A Bright Power Rising

by Noel Coughlan

  If the sentinel knew of NoName, then his mission had ended in failure. NoName must be dead. How close did he get to Harbinger? NoName might have been captured and interrogated. It would explain why the legionaries climbed the Pig after they found the village empty. They knew the monastery was there. No. NoName would never permit himself to be taken alive. AscendantSun was being paranoid.

  NoName was dead and AscendantSun was alone.

  Grael awaited Harath by her new hut on the outskirts of the village. She returned from the fields, her skin glistening from exertion. She blushed when she saw him.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, looking about. “Not alone.”

  Grael’s cheeks burned at his thoughtless indiscretion. “I could get Dawan.”

  “No.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Wait for me at the old bark hut in the forest where we stayed the night before we climbed the Pig.”

  “Are you sure you know the way?”

  She answered his question with an arched eyebrow and an indulgent smile.

  “Of course, you know. You suggested it,” he said, decoding her expression.

  The sun rested on the Pig’s shoulder when she arrived at their rendezvous. Tempted by the evening’s fineness, he had a fire blazing outside the hut. The signs of her day’s toil had disappeared. Gone were the stray hairs and the smudges on her face and dress. As she drew near, he caught a flowery scent. There had to be a bouquet of wild flowers secreted on her person.

  “You didn’t come to my father’s wake,” he said.

  “I attended the funeral.”

  “I saw you hiding at the back.”

  “I didn’t want to upset your mother.”

  “Of course.” Mam was upset enough already about their engagement. She had even dared to curse Charlin to his face for his betrayal.

  “Let’s sit by the fire.”

  “How are your wounds?” Harath asked.

  “Not too bad. An itch I must not scratch.”

  She studied him, then, comprehending his puzzlement at her gaze, returned it to the fire. “I hear they are building new furkas on the Pig,” she said.

  “They are to be made of wood, not stone. And they won’t be consecrated. Easier to tear down in an emergency.”

  They chatted about their kidnapping, their first engagement, and the events that followed. When Grael asked her about her father, her silence encouraged him to move on to another topic.

  “How do you like your neighbors?” he asked her.

  “The Cliffringdeners are fine. I should call them Pigsknucklers since they wear our colors. I’m surprised the Changeling was in such a rush to rehouse them. It’s a miracle we didn’t have to rebuild the entire village.”

  “One of many,” Grael said. “Garscap wanted his hall back, now that every politician is coming to pay homage to him. And have their men trained by the Orstretcherists. It’s starting to rain. Perhaps we should go inside.”

  As the shadows of evening spread over the land, a cloudy gloom crept across the firmament and gently wept on them.

  “It is little more than a mist,” Harath said “And the fire’s too inviting. Let’s stay.”

  He panicked a little as her head lay on his lap and she stared at the fire. He ignored the urge to move. The events of the last few months had weakened his respect for some of his people’s more fussy customs. The firelight set the beads of moisture on her hair alight like precious gems. Harath was more advanced in her contempt for the meddlesome edicts of saints. She was always a little ahead of him.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you the big news,” he said. “Garscap has made me his official intermediary with the Orstretcherists.”

  Harath lifted her head and regarded him awkwardly. The puzzlement on her face made him smile.

  He shrugged. “Apparently, AscendantSun insisted.”

  She frowned. “When can we get married?”

  It was his turn to be silent. Mustering his courage, he said, “My mother insists on a full year of mourning.”

  “In a year, we might all be dead,” Harath grumbled,

  “That’s what she says. I’ve tried to convince her otherwise. Please don’t get upset. Don’t let her ruin this evening. We may have so few together.”

  She rested her head again on his lap and returned her gaze to the fire. They basked in each other’s company as much as the fire’s comforting warmth, as night blinded them to everything beyond the reach of its light.

  “We should go back to the village,” Harath said. “Myryr will be wondering where you are.”

  It was tempting to argue for an extension to their sojourn, but she was right. He put out the fire and escorted her home through the darkness.

  Garscap crept inside the cave. Something stirred in the blackness beyond the candle’s timid light.

  “Evram, are you there?”

  A sigh of relief answered. “I wasn’t sure if it was you.” A black shape staggered toward him. Evram’s head emerged from the darkness. His halo was lopsided, his hair disheveled. Tears merged with the beads of sweat trickling down his feverish face to carve lines in the smudges on his cheeks. His face burned with fever, but the familiar skewed grin was still there.

  “This dank air cannot be good for you,” Garscap said. “Let us go outside and get you cleaned up.”

  They emerged, blinking, into the sunlight.

  “Be careful you don’t go too far,” Evram said as he shielded his eyes. “It’s a long way down.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Garscap said, peering over the edge of the precipice. Far below, the Witchmilk was a ribbon of white.

  “You’ve not come in a long time,” Evram said.

  “I’ve been busy. I brought some food.” Garscap passed the bag to Evram.

  Evram weighed it with his hand. “Not a lot here.”

  “I have to avoid suspicion.”

  Evram’s grin spread. “That’s nice, but it won’t fill my belly.”

  “How is the wound?”

  “I am putting herbs on it. I don’t know if they are healing it or just hiding the smell. When can I go home?”

  “Very soon. Remember the frog and the scorpion.”

  “That’s fine for you. You’re not stuck out here, living in a cave.” A fit of coughing doubled Evram over.

  Garscap seized his chance. He shoved Evram toward the cliff. Evram tried to cling to him but Garscap tore free of his grip. Evram toppled over the edge of the precipice, his screaming ceasing abruptly as he struck the cliff face. He glanced off it again before he disappeared into the Witchmilk’s white water. Poor Evram could not have survived the drop. If his body washed up anywhere, people would assume he threw himself in. Garscap could feel safe again.

  “What is wrong?” Talida asked.

  Her genuine concern surprised Garscap. Of course, she was dependent on his fortunes. “Nothing,” he said as he rose from their bed. “I need some air.”

  “You were screaming in your sleep,” she said.

  “Did I say anything?” he asked.

  “No. You just screamed.”

  Suspicious, he studied her a moment. Was she telling the truth? It seemed so.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” he muttered. He slipped through the curtains around their private sleeping area, tiptoed across the drunken casualties of the evening’s revelry, and plunged angrily into the cold, hard air of night.

  Evram, leave me alone. Haunt my dreams no more.

  What did the young fool expect? Garscap had to defend himself. He had to. If it became common knowledge that he had ordered DayFlambeau Formosus slain, everything achieved so far would be lost.

  If Evram had done the job properly in the first place, he would still be alive. His panicked reaction to the gash across his abdomen was understandable, but he should have never let the injured Elf escape. Or he should have let the Carnaths deal with DayFlambeau by themselves. At least that way, his involvement would have been secret, and both he and Garscap would have been safe, and
there would have been no need for any unpleasantness.

  Evram had always been too hotheaded, too eager. Garscap was probably better off without him. Still, he would be missed. He was Garscap’s only confidant. A friend who could be trusted was a rarity in these precarious times. Who would Garscap brag to now?

  If Evram had put up a real fight, if it had been more of an effort, Garscap might have been less melancholy. To the end, Evram had clung to the conviction that Garscap could solve his mess with a wave of his hand. A pity it was not so easy. If only Garscap could reverse what he had done. If only he could find another way to protect himself. But it was too late for that now. Too late.

  Damn the Orstretcherists! It was their fault. DayFlambeau had been up to no good. The Elves’ emotions were hard to read, but the discomfort of the others around DayFlambeau was so evident, and none of them would divulge the real reason for his departure. They answered Garscap’s questions with obfuscations and lies. And Elves were poor liars.

  He had not trusted the Fair Folk from the start. They were like a mercenary force, loyal to a point but ultimately looking out for themselves. The difference was that they weren’t motivated by something tangible like wealth. Their coming to the mountains was some sort of spiritual quest that Garscap did not understand. Perhaps, they didn’t understand it either.

  The palaver about the prisoners was a perfect example. It was lucky that they found none alive. And AscendantSun had forced Garscap to make Grael his liaison to the Orstretcherists, in effect to elevate a man who had tried to steal his thorny crown. Yes, such random perversity made Orstretcherists dangerous.

  Then again, Garscap, too, could be dangerous. The Battle of the Crooked Stair had proved his specialness to the world. He was indeed destined for greatness. Even his mother, before her madness, had recognized it. Her pet name for him was Lilak—his childish effort to pronounce Little Alackalas.

  His jaw shivered as he yawned. It was cold. He headed back to the warmth of his bed.

  The adventure continues in The Unconquered Sun.

  A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

  It would mean so much to me if you could leave an honest review wherever you purchased this story.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed A Bright Power Rising, check out the concluding volume of The Golden Rule, The Unconquered Sun. There is also a prequel short story set in the same world, The Parting Gift, which delves into part of the Ors’ history in a non-spoilery fashion. Please check out the details of my other fantasy stories at Photocosm.org and join my email list.

  * * *

  Feel free to email me at noelcoughlan@photocosm.org to ask any questions or share any comments you have about this book. I love to hear from readers.

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  Best wishes,

  * * *

  Noel

  THE UNCONQUERED SUN

  AscendantSun has spilt the blood of his own kind. He has chosen his side. There’s no going back.

  * * *

  The burgeoning ambition of his fickle ally, Gascarp Torp, is as deadly as the invaders swarming through the mountains, but AscendantSun still dreams of stemming the invasion. The key is the fort of Cliffringden. If he can capture it, he can feed his allies through the winter and drive back the Harbinger’s legions for another year.

  As he sets his plan in motion, forces already conspire to turn the fort into a trap. Unbeknownst to him, a terrible, new threat looms beyond the mountains as another of the Harbinger’s prophecies comes to fruition. The blood-thirsty god AscendantSun spurned is about to be reborn.

  The Unconquered Sun is the second volume of The Golden Rule, a two-part epic fantasy for readers who enjoy unique and intriguing world-building.

  FATAL SHADOW

  Long ago, magic cracked apart the world and suspended great continents between two suns. But the ebb and flow of human history continues. Trade and war cross the void on dragon wings. Great empires rise and topple…

  * * *

  As the rightful heir to one such fallen state, Drinith has known only exile, dashed hope, and constant threat. She has so far eluded the murderous intentions of the tyrant Magian the Infinite thanks to the prophetic visions of the oracle, Quiescat, but his power is failing. All he can glimpse in the future now is his own death.

  * * *

  An assassin’s blade forces her into a desperate gamble. She takes her one final chance to secure the ally she so desperately needs. But at the end of her journey, she’ll find deceit, betrayal, and murder. And she’ll learn Magian isn’t the only threat to her people.

  * * *

  Fatal Shadow is the first of six books in the Champions of Fate epic fantasy series. If you enjoy fast-paced action, intriguing characters, and imaginative world-building, then you’ll love this engrossing novel.

  * * *

  (Check out the prequel short story, No Escape.)

  SHORT STORIES

  Fantasy:

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  The Parting Gift

  Certamen’s god is dead. His people, the Ors, are broken and enslaved. He finds consolation in the knowledge that they are safe... But not for much longer. Their masters, facing decimation by disease, are growing desperate. Desperate enough to kill.

  (Prequel to A Bright Power Rising.)

  * * *

  No Escape

  A desperate warrior carries a baby girl across a foreign desert. Although truth and honor are tattooed on his face, Tharo has abandoned both virtues in his quest to protect his charge. But it’s only a matter of time before he fails her. Another man stalks them, a hunter no prey can escape, the dreaded Souldiviner.

  * * *

  The Fate Healer

  Draston’s master, Hamvok the Merciful, craves a royal ancestor or two to legitimize his tyranny. But every avenue of Draston’s research has come to a dead end. To save himself from the tyrant’s violent displeasure, he commits himself to a path of forgery and sacrilege, risking the wrath of not only the gods, but a far more terrible entity, the dreaded Fate Healer.

  * * *

  Horror:

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  The Murder Seat

  Dr. Herbert Marriott has a problem that only murder can solve. Luckily for him, the perfect weapon is locked away in his rundown museum, one too incredible for any court to accept. The cursed chair kills all who rest upon it. But will Herbert’s victim be so easily drawn to her fate?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I thank my friends and relations who suffered through my various drafts, who were hounded out of weddings and other family occasions to discuss cover designs and other issues at short notice, and whose input made this book a much better work—Evan Coughlan, Padraig Coughlan, Deirdre O’Gorman, Brendan Murphy, John Logan, Mags Murphy, Joe McInerney, Kirsty O’Neill, and Orla McGrath. I also want to thank Colm Murphy for his advice on setting up Photocosmological Press.

  Rob Anstonishen turned my crude maps into something far more professional. He was able to transform my rather dense vision into something beautiful. Thanks again, Rob!

  Thanks also must go to Marek Purzychi who designed the beautiful cover of this book. He was absolutely great to work with.

  Thanks to Marina and Jason Anderson at Polgarus Studios for formatting the paperback.

  I want to thank the good people at the Finish The Story for all their editing work: Alicia Dean (proofreading); Bryan Thomas Schmidt (copy editing), and Claire Ashgrove (developmental and line editing). I’m particularly in Claire’s debt for all the work that she put into the book. I also want to thank Pamela Guerrieri-Cangioli, Amy Raubenolt, and Kevin Cook from Proofed To Perfection for all their help. Hopefully, these acknowledgments don’t read too badly because I edited them by myself!

  ABOUT NOEL COUGHLAN

  I live with my wife and daughter in Ireland.

  From a young age, I was always writing a book. Generally, the first page over and over. Sometimes, I even reached the second page before I had shredded the entire copy book.

  In my teenage y
ears, I wrote some poetry, some of which would make a Vogon blush.

  When I was fourteen, I had a dream. It was of a world where the inhabitants believed that each hue of light was a separate god, and that matter was simply another form of light. Thus, the world of Elysion was born.

  I tinkered with the idea for a couple of decades, putting together mythologies, histories, maps, etc., but world-building isn’t worth much without a gripping story. Finally, I discovered a tale so compelling I just had to write it. The story was originally to be one book called The Golden Rule, but it expanded so much in the telling that I had to split it into two volumes, A Bright Power Rising and The Unconquered Sun.