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The Body Politic Teaser Tuesday

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Book II of The Tribal Wars

Science Fiction

Date Published: 1/8/2022

 

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BookLife Editor’s Pick

 

Brianna Miller returns to Dolvia where tribal women protest the oppressive
rule of Rabbenu Ely by self-torchings in the Cylay Square.  Brianna
re-establishes her tribal schools and takes on assistant Kelly Osborn who is
mixed blood and also a poet.

Kelly visits a neighboring planet Cicero where her aunt Carline Bryant
takes over her education. While returning to Dolvia, Kelly meets the
Australian adventurer Hershel Henry who has signed on for a tour of Dolvia
as a photo-journalist.  Henry takes an opportunity to interview the
khalif on the opposing side of the tribal wars.

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Book I of The Tribal Wars is AVAILABLE NOW!

Fantasy

Date Published: 10-08-2022

 

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BookLife Editor’s Pick

On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at
the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced
labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She
sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for
saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause
for Home Rule.

Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among
the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from
soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she
will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld.

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Excerpt from The Body Politic

We entered China through Xinjiang province and traversed the high Takli
Makan Desert overnight. In the morning, the train stood for several hours in
Dunhuang, changing personnel from Russian to Chinese and taking on supplies.
I watched from the window while porters in tunics and baggy pants loaded
goods from a cart. They stopped suddenly, and the noise subsided, so I
craned my neck to glimpse the source of the interruption. Some Blackshirts
were hustling a group of peasant families, tied together with ropes and
shuffling in obvious fear, across the tracks and down the causeway toward a
holding area. Laborers returned to their work with measured gestures,
careful not to attract unwanted attention, and the way closed behind the new
arrivals.

I told myself that this repression was not my problem; I was just passing
through.

Presently, a detachment of Russian soldiers wearing blue uniforms with red
tooling took up positions outside our VIP car at the end of the train. The
officer entered with authority and tucked his hat under one arm. Rufus stood
squarely in the aisle with his knees bent and a hand on his knife hilt. The
officer stopped.

After a moment, he looked past Rufus’s shoulder to me. “You are
Brianna Miller of Arim?” he asked in English. “We are
assigned.”

“I have security already, as you can see.”

“These, uh, warriors are included in our detail. The train now enters
a province with some, uh, social unrest. Daniel Chin is concerned that your
group experiences no, uh, in-con-ven-nience.” His hesitant words and
rounded accent made me think his English was newly learned, perhaps his
third language.

“Nu delaya,” I said, and Rufus relaxed his posture. Kyros
placed a big hand on the officer’s shoulder from behind and led him to
a seat several paces from me.

“What do you propose?” I asked.

“We will take the adjacent car and establish a presence around your
group.”

“The adjacent car is for the students.”

“They may have to move forward.”

“How many in your squad?”

“Twelve.”

“I cannot provide for twelve. Six only.”

“We brought provisions, and you will be glad for twelve before we
reach Beijing. I am Captain Chandliss, and you may direct any questions to
me.”

“Captain Chandliss, I assume you are Lithuanian by birth, and your
real name has two ‘z’s and three ‘k’s.”

He only smirked.

“Are the soldiers from your same province?” I asked.

“Most of them.”

“Why not provide a Han Chinese detachment to manage our
security?”

“My orders were brief,” he said as he twisted to see where
Kyros had stationed himself. “I gathered that your Dolviet escort
would resent Blackshirts as security.”

I grinned. At least he had the sense to acknowledge what anyone could see.
“And what else did Daniel Chin say in conversation?”

The captain didn’t react to the mention of Daniel Chin’s name.
“Orders from Paris didn’t mention a bevy of students. You do
have accommodations for them on the shuttle and the Company
yacht?”

“My arrangements are made,” I said tolerantly. “Thank you
for your interest. The students will remain where they are, and you will
take the next car. Since you have twelve men and provisions, I expect that
the students will remain as safe as I am safe.”

Captain Chandliss watched me for a moment. “Well. The train leaves in
twenty minutes, so I’ll excuse myself to put all in good order.”
He stood and nodded, unable to break military training. “Ah, how may I
address these warriors?”

“Rufus, the son of Cyrus the ketiwhelp killer,” I said with a
hand gesture. “And behind you is Kyros rabbe Sudl of Southeast
Arrivi.”

He nodded to each warrior. “Ma’am,” he said and
left.

Kyros looked at Rufus and mouthed “ma’am” with humor.
Rufus covered his mouth with one hand to hide his response.

 

# # #

 

Later, I was called into the student car, I assumed due to the presence of
soldiers. But the issue was trivial; something about a stolen item and whom
to punish. The boys waited in a silent row, cynical and without gestures.
The oldest girl Bernice was in tears, as were two eight-year-olds. I sighed,
regretting my decision to include them in my travel plans.

Leah approached with submissive gestures. “These ones need daily
lessons to keep their minds off homesickness. They need a common
goal.”

I immediately thought of an old method Hakulupe Le had used in the Somule
schools to bind students as a group, a method she had learned in prison, in
fact. I spoke to the group. “Not all of you will board the shuttle to
engage in space travel. I have accommodations for only seven, including the
boys, so I must choose who is most worthy. To make this choice, we will
devise a test. You will each share your history with the others, and at
track’s end in three days’ time, you will each write the
biographies of all the others, including the boys. After reading those
papers, I will decide who remains with the clutch and who will return to
their province. That is all.”

Leah quickly spoke. “May we have writing paper?”

“I will ask Captain Chandliss.”

“May we take our meals in the dining car?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Please.”

“Captain Chandliss manages your safety now. I’ll ask
him.”

“Thank you, Rularim. Thanks again.” Leah knew when to
flatter.

“I am not Rularim. I’m Brianna Miller.”

“We all thank you.”

“Yes, well. No more complaining and no crying.” I left before
she could make another request.

Less than an hour later, Captain Chandliss came into my car. Kyros stopped
him at the door but let him pass after a tense moment. “The students
want their meals in the dining car. I have no authority for
this.”

“Negotiate with the porters,” I instructed, “so the group
can take a meal after the other diners have left, twice a day. Ask for a set
menu with bland dishes because they have to board the shuttle soon. No
sweets from the dessert tray but maybe rice pudding for each.”

His posture emphasized his disbelief. “Do you understand the
expense?”

“Rufus will pay from the treasure of Kyle Rula.”

The disbelieving look on the captain’s face wandered to the warrior
who was seated at a laptop with his back to us. Rufus turned slowly to fix
me with a level stare. He opened the pouch at his belt and extracted a
single uncut emerald as big as my thumb knuckle and placed it next to me.
The gem was opaque with a sandpaper texture. Without glancing at the
captain, Rufus turned back to the computer screen.

I saw the eyes of Captain Chandliss grow large at the sight of the gem.
“Have it assayed at the next stop,” I said. “Then pay the
porters for their trouble and distribute the remainder among your
soldiers.”

The captain stood tall and looked at each of us, perhaps taking a moment to
assess the opportunity. “My detachment will bear the current expense.
I will have the gem appraised in Beijing where its value is far greater. I
will subtract a commission for our service with the students and return the
remainder to Rufus before your party boards the shuttle. We will take eight
percent.”

“Four percent,” I said.

“Six percent.”

“Four point five percent, and no gratuity.”

“Done.” The captain scooped up the gem and turned on his heel.
He left hurriedly, passing through the door that Kyros was holding open,
just as though he needed to escape before I changed my mind.

Kyros said, “Much is learned about a man when he resists
temptation.”

 

About the Author

Stella Atrium

Stella Atrium is an award-winning writer who presents otherworld stories
about female protagonists of diverse ethnicity who encounter obstacles
relatable to our lives today. How do women in a war zone gain voice in the
marketplace using the few tools available to women?

Stella Atrium teaches at university in addition to online writing courses.
She lives in Chicago, Illinois.

 

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Facebook

Twitter: @SAtriumWrites

Blog

Goodreads

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Blood of the Hunted Blitz

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Fantasy

Date Published: December 15th 2022

 

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Weylyn, Olwen, and other members of the marginalized and subjugated group
known as the Tóráin are trying every day to gain equality and
freedom. Their enemies, which consist of vile human monarchs, their
soldiers, and a masked witch assassin known only as The Dove, continue to
tighten their grip around the necks of the Tóráin.

Leading The Resistance, Weylyn and Olwen endure many trials that test them
physically and mentally, relying on their loved ones to keep them from
losing hope. They both wish to see a time of equality and peace, but to
achieve that requires more than what they have. Desperation leads The
Resistance to find new allies all across the continent of Kosavros with the
goal of finally defeating their oppressive overseers.

Their fight for freedom and respect leads Weylyn and Olwen down paths that
open their eyes to new dangers, both involving themselves and the rest of
the world. However, they do not waiver. For the Tóráin are
known for their resilience, and they have already endured much. What comes
next will be hard, but they’re ready to fight for their lives.
Together.

 

Prologue

 

Weylyn

Cloque, Fleuris  |  November 1789

I tried to ignore the hateful screams coming from the crowd. The insults
were shouted in both the common language and Fleuran, with someone even
yelling a curse in the old language priests used. Things had already been
thrown onto the stage by people who hoped to strike the lycan that was tied
up for all to see. I kept my hood high so that I could remain as hidden as
possible. I tried to slouch to hide my height while being sure to avoid eye
contact with those around me. I had always been proud to be a lycan, and the
lack of horns or colored skin was doing wonders for me right now. My satyr
friends — as well as the sprites I knew — would have a much
harder time blending in with the crowd today than I would. That was if
anyone had taken the risk to come. Uncle Benen had refused to allow Brina
and me to leave the house, but I snuck out the window late last night and
hid in an alley until afternoon came. I could have gone to Ossian’s
house, but the satyr would have just tried to keep me inside like Uncle
Benen had. I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t hide. I needed to be
here for him. Even if the smartest and safest thing for the
Tóráin in the city was to stay inside, I had to be where I
was. Deep down, I knew all of the Tóráin felt the same way. We
couldn’t abandon him now, not when he needed us the most.

Tears started to fill my eyes as I watched the soldiers bark out
instructions to the witches, the women casting spells to torment the brave
lycan they had restrained. I was mad at myself for doing so, but I looked
away. I looked up, blinking away the water from my eyes as I stared at the
looming image of the Sainte Mère Cathedral. I inspected the spires
and the stained-glass window high above us as I tried to gather myself. The
gothic church’s shadow stretched over nearly the entirety of Dame
Square, swallowing the crowd in darkness despite the sun shining brightly in
the afternoon sky. After taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look back
down at the stage. The image I saw would give every single
Tórán who had braved the crowds today a great pain in their
heart. The lycan before me meant a lot to our community. He was always
empowering those who were deemed devils simply because they were different.
We all knew we were hated, but that lycan made us feel like we were worth
something. He made me who I am today, and now I had to watch someone take
him from me. Today, they were executing the most important person in my
life: my father.

The pain I felt was not
only the anticipation of loss, but also the knowledge that I could do
nothing to stop it. All I could do was stand there, at the front of the
crowd, and stare up at my father. He was tied up to two poles and spread
uncomfortably. The witches had forced him into his feral shape, no doubt to
make him appear to be the monster they would portray him to be. Humans
continued to throw food at him, some even threw stones. No one stopped them.
The officers and witches weren’t focused on the wrong doings of humans
today. Their eyes were fixed on our kind. ‘Diables’, they called
us. Beings from another world that many would see eradicated if it were up
to them. Today was about sending a certain message to our kind, while
sending a completely different one to their own. We were to be humbled and
defeated, while humans would be propped up and celebrated. A story would be
told on that stage, and none of my kind were supposed to enjoy it. I stared
at my father’s face, hoping he would look up and lock eyes with me.
For a moment it seemed like it would happen, but I was shoved from behind
and forced to turn around.

“I knew I smelled a
stray chien. You salauds aren’t allowed to mingle with us up here.
Back of the crowd, Diable.”

I looked back over my
shoulder at my father to catch him looking right at me. I refused to show
weakness. “I’m staying right where I am.”

One of the young men who
had confronted me raised a fire poker in the air, but he never got around to
actually hitting me with it. A slender hand attached to a lean arm grasped
his wrist and he grew red in the face.

“Rosey!” he whined. “What are you doing? He started
it!”

Rosalie — my very
best friend and one of the few people I knew I could trust outside of my
father — was a human. Not even a witch. She was just a regular,
wonderful, human. Her parents had helped mine for years since I was a pup.
We grew up together, and despite my clear edge in strength, she was always
rescuing me from ignorant assholes. The teen harassing me dropped his weapon
and used his other hand to reach for Rosalie’s shoulder.

 “Don’t call
me Rosey, “ she said as she grabbed his outstretched hand and twisted
his fingers roughly. “And I highly doubt Weylyn started anything.
Leave us alone or your father will find out just how much of a petit con
you’ve been.”

The boy’s face
scrunched up before he left through the crowd, massaging his injured hand.
His friends followed him, prompting Rosalie to let out a deep sigh before
fixing her dress. She grabbed a hold of my arm, laced her fingers through
mine, and looked up at my father. The two of us stood there, trying to send
him our strength for what felt like hours until trumpets sounded. Up the
steps came King Louis, soaking in all the praise the majority of the crowd
was giving him. He eventually waved at them to quiet down so he could speak,
and I knew that what came next would make my blood boil.

“Gens de
Cloque!” King Louis shouted with a pompous grin on his face. “I
have been a just king, have I not? I have been a gracious, and bountiful
king, have I not? Under my rule, all have prospered! Yet we still
have…ordures…that want to see that lovely life tarnished. This monstre
murdered ten officers. Dix protecteurs! For that heinous crime, the only
plausible sentence is death! But first, we will make an example out of
him!”

The crowd roared. The
group of witches and officers stood ready now, surrounding the stage as
torturers began whipping my father. He kept his fur covered head held high,
defiant despite his pain. The people whipping him moved on to more forms of
torture, dragging on the inevitable much to the enjoyment of the crowd. They
cut at his ears, pulled his teeth, removed his fingertips, and even branded
him with the royal sigil of Fleuris. Not once did my father cry out in pain.
Not once did he give them the satisfaction they wanted. What they were doing
to him had brought tears to my eyes yet again, but I also felt a sense of
pride in seeing the strength my father was showing. The torturers looked at
the king with lost expressions on their faces, prompting King Louis to rise
from his chair and draw the saber at his waist. He began carving his
prisoner. He sliced at his arms, and then his legs, then his back, and then
his chest. All that and yet, still, there were no cries out for mercy or
even a grunt from the pain. Now visibly angry, King Louis grabbed my father
by the snout and shouted at him.

“Why must you defy
me? You’re dead, Diable, there’s nothing to fight for anymore!
Scream like I know you want to! Show everyone the lâche we know you to
be!”

His face was bloodied and
swollen, but at that moment I knew that he was looking at me. Our eyes
finally locked, and I squeezed Rosalie’s hand. I took a small step
forward, but Rosalie held me back. I looked down to see her crying as she
shook her head. Bringing my attention back to my father, I found my eyes to
be drowning in tears so much that it was hard to see. It all felt so
hopeless…until he howled. Right in the face of the bastard that had
committed so many wrongs to him and his kind, my father howled to the sky.
Howls broke out from the crowd, followed by screeches and whistles from the
harpies and other creatures who had come. King Louis was beside himself from
this display. He drew his pistol from its holder, placed the barrel between
my father’s eyes, and fired.

The world around me evaporated into nothing until all I could see was my
father’s body limp on the stage, held up only by the ropes around his
wrists and ankles. My eyes were locked on the horrid sight until Rosalie
began pulling me through the crowd as more whistles, and screeches, and
howls flooded the city. I barely paid attention to the chaos that was
erupting as Rosalie and I pushed our way through the crowd. We eventually
escaped the large mass and slipped into an alley.

“We need to get clear of here. My house is close enough, and
we’ll be safe there.” Rosalie tried to pull me, but I stood my
ground.

“My father is…he’s…” Rosalie came forward
and put her hands on my face. The contact had me snapping to attention.
“Uncle Benen. Ossian. Darby. They…I have to tell them what
happened.”

“Yes. But not right now. Right now, we need to get you off the
streets.” The general noise of a boisterous crowd turned into loud
screams and gunshots. “Weylyn!”

I nodded furiously. “Yes. Right. Okay. Your house first
then.”

The two of us ran off into the city, but the sounds of the riot that had
broken out in Dame Square followed us for some time. I barely saw what was
in front of me, Rosalie holding my hand and guiding me most of the way. I
couldn’t shake the image of my father, torn apart, with a bullet wound
leaking from his head. I still couldn’t believe it. My father was
dead.

 

About the Author

Marc R. Micciola

Marc R. Micciola lives in Ontario Canada with his two dogs Ace and Rielly.
He tries to get to the gym when he can in the week, and when he isn’t there,
he’s working on his next project. Writing is a big part of Marc R.
Micciola’s life, but things such as hockey, video games, and spending time
with friends and family are also passions of his. Despite being a fantasy
author, Marc R. Micciola prides himself on his ability to create a great mix
of realism and fantasy, blending the two together in just the right amounts
to provide worlds you can escape to while also having real characters that
are relatable.

 

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Glossolalia Virtual Book Tour

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Fantasy

Date Published: 09-27-2022

Publisher: Wolf Publishing

 

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“My name is Ineluki. I come from past the mountains and ice. It took
me many days to reach here. All I know are dead. Will you take me
in?”

And so begins a calamitous year at the edge of the world.

Chief for the year, Aukul’s life has never been better. His people respect
him, he spends his nights with the love of his life, and his skills as a
butcher and chef improve every day. Then Ineluki, a young stranger, wanders
into town with nothing but an empty book. He begins telling stories of the
world beyond the one they know. His stories challenge their reality and lead
to a summer of unprecedented disasters.

One by one, the villagers begin dancing. Dancing tirelessly, as if in a
trance, until they die. Believing Ineluki is to blame, Aukul confronts him
on the worst night of his life.

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Glossolalia Excerpt

by e rathke

I

Umok was the first to see the boy. There was nothing special about the boy except that he wasn’t one of us and didn’t seem to be an Uummanuq. Not that anyone really knew, then, what the Uummanuq looked like. Not really. But he was too tall to be one of them and much too short to be one of us. Maybe strangest of all, he was dressed as a woman. One of ours, not the Uummanuq women, assuming anyone knew, then, what the Uummanuq looked like when they weren’t smashing our homes down. But he wore a loose, open vest, his trousers tight and reaching just past his knees. In his hands, a hidebound book.

It was a clear day, just past spring, and though the edge of the world is known for its deathly cold, our summers are quite warm. Warm enough to wade out into the sea and gather crabs or lobster. Or even to swim out to where the leviathans burst through the water, spraying the skies with their misted breath.

Umok was so distracted by the boy that she dropped her arm, accidentally flinging her gyrfalcon, Feo, to the ground. When Feo shrieked the way she does, the boy turned to Umok and smiled a big toothy grin. To hear Umok tell it later, the boy had fangs like a wolf and eyes that glowed with menace.

We’re not prone to superstition, but much changed that summer and especially come winter, when the days last barely a blink and the nameless ones call out to us in the long night, and mothers wake to missing children, never to be seen again.

But the boy didn’t stop when he saw Umok. It was like he had a set destination. Like he knew where we were. And maybe that’s the most shocking of all. That he just wandered out from the dark green summer mountains and walked right to our little village at the edge of the world with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, an empty book, and a mouthful of words that would change the shape of all our lives.

 

II

It was summer, which meant just about everyone was in the sea, either swimming or fishing or on lookout for the Uummanuq or the fishers recently set out. Nearly everyone else was on the beach relaxing. So when the boy walked into the village, there wasn’t much to see. 

Umok kept an eye on him, though, and circled round town to warn everyone at the beach.

It’s a strange thing, having strangers at the edge of the world. Besides the Uummanuq, it had been generations since anyone had been seen at our little village. So this was news. Not unwelcome, but unexpected, which made it a bit frightening.

Umok sent Feo into the air and ran through the beach hollering for anyone who could hear, “Someone’s here! A boy, dressed like a woman!”

At first we ignored Umok, but her persistence caused us to give in and follow her back to the village. Umok wasn’t known as a liar, but it all sounded too ridiculous. How would someone just arrive here? There’s only ocean and mountain and sky.

But those lounging on the beach made their way up to town. Those already out to sea or looking out for the Uummanuq kept about their business. Idle chatter and friendly laughter brought them up the beach and past the chief’s hall to the town square. 

And who waited for them but Aukul and the boy. Just sitting there, smiling.

 

III

Aukul was chief that year. A young man, tall and well built, who always seemed to be smiling, at least until he met this boy. Many have blamed Aukul’s age or poor judgment for what happened, saying that he was little more than a large boy, too young for such responsibilities, which had some truth to it. He had only seen seventeen winters by the time his turn came to be chief. It’s strange now to think we had ever let someone so young spend a year as chief, but it wasn’t so unusual then. And the truth is that he was just unlucky to be chief that year. Probably none of us would’ve done better, and had he served the year before or the year after, he would be remembered differently. But this was his year to serve us as chief.

So it goes.

Aukul turned to us and smiled, waved, said, “Come on over and sit with us.”

Umok near choked from shock at Aukul’s reaction, and it’s possible that we all would’ve reacted similarly had we seen the boy alone, as Umok had. But all of us together as we were, it made it hard to fear this unassuming boy, especially with Aukul smiling the way he was. And so we just walked up and sat, forming a circle of sorts around Aukul and the boy. All of us except Umok, that is. She shook her head and chewed her lips and grunted at every breath.

The truth is, none of us wanted to take the lead with this stranger. We were happy to have Aukul sitting across from him and talking so we could just observe. Responsibility slid off our shoulders and landed firmly on Aukul, but he didn’t seem to mind.

When we were all settled, Aukul turned back to the boy, “Tell them what you told me.”

That was the first time we would hear the boy’s voice. Husky and masculine, like he held more years than his face told. The first time we heard his name and why he came to us here at the edge of the world. There was some kind of otherworldly touch to his words, to his voice. Something that made us cling to his words and follow the shapes his lips made as he formed them. We should’ve been surprised that he spoke our language, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing in the world. We had little concept, then, of other languages. Of other people. Of other places.

It was also the first time we truly got to look at the stranger, when he stood tall and smiled at all of us. That big book in his tiny hands. He had soft features and smooth skin, like a child, untouched by the tattoos he would have collected through adolescence to mark his past. For our skin is like a book, recording our lives. His hair was a wild nest of curls and kinks tumbling white from his head. This, along with him dressing like a woman, made him immediately strange. He looked so much like us, like he could be any of our sons, but for these two details. And his size, but many boys don’t grow to their man’s height till they’re quite a bit older. But then there was his eye.

One was black, like all of us. But the other was green. Not a bright green, but the green of our valleys and mountains. Dark and beautiful and oddly radiant, that green eye. 

And then he spoke.

 

IV

“My name is Ineluki. I come from past the mountains and ice. It took me many days to reach here. All I know are dead. Will you take me in?”

 

V

Aukul stood then, his summer dress wrinkled from sitting and bunched up around his right knee. He smiled big and clapped the boy on the back, “Welcome, Ineluki. We’ll be your people now.”

And that settled it. This boy was brought into the village. Welcomed by everyone in turn. But it was old Malu who took the boy in to be her new son. We all thought that was well and good. A boy to keep them company and care for them in their final years. Kiilk, Malu’s man, was happy to have the boy, too. Though they were old, they were spry and lively, always ready with a dance or a tune. Umaal just shrugged with a smile and embraced him as her new brother. She was a winterchild to Malu and Kiilk, born to them when they were well past an age to have children. Malu had weathered nearly fifty winters and Kiilk had seen at least as many, if not many more, by the time Umaal was born, and Umaal was coming an age to take up with her own man and leave them alone. The child was seen as a blessing to two lovers who had dreamt so long of having a boy to watch over them and care for them through their winter years.

And simple as that, Ineluki became one of us with not a person speaking against this. Not even Umok, though, to hear her tell it now, she was screaming her lungs out in warning.

 

VI

It took three men to butcher the seal. Though Aukul was chief, he still had much to learn as a cook. Paakuq directed him and the other assistants in hooking up the seal. Then Paakuq took a sharp knife, cut the seal from the throat down to the tail. Aukul dug his fingers into that slit and pulled it open while Manook pulled the other side open. Paakuq reached in, harvesting each organ and handing it to one of the younger boys who wouldn’t even be able to touch the seal’s meat till he’d seen a few more winters. 

With the delicate work done, Paakuq motioned with his knife for Aukul and Manook to get to work. First they lowered the seal to the ground. Slick with blood, Aukul dug his fingers into the meat, knowing it’d take half the night to get it out from his fingernails, to remove the stink of death from his skin. His thoughts drifted for a moment to the soft breasts and wide hips the summer night promised, but he dug down. 

Butchery’s a delicate business requiring close attention. Aukul’s fingers and arms had the scars to prove it. Pale slivers of memory selfcarved into his skin to mark every time he let his cock think instead of his eyes and hands. He sliced the blubber from the skin and meat, handing it to Paakuq, who commanded one of his many apprentices to either store it or set it aside for the night’s stew. 

Aukul worked quickly and efficiently. He got the blubber out before Manook and stood up, stretching his back. Paakuq sighed and examined his work while Manook finished. 

Paakuq was a man like a mountain. Patient and quiet and large, but Aukul had never seen anyone move as delicately as Paakuq did with a knife in one hand and a carcass in the other. Paakuq looked over the seal silently, pulling the skin this way and that. 

Aukul’s heart raced the entire time. He watched Manook to keep from having a panic attack. Manook moved slow, taking his time. Aukul was already seeing how much cleaner his cuts were, how no blubber clung to the seal’s skin.

It wasn’t that Aukul thought speed was more important than accuracy. It’s that he could never seem to slow himself down. The moment his blade touched a carcass, everything made sense. It made so much sense that his hands and eyes worked without a single thought crossing through his head. Or, no thoughts beyond the women of the town. Their breasts bouncing as they ran in the sunlight. The curve of their cheeks when they laughed or smiled. The way their summer clothes revealed so much, yet somehow never enough to satiate his desire. 

Paakuq looked back and grunted, his lips pulling back on one side for just an instant. Aukul came close and looked over the big man’s shoulder as Paakuq pointed with his knife to places Aukul missed or places where the skin was near ruined by his sawing at it. A tap here with the point of the blade, a poke there accompanied by a grunt and a shake of the head.

Aukul’s mouth went dry and he nodded along, not trusting his voice.

Then Paakuq stood straight and his lips pushed up high. He nodded at Aukul as Manook stood, his side now de-blubbered as well.

Aukul’s smile burst over his face. Though it seemed the slightest sign of approval, that was more than most got from Paakuq in a year.

Aukul went back into the seal to cut out the meat. Separating the ribs from the spine, carefully removing the cheeks, and cutting the rest out to be dried, smoked, roasted or stewed. He tried to go slow, but there was just no time for him to remind himself to do so. His hands knew what to do and the excitement of Paakuq’s approval flooded him, washing all other thoughts—even those of breasts—out of his skull.

When the butchery was finished, Paakuq motioned for Aukul to take the lead. Aukul’s jaw hung open for a moment and then a smile got stuck there and stayed the whole time he directed the younger boys to cut up the onions and potatoes, when he told them how much blubber and seal meat to add. He even had them toss in a few clams caught that morning.

Aukul didn’t mind being chief, but this was what he lived for. His smile remained while he watched everyone eat the meal he prepared. Not Paakuq’s meal, but his. He counted every smile, every grunt of approval, every time someone licked their bowl clean or slurped up the last bit of broth. And when he washed in the ocean afterwards, he couldn’t believe life could get any better than this.

 

VII

Aukul liked to listen to the loons sing at night. They only lived in the lake in the valley west of town, separated from the ocean by an unremarkable mountain leading to a sheer cliff-face that can be hiked up and back down in the time it takes tea to go from steaming to cold.

It was late and most slept, despite the excitement brought by Ineluki. The silent mountains and valleys held their breath. One moon smiled against the ocean, the other was wide-eyed above him. He pulled Umaal close to him and said, “Do you hear what they sing?”

“Kya,” Umaal scrunched up her face and elbowed him away. She was dressed in her summer clothes, just a loose, open vest and tight trousers. “This your move? Bring women out here to hear the loon’s lovesongs till they cream themselves? Kya,” she grimaced and folded her arms, “might work on Kaia or the cliffboys—what you smiling for?”

Aukul unfastened his flowing summer dress and let it drop like a puddle at his feet.

Umaal eyed him up and down, “Bit more direct.” She smiled and took a step towards him. Her left palm pressed against his chest, her fingers tracing the shape of his tattoos. The ways they spiraled over his well-muscled chest and abdomen and up his neck, to his thin jaw. The story of his life written deep into his skin. She brought her fingers down to his left nipple and felt it harden, and then she pinched it, but he made no reaction beyond exhaling through his nose. Her other hand grabbed his stiff cock and she laughed, “This what you came to show me?”

Aukul shrugged with his cock, moving it up and down in her warm hand. 

She laughed from deep in her chest, then slapped his face. Hard. Much harder than Aukul expected, but she was smiling wide when he turned back to her. “Idiot,” she said and she pushed him down into the thick grass and pulled off her trousers. 

The landscape rolled beyond them. Valleys and mountains spotted with grass, a green so dark it sometimes looked black. Mountains rose like the spine of a monster halfburied by time. Grey and white and beautiful against the open sky, the surrounding ocean. In the distance, Mount Qanaamonaq tore into the sky’s open mouth. A snowcapped dagger reaching higher than the moons. The loons sang and it sounded like love, echoing all around them and when Umaal grunted her hips into Aukul’s, he yelped like a wolfcub.

Had anyone ever felt so lucky?

 

About the Author

e rathke

 A finalist for the 2022 Baen Fantasy Adventure Award, e rathke is the
author of Glossolalia and several other forthcoming novellas. His short
fiction will appear in Queer Tales of Monumental Invention, Mysterion
Magazine, and elsewhere. He writes about books and games at
radicaledward.substack.com.

 

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Broken Souls Blitz

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Seasons of the Cycle, Book One

Fantasy, Epic Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy Romance

Release Date: September 22, 2022

Publisher: Prometheus LLC

 

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

Through fire and ice I will fight to find honor. Whether it be giants or
creatures of the night, I’ll fight. Pain is my comfort, and sorrow is
my companion. Death follows wherever I go. Even the sun hides from my
sight.

Bothvar they call me. My journey isn’t an easy one. It follows a long
and broken road full of the bones of those who I couldn’t save and
those who got in my way. My blades are soaked in the blood of my enemies,
but my heart is left in shattered pieces, broken by the costs of my actions.
All for what? Honor? Glory? I don’t know anymore.

Maybe I have gained honor, but all I have to show for it is pain, yet I
must carry on. I must earn my place among the halls of the gods so I can see
my loved ones again. That is why I carry on to fight again. And I will not
stop until I am reunited with them.

Whether it be giants or the gods themselves, I will always fight on.

Lura Syllana

I will do whatever it takes to save my family. Afterall, it is my fault
they were enslaved. If I had only listened to my father. If I heeded his
words and did what was right instead of what was easy they wouldn’t have had
to pay for my mistakes with their freedom. Now it is up to me to do whatever
it takes to find a way to free them.

Even if it means sacrificing myself and my own freedom. I don’t care
what happens to me. I’ll gladly pay any price to save them.

Of course, I said that, but I had no idea what was going to be asked of me.
What price I’d have to pay. I didn’t know what I’d have to
do to save them. Even so, I’d sacrifice everything to see them free.
Even my own freedom. Even my own soul. Which I will soon find out is the
very price I must pay.

Join Bothvar and Lura as they go through pain and sorrow and climb
mountains and cross seas, all to save and protect the ones they love. Follow
their journey as they discover true love, honor, and glory.

Broken Souls is a Dark Fantasy with a bit of romance. It’s inspired
by Viking culture, but it is no way an accurate portrayal of historical
Viking culture. It takes place within a fantasy world that’s heavily
influenced by ancient mythology and lore of many different cultures among
other things. That being said, this book contains some pretty graphic and
controversial topics such as slavery, sexual assault, death, war, violence,
blood, mental health, drug addiction, and many other controversial topics.
This novel includes The Bound Soul and The Damaged Soul which makes up the
first third of the book.

 

Broken Souls tablet, paperback, phone

 

About the Author

Troy Calkins was born in northern Michigan and was adopted at a young age.
He never knew his birth parents and seeks to find them. During college, he
developed a blood clotting disease and spend most of his time in and out of
the hospital. During his time in the hospital, his form of escape was
through fantasy. He spent most of his time reading and writing, building an
epic world that this book takes place in. After many surgeries and
procedures, he was able to return back to college and graduate to eventually
write this book.

 

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The Bush Clinic Blitz

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 Book I of The Tribal Wars

Fantasy

Date Published: 10-08-2022

 

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On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at
the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced
labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She
sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for
saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause
for Home Rule.

Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among
the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from
soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she
will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld. 

 

 High praise for THE BUSH CLINIC. 

“thematically rich and character-driven, touching upon the role of women in a war-rooted society. I found myself invested from start to finish.” 

“A heartrending tale of survival in a world made needlessly harsh by greed…” 

 “With diverse narrative voices and a strong coming-of-age theme.”

 

About the Author

Stella Atrium

Stella Atrium is a cynical septuagenarian. She has spent a lifetime
exploring female characters for real world reactions to obstacles.
Often pushed into submissive and non-verbal roles, women really live in a
world of networking among aunties, cousins, wives of husbands, convenient
friends and neighbors.  This rich world is largely unexplored.

“I grew up with all brothers, so I knew about women from stories and
from school.  What I found at school wasn’t anything like in the
stories, so I set out to learn why.”

 

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