Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Kat: The 6th Turn





Lord Belmont’s life ended in Clovis, in the impenetrable darkness beneath the ground where forbidden rites were once held. Lady Gwendolyn was his love, body and soul, and the Demon in Blue Light killed her.

Every year, on the anniversary of Gwen’s death, he returned to Clovis to stand in the cold desolation, hearing the wind moan through the lonely passes, feeling her loss all over again.

On this anniversary, he wasn’t alone in Clovis. He heard the noises rustling in the brush. He smelled the raw river of Shadow tech. Then he saw it:

The claws …
The flicking tail …
The maniacal, glittering eyes fixed on him …
“I’ve been waiting for you,” it said in a grating voice as it attacked.
* * * * *

Far away, across the cosmos in a city of wondrous crystal towers, two people watch in horror as the desperate scene at Clovis unfolds. They had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, even argued for it before the gods. They convinced the gods they were right, that they knew best, and everything would go well.

But, things weren’t going well at Clovis.

If this situation went poorly, then ages worth of work would be lost, and, just possibly, the universe might come to an end.

 This book will be published next year, in the meantime find all of 
 Author Ren Garcia's books, and the first books in this series, below
~ Amazon ~ Goodreads ~ Amazon UK





Ren Garcia is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author and Texas native who grew up in western Ohio. He has been writing since before he could write, often scribbling alien lingo on any available wall or floor with assorted crayons. He attended The Ohio State University and majored in English Literature. Ren has been an avid lover of anything surreal since childhood, he also has a passion for caving, urban archeology and architecture. His highly imaginative "League of Elder" book series is published by Loconeal Publishing

  



Connect with the Author here: 

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 Excerpt 
—Sent to Die

They were taken far away from Shade Church and brought before a council of Black Hats, who gazed at them through their featureless masks. Behind them was a writhing cocoon of Shadow tech wherein the Black Abbess herself resided.

“You have been selected from among all others at Shade Church, thus your privileged existence. We are entrusting the four of you with a very im-portant mission. Know you of the Shadow tech Goddess?” the Black Hats asked.

The Shadow tech Goddess; a name she had heard whispered over and over in the stony passes of the Shade Church, a deplored entity who may or may not exist, with the power to destroy the universe. The Shadow tech Goddess was the only person dreaded, feared, and obsessed over by the Black Abbess. She and her three sisters had no concept of the universe; the word meant nothing to them. Could this Shadow tech Goddess destroy the Shade Church? That would be power.

The four of them were to undertake a perilous mission deep inside enemy territory, deep inside the hated League itself, and the prospects for their survival were minimal at best—the Black Hats were quite clear about that. If they survived the trip, which was in no way assured, and if they man¬aged to elude the ever-watchful eye of the League’s mighty Sisterhood of Light, to the one trainee who brought the Black Abbess information on the whereabouts or the identity of the Shadow tech Goddess would be granted freedom from the Shade Church and all the horrors within. She would be granted great power, be given a name by the Black Abbess herself and pre¬sented with a temple of her own; allowed to become a full Black Hat, at last ready to unleash Hell.

“We have it on good authority that information regarding the Shadow tech Goddess may be gathered in a remote area of the League … The four of you shall go there and procure this information; we will send Autocons to monitor your activities and ensure you do your duty. Only one of you shall return to us, to great riches. The others will die in the heart of the hated League.”

Only one? Counting on her fingers, she realized one, two, three … of them would die.

She wasn’t afraid of death, or was she?

You have much to live for, the angels had said.

Shortly thereafter, they were taken aloft under guard into the void of space in a Xaphan warship. They were pumped full of calories to sustain them on their long journey, sealed deep inside bulky, impossibly tight at-mosphere suits, unable to move, barely able to breathe, and loaded one by one into the sparse, machinery-filled interior of a Black Hat stealth missile and bolted in. Without word or ceremony, the missile with the four of them entombed inside, was fired into space toward the League.

Like everything else she had ever experienced, the confinement in the missile was pure torture. She could barely move a muscle, her arms bound at her side. The bulky atmosphere suit furnished her with enough diluted oxygen to remain conscious, but only just. Her lungs thirsted for air in an unending roar; a roar that followed her into her fitful bouts of sleep. Pan¬ic, closed in, buried alive—got to get out! Unable to move, she couldn’t scratch or stretch, and she had no choice but to soil herself. The suit soon stank of waste and ammonia. Hallucinations danced before her eyes. The uninsulated circuitry inside the suit seared her bare skin, and when she wasn’t being burned, the dank cold of the missile froze her nearly to death. Though she was given an injection of calories to sustain her, her stomach cried out for food. Nearby, buried in layers of smothering metal, she could hear her sisters muffled cries, each moaning for relief.

For what seemed like an eternity, none came.

The Autocon inside her body swam through her Shadow tech like a giant parasite. It cajoled her along the way with its icy Shadow tech voice: “Do not die! The Black Abbess is invested in your success. Die, waste our training in you and we will reclaim our Shadow tech and cast your soul to Hell where it will be devoured for the remainder of eternity … Do not die, you worthless female!”

Through this buried-alive Hell and the constant cajoling, a kind voice from the past rose up from the wellspring of her memories to calm her: “You have much to live for ...”

The angels had spoken it to her, and she clung to the silent voice and the memory of the garment the color of mercy; barely alive in the dank cold of her atmosphere suit.

Eventually, the missile seemed to come to a stop, change course and plunge into the atmosphere of some fertile world, presumably deep in the League. Pre-programmed with precision, the four of them were ejected, tumbling away in a free-fall as the burning missile screeched down like a comet and burrowed deep into the rocky earth.

She plummeted, hitting the ground with a terrific commotion, the bulky suit shielding her from the brunt of the impact. The pounding nearly shook the teeth out of her mouth.

The Black Hats’ technology survived, the latches turned and the suit opened, releasing her from its wretched embrace. Stinking, barely alive, she crawled nude from the suit, leaving behind the bare metal to emerge into a place of wonder. There was blessed open space and cool breezes, all free of pain. Weak from her ordeal, she fell to the ground and lay there for a long time, reveling in the openness, watching fingers of smoke from the suit drift away. Drift away to where? Over her head, instead of a stone vault, was a vast openness veiled in mist and tiny, soft lights. The empti¬ness frightened her for a moment; she felt as though she might fall upwards into an endless abyss and be lost. And what was she lying on? Not stone, it was soft and yielding to the touch; she could tear it away with her fingers.

She felt she was dying, the confinement in the suit too much. She lay there on soft ground, looking up into a great dark vastness, open and mys-terious, dappled with a tapestry of twinkling lights.

So beautiful. She would die having witnessed such wonders.


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