire produced an amazing fresh look at the hunger for redemption when trapped in a curse. But that’s the underlying message of Never Ceese by Sue Dent, a horror story melding the werewolf-vampire legends with a family of faith.

The werewolf, Ceese, and the vampire, Richard, wrestle with their curses. For Ceese, the wolf within rages at every turn to claim her soul. Richard has refused to curse another, although the desire to do so tears at him daily.

They are bound together because of their ties to Penny, who is determined to help them find a way out of the curse that they long to cast aside. The story is a page-turner, with fresh adventure and humor – and even unexpected romance – every step of the way.

Can two who were wronged make it right? Their desire to be free wars against the curse’s hold on them, making every decision and every action a rippling agony.

The story captures the torture of our own inner sin, when we rage against doing what we do not wish to do while not doing what we want to do, as the apostle Paul describes in the book of Romans. Although Ceese and Richard want to be free and made whole, their very nature sabotages their plans.

Can they make it right? Can we?

Check out Never Ceese and join the hunt.

Dragon blog

2008-07-31T06:00:00.000-06:00

Donita K. Paul has finally begun a blog, appropriately called Dragon Bloggin'.

If you have enjoyed her Dragonkeeper series - and even if you haven't read them yet - you might want to check out her new blog. You could also visit her regular website here.

Visual Fantasy

2008-07-30T06:01:00.001-06:00

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Trivia Tuesday

2008-07-29T06:00:00.001-06:00

Last question: C.S. Lew’s book, Until We Have Faces, is told from what character’s point of view?

Answer: Orual (see the review)

New question: Name one of the books being released by Marcher Lord Press in its debut on October.

Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy

2008-07-28T09:05:00.002-06:00

Hobbiton Hill is now a part of the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog tour, which is dedicated to promoting Christian science fiction and fantasy. They have a great website with lots of information.

The tour will feature a new book each month and I'm excited to be a part of that. Thanks, Becky, for your encouragement to join.

Visual Fantasy

2008-07-25T06:00:00.000-06:00

God said, “Let the water under the sky come together in one area, and let the dry land appear.”

Gen 1:9

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Trivia

2008-07-24T10:26:00.001-06:00

Our last trivia question was:

In A Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, what is Bree's full name?

Answer: Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah. Shasta nicknamed him Bree because he could not say his full name.

New question: C.S. Lewis’s book, Until We Have Faces, is told from what character’s point of view?

Visual Fantasy

2008-07-16T06:00:00.000-06:00

...separate water from water...

Gen 1:6 (MSG)

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Missions

2008-07-14T06:00:00.002-06:00

Our family has just returned from an amazing two-week trip to the Yucatan peninsula and to Cuba. I'll be journaling about it in the coming weeks at my Sumballo blog and I'd invite you to wander on over and join that story.

Stay tuned here for more book reviews and exciting fiction to be published this year.

Visual Fantasy

2008-07-09T06:00:00.000-06:00

New Life

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Into the fantastic

2008-07-08T06:00:00.000-06:00

For trip into the fantastic, try reading Revelation. I’m making my way through the imagery of glowing robes and horsemen, cosmic battles and terrors that push aside most horror shows today.

“More perhaps than any other parts of the Bible, the apocalyptic visions of the end of history and life in the eternal realm are a language of images. Many of these images are fantastic, transcending anything known in empirical reality.” This from The Dictionary of Biblical Imagery.

Revelation is a swirl of colors and numbers, images that can barely be described and probably not visual. We can read the descriptions but how would we put that into a movie?

Yet the themes are simple: good vs. evil, spiritual conflict, God’s power in crushing his enemies and rescuing his people.

Who would have thought that Christian fantasy would include Revelation and Daniel?

I am not suggesting that Revelation and Daniel are only stories. They are God’s Word and useful for teaching, for rebuke, for correction and training in righteousness.

But their genre is apocalyptic, utilizing otherworldly images to suggest a world that transcends ordinary reality.

Themes of judgment, salvation, conflict, and transformation give Revelation an incredible punch, and an assurance to readers that, in the end, God wins.

Trivia Tuesday

2008-07-07T06:00:00.000-06:00

Last week: Who is the author of the new Christian fantasy, Dragonlight?

Answer: Donita K. Paul, who is closing out her Dragonkeeper Chronicles with this book. She's written DragonSpell, DragonQuest, DragonKnight and DragonFire.

New question: In A Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, what is Bree's full name?

A myth retold: Til We Have Faces

2008-07-04T06:00:00.000-06:00

Psalm 29 is based on a Canaanite hymn to Baal, a local false god. Baal was considered the god of thunder, so Psalm 29 refers to the “voice of the Lord” seven times, countering the teaching that Baal was the god of seven thunders.

The writer of Psalm 29 intended to show that God, not Baal, was the cause of thunder. He re-wrote the psalm to correct the theology of the Canaanites and to counter their hymn.

You can see, in that re-working of an idolatrous song, how God is able to remake what was lost, to restore what was in error. The form – a recreating of an idolatrous hymn – actually strengthens the point.

C.S. Lewis took the same tack in his novel, Til We Have Faces, where he modified the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, producing a challenging psychological look at the older sister who intervenes in their romance.

The story is told from Orual’s viewpoint and the reader gets to see what Orual,the ugly and bitter older sister, cannot see. She justifies her decisions and believes her own reasonings.

These are not cardboard characters. In spite of some of her ugly conclusions, I found myself respecting Orual in many ways and wanting to show her the way out of her own rationalizations. She is intelligent, honest, concerned with others – and yet imprisoned by her bitterness. She’s not a black-and-white villain, but a complex woman on a journey to seek truth.

The story is about her moral development, a lifetime spent justifying decisions she finds difficult but necessary to make. The reader can understand what Orual does not about herself and her own perceptions.

Although Lewis seems to spend his time in the world of myths and Greek gods, there’s a deeper current that runs here. Lewis has not written a symbolic book but one of emotion and sincerity. His meaning is solidly planted on the God of love.

Plan to read it twice to capture Lewis’ intent but plan to read it. It’s powerfully written with depth of insight and meaning that will touch your heart.

Visual Fantasy

2008-07-02T06:00:00.001-06:00

Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness. God's Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss.

Gen 1:2 (MSG)

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist’s site.

Trivia Tuesday

2008-07-01T06:00:00.001-06:00

Our question last week was: In Sue Dent's book, Never Ceese, what was the name of Julia's husband?

The answer is Merideth. I hope you've at least read the first chapter of the book posted here recently.

New question: Who is the author of the new fantasy book Dragonlight?

DragonLight

2008-06-27T06:00:00.000-06:00

The feature author is:

Donita K. Paul

and her book:

DragonLight
WaterBrook Press (June 17, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Donita K. Paul is a retired teacher and award-winning author of seven novels, including DragonSpell, DragonQuest, DragonKnight, and DragonFire. When not writing, she is often engaged in mentoring writers of all ages. Donita lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado where she is learning to paint–walls and furniture! Visit her website at www.dragonkeeper.us.

The Books of the DragonKeeper Series:

DragonSpell
DragonQuest
DragonKnight
DragonFire
DragonLight

Visit her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Castle Passages

Kale wrinkled her nose at the dank air drifting up from the stone staircase. Below, utter darkness created a formidable barrier.

Toopka stood close to her knee. Sparks skittered across the doneel child’s furry hand where she clasped the flowing, soft material of Kale’s wizard robe. Kale frowned down at her ward. The little doneel spent too much time attached to her skirts to be captivated by the light show. Instead, Toopka glowered into the forbidding corridor. “What’s down
there?”

Kale sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“Is it the dungeon?”

“I don’t think we have a dungeon.”

Toopka furrowed her brow in confusion. “Don’t you know? It’s your castle.”

“A castle built by committee.” Kale’s face grimaced at the memory of weeks of creative chaos. She put her hand on Toopka’s soft head.

The doneel dragged her gaze away from the stairway, tilted her head back, and frowned at her guardian. “What’s ‘by committee’?”

“You remember, don’t you? It was just five years ago.”

“I remember the wizards coming and the pretty tents in the meadow.” Toopka pursed her lips. “And shouting. I remember shouting.” “They were shouting because no one was listening. Twenty-one wizards came for the castle raising. Each had their own idea about what we needed. So they each constructed their fragment of the castle structure according to their whims.”

Toopka giggled.

“I don’t think it’s funny. The chunks of castle were erected, juxtaposed with the others, but not as a whole unit. I thank Wulder that at least my parents had some sense. My mother and father connected the tads, bits, and smidgens together with steps and short halls. When nothing else would work, they formed gateways from one portion to another.”

The little doneel laughed out loud and hid her face in Kale’s silky wizard’s robe. Miniature lightning flashes enveloped Toopka’s head and cascaded down her neck, over her back, and onto the floor like a waterfall of sparks.

Kale cut off the flow of energy and placed a hand on the doneel’s shoulder. “Surely you remember this, Toopka.”

She looked up, her face growing serious. “I was very young then.”

Kale narrowed her eyes and examined the child’s innocent face. “As long as I have known you, you’ve appeared to be the same age. Are you ever going to grow up?”

Toopka shrugged, then the typical smile of a doneel spread across her face. Her thin black lips stretched, almost reaching from ear to ear. “I’m growing up as fast as I can, but I don’t think I’m the one in charge. If I were in charge, I would be big enough to have my own dragon, instead of searching for yours.”

The statement pulled Kale back to her original purpose. No doubt she had been manipulated yet again by the tiny doneel, but dropping the subject of Toopka’s age for the time being seemed prudent.

Kale rubbed the top of Toopka’s head. The shorter fur between her ears felt softer than the hair on the child’s arms. Kale always found it soothing to stroke Toopka’s head, and the doneel liked it as well.

Kale let her hand fall to her side and pursued their mission. “Gally and Mince have been missing for a day and a half. We must find them. Taylaminkadot said she heard an odd noise when she came down to the storeroom.” Kale squared her shoulders and took a step down into the dark, dank stairwell. “Gally and Mince may be down here, and they may be in trouble.”

“How can you know who’s missing?” Toopka tugged on Kale’s robe, letting loose a spray of sparkles. “You have hundreds of minor dragons in the castle and more big dragons in the fields.”

“I know.” Kale put her hand in front of her, and a globe of light appeared, resting on her palm. “I’m a Dragon Keeper. I know when any of my dragons have missed a meal or two.” She stepped through the doorway.

Toopka tugged on Kale’s gown. “May I have a light too?”

“Of course.” She handed the globe to the doneel. The light flickered. Kale tapped it, and the glow steadied. She produced another light to sit in her own hand and proceeded down the steps.

Toopka followed, clutching the sparkling cloth of Kale’s robe in one hand and the light in the other. “I think we should take a dozen guards with us.”

“I don’t think there’s anything scary down here, Toopka. After all, as you reminded me, this is our castle, and we certainly haven’t invited anything nasty to live with us.”

“It’s the things that come uninvited that worry me.”

“All right. Just a moment.” Kale turned to face the archway at the top of the stairs, a few steps up from where they stood.

She reached with her mind to the nearest band of minor dragons. Soon chittering dragon voices, a rainbow vision of soft, flapping, leathery wings, and a ripple of excitement swept through her senses. She heard Artross, the leader of this watch, call for his band to mind their manners, listen to orders, and calm themselves.

Kale smiled her greeting as they entered the stairway and circled above her. She turned to Toopka, pleased with her solution, but Toopka scowled. Obviously, the doneel was not impressed with the arrival of a courageous escort.

Kale opened her mouth to inform Toopka that a watch of dragons provides sentries, scouts, and fighters. And Bardon had seen to their training. But the doneel child knew this.

Each watch formed without a Dragon Keeper’s instigation. Usually eleven to fifteen minor dragons developed camaraderie, and a leader emerged. A social structure developed within each watch. Kale marveled at the process. Even though she didn’t always understand the choices, she did nothing to alter the natural way of establishing the hierarchy and respectfully worked with what was in place.

Artross, a milky white dragon who glowed in the dark, had caught Kale’s affections. She sent a warm greeting to the serious-minded leader and received a curt acknowledgment. The straight-laced young dragon with his tiny, mottled white body tickled her. Although they didn’t look alike in the least, Artross’s behavior reminded Kale of her husband’s personality.

Kale nodded at Toopka and winked. “Now we have defenders.”

“I think,” said the doneel, letting go of Kale’s robe and stepping down a stair, “it would be better if they were bigger and carried swords.”

Kale smiled as one of the younger dragons landed on her shoulder. He pushed his violet head against her chin, rubbing with soft scales circling between small bumps that looked like stunted horns. Toopka skipped ahead with the other minor dragons flying just above her head.

“Hello, Crain,” said Kale, using a fingertip to stroke his pink belly. She’d been at his hatching a week before. The little dragon chirred his contentment. “With your love of learning, I’m surprised you’re not in the library with Librettowit.”

A scene emerged in Kale’s mind from the small dragon’s thoughts. She hid a smile. “I’m sorry you got thrown out, but you must not bring your snacks into Librettowit’s reading rooms. A tumanhofer usually likes a morsel of food to tide him over, but not when the treat threatens to smudge the pages of his precious books.” She felt the small beast shudder at the memory of the librarian’s angry voice. “It’s all right, Crain. He’ll forgive you and let you come back into his bookish sanctum. And he’ll delight in helping you find all sorts of wonderful facts.”

Toopka came scurrying back. She’d deserted her lead position in the company of intrepid dragons. The tiny doneel dodged behind Kale and once more clutched the sparkling robe. Kale shifted her attention to a commotion ahead and sought out the thoughts of the leader Artross. “What’s wrong?” asked Kale, but her answer came as she tuned in to the leader of the dragon watch.

Artross trilled orders to his subordinates. Kale saw the enemy through the eyes of this friend.

An anvilhead snake slid over the stone floor of a room stacked high with large kegs. His long black body stretched out from a nook between two barrels. With the tail of the serpent hidden, she had no way of knowing its size. These reptiles’ heads outweighed their bodies. The muscled section behind the base of the jaws could be as much as six inches wide. But the length of the snake could be from three feet to thirty.

Kale shuddered but took another step down the passage.

Artross looked around the room and spotted another section of ropelike body against the opposite wall. Kegs hid most of the snake.

Kale grimaced. Another snake? Or the end of the one threatening my dragons?

The viper’s heavy head advanced, and the distant portion moved with the same speed.

One snake.

“Toopka, stay here,” she ordered and ran down the remaining steps. She tossed the globe from her right hand to her left and pulled her sword from its hiding place beneath her robe. Nothing appeared to be in her hand, but Kale felt the leather-bound hilt secure in her grip. The old sword had been given to her by her mother, and Kale knew
how to use the invisible blade with deadly precision.

“Don’t let him get away,” she called as she increased her speed through the narrow corridor.

The wizard robe dissolved as she rushed to join her guard. Her long dress of azure and plum reformed itself into leggings and a tunic. The color drained away and returned as a pink that would rival a stunning sunset. When she reached the cold, dark room, she cast her globe into the air. Floating in the middle of the room, it tripled in size and gave off a brighter light.

The dragons circled above the snake, spitting their caustic saliva with great accuracy. Kale’s skin crawled at the sight of the coiling reptile. More and more of the serpentine body emerged from the shadowy protection of the stacked kegs. Obviously, the snake did not fear these intruders.

Even covered with splotches of brightly colored spit, the creature looked like the loathsome killer it was. Kale’s two missing dragons could have been dinner for the serpent. She searched the room with the talent Wulder had bestowed upon her and concluded the little ones still lived.

The reptile hissed at her, raised its massive head, and swayed in a threatening posture. The creature slithered toward her, propelled by the elongated body still on the floor. Just out of reach of Kale’s sword, the beast stopped, pulled its head back for the strike, and let out a slow, menacing hiss. The snake lunged, and Kale swung her invisible weapon. The severed head sailed across the room and slammed against the stone wall.

Kale eyed the writhing body for a moment. “You won’t be eating any more small animals.” She turned her attention to the missing dragons and pointed her sword hand at a barrel at the top of one stack. “There. Gally and Mince are in that keg.”

Several dragons landed on the wooden staves, and a brown dragon examined the cask to determine how best to open it. Toopka ran into the room and over to the barrel. “I’ll help.”

Kale tilted her head. “There is also a nest of snake eggs.” She consulted the dragon most likely to know facts about anvilhead vipers. Crain landed on her shoulder and poured out all he knew in a combination of chittering and thoughts.

The odd reptiles preferred eating young farm animals, grain, and feed. They did nothing to combat the population of rats, insects, and vermin. No farmer allowed the snakes on his property if he could help it. “Find the nest,” Kale ordered. “Destroy them all.”

The watch of dragons took flight again, zooming into lightrockilluminated passages leading off from this central room. Kale waited until a small group raised an alarm. Four minor dragons had found the nest.

She plunged down a dim passage, sending a plume of light ahead and calling for the dispersed dragons to join her. Eleven came from the other corridors, and nine flew in a V formation in front of her. Gally and Mince landed on her shoulders.

“You’re all right. I’m so glad.”

They scooted next to her neck, shivering. From their minds she deciphered the details of their ordeal. A game of hide-and-seek had led them into the depths of the castle. When the snake surprised them, they’d flown under the off-center lid of the barrel. As Mince dove into the narrow opening, he knocked the top just enough for it to rattle down into place. This successfully kept the serpent out, but also trapped them within.

Kale offered sympathy, and they cuddled against her, rubbing their heads on her chin as she whisked through the underground tunnel in pursuit of the other dragons.

Numerous rooms jutted off the main hallway, each stacked with boxes, crates, barrels, and huge burlap bags. Kale had no idea this vast amount of storage lay beneath the castle. Taylaminkadot, their efficient housekeeper and wife to Librettowit, probably had a tally sheet listing each item. Kale and the dragons passed rooms that contained fewer and fewer supplies until the stores dwindled to nothing.

How long does this hallway continue on? She slowed to creep along and tiptoed over the stone floor, noticing the rougher texture under her feet. Approaching a corner, she detected the four minor dragons destroying the snake’s nest in the next room. Her escort of flying dragons veered off into the room, and she followed. The small dragons swooped over the nest, grabbed an egg, then flew to the beamed roof of the storage room. They hurled the eggs to the floor, and most broke open on contact. Some had more rubbery shells, a sign that they would soon hatch. The minor dragons attacked these eggs with tooth and claw. Once each shell gave way, the content was pulled out and examined. No
hatchling snake survived.

The smell alone halted Kale in her tracks and sent her back a pace. She screwed up her face, but no amount of pinching her nose muscles cut off the odor of raw eggs and the bodies of unborn snakes. She produced a square of moonbeam material from her pocket and covered the lower half of her face. The properties of the handkerchief filtered the unpleasant aroma.

Her gaze fell on the scene of annihilation. Usually, Kale found infant animals to be endearing, attractive in a gangly way. But the small snake bodies looked more like huge blackened worms than babies.

Toopka raced up behind her and came to a skidding stop when she reached the doorway. “Ew!” She buried her face in the hem of Kale’s tunic, then peeked out with her nose still covered.

The minor dragons continued to destroy the huge nest. Kale estimated over a hundred snake eggs must have been deposited in the old shallow basket. The woven edges sagged where the weight of the female snake had broken the reeds. Kale shuddered at the thought of all those snakes hatching and occupying the lowest level of the castle, her home. The urge to be above ground, in the light, and with her loved ones compelled her out of the room.

Good work, she commended the dragons as she backed into the passage. Artross, be sure that no egg is left unshattered.

She received his assurance, thanked him, then turned about and ran. She must find Bardon.

“Wait for me!” Toopka called. Her tiny, booted feet pounded the stone floor in a frantic effort to catch up.

Visual Fantasy

2008-06-25T06:00:00.002-06:00

I love how this painting explodes with light and vitality. What ideas does this trigger for you?

Note: painting used by permission. Check out the artist's site.

Trivia Tuesday

2008-06-24T06:00:00.001-06:00

Last week we asked: In Lord of the Rings, the Fourth Age technically began when what Master departed Middle Earth?

The answer is Master Elrond. Tolkien says that the Third Age ended with the War of the Ring but the Fourth Age did not begin until Elrond departed. "And the time was come for the dominion of Men and the decline of all other 'speaking-peoples' in Middle-Earth."

Next week's trivia question: In Sue Dent's book, Never Ceese, what is the name of the main character?

Visual Fantasy

2008-06-18T06:00:00.002-06:00

Fantasy and speculative stuff isn't limited to the written word. Take a look at this:

I like the dynamic explosion of color and light. It's part of a Genesis Project series by artist Ann Iungerich. What did it look like when God separated water and soil in Genesis 1? Maybe like this? We'll be posting visual fantasy weekly.

Note: painting used by permission. Check out Ann's site.

Trivia time

2008-06-17T06:00:00.003-06:00

It has been pointed out that "tomorrow" in some cases must mean "later." (Probably said by some child waiting on a tardy parent.) In any case, we haven't answered our trivia question from last week.

Here's the question again, in case you forgot: Samwise Gamgee married Rose Cotton after the adventures of the Lord of the Rings. How many children did they have together?

Here's the answer: 13. Eleanor the Fair, Frodo Gardner, Rose, Merry, Pippin, Goldilocks, Hamfast, Daisy, Primose, Bilbo, Ruby, Robin and Tolman (nicknamed Tom).

Now try this one. In Lord of the Rings, the Fourth Age technically began when what Master departed Middle Earth?

Interview: Sue Dent

2008-06-16T06:00:00.001-06:00

Sue, I've been doing a little research into your book, Never Ceese. Congrats! You've gotten some great kudos for the book and I'm even more anxious to read it.

Yes, I’m always surprised when another review rolls in. Especially since I rarely solicit them! I’d always heard getting those reviews would be tough and many first time novelists must send out review copies to get the reviews that people will pay attention to. Good thing God’s in control! J My first publisher didn’t have time to send out review copies. We were on a deadline to get the books to Book Expo 2006 for my author signing.

Have to be honest... I don't read much horror/vampire/werewolf stuff but I am interested in ways to express, as you said, Light in new ways. I would think a story of evil vs good could be well presented in the legends of vampires and werewolves. Anyway, I'm anxious to read the book.

That’s just what it does too. And, in such a way a Christian can read and enjoy without compromising their Faith.

I am curious - where has your book been marketed? Obviously not to the CBA stores so are you out in the general market? Has that been a challenge to get it marketed there?

I marketed my book to the general market, Christian and otherwise. I targeted Young Adult readers, Horror readers, Fantasy readers and, it seems, readers of the conservative evangelical CBA market. I certainly do market to CBA readers as they, so far, have been some of my biggest advocates. Sadly that doesn’t mean my book will be in CBA Christian Bookstores, (BTW most bookstores with the label Christian attached are CBA) but that’s because, as a rule, they only allow books which meet their strict CBA/ ECPA guidelines. Guidelines set up to protect their conservative evangelical market. The only challenge has been to redirect people’s thinking: not being in a Christian bookstore means nothing more than you don’t write for a particular niche market. And let me tell you, that’s a BIG challenge!

What readers do you think would most enjoy this book?

Based on the reviews—everyone! My mom looks at everything I do with a critical eye and rose above that to tell me she really enjoyed it. Many CBA readers have rushed to embrace it. Horror readers, fantasy readers, readers who like good books—you name it. I’m constantly amazed.

What would you like your readers to gain from the book?

A good read. I want them to have a spare moment that they want to fill with something entertaining and exciting. That’s what I want from a book.

What inspires you as you write?

What inspires you to breath? There are stories in my head all the time, every day. They’re so good that as a child, I’d think all day about one specific story or another and hopefully I would dream about it that night. I honestly did this and was always excited when it happened.

Tell us something about yourself that we couldn’t discover from reading your website.

I don’t like the horror genre. It scares me. LOL. But I love vampire and werewolf lore. It intrigues me.

I know you've written a second novel, Forever Richard. Do you plan to write more books in this genre?

I like the speculative aspect. I have several other stories ready to go that are speculative in nature. Hopefully the next one out will be my modern day rodeo/ western with a bit of voo-doo in it! Oh, yes I did just say that! LOL

How is your faith expressed in your writing?

I write what I know. I was raised a Southern Baptist. Go figure! Granddaddy Lawler was a fire and brimstone Southern Baptist preacher. He ordained my brother who is now a Baptist minister after spending much time on the road with his family as the southern gospel singing wonders, “The Steele Family.” My family later started attending a charismatic non-denominational church. What a wonderful place of worship that was! My writing is a culmination of all that I am.

What advice could you give to other writers interested in writing Christian horror/speculative fiction?

A Christian author should never assume everything with the label Christian means that’s what it is even if they’re told differently. There are many different markets for Christians. The label Christian should never be attached to an organization unless it strives to appeal to all Christians. Otherwise they should say who they appeal to. I point directly to CBA/ ECPA because they are notorious for not saying who their market is and it leads a LOT of authors into experiences they shouldn’t have to go through. CBA serves a very targeted market of conservative evangelicals. It’s important to make the distinction between them and the general Christian market. It’s important to do so because, as a rule, they won’t. Their market is not the general Christian market. The speculative fiction they produce should legitimately be called CBA speculative fiction, as it has to meet the same guidelines and writing restrictions as all their other work.

When a Christian market is asking for speculative fiction MSs please explore the market. If you’re turned down and told it’s because your work isn’t Christian enough, please explore further. It’s difficult to write for the CBA market and why would you if you want to appeal to the general Christian market. You will likely have to compromise your writing to appeal to their specific audience. BTW that’s not a problem if that’s what you want to do. Just know that they’re looking for something very specific. J

My first publisher was Christian (not CBA-affiliated as the label now seems to infer.) My new publisher is also Christian—and although this independent house is CBA-recognized, they don’t have to adhere to the needs of that narrow demographic of readers. I’ve been blessed by God twice and actually found two publishers who aren’t afraid to say who they are and serve the general Christian market as well! How cool is that?

Note from publisher:

TWCP is excited about the pending release of Forever Richard, the sequel to Never Ceese. For more information about Forever Richard, check Sue Dent’s www.foreverrichard.com. To pre-order copies of the novel, go to Sue’s site or www.thewriterscafe.com.

For now, the release date of Forever Richard is a well-guarded secret . . . watch for updates over the next few months!

FIRST Wild Car: Never Ceese

2008-06-13T08:35:00.001-06:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Sue Dent

and her book:

Never Ceese

Journey Stone Creations (February 1, 2006)
(Autographed copies can be ordered through www.thewriterscafepress.com/)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sue Dent hails from Mississippi. She graduated from Mississippi College in 1983. Since graduating she’s sold computers, taught computer classes and has worked as a Technical Specialist IV for the Mississippi Department of Natural Resources.

Her first book Never Ceese was published in May of 2006. It has since been short-listed for a Bram Stoker Award in the category of Superior Achievement in a First Novel.

This past March Sue was an invited guest of Nicholas Grabowsky to the World Horror Convention in Toronto Canada. Never Ceese was also at Comic-Con 2007 in San Diego and represented by Head Press Publishing.

Of her writing, which continues to successfully cross both Secular and Christian boundaries, Sue says, “Well, somebody had to do it. Might as well be me.”

Her much anticipated sequel Forever Richard is due out in 2008 published by The Writers’ Café Press. As always, watch www.NeverCeese.com/ and www.ForeverRichard.com/ for updates.

Visit her at her website.

Product Details

List Price: $17.99
Hardcover: 300 pages
Publisher: Journey Stone Creations (February 1, 2006)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1599580179
ISBN-13: 978-1599580173

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

PROLOGUE

She was finally alone, all alone. Merideth had taken all six children with him, and she wouldn’t see them again until much later, after the church service Merideth was leading ended. The weathered, horse-drawn wagon had never looked so full, and for a brief moment, Julia wanted to go along, too. Holding back tears as they pulled away wasn’t easy. Yet when she could no longer hear the wagon wheels creaking along, or the steady plod of their mare pulling it, she regrouped. They would be back soon enough, and until then, she should enjoy this free time. After all, Merideth had planned this time alone for her. Julia wouldn’t spoil it by being sad.

She would work in the garden. No, she would sit in her garden, and absolutely no one would bother her. But first, she must tidy up. Yes, she thought. I will tidy up, then relax.

She started in the small kitchen, but only had to spend a little time there. Her two daughters had cleaned it before they left. She moved on. Instinctively, she kept looking for a child to come darting out, a daughter or a son, calling to her for one thing or another. She paused, fought back another tear. Even when they weren’t there, they were. She went along, picked up a shirt and scolded the child who had left it, though the child was nowhere around to be affected by her words. This time Julia laughed, realized how ridiculous she sounded. I’ve been a mother far too long! But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Julia didn’t look at all like someone’s mother. After six children, she still looked very much like an older sister. She and Merideth married young and had gotten started early. She hadn’t had time to think about growing old and, consequently, it didn’t seem she had. Her face was smooth, not one line or blemish, and only seemed to attract more attention than when she was younger. Men took notice, but she wanted none but Meri. He doted on her, took care of her and loved her like no other could.

Meri was a fine catch in his own right: a man of God, strong and humble, captivating and caring. She smiled knowingly, then carried the shirt she had collected from the floor back to where it belonged, all while thinking of the one person she could never get enough of.

In the small room where the boys slept, she placed the shirt on the bed closest to the door. But just as she began turning around to leave, a shadow overtook hers, a much larger one.

“Who’s there?” she said, rattled. “What do you want?” But she got no answer.

She turned slowly, and stifled her scream. The man was much too close, blocking her way out of the room.

She would go. She would run. He would never catch her. “If . . . AWRIf you’re here to see Mer— my husband . . . he’s just out back. I’ll go and get him.”

But he grabbed her arm tight when she tried to get by.

“Husband not here. Children not here. Julia all alone. Julia woman of Go—” He stopped, placed the palm of his free hand against his forehead, as though trying to force some unimaginable pain away. After a moment, he spoke again. “Want Julia and husband to leave.”

Why was he talking like that? What was wrong with him and how did he know her name? The questions came to her at once. She didn’t care about the answers though; she just wanted to leave. She pulled again. “Please, let me go.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he led her outside, took her into the woods that thickened just past the garden, and handed her off to another man whose grip was just as firm.

“No words,” the first man said. “No kill.”

A feeling of dread overcame her as she watched the first man leave, then turned to face the one who now held her. She’d seen his lustful smile before. When Meri couldn’t accompany her on her errands in town, she got those looks sometimes. They always made her feel awkward, uneasy. But not terrified, as she was now.

The remainder of that time was a blur as Julia forced herself not to think about what the man was doing as he forced himself on her. Finally it was over, and he left.

Julia felt sick, rolled over onto her side and took deep breaths. A twig snapped behind her. She started, managed to get to her feet but froze in fear. Why won’t they just leave me alone?

The first man was back, moved toward her cowering form and spoke. “Julia not forget this day. Julia never forget. Tell husband to go. Only evil will stand here.”

What happened next, Julia was sure no one would ever believe. Right before her eyes, the man turned into a wolf. The wolf came at her, tore his claws at her right side.

She managed to get to a tree and hid behind it, certain the wolf would come after her and kill her. She waited, eyes screwed shut, but nothing happened. Long moments passed, and she finally opened her eyes to see that the wolf was once again the man.

“Leave,” he grunted at her.

Holding her bleeding side with her hands, she pushed through the pain and ran—stumbling, falling to her knees more than once—but eventually making it back to the house. The door was still open, she noticed, and, with what energy she had left, she stumbled inside, bolted the door and collapsed. When she was able, she tore at her already-ripped blouse to make long strips. Using them as bandages, she dressed the wound.

As she worked, the room became steadily darker; the sun was setting, her family would be home soon. She did what she could to pull herself together for their sakes. They couldn’t know. No one could know. No one could ever, ever know!

When her family returned, they found her sitting in the tiny parlor, sewing.

She fumbled through the next few days. When emotion overwhelmed her, she simply went to her room. One morning her oldest son questioned her. She told him it was nothing, but his face told her he didn’t believe her. She knew he’d go to his father, but no longer cared.

* * *AWR

AWRThe garden was where Julia went often to seek solace, and she was there when Merideth found her that afternoon, sitting and staring vacantly at her favorite rosebush, the one he gave her on her birthday: the one she nurtured like her seventh child.

In May of 1785, Merideth answered the call of God to go to Llandyfan, Wales. He took Bibles, medicines, his wife and small son. To the Baptists, who had established themselves in this new territory, Merideth was a Godsend. To the evil that had taken root all around, he was an adversary. Merideth won many souls over. For him and his family, it was a new beginning, something they were looking forward to. But now, his dear wife was troubled, and that troubled him mightily.

“And what thought has you staring so intently?” Merideth asked, his kind voice offset by his worry.

Julia broke herself from her trance, shook her head. “Nothing, Meri.” She tried but failed to smile.

Merideth took a few steps closer, sat on his heels next to where she’d settled on a small wooden bench, one he’d made for her so she could sit while tending to her roses. “Our oldest son has come to me with concerns about his mother. I have been far too busy, I should have seen. You haven’t been yourself, and I do so miss that. What is troubling you?”

She wanted to tell him but her words caught in her throat. The memory of that horrid day was still too fresh. All at once she felt the man’s hands on her again, could hear him breathing close to her ear, smell the earth as he pinned her to the ground. She stared at Merideth, tried to push the memories away, but they couldn’t be stopped. Tears threatened.

Merideth, seeing this, attempted to pull her toward him with gentle hands. But all Julia could see was the man in the woods. “No,” she said, and flung her hands in front of her.

His alarm grew. “Julia, please, I just— If I have done something, please tell me.”

She was staring at the ground when she spoke. “It is not you, it is me. I . . . I have shamed you.”

“Shamed me?” he sputtered. “What are you saying? You could never shame me.”

She took a wavering breath. “Two days ago, there was a man. When you took the children with you. He-He came into the house while I was alone— I tried to run, Meri, but he grabbed me and took me to the woods . . . to where another man waited and—”

“Julia,” Merideth said, his breath going out of him, and then again, “Julia.”

He took her by her shoulders this time, and Julia froze. After a second, though, she realized this was Meri, her Meri, and not some terrible memory. Seconds later, she relaxed, allowed him to hold her close, drew from his strength.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” he said, his voice catching. “I can’t believe you— that you didn’t say something sooner. Right away.”

“I . . . I didn’t want to upset the children.”

In awe, Merideth held her at arms’ length. “The children? Julia, what about you? What did you think would happen if you kept this inside?”

“I also didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t bear it.”

“As if I would ever consider leaving you!”

A tiny wave of relief washed over her.

“You are my life, Julia. My world.” He pulled her close again. “We’ll get through this. God will help us.”

“There’s more, Meri,” Julia said, pushing herself farther away on the bench. “The man . . . the first man, he-he came back after the other man had . . . had—”

Merideth put a finger to her lips before she could finish. “None of it matters.”

“But it’s not what you think.” She wanted to get the words out before fear overwhelmed her. “The first man, he . . . he talked about your mission, about the work you do.” The words rushed out now. “He said we should leave this place and never come back. Said there was no room for good here, that evil prevailed. He then said . . .” she took a deep breath, “if we didn’t leave, he would come back for the children and—”

She couldn’t finish, and he wouldn’t make her. Neither did he hesitate to respond. “Then we shall move—as soon as possible. We will leave this place.”

“But Meri, this is where you felt the Lord leading you! You have sacrificed so much, worked so hard—it would be like giving up.” She was remembering the stir he’d caused when he started baptizing. Immersion in water wasn’t something familiar to anyone in the area then.

“The Lord will understand,” he said without compromise. “I must protect you . . . our children.”

“But you have done so much good here. If only I could have gotten away—”

“Listen to me, Julia! This was not your fault. It was a terrible thing that happened to you, but we will get through it.”

“But Meri . . . I fear . . . I fear I am with child. His child.”

Meri’s eyes widened, but held none of the censure Julia had dreaded. “You really believe you are with child?” he said, wiping a wayward tear from her face. “His child?”

She could only nod.

“But it has only been two days, how can you—? The midwife was certain you could bear no more. We have tried, and—”

At last, her eyes met his. “I know how it must sound, and I don’t want to believe it either. But I’ve had six. I . . . I know how it feels. All six times, I felt like I do now.”

A long pause later, Meri said, “Then we will have another child—another AWRblessing.”

The words sounded harsh to Julia. No, they sounded foolish. How could this child ever be a blessing? “Not like this, Meri,” she said, more tears breaking free. “Not like this.”

“It will be fine, Julia. You’ll see. We will call it a miracle. The children will be overjoyed. No one will know the truth but us . . . and we will never tell.”

“You could love this child?” she said, not believing.

“As if it were my own. I love you, Julia and if this child is yours, then it is mine and it always will be.”

“Meri . . . there is one other thing.” Because of the bizarre nature of what she was about to say, she didn’t wait for him to ask. “Before the man left— the first man, the one who led me into the woods, he . . . he turned into a wolf.”

For the first time, she saw disbelief pass over his face—and something else.

“Perhaps you were just overwhelmed by what happened,” he said. “Delirious. It-It must have been horrible.”

Julia eased up her blouse, carefully removed the strips of cloth she kept over her wounds and revealed what was beneath. The marks were deep and still looked fresh. “He told me . . . before he changed . . . you might need proof.”

Her tears returned, but Merideth could only stare glassy-eyed. He had seen marks such as these before. A young boy and two men from his last mission. All three had died after being attacked by a wolf. All three bore marks identical to the ones his wife was showing him now. And all three had given him a message before they breathed their last breath. They had told him to leave and never come back.

“Did he bite you?” he asked awkwardly. “When he was the wolf, I mean.”

Julie shook her head. “No. Just left these scratches.” She had a hard time figuring out why he asked something so odd. “Is there a reason why you need to know that? Would-Would it make matters worse?”

“Just different,” Merideth said, and reached out to help her ease her shirt back down. “Now, let’s go have those scratches looked at.”

* * *AWR

As he left with her, the two responsible looked on from behind thick bushes. One was a man, the other . . . not quite. He’d been cursed centuries ago, his soul held captive by his own evil. He had cursed many, and would therefore remain cursed forever.

“All right,” the one beside him said. “I did what you asked. Yet I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have done it yourself.” He gave the same leering smile that had so frightened Julia. “You might have enjoyed it. I rather did.”

The man listening wasn’t bothered by the comment. His curse lessened his desire to indulge in the act the other man referred to, even made it difficult. Even if he had been able to, there was no way for him to do what the other man had done. The act, yes, but his seed wouldn’t yield any offspring. He had tried many times before without success.

“Just seems odd to me you wouldn’t want her for yourself.”

The man gave a distant nod, but said nothing. He had other ways of getting pleasure. Spreading his curse was one of those. But since this interfering minister had come to live in the town, pleasure was hard to come by. It wasn’t easy to get close to people who forever had a prayer on their lips or a cross around their neck.

He had to get rid of the minister . . . make an example of him so others wouldn’t feel inclined to take up his cause. This was his territory. He was here first, and the minister was in the way.

“So when do I get the money you promised?” his companion said. “I need to be on my way.” He gave a furtive grin. “Or maybe I’ll just visit Julia again.”

He put a hand to the talkative man’s throat and squeezed. “Julia with child. No touch Julia!”

“Why would you care?” the man croaked. “It’s not your child, but mine.”

The accusation was true, to a point. Yet the scratches he’d left for the minister to see were potent enough to affect the child. Perhaps it would develop keen hearing or an enhanced sense of smell. He’d heard of a similar attack, which yielded a boy-child who could pick up a scent as quick as any dog. When the child was old enough, weaned from its mother’s breast, the attacker, the one who’d done the scratching, took the child from his parents. In the same way, Julia’s child would be his child. When the time was right.

Gasping sounds brought his attention back to the one at the end of his arm, and he loosened his grip slightly.

“All right,” the man sputtered. “I won’t touch her. Just give me my money and I’ll be on my way.”

He might have screamed if he’d known what was coming, but he was dead the second the canine-like fangs pierced the large vein in his neck. He never felt his mutilated body being dragged, then dropped near the spot where Julia’s attack occurred.

* * *AWR

The gravedigger stood knee-deep in what he’d already dug out and shoveled a little longer, his task not far from done. The man’s remains lay, covered, a few feet away.

There were no mourners.

Merideth was there to read last rites at the request of another who’d had other obligations, and Julia had come along with him. She often did when she could arrange to be away from the children. And Merideth had said the one they were burying had no family, no friends anyone knew of, and this bothered her. Julia believed everyone deserved a proper burial, so she stood by the grave of someone she didn’t know, face veiled and head bowed, to pay her respects.

The gravedigger worked a little longer, then climbed out, plunged his shovel into the fresh pile of dirt and stepped far back, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. “Whenever you’re ready, Minister.”

Merideth nodded, clutched his Bible, and knelt beside the body. When the gravedigger bowed his head, Julia raised hers, and when Merideth lifted the shroud covering the man’s face, as he typically did to begin the service, Julia gasped, “It’s him!”

Stunned, Merideth looked back toward Julia, turned slightly to the gravedigger. When it was clear the man hadn’t heard her, he turned back to Julia. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

She brought a shaky hand to her mouth and nodded. Merideth got up and went to his wife, pulled her close, noting her rapid breathing.

“I’m taking you home,” he said, lifting her up to carry her back to their horse-drawn wagon.

The gravedigger was paying attention now, and looked confused. “But what about your duty?” he called after them.

Merideth’s words were hard. “You shall have to find the Devil himself to bury that one.”

A week after, Merideth and his family loaded their possessions and moved on.

Never Ceese interview

2008-06-11T06:00:00.005-06:00

Coming soon…. An interview with Sue Dent, author of Never Ceese. A vampire . . . a werewolf . . . Can Two Who Were Wronged Make It Right?

Marcher Lord Press

2008-06-10T06:00:00.002-06:00

I recently sat under the teaching of Jeff Gerke, aka Jefferson Scott, at a Christian writers’ conference. “You can’t sell Christian fantasy to the Christian market,” he told our fiction-writing class. “But look at the teenagers who are here. They’re all writing fantasy.”

Jeff wondered what that meant for the future of Christian fantasy – and so do I.

In fact, I came home from the conference with a new agenda: to write with my own teenagers who were both writing – guess what: fantasy.

I understand that publishing companies, Christian and otherwise, are concerned with their bottom line. And, as Jeff so eloquently pointed out, the biggest customers for CBA are women who are purchasing books for women. Christian romance, for example, is selling very well.

Fantasy, not so much.

Many women don’t buy fantasy.

Jeff hopes to be ready for the change he sees coming when our teenagers are book-buying and book-writing adults. He’s started an independent publishing company, Marcher Lord Press, with the first books to be launched on Oct. 1, 2008. We’ll track that progress here.

If you’re an author of speculative fiction, check out Marcher Lord Press submission requirements. If you’re a reader of speculative fiction, get ready for some fresh work about to appear.

Head on over to Marcher Lord Press to sign up for free prizes. And be sure to indicate that Kathy Brasby referred you. (I get more chances that way.)

Trivia Time

2008-06-09T08:47:00.005-06:00

As you may have guessed, we're Lord of the Rings fans (among other things) here at Hobbiton Hill. So we're going to do some LOTR trivia questions every week. See if you can outguess our resident trivia expert! Post your answers in the comment section and we'll give you the answer tomorrow.

Here's your question:

Samwise Gamgee married Rose Cotton after the adventures of the Lord of the Rings. How many children did they have together? (From the book Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.)

What IS speculative fiction?

2008-06-09T06:00:00.001-06:00

"Speculative fiction is an umbrella term encompassing science fiction, fantasy, time travel, supernatural thrillers, spiritual warfare, alternate history, chillers, end times fiction, and more. Or, as I like to summarize it, 'anything weird.'"

(From Jeff Gerke at Where The Map Ends)

Hobbiton HIll

2008-06-05T17:19:00.003-06:00

Join us on a journey beyond our world, into the world of fantasy, science fiction and speculative fiction. We are followers of Jesus, seeing an imaginary world through redeemed eyes. We are dancing in his freedom while we taste the tang of adventurous fiction. We will be featuring fantasy links, book reviews, new book announcements.... and wherever the road takes us. Come journey with us!