Praise for Children of the Desert
“The final product put me in awe of where the world-building skills of Wisoker are at this early stage of her career...reminiscent of something out of an Ursula K. LeGuin novel in detail and complexity. Wisoker, like the best authors of this genre, has created a completely original society upon which to tell her story.”
—SF Site
”intriguing...engaging.”
—Publishers Weekly
”An absorbing story, a unique world, and fascinating characters. Leona Wisoker is definitely a writer to watch!”
—Tamora Pierce
”...a lushly visual and highly detailed world of desert tribes, a language of beads, and a unique way of viewing the world.”
—Library Journal
“Leona Wisoker is a gifted storyteller and in Secrets of the Sands she has succeeded in crafting a refreshingly unpredictable tale set in a stunningly rich and detailed world.”
—Michael J. Sullivan, author of the Riyria Revelations series
”For its complexity, intriguing story, and (as in the first volume) for its characters I find totally fascinating, I heartily recommend Guardians of the Desert.”
—SF Revu
”A storyteller with a good deal of promise. Give this one a try.”
— CJ Cherryh
“You realize it’s been too long sine you’ve read a Leona Wisoker novel the moment you pick up a new one and begin reading. Momentarily overwhelmed by the staggering amount of pages and the density of the copy, you are immediately drawn in by the writing and, within a few pages, you are already regretting that a book which seemed so large now suddenly appears depressingly short. Thank the gods there is a fourth on the way already. A world without new fiction from this talented scribe is simply a world too sad to contemplate.”
—C.J. Henderson
“With a flair for evoking exotic locales and an eye for detail, Leona Wisoker has crafted a first novel peopled by characters who are more than they first seem. From the orphaned street-thief who possesses an uncanny ability to read situations and people, to the impetuous noblewoman thrust into a world of political intrigue, Wisoker weaves a colourful tapestry of desert tribes, honour, revenge, and an ancient, supernatural race.”
—Janine Cross, author of the Dragon Temple Saga
“Wisoker makes a praiseworthy work when it comes to world building, creating with care and without haste a strong world, one piece at a time...another unique element of the story which...certainly will be developed more in the series’ next novels.”
—Dark Wolf’s Fantasy Reviews
FIRES OF THE DESERT
by
LEONA WISOKER
Published by ReAnimus Press
Other books by Leona Wisoker:
Secrets of the Sands
Guardians of the Desert
Bells of the Kingdom
© 2014 by Leona Wisoker. All rights reserved.
http://ReAnimus.com/authors/leonawisoker
Interior illustrations by Ari Warner Copyright © 2009
Cover illustration Copyright © 2012 by Aaron Miller
Cover design by Rachael Murasaki Ish
Licence Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
~~~
For my mom, who stuck with me through it all.
~~~
Table of Contents
Praise for Children of the Desert
Children of the Desert series
Acknowledgements
Royal Library Map no. 123
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
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Chapter Sixty-eight
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Children of the Desert series
by Leona Wisoker
Book One: Secrets of the Sands
Book Two: Guardians of the Desert
Book Three: Bells of the Kingdom
Book Four: Fires of the Desert
Book Five: Servants of the Sands (forthcoming)
Acknowledgements
This book, as with all my books, could not have been written without a wide network of support and encouragement. I’ve gone into great detail on names and reasons, in the Acknowledgements of previous volumes, so this time around, I’ll just say: ditto to all of it, and ten times on the gratitude.
I still consider myself very lucky to have found a home under Mercury Retrograde Press’s wing, and to have the marvelous artwork of Aaron Miller and Ari Warner gracing my novels.
Thank you to each and all, and may the adventure continue to unfold for all of us!
Royal Library Map no. 123
{{c}The Southlands and Southern Kingdom{c}}
Chapter One
The small candle flame went out without warning, leaving Alyea in complete darkness. In the silence, her own breathing seemed loud in her ears, and her sweat stung her nose, pungent and sour.
Midnight-chill air currents flowed around
the edges of the shuttered window. She shivered, sweat cooling to icy unease; a warm breath on the side of her face did nothing to reassure.
“See it lit,” Deiq said in her ear, his low voice as dark as the room around them. His presence warmed her back and legs. “Know it’s lit.”
Alyea drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to remember what a lit candle looked like. Deiq’s presence behind her was a distraction; she had a sudden recall of his hands sliding over her skin—had it been only hours ago? She shivered again, but not with chill this time.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands closing around her shoulders. “No problems with your memory, at least,” he muttered. His fingers dug in, then relaxed, amusement returning to his tone. “You need to focus. Put that aside and focus, Alyea. Think of the candle—”
She made herself think of the candle; put her attention on thinking about the shape, the color, the stand, the wick. The image solidified in her mind. She saw a glow forming at the tip, a faint yellow, blue, flaring orange for just a moment—
Deiq’s hands tightened again. “Open your eyes.”
Across the room, the candle flame swayed in the air currents.
“Good,” Deiq said, giving her a little shake. “First try. That’s damn good.”
His arms came around her from behind, hands splayed across her stomach. He pulled her back against him; she started to turn, found he wouldn’t allow it.
“See it out,” he said in her ear. “Bring back the dark.”
The heat of his body against hers made it impossible to think about anything else. He’d turned out to be very good as a lover; as he ought to be, with centuries of experience. Her breathing hitched, went ragged.
“You have to learn to handle distractions,” he said, staying perfectly still. “Candle, Alyea, candle. Think about the—”
On mischievous impulse, she focused instead on an explicit memory from earlier that morning.
He grunted as if struck, his own breath turning rough; went to his knees as though they’d simply given way beneath him. His arms wrapped around the outside of her legs.
“We have got to get you some kathain,” he said, then laughed, ducked down, lunged forward and up, lifting her onto his shoulders. She shrieked like a child without meaning to, grabbing his hair for balance. Her face went hot with embarrassment at the involuntary reaction.
Still laughing, his hands anchoring her legs, he turned to face the candle again. “Look at the damn candle,” he said. “See it out.”
Darkness descended a heartbeat later.
“Good,” Deiq said. “Now, while I have your attention, think about what you just did.” No amusement or warmth remained in his voice. “You decided something would be a certain way, and it was that way. A candle is small. It doesn’t take much effort. Don’t mistake a bonfire for a candle.”
Suspended in darkness and silence, her pulse jagged from the surprise lift, she had no breath or voice to answer with.
Deiq stood still for another moment, as though waiting, or thinking; then, in a swift movement, reached up, lifted her over his head and down to the floor again. He pulled her against him and said, “There’s something needs to be done. I haven’t—been able to. Maybe you can.”
He breathed against her hair for a few quiet moments, his hands tight on her hips.
“Follow me,” he said at last. The candle flared to life again as he stepped back, releasing his grip. Alyea turned to look up at him and found his expression bleak and grim. She stepped back rather than forward, a chill running through her chest.
“No—” she said, suddenly knowing, if not what, at least where he was talking about.
He shook his head, then turned away and walked through the doorway.
“Could we at least wait for daylight?” she said to the empty room, knowing perfectly well his sharp hearing would pick it up.
No answer. Her hands clenched into fists as the silence continued and the candle slowly began to gutter.
“Shit,” she snarled, and made herself follow him.
The stairs seemed to go on forever, yet ended far too soon. Deiq was waiting for her, leaning against the wall beside the lowest door to be found in the entire tower: a heavy metal door, studded with black rivets and radiating an underground chill. A lantern hung on a hook by the door provided barely enough light to see Deiq’s taut expression.
Veils of shadow gathered in every crease and hollow of his lean face, threaded along the long strands of ebony hair. His black eyes gave away nothing in bright light; and here, masked in uncertain illumination, they conveyed even less than usual.
She stopped three steps from the bottom, staring down at him with a sudden bright hatred blossoming in her chest.
He glanced at her, then put his attention to the floor before him. “I’ve never been inside,” he said, voice muted.
Her rage damped instantly.
Deiq knew what had happened in the room beyond that metal door as well as she did; had his own weight of pain over the matter, obviously, although he’d never shared that with her. The rooms above their heads were almost entirely decorated with breathtaking murals of sunny days and vast landscapes, images that portrayed only joy and love and beauty. Images done by a master’s hand.
Deiq’s hand.
He’d painted the inside walls of the former Northern Church tower with an eye to the good that had gone on here, not the evil that had slowly wormed through the previous inhabitants. It had to have taken him months of unsleeping, unrelenting effort and attention—and he’d never come below the first floor? Not once?
What had happened to him here? She knew better than to ask aloud, and the slight, sharp movement of his head told her that he’d heard the thought and wasn’t answering.
Alyea came the rest of the way to his side and said, hoarse with conflicting pains, “Get it over with, then.”
He let out a long breath and raised a hand. The door shifted in its frame, opening as though on its own. A fetid stench spilled out. Alyea put a hand over her nose, gagging.
Deiq gripped Alyea’s shoulder hard. Fine tremors ran through his muscles, and he breathed in great, rasping gasps.
“Ah, gods,” he muttered. “Bad idea—”
“Focus,” she said sharply, prodding him in the stomach; his eyes popped open, and he stared at her as though shocked from a dream. “Focus, damnit!”
He wet his lips, his gaze fixed on her with disconcerting intensity. “Yes,” he said. “Focus. Thank you.” He swallowed hard, raising his head to stare at the darkness beyond the now-wide-open door. After a moment, he let go of Alyea’s shoulder and said, “I can’t do it. It’s—I can’t explain right now.”
He raised his hand again; the door began to swing ponderously shut.
Alyea put out a foot and stopped it. “No,” she said, black fury suddenly surging through her. “I’m not walking away. I’m not letting what that ta-karne did stop me.”
“Alyea—”
“No.” She swung to face the doorway and willed any candles in the room to light.
Deiq let out a sharp, pained hiss.
The room beyond flared into bright detail. Multiple lanterns along each wall, as many thick candles in arrays and singles; a loose pile of candles had been dropped atop a rumpled mound of dark cloth. The cloth went up a moment later, kindling that had only been waiting for an invitation.
Alyea spared the growing blaze a disinterested glance, enough to be sure it was only cloth and not a body left behind. She advanced a step into the room, studying the contents with growing anger.
The walls were a pale yellow, a mild and obscenely pleasant color compared to what lay within their bounds. Alyea recognized a number of the tools laid on the small tray stand by each table; Tevin had used most of them on her. She’d only been spared from the items too large to fit into Tevin’s work chest, and there weren’t many of those.
Worst of all, the tools were, one and all, clean; even shining, as though the occupant
s had scrubbed them and polished them with meticulous care before setting them in neat rows and walking away to some other, more reputable way of making a living.
The stench of the room had no clear source; no blood staining the tables, no urine sprayed against the walls. But Alyea could hear the screaming that had happened here, could feel the pain washing through the air like a dark rip-current.
For just a moment, she thought she could smell rosemary and garlic.
“Fuck this!”
She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud—no, shouted—until she felt the strain tickling through her throat in its wake. A heartbeat later, the candles and lanterns—
—just—
—exploded, throwing a white flare of heat across the room; she staggered back a step, felt Deiq’s hands lock onto her, drawing her out of the way. The metal door slammed shut, leaving them outside the room. A series of muffled booms shook the ground.
“Gods damn,” Deiq said, his whole body trembling, and pulled her close against him.
Alyea heard something sizzling inside the room. A thick heat began to emanate from the metal door. The booming faded to a sharp, erratic popping.
It took her a few more moments to realize that Deiq was shaking, not with fear, but with laughter. She jerked free and glared up at him.
“Well done,” he said, grinning openly. “Now, about the difference between a candle and a bonfire—”
“You—” Bastard never made it out. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and she fell forward into complete darkness.
“The difference,” someone said in a grey haze, “is the anger. Fire needs strong emotions; the stronger the emotion, the stronger the fire.”
Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) Page 1