Demon Seed: Book Three of New Blood
The future of Mankind relies on the Guardian of Maarihk.
Can an ancient force, lost aeons past, overcome fate?
Award-Winning Epic Medieval Fantasy
Paperback $19.67 | eBook $2.99
Sample Reading by Author | Reviews
2023 International Firebird Book Award Winner • April 2022 Editor's Choice, BooksShelf.com
2022 Finalist Sci-Fi/Fantasy Book of the Year, OnlineBookClub.org
Sample
"My eyes ...." Iesha's voice snapped Natharr's attention to the right and he moved more quickly toward it, before another voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"They see no more." The voice was incredibly deep and penetrated Natharr's frame to the core, freezing his every muscle into place. It was as heavy a bass as he had ever heard, clearly created by vocal cords more immense than trees. The sound alone made the very air vibrate with its power and, in turn, revived Natharr's urge to flee, but far more insistently.
Iesha said, "But you found me ... at long last ...."
"Aye."
Natharr shuddered, emerald eyes closing within the confines of the dawncloak. Sweat beaded his skin and ran down it in long tracks. He was not hot — the robe's mysteries made such a thing impossible — this was fear. Pure, unadulterated horror held him rapt, frozen solidly in place.
"Our daughter — she proved me right, darling. She did ...." Iesha's voice became unintelligible again, only the tone clear as the words lost shape.
With an effort, Natharr took a deep breath and let it out. He forced himself to regain some semblance of control, although even that exhalation of breath shook —
"Who's there?" The voice boomed with such force and power that Natharr staggered backward several steps.
"Darling? What is it ...?" Iesha asked but, if she said more, it was lost in the sound of something moving across the stone. It was a massive tread that shook the ground as something of monstrous weight crushed things beneath it. Far worse, it came right at Natharr. Breath coming in quick gasps, he could not get his limbs to move. He could smell the beast-god's overpowering musk, as well as the scent of something —
The slope of bones to the right exploded outward as the creature burst through. Natharr dove for cover, barely keeping from crying out, then he huddled in on himself in a crouch, covering his head with both hands. He pressed himself against the mountain of old bones, so many of them snapped, gouged by tooth and claw ... then nothing. The only sound was that of hundreds — no, thousands! — of bones rolling down to the base of the chamber, dust and bits of grit rising into the air as the avalanche of bones closed the passage off to anything less than a giant far greater than any Firstborn. Steadily, even that sound subsided ... then nothing more. Trembling, fighting for all that he was worth to control even that, Natharr listened, ears straining, sweat running down his body, expecting the next sound he heard to be that of monstrous jaws snapping shut on him, ending his life in a —
"... wrong, darling ...?" came Iesha's voice, more distant. "... can't stand ... where are you?"
The Guardian berated himself wordlessly. Rivulets of sweat ran down his cheeks to drip onto the inside of the dawncloak's hood. He was more than this. He had stood his ground against far more than any single beast — yet he could not even control his own trembling. I am no coward! he cried out wordlessly. What was wrong with him that he groveled there like a child, hands covering his head —
Empty hands.
The realization was as horrifying as the creature's voice. He had not kept hold of his sword. His panic was so great that he had thought only of survival .... The thought died, fading like a last breath as the most dreaded of all realizations came upon him: he was unarmed. I will face it, he thought grimly, as much an order as a plea. In the back of his mind, he thought it strange that, in that moment of imminent death, he would finally win out against the trembling, that he would finally conquer the fear that had kept him rooted so solidly in place.
Natharr turned his head and gazed toward the cloud of dust that still filled the air ... and something moved within it. The creature was bigger than anything he had ever seen with his own eyes, although details were lost in the fog of dust and mites. Its head was long and somewhat narrow, a crown of spikes atop it, reaching backward like hair being blown in high wind. The head was mounted atop a long, slender neck that bent and moved slowly, methodically, giving the hidden eyes different angles ... searching ....
