Widows of the Sun-Moon
Page 1
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About Barbara Ann Wright’s Work
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Widows of the Sun-Moon
Naos is bored. Alone in space, life should be idyllic. No more random thoughts intruding on her brain; no bodies clogging her senses. But what is there to do besides stare at the planet below and wonder what it would feel like to be Calamity’s only god?
War between the other gods shouldn’t be too hard to start. The Storm Lord has a bad temper, and after being abandoned by Simon Lazlo, source of immortality, he’s easy to provoke. And the Sun-Moon live closely with Calamity’s plains-dwelling people and their new neighbors, a pack of humans and aliens led by the intriguing ex-soldier Cordelia Ross. With a plague ravaging their numbers, it will be easy to set them at each other’s throats.
A little war, a bit of death, and the chance to be Calamity’s only deity? It’s a game to keep even the most fickle goddess entertained.
What Reviewers Say About Barbara Ann Wright’s Work
The Pyradisté Adventures
“…a healthy dose of a very creative, yet believable, world into which the reader will step to find enjoyment and heart-thumping action. It’s a fiendishly delightful tale.”—Lambda Literary
“Barbara Ann Wright is a master when it comes to crafting a solid and entertaining fantasy novel. …The world of lesbian literature has a small handful of high-quality fantasy authors, and Barbara Ann Wright is well on her way to joining the likes of Jane Fletcher, Cate Culpepper, and Andi Marquette. …Lovers of the fantasy and futuristic genre will likely adore this novel, and adventurous romance fans should find plenty to sink their teeth into.”—The Rainbow Reader
“The Pyramid Waltz has had me smiling for three days. …I also haven’t actually read…a world that is entirely unfazed by homosexuality or female power before. I think I love it. I’m just delighted this book exists. …If you enjoyed The Pyramid Waltz, For Want of a Fiend is the perfect next step…you’d be embarking on a joyous, funny, sweet and madcap ride around very dark things lovingly told, with characters who will stay with you for months after.”—The Lesbrary
“This book will keep you turning the page to find out the answers. …Fans of the fantasy genre will really enjoy this installment of the story. We can’t wait for the next book.”—Curve Magazine
Thrall: Beyond Gold and Glory
“…incidents and betrayals run rampant in this world, and Wright’s style successfully kept me on my toes, navigating the shifting alliances… [Thrall] is a story of finding one’s path where you would least expect it. It is full of bloodthirsty battles and witty repartee…which gave it a nice balanced focus. …This was the first Barbara Ann Wright novel I’ve read, and I doubt it will be the last. Her dialogue was concise and natural, and she built a fantastical world that I easily imagined from one scene to the next. Lovers of Vikings, monsters and magic won’t be disappointed by this one.”—Curve Magazine
“The characters were likable, the issues complex, and the battles were exciting. I really enjoyed this book and I highly recommend it.”—All Our Worlds
Paladins of the Storm Lord
“An intricate…novel one that can be appreciated at many levels, adventurous sci fi or one that is politically motivated with a very astute look at present day human behavior. …There are many levels to this extraordinary and well written book…overall a fascinating and intriguing book.”—Inked Rainbow Reads
Widows of the Sun-Moon
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Widows of the Sun-Moon
© 2017 By Barbara Ann Wright. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-778-1
This Electronic book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,
P.O. Box 249
New York, USA
First Edition: January 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)
By the Author
Thrall: Beyond Gold and Glory
Coils
The Pyradisté Adventures:
The Pyramid Waltz
For Want of a Fiend
A Kingdom Lost
The Fiend Queen
The Godfall Novels:
Paladins of the Storm Lord
Widows of the Sun-Moon
Acknowledgments
Like all my books, this one wouldn’t be possible without Mom and Ross. Another big thank you to Angela, Deb, Erin, Matt, and Natsu for reading and making my work better. We’re the best writing group ever, AND we have the word “beaver” in our name. Thanks also to Pattie for reading. You’re the bestest.
A special thank you to everyone who’s ever said they liked my work. You have no idea how important it is to hear that. Without you, I couldn’t keep writing.
Dedication
For Erin Kennemer and David Slayton, two of the best friends I’ve ever had.
Prologue
Jack grinned as he slid into his chair and laid his napkin across his lap. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Copilot Dué. Has your copilotship ordered wine, or would you like me to summon a lackey to do it for you?”
Patricia saw right past the grin to the resentful undertone. She sighed and closed her eyes, listening to the murmurs of the other couples scattered through the restaurant. In the foyer, someone played a soft melody on a piano, and glasses clinked from the bar. “Is that your idea of a congratulatory speech, or are you trying to get me to break up with you right after my promotion and right before the most important mission of my life?”
He picked the menu up and studied it. “I thought marrying me in a year was the most important mission in your life.”
“Are you a deep space colony? Or maybe you’re the ship with the revolutionary engine that I get to pilot to said deep space colony.”
He gave her a leer. “Pilot me
anywhere you like, baby.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Shut up. I’m trying to be mad at you for being late and resenting me.”
He sighed, put the menu down, and lined up his silverware next to his plate. “Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m just a jealous worrier.”
“You should be jealous. The Atlas is a very nice ship. It would put any mere human being to shame.”
The grin was back. “So, are we breaking up so you can have an affair with your ship?”
She took his hand, staring into his blue eyes so she could remember them all the way out in the deep blackness of space. “There’s no way I’m leaving you here without an engagement ring on your finger.” She trusted him completely, but she knew petty jealousy warmed his heart.
“I love you, Ms. Copilot.”
“I love you, too, Mr. Copilot.”
He smiled wider. “We’ll have to remember that for the invitations.”
When he winked, she wanted to climb over the table and kiss him until the staff asked them to leave. She opened her mouth to suggest they skip dinner and go straight home, but the sounds of the restaurant faded, and her voice wouldn’t climb above a whisper.
That wasn’t right. In her memory, she’d said, “Let’s get out of here,” and he’d said something like, “And go on our own deep mission?” and she’d laughed until she nearly choked.
No! She didn’t have to settle for “something like.” She could remember everything clearly, every head tilt, every vocal nuance. Everything. All she had to do was focus.
In the restaurant, she tried again. “Let’s…”
Jack was still watching her intently, but footsteps caught her attention. At the next table, a server set a covered dish between a smiling couple. He raised it with a flourish, revealing a long knife and a meat fork.
“No,” Patricia whispered. “That’s not right. They had the mousse.”
Jack was still frozen in time, waiting for the right words.
The couple at the next table kissed each other before the woman took the knife and pressed the tip to her cheek, drawing it upward to her eye. Blood oozed from the wound to curve around her smiling lips as she cut down at an angle and then across, carving a perfect triangle in her cheek. Her partner took the fork, speared the triangle of flesh, and brought it slowly to his lips, eyes closing in bliss.
Patricia clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to breathe down bile. “That didn’t happen!”
With blood pumping down her face, the woman at the next table took the fork and plucked an eye from her partner’s head. The optic nerve trailed behind it as she brought it to her teeth.
Patricia leapt up. “It didn’t happen this way!”
The restaurant blinked, and the gore disappeared, replaced by a happy couple sharing chocolate mousse, ignoring her and Jack in their bliss. Jack was still waiting, still frozen, and Patricia sat again, smoothing her hair. She could fix this. She could still have this memory, could exist in it.
“Go back to the wink,” she said to herself.
The memory unwound to the spot where she wanted to have him right then, when she’d never loved him more, but this time, after he winked, his eye vanished and became wheeling stars, infinite space, everything.
“No.” Panic crept up her neck. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
As the sounds of the restaurant faded again, she leapt from her chair and ran. The foyer had become a pilot’s chair and console, and Patricia slid in and buckled the harness. Her console flared to life, and she primed the engines before starting them.
“Jack, hold on!” she yelled, but he wasn’t really there. None of them were. There were no screams echoing from the restaurant as it pulled into open space, no crashes and clatters as the tables slid and fell. “If I go far enough, I can go back to where I was.”
Lies. The restaurant ship stopped as if gripped by an invisible hand, but everything in it was gone. All she had now was her flight suit and the mangled bridge of the Atlas. But if this was the crash, then she looked up right about…
“No!” But there was no stopping this memory. The bulkhead above her collapsed, and a shard of shrapnel rammed into her right eye and let Naos inside.
The agony of the wound was nothing compared to the woman who brought with her the whole of existence. Or maybe she was the whole of existence or simply a more powerful Patricia Dué, the woman Patricia had always feared to become.
She rose from the rubble but saw no Dr. Lazlo to greet her. Maybe he’d been consumed along with her mind. She didn’t speak, feared to breathe. Maybe the vision would stop here, and she could go back to reliving her past, far from a place where she was a visitor in her own body, where she didn’t understand her own actions.
The ship began to creak, slowly at first but growing into a shrieking metal tear. Huge fingers punched through the roof of the bridge and tore it away. Patricia screamed at them and lashed out with her powers, but her own hand caught fire, and she cried out anew. The ship began to shake as it tore apart, and a babble of sounds poured inside, every noise in the entire universe and with them the goddess who claimed to need Patricia’s help just to bring a little sanity to the chaos.
Patricia fell to her knees and put her hands over her head. She tried to resist, tried to retreat, but before this power she was nothing. When her one eye opened, she looked through it as through a window, fought impotently for control before she gave up and sighed.
“Don’t cry, baby,” Naos said to her inside their shared mind. “Let’s have some fun!”
*
The Deliquois people wept for their absent goddess. Ap led them in prayers, begging the mighty Contessa to speak in their minds once again, but she stayed silent. What had they done to fall out of favor? The goddess could be fickle, but she’d never stayed silent this long, with moon after moon passing and no word. They’d lit many bonfires on the shore, danced until their feet bled and their voices died, but she failed to whisper her thoughts to them. Ap had even sent several villagers into the sea to die and search for her in the afterlife she’d promised them, but she hadn’t said she’d received their gifts.
This night, they simply cried out and raised their arms to the heavens where she lived. Some smeared their faces with soot and ripped at their garments, tearing shells and feathers loose from the soft, woven grass of their kilts. Ap knew their grief could turn to grumbling soon enough. They might think it was the shaman who’d failed them, that only his sacrifice could bring the Contessa back.
“Please, Goddess,” he whispered. “Return to us. Save my life.” He’d always been her favorite. She’d taught him secret ways to bend others to his will, her will. She’d shown him how to meditate, to be one with his surroundings, as well as secret ways to kill his enemies, fast and silent ways.
When he opened his eyes, her hazy form hovered above the fire. Ap gasped, not daring to blink. She had never appeared before him, had always spoken in his mind and the minds of her followers, but if this wasn’t a sign of favor, what was?
When the crowd fell silent, he knew everyone could see her above the flames. Her unbound hair curled around her naked curves as if possessed of its own life, and her sad smile filled Ap’s heart with both joy and sorrow.
“My beloved people,” she said, her voice faint, and her lips not moving in time with her words. “I come to say good-bye.”
They cried out as one, but Ap waved them to silence. “Dear Contessa, why?”
“The Storm Lord has murdered me, and I must hasten to the place where dead gods dwell. Avenge me, or lose me forever!”
As the outcry came again, she vanished. Ap stared at the place she’d been while some of the others leapt to their feet. Some ran wildly, tearing at their hair. Others fled into the reed huts lining the shores, letting the flaps fall shut behind them. Some clasped their arms around their kin and wept while still others remained on the ground, staring with Ap.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to contemplate a future
without the goddess who’d led them for generations, when their ancestors had first come to this planet. She comforted them, protected them. She was the sun and sky and stars. When she was happy, the weather was calm and mild. When she was angry, her storms rocked the coast until they appeased her. She knew all, saw all. She could be fickle. They often didn’t know she was angry until they were already pounded by rain and wind, but she always forgave them. And she held the honored ancestors in the palms of her hands. Without her, what were they?
Ap staggered to his hut and let the flap close behind him. Murdered? By another god called the Storm Lord. She’d mentioned him before, sometimes as lover, sometimes as enemy. He must have tricked her somehow, must have followed her to her home beyond the clouds and used some ruse to disarm her. How could they avenge her?
With numb hands, Ap fumbled for the small bag hidden in a hole under his mat. There had to be more to the Contessa’s message. If she couldn’t come to them, Ap would go to meet her. He took a small wooden bowl and upended the bag, spilling out a rustle of crumbling leaves.
When he left his tent with the bowl, those that saw him followed. “The shaman’s going to dream!” someone called, and then people were spilling out of the darkness to watch.
Ap knelt by the bonfire, knocked a coal out of the flames and tipped it into the bowl, setting the leaves alight. He inhaled the stinging smoke, and the burn in his lungs spread through his body to lodge in his mind and tug his soul free. He flew above his body into the clouds, searching for the goddess under the full moon.