by Sean Hinn
She lifted her thin arms, closed her black eyes and threw back her head. Long, fine ribbons of hair fell to the small of her back, silver wisps brushing against exposed flesh. She took a slow breath, her nostrils filling with the sweet, pungent blend of burned incense and her own acrid sweat. It was not warm in the altar room; hers was a different sort of sweat, the sort that beads at one’s pores when dread takes hold.
The spell would require no complex incantation, no wild, arduous gesticulations. This was no spell of Kehrlia, no intellectual feat. Nor was it a mere prayer; nothing so common could call forth such power. It was a thing of utter devotion requiring three components: intent, supplication, and sacrifice. The sacrifices to be offered this day had been stored in bone; the awful artifacts now dangled from the Mother’s ears, dancing in time with her heartbeat. Supplication would come soon, and painfully. As for intent, only two words would be required, these chanted as the Mother meditated on her plea:
“Use me.”
A Kalian circle often displayed no outward evidence that a spell had been initiated, not for several turns at least, often for hours. Kal was said to ignore his petitioners until their devotion was laid utterly bare. The Mother knew otherwise. Kal responded as Kal would. It came down to this: if a spell did not serve his ends, he might ignore it completely. The orcs, when they had lived in Greater Tahr, experienced this regularly, for they failed to understand Kal’s true nature. They attributed their failed circles to a technical failure of their spiritdoctors. Many an orc had been slain by their own tribe when a petition for rain or bounty ended in failure. Such was naught but arrogance, the Mother knew, an arrogance that persisted among many Daughters, and even the Mother before her. No, the favor of Kal could not be obliged by something so banal as proper procedure. The technique was a test of devotion, no more, no less, for to form a perfect circle was to demonstrate the care to do so. If, however, the petition itself pleased Kal, errors in its composition were forgiven, and his favor was displayed in splendor. On this day, before the Mother could utter her chant a third time, none bearing witness could deny: Kal was pleased.
A darkness burst outward from the Mother’s earrings like flashes of black lightning. All light in the room was extinguished, replaced by a violet glow emanating from the painted strokes of the bloody circle. Unlike lightning, however, the flash was accompanied by no thunderous report; rather it absorbed all noise, vacuuming every sliver of sound into a hungry void.
The Mother screamed—
“Now!”
—but no one heard.
Teena had not needed to hear. Black stains darkened the Mother in places, these the faults of her flesh. Teena cast her dark fire into the Mother’s still-bleeding palm. Clarien, Jaila, and Dinah followed her lead, cauterizing cuts and blemishes on the Mother’s body which would have been otherwise invisible to the naked eye. The Mother cried out at the pain, but it was not the sound of her own scream which returned to her ears.
Another screamed. A man’s voice, distant and tortured. Again, longer, louder.
The circle began to pulse in time with the Mother’s pounding heart, rays of anti-light darkening the altar room in an ever-increasing pace. Again, the Mother screamed. Again, the sound of another’s wailing misery sounded from the void, closer now, louder. The Daughters withdrew their magic; her wounds had been closed. The pain did not recede. It amplified, stabbing deeply into her flesh in time with the pulsing circle, her heart drumming now, its beats now more predominant than the rests between them. Time slowed, bent, snapped…
The door was open.
The Mother fell to her knees. She lifted her eyes to the altar, it now quickening, its once-living rings of maple now throbbing like veins. Dried, crimson stains in the ancient wood began to liquify anew, pigmented memories of terrible moments when it had drunk the essence of supplicants willing and unwilling.
Soon, now.
~
Sartean screamed.
~I HAVE NOT FINISHED WITH YOU, MAGICIAN!~
Something tore at his soul, stretching it, shredding it.
He screamed again. Longer, louder.
~NO! HE IS STILL MINE!~
A single word sounded in Sartean’s mind, whispered in dark chorus by a thousand voices. It did not come from The Hand.
~…indebted…~
A crushing, tearing grasp seized Sartean from within his chest… and then relented. For the span of a breath, no more, there was release. It was not to last. A new thing pressed at him, bending him, breaking him. He screamed again, a shaking, panicked scream like the ones he used to offer The Hand in the days before he had been broken. Something crushed him, compressed his mind within his own skull. Cold fingers tore at his flesh, clutching, clawing their way into his battered body to reach what remained of his spirit.
I know these hands.
Sartean traveled then, dragged body and soul through an emptiness by his very heart. He slammed against some barrier, over and over, his whole self pounding against it, again and again in awful rhythm like an angry child might bang a doll against a wall. The barrier softened, dissolved, and he was through it, but what lay beyond was fire.
Sartean wailed again as the outer part of himself was burned away. He smelled it. Smelled his old self crisping. Then, suddenly, as if what he had just endured never happened, he lay in darkness upon a cold, hard slab.
He gasped. His mind was in disarray. The room strobed between utter darkness and dim violet. He blinked, shocked to discover he had eyes. He turned his head to the right, away from the pulsing. A stone wall faced him. He turned to the left…
Of course. He knew those hands.
“Hello, Mother.”
Penance D’Avers stood and faced her son.
“The second debt is paid,” she declared, her voice little more than a tremulous croak.
Sartean did not need a clear head to understand what he saw. This was a Kalian circle, his mother its supplicant. It still thrummed with life.
Only a prick…
Sartean lifted a finger, pointing it at his mother’s cheek. A droplet of blood bubbled its way through the tiny perforation.
The mother wiped at the droplet. She licked her finger as she met Sartean’s gaze, forcing a smile. She bowed her head, shutting her eyes tight against what was to come.
“And now, I pay the first.”
END OF VOLUME FOUR
FROM ME TO YOU
Two books to go.
First things first—please shoot me an email so I can make sure to let you know when #5 comes out: [email protected] Go ahead, do it now before you forget. I’ll busy myself here writing for a bit. (Mention “Book 5” in the subject so I know to look for your note.)
~
Good, you’re back. Thank you for the email—I will write you back, I promise. I return every email from fans, each and every one without exception, because I am truly, madly, completely in love with you peeps.
If you’ve picked this book up on its launch day, it’s been exactly three years—to the day—since I released the first book into the wild on July 25th, 2016. It was called Tahr back then, as many of you know, not Omens of Fury, but as it turns out, a tahr is a Himalayan goat, and when you googled the book, all these goat pics popped up—which is cool, if you’re into goats, and now I am into goats, a fact which many of you have also learned by now—but it wasn’t exactly great marketing. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, how much I love you. Three years, four books, and if you lovely humans hadn’t shown me so much love when #1 came out, it would have taken me a Fury of a lot longer. I’d probably be working the buckets on some goat farm somewhere by now, sneaking into the stables to hammer out a paragraph here and there. Instead, I now can eek out a living at this whole thing, give or take, so I get to live in Tahr all day, every day—thanks to you. Hence, the heart-pounding, butterfly-inducing love I have for you all.
Which brings me to the question you’re (hopefully) brimming with—when will #5 come out? When will the series
be complete? I’ve been saying all along that I expect to be done with this series in 2019, and I am going to *just* miss that deadline, methinks, but only by a couple of months. Unless something catastrophic happens, #5 will be in your grubby little hands this fall. I’m in the zone over here, writing my tail off, and now that the conclusion is getting near, I’m burning to get this story onto paper.
(OK, if you were waiting to email me until you got that answer, I get it. But please go do it now. You know how you’re clamoring to know what happens next? I’m clamoring to hear what you thought of #4. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, deal?)
About the story… you’ll notice that this book was the shortest of the four to this point, and I know how many of you like a big honkin’ doorstop to read. Here’s the thing about that: I made a calculated decision while writing Descent that I was going to focus very specifically on certain threads in the story. Those threads took thirty-five chapters to explore. It just is what it is. You can bet a bag on this, though: there’s a big doorstop on the way.
Another thing that might be worth addressing is the dark turn the books are taking. If you compare #4 to #1… yeah, night and day. (Well, “day and night” is probably more accurate.) For those of you who like your fantasy on the lighter side, stay with me. Not because the books are necessarily going to brighten up like sunrise over the great falls of Eyreloch, but because, as you well know, light casts a shadow, and to leave those shadows unexplored would be to understate the brilliance of light itself. If there’s anything at all you might glean from the books about me, it’s that I believe in the power of light, and with a bit of luck and no small amount of magic, our heroes just might throw back the shadows before it’s all said and done. I’m certainly rooting for them.
Thank you, brave and noble friend, for undertaking this quest with our champions. You’ve followed them—and me—into Fury, and for that I am indebted… but do not fear. I know where the door is.
-Sean
APPRECIATION
APPENDIX A: CAST OF CHARACTERS
Anie Thomison (AY-nee TOM-is-sun): Wife of Vincent Thomison. Deceased.
Aria Evanti (AH-ree-uh ee-VON-tee): Elven Princess of Thornwood, daughter to Terrias Evanti, heir to the Seat of Thornwood. Unmarried.
Argl (AR-gul): G’naari hunter, personal guard to King Oort Greykin.
Barris (BEAR-iss): Sir Barris, First Knight of Thornwood. Parentage unknown, no known heir nor kin.
Blythe Kalder (BLYTH KAL-der): Captain of the Gate of Belgorne.
Chaneela (sha-NEE-lah): Unendorsed house wizard to sisters Maris and Kalindra
Clarien (KLEH-ree-en): Ordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal.
Cindra Sandshingle (SIN-druh SAND-sheen-gul): Gnomish witch, descendant of the Sandshingle and Claywart bloodlines. Maternal grandmother to Shyla Greykin.
Colonel Onyx (KER-nel ON-ix): Second in the dwarven army to General Brandaxe.
Cloudia (CLOW-dee-yah): Elven ranger, healer.
Dohr Silverstone (DOR SIL-ver-stōn): Secondson of Belgorne, brother to J'arn.
Dell Brightwater (DELL BRITE-waw-ter): Ranger of Thornwood, spouse to Janna.
Dinah (DY-nah): Ordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal.
Earl (ER-ul): Citizen of Mor. Wagon loader.
Emma Manchele (EM-muh man-SHEL): Wife of Fillip, purveyor of fine candles, honey, and honey-baked goods.
Eriks Lane (ERIKS LAYN): Former Defender of Mor. Member of the secret society of the Merchants.
Fillip Manchele (FIL-lip man-SHEL): Husband of Emma, purveyor of fine candles, honey, and honey-baked goods.
Freya Brennan (FRAY-uh BREN-nan): Birth name of sorceress Mila Felsin.
Gale (GAYL): Dun stallion, community mount of the Grove.
Garne Silverstone (GARN SIL-ver-stōn): King of Belgorne, direct descendant of Brenn Silverstone. Widower. Father to J'arn, Dohr.
General Brandaxe (BRAND-axe): Leader of the dwarven army. Second to Dohr Silverstone. Nickname "Hatchet."
General Fallon (FAL-lin): General in the Army of Mor. Departed south with most of the army when Halsen fell.
General Slater (SLAY-ter): Head of the army remaining in Mor. Former beneficiary of the Merchant’s services. to Kari Flint, deceased
Gerald Longstock (JEH-ruld LONG-stok): Housemaster to Vincent Thomison, wizard. Member of the secret society of the Merchants.
Glena (GLEE-nah): Ordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal. Now an earring.
Gritson (Laine Gritson, Jr.) (GRIT-sun): Dwarven engineer, second to Kelgarr (Boot). Father to Laine III, husband of Gennae, brother-in-law to Kari Flint.
Halsen (HAHL-sen): King of Mor, direct descendent of Jons Halsen, of the days of the Strife. Unmarried. No known heir.
Hope (HOPE): Chestnut mare, mount to Lucan Thorne. Taken from Samuel Thomison in Lucan's escape from Mor.
Jaila (JAY-lah): Ordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal.
Janna Brightwater (JAN-na BRITE-waw-ter): Knight of Thornwood, spouse to Dell.
J'arn Silverstone (YARN SIL-ver-stōn): Dwarven Firstson of Belgorne, heir to the Sovereign. Son of Garne, brother to Dohr. Unmarried.
Jarriah (jeh-RYE-uh): Apprentice of Kehrlia
Jaysen Theel (JAY-sen THEEL): Private in the Army of Mor.
Kade Calayaan (KADE CAL-aye-yan): Second Ranger of Thornwood
Kal (KAL): Nearest of the two moons of Tahr, smallest of the Twins. Believed by some to be the Lord of Death, harbinger of death and decay.
Kallar (KAL-ar): Stone elf.
Kalindra (kah-LIN-dra): Mistress of the brothel's guild of Mor. Twin sister to Maris.
Kari Flint (KEH-ree flint): Dwarven barkeep of the Hammer Niece to Latimer Flint, scout captain of Belgorne. Sister to Gennae Flint. Unmarried.
Kalashagon (kah-LASH-a-gon): Great winged beast, Dragon, Slave of the Hand of Disorder.
Kimber (KIM-ber): Elderly advisor to Dohr Silverstone.
Lady Lor (LOR): Lady of Eyreloch, servant to the powers of Life
Lady Kal (KAL): Lady of Eyreloch, servant to the powers of Death.
Lanna Arbarri (LAN-nah ar-BAR-ree): Ranger of Thornwood
Lor (LOR): Furthest of the two moons of Tahr, largest of the Twins. Believed by some to be the Lord or Lady of Life.
Lucan Thorne (LOO-can THORN): Also "Lucan not-Thorne." Erstwhile tavern hustler and orphan. Unmarried. No known heir or kin.
Lux (LUX): Dwarven Scout. Member of Flint's Five.
Lyan (LY-an): Ranger Captain of Thornwood.
Mama (MAH-muh): Legendary dire wolf once known to prowl the foothills between Belgorne and G'naath, slain by Oort Greykin.
Macon (Kyle Macon, “Mac”) (MAY-son): Sergeant of Belgorne.
Magsilla (mag-ZIL-la): Mount to Ronun.
Maris (MEH-ris): Mistress of the brothel's guild of Mor. Twin sister to Kalindra.
Mikallis Elmshadow (mik-A-lis ELM-sha-do): Currently serving a cyclical stint as Captain of the Guard, protector of the Evanti family. Close family friend to Aria and kin. Unmarried.
Mila Felsin (MY-la FEL-sin): Citizen of Mor. Incantor of Kehrlia. Inventor of Flightfluid.
Neral Evanti (neh-RAL e-VON-tee): Elven Goodfather of Thornwood. Widowed husband of Elisia, father to deceased son Banor. Lifelong Captain of the Elven Cavalry. Great grand-uncle of Terrias Evanti.
Nia (NEE-ah): Unordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal
Nikalus (NIH-ka-lis): Stableboy, assistant to Master Argus. Friend to Sir Barris and Phantom.
Nishali Windwillow (nih-SHA-lee): First Ranger of Thornwood, councilor to Queen Evanti.
Nova (NO-vuh): Dwarven Scout. Member of Flint's Five.
Oort Greykin (OORT - GREY-kin): Father to Shyla Greykin, husband to Thinsel Greykin.
Osraed: (OZ-rye-ed): Grey mare. Mount to Vicaris Trellia Evanti.
Penance D’Avers (PEN-nanse dee-AV-ers): Daughter of fishmonger Deahma and Lorian Prior Crago, once-wife of Samean, once-mother of Sartean, now mother of
the Temple of Kal.
Petahr (PAY-tar): Brother of the Grove.
Phantom (FAN-tom): Black stallion, mount to Sir Barris of Thornwood
Pheonaris (fee-oh-NAR-is): Elven Mistress of the Society of the Grove. Mentor to Aria Evanti.
Rak (RAK): Once gatemaster of G’naath; King Oort Greykin’s personal guard
Ronun (RO-nun): Eldest of the Stone Elves.
Sartean D’Avers (SAR-tee-ann dee-A-vers): The Master of the Keep of Kehrlia in the kingdom of Mor. Head of the Fraternity of Incantors. Adviser to King Halsen. Unmarried. No known heir.
Sera (SEH-ra): White filly, mount to Princess Aria Evanti.
Shem (SHEM): Stone elf.
Shyla Greykin (SHY-la GREY-kin): Gnomish outcast of G'naath, daugther to Oort and Thinsel Greykin, granddaughter to Cindra Sandshingle. Unmarried.
Sienni (see-EH-nee): Young Incantor of Kehrlia. Former assistant to Mila Felsin.
Simmon Heartwood (SIM-mun HART-wood): Eldest Ranger of Thornwood.
Sir Marchion (MAR-chee-on): Second Knight of Thornwood. Councilor to Queen Evanti in Sir Barris' absence.
Spirit (SPI-rit): Sorrel-coated colt, mount to Mistress Pheonaris.
Slater (SLAY-tur): General in the Army of Mor.
Smit: (SMIT) Corporal in the Army of Mor.
Teena (TEE-nah): Ordained Priestess Daughter of the Temple of Kal.
Terrias Evanti (te-RYE-us e-VON-ti): Elven queen of Thornwood. Mother to Aria. Gret grand-niece of Neral Evanti.
Thinsel Greykin (THIN-sel GREY-kin): Mother to Shyla Grekyin, wife to Oort Grekyin.
Trellia Evanti (TREH-lee-uh ee-VON-tee): Vicaris of the Society of the Grove, paternal aunt of Queen Terrias Evanti. Unmarried, no heir.
Triumph (TRY-umf): Steel-grey stallion. Mount to Mikallis Elmshadow.
Varyl (VEH-ril): Captain in the Army of Mor.
Vincent Thomison (VIN-sent TOM-ih-sun): A wealthy citizen of Mor, leader of the secret society of Merchants. Widowed. No known heir.
Wolf (wulf): Canine companion to Shyla Greykin