Catalyst Moon: Exile (Part Three)

Part One. Part Two.

Aaand we’re back. Here’s more of Atanar’s story! Enjoy. 😘


Three

A fire burned in a brazier at the center of the kulkri tent while its smoke escaped through vents at the top. The heat remained. It closed around Atanar like a fist as he stood, back to the fire, facing the assembled kulkri who studied him with those arrow-pointed eyes. The hide walls of the tent shivered beneath the assault of the storm that raged outside.

 Sweat prickled along his spine and his heart raced, but Atanar stood tall; he would not be cowed by these scrabbling brigands. He spoke carefully, lest his voice betray him. “If you want to know, my name is Caradoc Keraasi Atanar.”

The kulkri cast one another wide-eyed glances, and more than a few murmurs of surprise ran through their numbers. Tikaani nodded once, his wizened face set with satisfaction, while Sivoy was silent.

Tikaani raised his hands in a call for silence, then regarded Atanar once more. “You are of the Caradoc clan, then? The son of Keraasi?”

“That’s what I said.”

There were only a dozen kulkri within this tent; save Sivoy, most of them were older than him. Atanar stood, surrounded. His scalp prickled beneath their scrutiny; his breath came in short, shallow bursts and his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Another kulkri, a man, shook his head. “If you are of their clan, where is your caradoc, then?”

The emptiness in his heart where Ruuk should have been howled with grief. Heat stung Atanar’s eyes but he forced himself respond without hesitation. “Slain.”

The kulkri man was unimpressed. “How do we know he speaks truly?”

“I can vouch for his words,” Tikaani said before Atanar could reply. “I recognize him from the last Gathering.”

“But that must have been nearly a decade ago, Utu,” Sivoy replied. “How can you be certain this is the same man?”

A few other kulkri nodded in agreement. Tikaani, unfazed, glanced between the others, though his gaze landed on his granddaughter. “My body is frail, but my memory is still sharp. He is who he claims to be.”

But Sivoy shook her head. “As you say. But what does it matter anyway? If he’s vorunn, if he is dead to his own family, then he’s of no use to anyone.”

She added another dark look in Atanar’s direction. He tried to return it in kind, but the warmth from the fire swam through his head and his vision swam, as if distorted by rippling waves of heated air. His heart beat faster. That chorus of voices, that strange impulsion, whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. Kill it. Kill them all.

His hands tightened into fists but he managed to push his words out regardless. “If my presence so troubles you, kulkri, I shall leave. You are not obligated to treat me kindly.”

Sivoy glared, but Tikaani cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “What did you do, to have your soul taken away?”

“Aye,” another kulkri called. “Explain how you came to be cursed with vorunn.

Where once heat had flooded Atanar’s body, now a cold unlike any he’d ever known swept through each vein. Everything around him fell into blackness as his memory cast him back to that night.

He is surrounded, his enemies pressing closer, closer. But he will not fall – not tonight. His arms burn he lifts his claymore, again and again and again. Ruuk’s roar reverberates in his chest, echoes in his ears, but he ignores the caradoc’s panic. His blade bites into something hard, like bone, and the impact shakes him to his core. But he cannot drop his weapon.

There are screams on all sides, and Ruuk’s roars, but no sound as loud as the shrieking cacophony from within the darkest corners of his mind, Kill them!

It echoes through his mind, but it is not his thought. Nor is the anger pulsing through his blood his. They are invaders. He must fight them back. He must end this now. But surely the voice that crawls from his throat is too harsh to be his own. “Get back!”

Kill them all!

No. This is wrong. He gathers all his strength, tightens his grip around the slippery hilt of his claymore, and strikes one final time. It will be the last one. “Get away! You will not have me!”

 At last, at last the foreign feeling falls aside. Empty, weightless, he collapses to the cold ground, gasping…but alive. The air is thick with the iron scent of blood, but his own heart still beats and Ruuk is beside him, warm and alive. He has won.

When Atanar raises his eyes to the stars to thank his ancestors, he sees the remnants of his battle.

His heart beat so fast, he did not know if he could speak. Where was his soul? Gone, if indeed he’d ever had one. How could someone who’d done what he had done be anything but a monster?

“Answer my grandfather,” Sivoy barked, rousing Atanar from his thoughts. “What did you do, to be made ‘vorunn?’”

“I… murdered innocents,” he said slowly. “A hunting party I traveled with.”

Silence settled over the kulkri tent and Atanar felt the true weight of the others’ shock fall across him like an avalanche. As well it should, and press the life from his body in the process.

Tikaani closed his eyes briefly, but nodded once. “Why did you do such a thing?”

How many times had Atanar asked himself that same question? The answer never changed. He shook his head. “I cannot say, exactly. All I know for certain is that some madness gripped me; some strange will took over my own and made me act…” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I didn’t want to hurt any of them.”

“But you did,” Sivoy said. “And you cannot even take responsibility for such heinous actions.” She snorted. “’Some madness.’ A coward’s defense.”

“I know how it sounds,” he shot back. “But it’s the truth.”

“What did your samaat say to this?” Tikaani replied.

Atanar lowered his eyes to the burning coals within the brazier, and did not reply. The fact that he was here, outcast from his home and dead to his kin, was answer enough.

“You see, Utu?” Sivoy said at last. “He is too dangerous to stay.

“He’ll bring nothing but trouble,” one of the other kulkri women added. “I vote we send him away.”

A few of the others nodded and cast Atanar more dark looks as they muttered agreements. He tensed beneath their collective gaze; he could feel the judgment in their eyes as surely as the bite of winter wind. He swallowed thickly and stared at the entrance to the tent, beyond which the storm raged. 

However, Tikaani’s voice was quiet. “Will you treat us the same way, Atanar?”

He had not heard his own name spoken by another since he’d been marked vorunn. The sounds were almost foreign. Almost. Atanar glanced up, into the old man’s eyes, and found them filled with, of all things, hope.

For what, he could not say. “I don’t know,” was the only answer he could give. Again. “I have no wish to harm you.”

“Oh, aye,” Sivoy sneered. “You would be perfectly happy to live among…what did you name us? ‘Kulkri?’”

Kill it. Atanar fought to ignore the urge that beat through his blood and instead regarded the kulkri samaat with what calm he could muster. “So your kind have been named by mine. But we are not the only ones who do such things; your brother called me ‘pikarac.’

Peals of laughter rang out through the assembled kulkri at the word. Sivoy, smiling, regarded him again. “You would let a child’s teasing offend you so? Truly,” she added gravely, “you are a fine warrior, to return such treatment in kind.”

Atanar flushed and glanced at Tikaani. “Your offer is well-meant, but I cannot accept a place among your people.”

“Nor are you welcome here,” Sivoy added. She, too, looked at her grandfather. “I have done as you advised, Utu, but surely you can see that he should not be allowed to remain.”

 Again, silence fell across the tent as the others waited for Tikaani’s next words. They were some moments in coming. When they did, they were quiet as before, but shaded with sorrow. “You said you have no wish to harm us,” he said to Atanar. “What, then, do you desire?”

The answer broke free of him before he could stop it. “To go home.”

“But you have no home,” Tikaani replied. “According to your own family, you have no name, nor life, nor even a soul. What will you do if we send you away?”

Sivoy made a noise of disgust. “Why does it matter what he wants? He’s vorunn. The world is better without him.”

“So have many of our people been named,” her grandfather said to her, sitting straighter. “Including those of your own blood. Vorunn does not always mean evil. I would not be so quick to cast judgment upon that which you do not understand.”

Sivoy gestured around the tent, where the walls trembled beneath the wind’s battery. “I understand enough. Everyone here is under my protection, Utu. I value your guidance, but I am the samaat of our people, now, and I say we send this…murderer away.”

Atanar released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Of course, there would be no other judgment; if she was truly the chieftain of this “clan,” Sivoy had every right to turn him away. But now that such an outcome was upon him, he realized he’d wanted a different one. Even if it meant living among these…brigands.

 Just as Atanar was preparing to verbally accept this fate, Tikaani spoke again. “One month,” the old man said to his granddaughter. “Give him a full cycle of the first moon. If after that time, you still desire to, you may send him away. And in the meantime, I will vouch for him.”

Only because he happened to glance at the right moment did Atanar see how Sivoy’s shoulders slumped, briefly, at her grandfather’s words. A fleeting look of what Atanar could only think of as resignation passed over her face, but when she looked back at Tikaani, her expression was like cool stone.

“You will claim responsibility for him?” she asked.

Tikaani nodded. “Aye.”

Atanar’s breath caught and dread pooled in his belly.

Sivoy seemed to feel the same. “You know what this entails, Utu. If he–”

“I know what I say, Sivoy.” Tikaani glared at his granddaughter and his words cracked through the tent like lightning; even Sivoy recoiled slightly, as if she’d been struck. The others were silent. Atanar, too, dared not move, lest he break whatever now passed unspoken between the family members.

At last Sivoy glanced around the tent slowly. “Do any of you object to these terms?”

  Silence.

  Atanar straightened. “I do.”

You have no say here,” Sivoy replied.

“It’s my life you speak of. And if you’re asking everyone’s opinion, shouldn’t mine count as well?”

“What objection do you have?” Tikaani asked.

Before answering, Atanar surveyed the kulkri again. Most of them were fair-haired and blue eyed, as he was, with strong bodies fit for survival in the skull of the world. But flesh and bone were so frail. Every one of these men and women could be torn to pieces so easily. He looked at his hands; though they’d long since been scrubbed clean, he could still see rivulets of blood. And within him, vorunn waited.

No, he thought, closing his hands into fists. I cannot risk it happening again. “I don’t wish to harm you,” he began. “But I cannot promise that I won’t. Before, when I…” The words died in his throat; he took a deep breath. “When I killed the others…I don’t remember exactly what happened. All I know is I cannot promise it will not happen again.”

Sivoy looked at her grandfather; she said nothing, but her disbelief was plainly written across her face. The others, too, shifted and cast skeptical glances at one another – and at Atanar.

But Tikaani only rubbed his beard in thought. At last he nodded once and met Sivoy’s eyes. “Then we will honor the terms of vorunn, and not allow him to touch a blade. And at the first sign of trouble, we will send him away. Will that satisfy you, Sivoy?”

She crossed her arms before her chest. “I suppose he may travel with us, for a little while. We can always use another pair of hands when we hunt.”     

“Will you stay, Atanar?” There it was, again, that naked hope in Tikaani’s face, etched in the lines across his forehead and around his eyes.

Atanar took a deep breath, assessing his strength. The foreign presence was quiet now, calm. As he was. Perhaps, with time, he could learn to control it, if not banish it outright. Perhaps there was some strange Aredian magic that could even help.

Maybe there is hope. Atanar nodded once, so low it was nearly a bow. “One month, as you say.”

His heart lifted as Tikaani smiled. “You won’t regret it, tigu.”

Atanar’s breath caught at the epithet, but he only nodded again. Sivoy frowned, but rose to her feet in one fluid motion. “The matter is settled for now. The stranger will travel with us for one month. After that…” She looked back at Atanar. “We will see.”

Moments later, the others began to leave of the tent, presumably back to their own tents, for the wind had quieted. As they left, Sivoy helped her grandfather to his feet. “Why would you call him ‘tigu’ when he’s not part of our family? Are you planning on adopting him? Because I won’t allow it.”

“Give him time,” Tikaani said, looking between Sivoy and Atanar. “I think you will find a different perspective, later.”

Sivoy stared at him, then sighed and shook her head.

“What happened?” Corvac asked. He’d slipped inside the tent as the others had left.

His sister crossed her arms before her chest. “Utu asked that the stranger be allowed to travel with us for one month. I’ve allowed it.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?” When Atanar nodded, he grinned. “Do you like hunting?”

 Atanar gave a noncommittal shrug. “I can provide for myself and those around me, though…”

He trailed off at the sight of Sivoy’s claymore, strapped to her back. How could he hunt if he could not wield a blade?

“We have kuvlu,” Sivoy said, as if reading his thoughts. “You can swing a rope with rocks tied at the end, I hope.”

Atanar nodded and Corvac bounced on his heels as he continued to regard their clan’s newest addition. “I’ll bet you’re a great hunter. Siv, if he goes with you on the next hunt, can I come, too?”

“You’re still too young,” Sivoy said, frowning again. “Don’t even think of it.”

The boy rolled his eyes to the tent’s ceiling. “Utu, tell her I’m ready!”

“Corvac,” Tikaani said, touching the boy’s arm. “Your sister is right. It’s too dangerous for you now. Come,” he added with a nod to the tent’s exit. “The storm has died down. Let’s see if the others left us any supper.”

“There’s some,” Corvac said as he helped his grandfather out of the tent. “But not that much. Tartok was really hungry tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you hungry, pikarac?”

“He’ll be along in a moment,” Sivoy said.

Once they’d left, Atanar glanced at the young woman again. “Why did you ask the others for their opinion? How many kulkri are needed to make a decision for the good of their clan?”

“We are not like you northerners.” Sivoy touched her sash: red, yellow, green, blue and white braided cloth. “We are one clan, one family. Everyone has a voice.”

“That’s madness,” Atanar said, frowning again. “You…vote on all decisions? How does anything get done? What is the purpose of a single leader if everyone has a voice?”

“I would not be so hasty with my judgments, pikarac. You are not in a position to be so fickle with your fate.”

“Apparently, I am,” Atanar could not help but say.

She shook her head. “Everyone who is one of us has a voice. But you are a stranger. You are still vorunn. You will always be vorunn.” She seemed to consider something, then grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. “If you prove my grandfather wrong,” she hissed. “If you bring harm to any of my people, you will regret it.”

The claymore at her back shifted as she spoke, emphasizing her words. Atanar’s blood beat faster at her sharp tone, at her fingers closed around his wrist, at the anger in her eyes. His vision swam, and for one moment, all he could think of was blood.

He shook his head to banish the feeling. Sivoy tensed, though she did not release his wrist, nor did she look away. At last, when Atanar’s vision cleared, he took a deep breath. “If I harmed your family, you would truly end my life?”

Her brow creased in surprise. “Aye. That’s what I said.”

“Good,” he said, and wrenched his wrist from her grasp.


Next time: The caradoc moved across the clearing with the effortless grace of one who feared nothing, though no doubt every sense was alert for a trace of danger – or supper.

Thank you for reading! 💜

Catalyst Moon: Exile (Part Two)

Part One here.

Enjoy! 😁

Content warning: suicide


TWO

Even Aredian mountains were weak. It took Atanar the better part of another day to find a suitable cliff, one that he could summit, one that overlooked solid chunks of rock that would show his body no mercy when it fell from a great height. Preferably sooner rather than later. Already the sky darkened with heavy clouds and lightning flickered on the horizon.

Atanar stood upon a cliff while snow-scented wind rifled through his long, blond hair, lifting the knotted strands as if in play. It was a very long way to the rocks below. Go, he told himself, nudging his feet toward the cliff’s edge. This is what you deserve.

At first, his body refused to listen and stubbornly remained on the cliff’s edge; no amount of mental cajoling would convince his feet to move. At last, he pictured Nel’s face, to remind him why he was here. The painful spike of grief was too much for even a Canderi warrior to bear. With his last breath, Atanar prepared himself and took a step into empty air.

“What are you doing?”

Atanar jolted away from the cliff’s edge and froze in place, heart pounding. He felt no anger now, only his body’s insistence to remain earthbound. Even so, the sense of otherness within him, whatever-it-was, pulsed brightly at the rush of blood through his veins, and his vision blurred again while his thoughts slipped out of his control. Kill, vorunn whispered, in that samechorus as Atanar had heard the night he’d destroyed everything he loved. Kill them all.

Something cracked through what passed for scrub-brush up here and Atanar shook away the whatever-it-was and managed to find his balance enough to turn. This time, his heart turned to ice in his chest. Nel stood several paces behind him, one arm outstretched, blue eyes round with surprise.

It was difficult to speak at all, let alone to a ghost. All Atanar managed was a croaked, “Nel?”

The boy’s forehead creased. “Huh?”

Blinking, Atanar took another deep breath and fought for control, fought to clear his vision so he could see properly. The other voices, what he’d come to think of as the voices of vorunn, fell away, and he was himself again. Another look at the boy confirmed this was not Atanar’s younger brother, but a stranger – and a Canderi. That much was evident in the lad’s fair hair, bright blue eyes, and strong build, though his limbs seemed too long for his body in the way of a gangly youth. Older than Nel had been, but not by much – perhaps thirteen or fourteen summers. He carried a slender Aredian bow and arrow, a brace of rabbits swung at his belt, and he wore a braided strip of multi-colored cloth around his forehead.

Even in his stricken state, Atanar recognized the mark of a kulkri, and scowled.

The boy must not have seen Atanar’s expression, for his gaze darted between Atanar’s face and the empty air below. “I said, what are you doing?”

Atanar opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat. This boy was not Nel, but he was as close as Atanar would ever come, and there were some things that should never be said to a child. Even a vagabond kulkri.

 He shrugged. “Just…looking.”

“You looked like you were about to jump.”

“Your eyes are liars,” Atanar shot back.

The boy frowned again and swept his gaze across Atanar from head to boots. “What’s a pikarac doing in Aredia, anyway…?” He trailed off as his eyes fell on the place where Atanar’s claymore should have been. “Ea’s tits,” he muttered, taking a single step backward. “Unless…Vorunn. You’re exiled.”

Heat flushed through Atanar’s veins and his fists balled. “I am. Now leave me be, child.”

He emphasized the last word as he turned his back on the boy, and tried to concentrate on his own fate rather than the wild urge that suddenly beat his blood. Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.

Clenching his jaw, he tried to ignore the urge and instead focused on the fact that none of this would matter in a few moments. He was vorunn; he could not find peace with his ancestors, but perhaps there was something for him in what waited beyond.

But the boy spoke up again. “Are you hungry?”

It was too strange a question at this moment. Atanar shot a glare over his shoulder. “No. Go away.”

“I didn’t think I’d catch anything,” the boy went on, tugging on the rabbits. “I just wanted to practice. So if you’re hungry, we have more than enough food for supper.”

“Save it.”

“We have plenty.”

“My words stand,” Atanar said though gritted teeth. “Save your rabbits for your own people, and leave me to my fate. And don’t watch; you’re too young for such things.”

He pitched his voice to be a low growl, hoping to send the boy scurrying, but another growl – that of his stomach – undermined his words, and the boy laughed aloud. “Come on, pikarac.  A storm’s coming. You can always kill yourself after.”

Atanar bristled at being called “child” by a boy not old enough for facial hair, but…

Well, he was hungry, and the sky looked surlier by the moment. If he could not summon the courage to end his life now, he’d spend the afternoon in a snowstorm.

And even though this boy was not Nel, the sight of him stirred memories within Atanar’s heart; even after what Atanar had done, would Nel want him to die like this? Torn to pieces on a pitiful excuse for a mountain was not supposed to be Atanar’s fate.

Nor was Nel’s fate supposed to be death by your hand, Atanar reminded himself. He was vorunn; he deserved nothing more than what he had found in Aredia so far.

As if reading his mind, the boy said, “If you jump, I’ll watch, and be haunted the rest of my days. Is that what you want, pikarac?”

Atanar rolled his eyes. Ancestors curse this child to the fire and ice. But he knew when he was beaten and turned his back on the cliff. For now, anyway. “Very well,” he said as he approached the boy. “I’ll eat your rabbits, kulkri.”

The boy chuckled, but Atanar did not miss the flash of relief in his eyes. “Let’s hurry, then,” he said as he stepped through the nearby brush, toward the game trail Atanar had followed to reach this point. “My sister gets very cross when I’m late.”

*

Atanar soon found himself in another Canderi camp, a place he’d never thought he’d stand again. Several dozen men and women bustled about with evening tasks: cooking food over several scattered fires; grooming horses and herding children; securing the rounded tents made from animal hides. Despite the approaching storm, laughter and conversation rippled through the camp.

Kulkri, the lot of them, but for one moment, Atanar could have been back home.

Or it might have, had each kulkri’s eyes not marked Atanar for what he was, then narrowed to dagger-points.

The boy—Corvac—led Atanar through the others without a word to anyone, instead trotting toward one of the fur-lined tents in the middle of the camp. There, he paused and listened beside the entrance before giving Atanar a look that was almost concerned. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before Atanar could ask what was going on, Corvac disappeared within the tent, leaving Atanar alone in a camp full of people giving him dark looks. Well, he could return the favor, particularly to a bunch of thieving kulkri such as these. Perhaps he was vorunn, but he had some measure of respect for tradition.

So Atanar stood tall and met each glare with one of his own, until movement to his right caught his eye. A young woman strode toward him. She was a few years younger than Atanar, perhaps in her twentieth summer. Her hair was neatly braided in the Aredian fashion; it was darker than most other Canderi but still streaked with pale gold, and, like so many of the others, she wore a sash of red, yellow, green, blue and white, all woven together.

“Who are you?” she called as she approached.

Your name will be forgotten. As it should be. But he had no other to give. He shook his head. “No one.”

The moment she registered what he was, her stance turned even more hostile as her body became strung taut with tension. “Cor was right,” she murmured, halting just over an arm’s length away, one hand reaching for the claymore strapped to her back. “You’re cursed by vorunn. What in Nox’s void are you doing here?”

Atanar frowned over the strange word, Nox. The woman’s speech was Canderi, but was that word Aredian slang? Is that what happened to Canderi who left their home: they lost themselves and turned into those soft, weak folk? Ancestors strike me dead before that happens to me, he thought with a shudder.

He shook his head. “Corvac brought me.” She scowled up at him and he could not help but add, “For supper.”

Her scowl deepened. “Corvac is a child. He has no say in who or,” she wrinkled her nose, “what comes into our home.”

“And you do?”

“Aye, as far as you’re concerned.” She pointed the general direction he had come, where he could now see a rudimentary sort of passage that wound through the tents and cooking fires. Beyond these, in addition to a few large elk-like atsuula, there were a dozen or so scraggly Aredian horses, outfitted with Aredian saddles, bridles, and other gear. In fact, most of the gear he saw was Aredian in make.

Atanar frowned. A sloppy affair, this kulkri camp.

“Leave, now,” she said, lifting her pointed chin. “Save me the trouble of dirtying my sword with your blood.”

“Quiet, Sivoy.” An elderly man slipped out of the tent, Corvac on his heels. Like the rest, the older man wore thick furs, though he leaned heavily on a staff and on the elbow of the boy at his side as he regarded Atanar curiously.

“He’s vorunn,” Sivoy said. “Corvac never should have brought him here. I’m within my rights to cast him out, Utu.”

“So you are,” her grandfather replied. “And so you may. But your word is not the only law. We are not like them.” He nodded in the vague direction of Cander, and Atanar bristled despite everything. “I advise you to learn a little more before you toss this warrior back into the storm.”

There was greater meaning in those words than Atanar could glean. Indeed, Sivoy frowned, but regarded Atanar with a new sort of speculation. “Very well, stranger. I will allow you a chance to explain why we should not cast you away.”

Atanar frowned. Vorunn, he may have been, but these vagabonds did not deserve even his respect. He straightened and regarded Sivoy from his full height – considerable, even among the Canderi. “Your graciousness humbles me.”

 Sivoy glared back, but her words were honey-sweet.  “Corvac, please tend to our guest while I gather the others.”

 With that, she spun on her heels and marched away, disappearing within one of the other tents. Atanar looked back at Corvac and the older man, presumably the boy’s grandfather as well, given the resemblance between Corvac and Sivoy. “I have no need of your charity.”

The older man leaned on his staff and regarded Atanar with a shrewd gaze before he smiled; the expression shone through his white beard. “That remains to be seen, my friend.” He nodded to the tent behind him. “Come, sit. My name is Tikaani. Rest easy, warrior, and eat your fill, for now you are among kin.”

Tikaani spoke the benediction with a familiar, musical cadence that Atanar had heard more times than he could count. But even so gently said, the words struck Atanar in the chest as would a thrown spear or a stray atsuula hoof. At once he was overtaken by an ache so deep and powerful, he could not speak. Beyond the camp, the sky darkened further still, and each gust of wind cut more bitterly than the last, adding to the ache. Vorunn. So it had taken almost everything from him – almost. It would eventually take his life. It should take his life. Very likely it would, if he tried to weather the storm without proper supplies.

But death is what I want, he thought, clenching his jaw lest he reveal his battered heart to these vagabonds. Isn’t it?

Perhaps sensing his indecision, Tikaani said, “Outcast or not, cursed or not, you have no home. Please share ours – even if only for a night.”

Kindness…perhaps. In all likelihood the old man had an ulterior motive. Nevertheless, Atanar nodded once. “I may as well get out of the wind.”


Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think so far. 😊

Next time: “It’s my life you speak of. And if you’re asking everyone’s opinion, shouldn’t mine count as well?”

Catalyst Moon: Exile (Part One)

Featured

As promised, here’s the first installment to this unreleased Catalyst Moon novella. Enjoy! 😁


ONE

Atanar held Ruuk’s gaze and prayed the snow lion’s death would be swift. Although he could not hear Ruuk’s thoughts, he knew the proud beast’s heart and saw the fear in those vivid blue eyes – a mirror of his own.

Be at ease, my friend, Atanar thought, willing Ruuk to understand, willing his own terror not to affect his friend any more than it already had. It will be over, soon.

The snow lion, a caradoc, in the Canderi language, stared back. His breath still came fast, steaming the late winter morning air, but only Atanar’s ears rang with the memory of his roars, for the snow lion was calmer now. Even so, the half a dozen Canderi warriors that held the ropes binding Ruuk regarded him warily. The other Canderi who had come to watch the execution and exile kept at a safe distance, easily done on the flat tundra.

Atanar longed to place a hand upon Ruuk’s snowy mane; though he and Ruuk were separated by Atanar’s fellow Canderi, he could still feel the thick fur between his fingers. But the strong hands holding Atanar in place would not release him. Yet.

The samaat, the leader of Atanar’s clan, lifted Atanar’s blade—though Atanar would never touch it again—and the audience held their collective breath.

Atanar fought not to squeeze his eyes shut. He would not dishonor Ruuk by looking away. His blade descended.

Winter wind cut through Atanar’s furs and struck him as though it was the claymore he’d once carried every day of his life; the same claymore now slit his caradoc’s throat. The bond between them severed; Atanar felt the loss as if his own soul had been stolen. In a sense, it had. With a snarl of surprise, the massive gray-spotted lion collapsed in a heap of fur and bright crimson stained the snow beneath Atanar’s boots.

The samaat turned her cold blue eyes to Atanar. Though he’d faced that gaze many times, there was something different there, now, something he could not name. She pointed his claymore at him and said, “Vorunn.”

Atanar had known this was coming, so why did he flush at the shame, the degradation? He was cursed, had been so since that night. Vorunn. Now he had no soul, no ties to Cander – his home, his blood. Now, he was alone.

The other white-clad Canderi who surrounded them shifted at hearing the term, but none spoke. Only the wind dared to dart through the mountains that stood sentinel all around, kicking snow flurries over the snow lion’s carcass and those that watched alike. It was a mournful wind, and it whispered, Vorunn.

Ever since he’d awoken that night, Atanar had known this was coming, but somehow, hearing the word aloud was worse than everything else – even his beloved Ruuk’s death. Perhaps his mother had been right, and at twenty-two summers he was too young and proud and headstrong to know when to bow to fate. But no longer. Now he shut his eyes and dropped his head, as much in acceptance as from a desire to look anywhere else. The word echoed through his bones like a shout in a mountain pass. Vorunn.

But deep within him, where anger warred with bitterness and collided with grief, something else stirred. The edges of his vision blurred a little more with each increased beat of his heart, and the world seemed strange, dull and distant – just for one moment. His breath caught. No, not again.

Yes, again. Yes, always. He was cursed – he was vorunn.

The samaat cleared her throat and brought him back into the moment. Atanar looked up and the elderly woman gestured with the sword behind him; the crowd parted, giving way to the broad expanse of Cander tundra. Beyond the tundra was the Iyer River. Beyond that…

No. This was not supposed to be his fate. But what choice did he have? An honorable death was too good for him. Throat tight, Atanar looked back at the clan chieftain. “Please–”

But she cut off his words with a wave of the claymore; in her sixtieth summer, she may have been, but she held the sword as if it were a feather. “No, Atanar.”

The use of his name startled him. He wasn’t the only one. The surrounding Canderi of their family glanced at each other, bewilderment on their faces, but still kept their silence.

Perhaps sensing her misstep, the samaat raised herself to her full height and struck him again with that cold glare, though her eyes were red-rimmed. “You have killed your own kind. You have slaughtered an innocent–”

Her voice cracked, betraying her outward calm. But she composed herself almost immediately, she was the samaat, after all. “Your name will be forgotten,” she said as the wind lifted her graying hair. “Your voice will not be missed. You will die alone, and not even the crows will mark your passing.”

Atanar dropped his head again as his bonds were cut. Someone shoved him backwards, sending him stumbling, but he caught himself before he fell. “I heard you,” he couldn’t help but mutter. “I’m going.”

“Go faster.” She shoved him again, towards the borderlands that divided Cander from Aredia.

  The others echoed, “Vorunn.”           

 “Go,” the samaat said one last time.

He went.


Three days to reach the Iyer River. Three days without food and only a few sips of water from the flask he’d been allowed. Only enough to leave Cander. Once he left, he would not be allowed to return. Every morning, Atanar awoke in a cold sweat, heart racing, searching for the warm familiarity of those he loved, but he was always alone.

At last Atanar stood above the snow, atop a boulder at the river’s edge. It was swiftly flowing, but shallow, racing over smooth round stones to an end he could not measure from the skull of the world. The Iyer River might have served a better purpose if it were deeper, or if he could not swim.

If he had a blade, he could have ended everything days ago.

For what surely must have been the hundredth time that day, Atanar looked behind him at the mountains; blanketed with snow, distant and untouchable, but somehow comforting in their invincibility.

 No longer. That tight, painful knot of memory and grief that lived in his heart seemed to coil tighter at the thought of home.

Ancestors help me, he thought, then winced. He was vorunn: cursed, exiled, less-than human. He had no past, nor future, any longer. “Vorunn,” he said aloud. “That is all you are. You have no home. Go.”

The river only came up to his knees, so he forded it easily. Too easily. Once on the opposite, shore, he paused to inhale deeply, but the air smelled the same in Aredia as it did in Cander. Strange, that he’d thought it would be otherwise.


Next time: He was vorunn; he could not find peace with his ancestors, but perhaps there was something for him in what waited beyond.

But the boy spoke up again. “Are you hungry?”


Did you enjoy? Let me know what you think in the comments! 😊

Legal mumbo-jumbo:

Copyright © 2019 by Lauren L. Garcia.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s note: Exile is supplementary reading to the larger story of Catalyst Moon. The events of this vignette collection take place before Catalyst Moon: Incursion. However, Exile may be read at any point prior to Catalyst Moon: Surrender.

Catalyst Moon: Exile – new novella

Howdy!

If you’ve been around these parts for a couple years, you might recall me talking about a Catalyst Moon prequel novella. Due to life, Exile has been relegated to the backburner for a while now, and the truth is, even after several rewrites, it still needs a lot of work. Also, I’m not sure when, or even if, I’ll “properly” publish it. I’ve waffled about what to do with it, and have ultimately decided to share it here, as it’s doing no good collecting virtual dust in my hard drive.

I’ll post each section on the blog every week (ish), so stay tuned.

And as always with any fiction I share on this blog, this is still sort of a rough draft, so please excuse any typos. However, please do let me know what you think. All feedback, thoughts, musings, squees, and/or rants are welcome. 😊

Take care and stay awesome,

Lauren

New content sneak peek!

Hiya!

It’s almost Thanksgiving here in the US, and I have so much to be thankful for. In an effort to give something back, and because I love you, here’s a sneak peek of an upcoming Catalyst Moon novella featuring a character you don’t know, but will meet in Book Four. Atanar was originally in Catalyst Moon: Incursion, but his story, while awesome, didn’t quite mesh with the rest of the narrative. So I removed him from that book with promises that he’d feature in another. He was a bit cross at first, but mollified once he learned he’d get his own novella. 😉

Atanar is a Canderi warrior whose impact on the events of the Catalyst Moon series can’t be overstated. I had a blast fleshing out more of the Canderi culture, language, and history, and I’m excited to share the full story with you soon. Atanar’s novella is written, but needs editing and a beta (or two!), so if you’re interested in taking a look, drop me a line at lalogareads@gmail. 🙂 I hope to have his book out after Book Three and before #4.

So without further adieu, please enjoy this sneak peek from my upcoming novella, Catalyst Moon: Exile.

Thanks for reading, stay awesome, and happy Thanksgiving to all my US friends! 🙂

Lauren


(Disclaimer: As stated, this is a relatively rough draft, so please excuse any grammatical/spelling errors, and anything else that feels “unpolished.”)

Atanar stood at the edge of the kulkri camp, hands bound behind his back while Sivoy and Tikaani argued a few paces away.

“He ruined the ambush,” she was saying. “And tried to strangle me!” 

            “In self-defense,” Atanar could not help but reply. He turned his cheek so that the afternoon sunlight fell upon what would surely be a nasty bruise. “And you–” 

            She cut him off mid-sentence. “He’s dangerous, just like I said. Utu, don’t you see now why we must send him away?”

Tikaani’s reply was quiet. “Atanar, what have you to say for yourself?”

Sivoy crossed her arms before her chest with huff, but her grandfather ignored her and kept his gaze upon Atanar. It was tempting to lower his gaze, to sink into that shame, but Atanar kept his chin high. “I will tell you what I told Sivoy,” he said slowly, carefully. “Hunting Aredian merchants is a coward’s ploy. They are little more than children; no doubt young Corvac could best any of them in a fair fight.”

“Hunting as we do is the way of our people,” Sivoy replied.

Atanar shook his head. “Not my people. Not Canderi. We abandoned those ways many generations ago. There is no strength needed to snap twigs and saplings. A true warrior, a true Canderi, only faces foes who are an even match.”

“By that logic, you would not hunt deer or rabbits,” Sivoy shot back. “Are you ‘true Canderi’ cannibals, then?”

Heat flooded Atanar’s face, causing his bruised cheek to burn. “Hunting as you do is lazy and cruel. You may as well steal milk from the mouths of babes. What sort of example are you setting for Corvac and the other young men and women? What kind of pride can you lay claim to when your lives are full of theft and trickery?”

She snorted. “Says the man who lays snares for rabbits and deer!”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Tikaani raised his hand in a plea for silence. When Atanar and Sivoy looked at him, he rubbed the bridge of his nose before glancing at Atanar. “You laid hands on my granddaughter, on our leader. Some of the others are calling for your death.” Atanar opened his mouth to reply, but the elderly man cut him off with a glare reminiscent of Sivoy’s. “Your own family has cast you aside. While you live among our family, you must act appropriately. You must follow the lead of our samaat, or you will be tossed back into the storm.

“And you,” Tikaani said to his granddaughter, who flinched. “You retaliated in anger. You acted violently and without judgment – do not try to argue, child. That is not the way of a proper samaat.

While Atanar would have liked to take pleasure in Sivoy’s visible discomfort at Tikaani’s reprimand, he could only hear Tikaani’s words echoing in his mind. “Your own family has cast you aside.

The elderly man sighed deeply. “Sivoy is our samaat, but as the clan elder, I have some measure of authority. And I have claimed responsibility for you, Atanar. So, then, Sivoy,” she looked up at her name, “if you wish to kill Atanar for his transgression, you must kill me as well.”

She blanched, then glared at Atanar. “You know I won’t do that, Utu.

“So what will you do?”

She was silent.

Tikaani sighed again before withdrawing a small knife from a sheathe at his waist. With one deft move, he cut through Atanar’s bonds. Blood prickled Atanar’s hands and forearms to life as the elderly kulkri replaced his knife and looked between the two younger folks.

“If we are to be a strong clan,” Tikaani said. “We must learn to work together for the greater good. Atanar is strange to our ways, Sivoy, but he has much to offer us – and you. Atanar, you have no other option than to remain with us; you must learn to appreciate our way of life. I think the two of you together would be like the strongest steel: able to withstand any foe. But you each must take care not to cut each other to pieces.” He straightened. “You are not to return to the main camp until you have reached an accord. Is that clear?”

Atanar shot Sivoy a sideways glance. Surely as samaat, she would object to being ordered? But she only offered a quick bow in the Aredian fashion and a quiet, “Yes, Utu.

Tikaani turned his pale eyes to Atanar, who spread his palms out to his sides in a proper Canderi gesture of assent. Tikaani nodded once before making his way back to the main body of the camp.

Atanar and Sivoy were alone.

The moment her grandfather was out of earshot, Sivoy muttered, “Ea’s tits!”

“At least swear like a Canderi,” Atanar grumbled, rubbing feeling back into his wrists.

“I’ll swear however I choose, vorunn.” She glared at him again, but it was short-lived, for she sighed deeply and slumped against a nearby tree.

Having nothing better to do at the moment, Atanar joined her. “What, exactly, does he expect us to do?”

She startled him with a laugh. “Wed.”

Pride and anger fled. Atanar gaped at her. “Wed? Us? Are you mad? Is he?”

“That’s what he meant with all that ‘the two of you together’ talk,” Sivoy said. “Didn’t you understand?”

Atanar groaned and closed his eyes. “Must have missed that.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she said grimly. “He’s been after me to wed for years. I got him off my back for a while, but I knew, the minute you came to us, he’d bring it up again.”

“Is that why he was so…eager to have me stay?”

She sighed again. “Aye. Well, one of the reasons – at least the only obvious one to me. I can’t see that you’d have any other uses besides fathering fat, blond babies.”

It was Atanar’s turn to laugh, and laugh he did. Unexpected, it bubbled up from some place within his belly and leaped out of his mouth, startling a pair of crows from their roost in the tree. When he glanced at Sivoy, she was frowning at him.

“Why is that so funny?” she demanded.

“Perhaps I could father babies,” he replied, still chuckling. “And in truth, I think I would like to be a father – one day, a very long time from now. But the act of fathering is not one I’m interested in…” He cleared his throat. “Well, with a woman.”

Understanding flashed in her eyes, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You prefer the company of men?”

“Very much so.” He considered her again. “Not that you’re–”

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, waving her hand. “Don’t pretend you like me or care what I think.”

“I have no wish to insult you as a woman.”

“Only as a hunter, a warrior, and leader.”

Atanar sighed. “There are many reasons I would not be a good husband to you.” Or to anyone. He kept that thought to himself.

She leaned her head back against the pine. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I would be a terrible wife to you.”

“No doubt.”

He’d said the words without thinking and expected a retaliatory remark, at least a glare, but she only stared up at the needles of the pine tree they rested against. “Though I would like children, too, I have no wish for a husband.”

The tone of her voice gave her away; within it, Atanar heard his own experience echoed. “You prefer women,” he said.

She nodded. “Utu has said it is a feeling that will pass, but it’s not passed after eighteen summers. I see no signs of change.” She sighed again, heavily. “He only wants me to bear children and continue our clan. But…”

The words died in the air between them, but Atanar understood. Too well, perhaps. His reply was slow and halting. “My mother felt the same way.” When Sivoy glanced at him in surprise, he grimaced. “She was the samaat of my clan. She is the one who named me voruun.

Sivoy’s face drained of all color. “But you said–”

“Yes, I murdered innocents,” he said. “But I broke her heart long before that night.” Not until the words left his mouth did he realize their truth, nor the way they cut him to the quick.

Neither spoke for several long moments until Sivoy exhaled and glanced back at him. “Corvac told me how he found you on the cliff. Did you want me to have you killed today?”

No trouble to meet her gaze now; no difficulty to speak the truth. “There is nothing left for me in this world, Sivoy.”

She looked away again. “And you call us cowards,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“I never said I wasn’t one,” he replied.

She grunted in what he imagined was reluctant humor before she turned so that she faced him, leaning her shoulder against the tree and crossing her arms before her chest. “So what happens now?”

“You ask as if I have the answer.” When she did not reply, Atanar glanced away from her, letting his gaze fall across the bustling camp. More than a few kulkri looked away quickly, though a few continued to stare openly. No doubt word of the foiled hunt had spread like fractures on a frozen lake.

Atanar considered a pair of kulkri tending to the horses before looking back at Sivoy. “You know,” he said carefully. “The Aredians do not share our people’s distaste for preferences such as yours and mine.”

Her pale brows arched in surprise, though she schooled her face to disinterest almost immediately. “Why should I care what Aredians think about anything?”

“There was a pair of traders my mother used to favor,” Atanar went on as if she’d not spoken. “Two women. They were married – to one another.” Sivoy sucked in a breath and Atanar felt a smile tug at his mouth. “They brought us some of the finest leather I’ve ever seen; soft as butter. Not to mention the chocolate…”

“Shock-ah-latt?” Sivoy stumbled over the foreign word.

Atanar nodded. “It’s food. I think. Well, it tastes wonderful. It’s made from some sort of bean the Aredians grow in the southern province.”

“A bean?” Sivoy pulled a face. “We have no use for those here.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But Aredians are quite inventive – as you’ve seen.” He gestured to the kulkri camp. “And many of them are eager to trade with us. Our steel is worth a great deal to them, as are the furs and meat we can easily hunt here.”

She frowned. “Surely even Aredians can hunt for those things.”

“Some of the hardier ones, perhaps. But most of them won’t travel this far north. And none of them would know what to do with an atsuula or caradoc.” He took a deep breath. “Have you ever considered trying to trade with them?” When she did not answer, he added, “Your family has much to offer.”

“None of us can speak proper Aredian,” she said at last, waving a hand in dismissal. “Besides, it’s too much trouble to gather items to trade when we can simply take what we wish.”

“I can speak enough Aredian to trade,” he replied. “My mother often called upon me to take on that responsibility. And as to your sort of hunting…”

He fought back a surge of anger at the notion of the kulkri‘s methods; even so, he felt the stirrings of vorunn within his heart. To counteract the feeling, he laced his hands together and dug his nails into his skin, letting the pain redirect his focus away from thoughts of violence. “How long can you sustain such a practice? Even Aredians have their limits. Eventually, they will come looking for the ones who’ve broken the Avalanche Truce.”

“I’m not afraid of their paltry armies.”

“Perhaps, but you don’t have the numbers necessary to face an army, even an Aredian one.”

“Many other kulkri clans hunt as we do.”

“I know,” he said. “And you are all Canderi in the eyes of the Aredians. If one clan brings the branch down upon its own head, the rest of the tree will surely follow; the damage will spread to the rest of your people.” He allowed his words to sink in before adding, “My mother used to tell me that the most effective leaders often choose not to fight. They put their clan’s well-being above their pride.”

Given Sivoy’s attitude toward him so far, such words were a gamble, but he didn’t have much to lose. If she ignored his counsel – as he expected she would – he would be no worse off. But if she listened, he could save her people a great deal of trouble.

My people, too, he thought, but shook the notion away. He had no clan, nor family. Only vorunn. 

            She was quiet for several heartbeats, her gaze resting on the other kulkri who milled about the camp. Just when Atanar could stand the silence no longer, she sighed. “How would we go about trading with the Aredians? They all but piss themselves when they see us coming.”

He was startled at the strength of his relief, but tried – again – to keep his feelings from bleeding into his voice. “Gather items you wish to trade. Scout along the main roads until you see a caravan, then meet them in the open, with your swords thrust in the ground behind you and your goods spread on the ground at your feet. If they are willing to trade, they will approach. If not,” he could not suppress a smirk, “they will likely flee like rabbits.”

She straightened. “You wish us to meet them unarmed?”

“Not unarmed, just not actively armed,” he said. “Your claymore should be within easy reach, but you should not meet them as if in combat. Such a tradition is passed down from the Avalanche Truce.”

Sivoy shook her head. “What does that mean? What truce do you speak of?”

Now he could not help his surprise, though he tried to conceal it when her eyes narrowed. “The Avalanche Truce is the reason your people are no longer at war with the Aredians. Nearly fifteen generations ago, the Aredians and the Canderi warred constantly – fighting over territory. One such battle took place,” he nodded toward the mountain peaks in the distance, “in the Argus Mountains, at the end of a very harsh winter. Both armies gave their fiercest battle cries, meant to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies and to show their own strength, and the very mountains trembled.

“The leaders of each group – the general of the Aredian army and the samaat of the Canderi – rushed to face each other. When the two women met in the middle, the great battle ensued. But so fierce was the fighting that the mountains could not withstand the force of it, and began to collapse – an avalanche. Both leaders were injured and separated from their armies, and had to rely on each other to survive. During this – and no one knows the truth of how it played out – they managed to form a truce, though they resolved to kill each other when they returned to their armies.”

As he spoke, Atanar noticed how a few of the kulkri, including Corvac and some of the other children, had crept closer to listen. He pretended not to see them and kept speaking.

“Through their combined strength, they found their way back to the others and emerged on a peak high above the battleground. Looking down, they both saw how blood marred the snow, how the bodies of their people lay dead and dying. They realized they could not continue this war. Together, they went down to their armies, who paused their fighting to allow their leaders passage. When the two reached the center, they thrust their blades into the snow behind them, and faced one another in peace – if not quite friendship – and the truce was made.”

Sivoy had been glancing between the others and Atanar, but when the tale ended, she frowned at him in earnest. “Is that true?”

He spread his hands. “That is how it was told to me.”

“Will it work?” Corvac spoke up from amidst a group of boys and girls about his age. “Will the Aredians understand we wish to trade?”

“Surely they’ll just run away,” Kiluan said. Like the others, she’d come closer to hear the story, though Atanar did not miss how she sidled up to Sivoy.

He shrugged. “That is how my clan traded with them in the past. I have seen some Aredians quail at the sight of us, but most are brave enough to at least approach.”

Kiluan glanced at Sivoy. “This tactic would bring them within easy reach. We could–”

“No,” Atanar snarled, causing both women to start. Vorunn clawed at his will, urging for blood, but he fought the feeling back and spoke with more control. “Attacking them after making an overture of peaceful trade would be an act of war.”

“Assuming we left anyone alive to tell their little queen,” Sivoy replied.

Atanar balled his hands into fists. Why could they not see the folly of such actions? “Yes, and so you lure a merchant with the promise of peaceful trade, and kill him. Then you do the same again, and again, and again. But word will spread – you know it will, Sivoy – and the Aredians will come for you. All of you.”

“How long would that take?” Kiluan shot back. “In the meantime, we’d have easy hunting. Winter will come eventually,” she added to Sivoy, who looked troubled.

“It might take weeks, or months, or even longer,” Atanar replied. “But eventually, the Aredians will seek retribution for those you’ve killed.”

Corvac gnawed on his lip. “I heard Aredians lock up their own people for no reason other than they have magic. I’ve heard they even kill those who bears a certain mark on their hand – they call it a ‘mage-mark.’”

A few of the others murmured assent, but Sivoy rolled her eyes. “Those are just stories, Cor. There’s no such thing as magic.”

Atanar had heard otherwise, but kept that thought to himself. Such stories were rumors, unsubstantiated and probably exaggerations from Aredians wishing to appear stronger to the Canderi, who had no magic among their kind.

Sivoy frowned at her brother. “What are you doing eavesdropping, anyway? Get out of here, all of you,” she added, shooing them away. Kiluan gave her a questioning look; Sivoy hesitated, glanced at Atanar, then jerked her chin to the dark-haired woman in a silent order. When they were alone again, Sivoy faced Atanar once more. “Very well. We shall try to trade with them – once. You will speak for us. But do not forget that you are acting under my authority.”

He spread his palms. “I understand, Samaat Sivoy.

Her brows knit as she tried to find sarcasm in his reply, but he only regarded her without expression. It was a trick his mother had taught him well. Too well, perhaps, for Sivoy rolled her eyes and muttered something unflattering about him beneath her breath. Well. That was as good a dismissal as any, so Atanar turned to leave. However, she halted him in his tracks with his name. His name.

When he turned, she was studying him. “Before,” she said quietly. “When you grabbed my neck…”

He grimaced. “I am sorry if I hurt you, but you–”

“No, not that.” She hesitated, then dropped her pitch again. “Your eyes were…strange.”

Something cold formed in his guts. “Strange, how?”

“It might’ve been a trick of the sun,” she said, brows knitted. “But I swear they…shone. Like stars. Just for a moment. Just when you were looking at me, with your hands at my throat.”

Just when you tried to kill me. She didn’t have to say it out loud; they both knew. Atanar felt as though he stood naked on the tundra, in the first moments before a blizzard descended. “You’re certain?”

“I know what I saw.”

Vorunn. He didn’t know how, why, or what it meant, but he knew the two were related. “If you see it again,” his eyes darted to her claymore but he only said, “let me know.”

Sivoy nodded again, then turned away from him. Atanar remained beneath the tree, alone, and did not return to the main camp until dusk.

preview of Catalyst Moon: Exile

Hello, friends.

These last several weeks, life has been crazy. (Which is putting it mildly.) Between an amazing vacation, a nasty cold, and a…tumultuous election, writing has been slow. But slow progress is still progress, and I’m moving forward on a project that’s been hanging over me for some time: Catalyst Moon: Exile. (Title subject to change.)

Exile features Atanar, a Canderi warrior who first appeared in an early draft of Incursion. Atanar’s story arc didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the book, so I cut him out and set him aside to bring back later. As it turns out, later is now. 😉

Catalyst Moon: Exile is a novella, sort of a prequel to Incursion.

Here’s a snippet:


Atanar soon found himself in the midst of another Canderi camp, a place he’d never thought he’d stand again. Several dozen men and women bustled about with evening tasks: cooking food over several scattered fires; grooming horses and herding children; securing the rounded tents made from animal hides. Despite the approaching storm, laughter and conversation rippled through the camp.

Kulkri, the lot of them, but for one moment, Atanar could have been back home.

Or it might have, had each kulkri’s eyes not marked Atanar for what he was, then narrowed to dagger-points.

The boy – Corvac – led Atanar through the others without a word to anyone, instead trotting toward one of the fur-lined tents in the middle of the camp. There, he paused and listened beside the entrance for a few moments before giving Atanar a look that was almost concerned. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before Atanar could ask what was going on, Corvac disappeared within the tent, leaving Atanar alone in a camp full of people giving him dark looks. Well, he could return the favor, particularly to a bunch of thieving kulkri such as these. Perhaps he was vorunn, but he had some measure of respect for tradition.

So Atanar stood straight and met each glare with one of his own, until movement to his right caught his eye. A young woman strode toward him; she was a few years younger than Atanar, perhaps in her twentieth summer. Her hair was neatly braided in the Aredian fashion; it was darker than most other Canderi but still streaked with pale gold, and, like the others, she wore a sash of red, yellow, green, blue and white, all woven together.

“Who are you?” she called as she approached.

Your name will be forgotten. As it should be. But he had no other to give. He shook his head. “No one.”

The moment she registered what he was, her stance turned even more hostile as her body became strung taut with tension. “Vorunn, then,” she murmured, halting just over an arm’s length away, one hand reaching for the claymore strapped to her back. “What, in Nox’s void, are you doing here?”

Atanar frowned over the strange word, Nox. The woman’s speech was Canderi, but was that word Aredian slang? Is that what happened to Canderi who left their home: they lost themselves and turned into those soft, weak folk? Ancestors strike me dead before that happens to me, he thought with a shudder.

He shook his head once. “Corvac brought me.” She scowled up at him and he could not help but add, “For supper.”

Her scowl deepened. “Corvac is a child. He has no say in who or,” she wrinkled her nose, “what comes into our home.”

“And you do?”

“Aye, as far as you’re concerned.” She pointed the general direction he had come, where he could now see a rudimentary sort of passage that wound through the tents and cooking fires. Beyond these, in addition to the large elk-like atsuula, there were a dozen or so scraggly Aredian horses, outfitted with Aredian saddles, bridles and other gear. In fact, most of the gear he saw was Aredian in make.

Atanar frowned. A sloppy affair, this kulkri camp.

“Leave, now,” she said, lifting her pointed chin. “Save me the trouble of dirtying my sword with your blood.”

“Quiet, Sivoy.” An elderly man slipped out of the tent, Corvac on his heels. Like the rest, the older man wore thick furs, though he leaned heavily on a staff and on the elbow of the boy at his side as he regarded Atanar curiously.

“He’s vorunn,” Sivoy said. “Corvac never should have brought him here. I’m within my rights to cast him out, Utu.”

“So you are,” her grandfather replied. “And so you may. But your word is not the only law. We are not like them.” He nodded in the vague direction of Cander, and Atanar bristled despite everything. “I advise you to learn a little more before you toss this warrior back into the storm.”

There was greater meaning in those words than Atanar could glean. Indeed, Sivoy frowned, but regarded Atanar with a new sort of speculation. “Very well, stranger,” she said at last. “I will allow you a chance to explain why we should not cast you away.”

Atanar frowned. Vorunn, he may have been, but these vagabonds did not deserve even his respect. He straightened and regarded Sivoy from his full height – considerable, even among the Canderi. “Your graciousness humbles me.”

Sivoy glared back, but her words were honey-sweet. “Corvac, please tend to our guest while I gather the others. I suppose supper will be delayed tonight.”

With that, she spun on her heels and marched away, disappearing within one of the other tents. Atanar looked back at Corvac and the older man, presumably the boy’s grandfather as well, given the resemblance between Corvac and Sivoy. “I have no need of your charity…”

The older man leaned on his staff and regarded Atanar with a shrewd gaze before he smiled; the expression shone through his white beard.. “That remains to be seen, my friend.” He nodded to the tent behind him. “Come, sit. My name is Tikaani. Rest easy, warrior, and eat your fill, for now you are among kin.”

Tikaani spoke the benediction with a familiar, musical cadence that Atanar had heard more times than he could count. But even so gently said, the words struck Atanar in the chest as would a thrown spear or a stray atsuula hoof. At once he was overtaken by an ache so deep and powerful, he could not speak. Beyond the camp, the sky darkened further still, and each gust of wind cut more bitterly than the last, adding to the ache. Vorunn. So it had taken almost everything from him – almost. It would eventually take his life. It should take his life. Very likely it would, if he tried to weather the storm without proper supplies.

Perhaps sensing his indecision, Tikaani said, “Outcast or not, cursed or not, you have no home. Share ours – even if only for a night.”

Kindness…perhaps. In all likelihood the old man had an ulterior motive. Nevertheless, Atanar nodded once. “I may as well get out of the wind.”


Apologies for any typos, grammatical errors, poor wording, etc. This is a rough draft, as-yet unseen by anyone else. I realize there are a few words that don’t make sense, and I’m okay with that for right now, though I think this novella will need a glossary of terms!

It’s been great fun to write a Canderi warrior; I’m proud of the culture I’ve created with these fierce people, and I hope you enjoy them, too!

Thanks for reading, and stay awesome. 🙂

Lauren