Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview
1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
There are arguably three main characters in Death’s Reckoning, but Tarana is the main mover and shaker in this entry in the series, so I’ll focus on her. At the age of ten she was selected by her family to replace the aspect of Calamity in a ceremony that involved killing the previous aspect with a magical dagger. Things didn’t exactly look up from there, since she was immediately drafted into a war with the Ma’isans (who neighbor her family’s lands to the east) that has continued for nearly seven years.
Oh, and to make matters worse, the previous aspect – Tarana’s aunt – killed her mother. To resolve conflicting feelings about his sister, Tarana’s father has taken to blaming the powers of Calamity and their corrupting influence. As a result, relationships between him and Tarana have been… let’s say strained.
What I find interesting about Tarana is that she was effectively raised by military men, and has picked up a few things from them about waging war, but unfortunately her social skills are somewhat lacking. So she’s more likely to solve her problems by fighting than by talking, even when she would be better off if she paused to consider and talk through the problems in front of her. She’s a woman of action, and I think there’s something admirable (or at least interesting) in that.
By the way, I’m happy to discuss the other characters at length, so please feel free to drop a comment or reach out to me if you’re curious!
2. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
Unfortunately, I’m not a big believer in the paranormal. I haven’t had any experiences that would serve as evidence one way or the other.
3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
My main project is the sequel to Death’s Reckoning. The first draft is about half-way done, and I’m targeting a release by the end of 2023.
I also have a story in my backlog about a city where the rules for magic derive from the layout of the city streets (think of Elantris), but it’s very much in the workshopping phase. I think it would be cool to imagine the face of a city changing along with the magic system, and there’s also a class-war element that I want to weave into it. Because I love to write about class warfare.
Excerpt
Micol’s blood ran cold. He closed his eyes, concentrating on taking deep breaths. Please don’t let them see us, he prayed to Loss. Please, let them pass by. It’s not supposed to end like this. Please.
Another man stepped into view. Then a third. Their conversation continued, but Micol couldn’t focus on the words. He was too busy listening to the growing sounds of movement around them. The pounding boots and squelching mud hinted at a larger force than the three men who had already passed, although he could only guess at how much larger.
At least a half dozen more came into view, most of them near Asoka’s hiding place. The three who’d led the way were nearly out of sight; Micol could barely see their torches through the thick trees. To his left, a glint of light caught his eyes. When he followed it to its source, he nearly collapsed.
Silvery-blue armor covered the woman from head to toe, flowing around her like water. Every inch of skin was covered, leaving only a pair of thin slits for her eyes. She was close enough to Micol to touch. His entire body began to shake, demanding action.
He couldn’t be still anymore. His every fiber screamed one word: escape. He had to get out, but there was nowhere to go. The beating of his heart raged thunderous in his ears until it felt like the sound alone would betray him. Cold sweat beaded on his fevered skin. The aspect’s head swung in his direction.
Micol tried to bolt from the tree – away from the aspect – but she reacted faster than he would have thought possible. Her hand snapped out, stopping his momentum and taking the pair of them to the ground. He managed to twist in time to see her liberating a rusted dagger from its sheath.
From out of sight, he heard the groan of a bowstring. The aspect’s dagger plunged toward his chest, but before it could strike the tip of an arrow spiked through one of the slits in her helm. Its force pushed her off him, and Micol took his chance. He was on his feet in an instant, running away from the group of soldiers.
He met Asoka’s wide-eyed stare; the other boy still held his bow in a ready position. Time stood still for a solitary moment before Micol broke the contact.
Bodies thudded; wood cracked from out of Micol’s view. “Got him!” he heard someone say. “He doesn’t look like an assassin to me.”
Micol kept running. He heard the footsteps of several men behind him, but he didn’t dare stop to check their progress.
“Get the other one!” someone else shouted.
“Over there! He’s headed toward the undergrowth!”
Micol fell into a row of dense bushes, forcing himself through. Branches and thorns tore at his skin and clothes, but he paid them little mind. The men chasing him reached the bushes a moment after he broke through the other side.
His days on the streets of Vicrum came back to him, lessons born from a thousand beatings doled out by those older and larger.There was always someone faster, someone stronger. But Micol had had one advantage: he was willing to go further. A path ahead promised easy escape, but instead of heading for it he plunged deeper into the undergrowth.
A thick root tripped Micol, sending him toppling head-over-heels down a stream bed. He hissed as a flare of pain shot up from his ankle; he inched toward the running water, but a sound came a moment later that stopped him cold.
“Micol!” a distant voice cried. Asoka’s voice. “Help! Please help me!” The pitiful cry was like an icy knife plunged into his lungs.
He didn’t make it out, Micol thought. I didn’t even stop to think about helping him escape. He rose to his knees, taking stock of the situation. He’d lost his bow when the aspect had taken him, which left the small hunting knife on his belt as his only weapon.
“Help! Oh, aspects, please!”
Micol knew what he was supposed to do. The stories soldiers shared were full of such scenarios; if he had been the hero in one of those stories, he would have drawn his knife and carved a path of blood back to his friend to save him. The men searching for him were getting close, and he knew he had to make his decision soon.
A sound like an axe hitting a tree echoed through the forest, sending a morbid shiver down Micol’s spine. He summoned all of his courage, but it wasn’t enough. He turned back to the stream and jumped in, letting the water carry him away.
This sounds interesting. Thanks for sharing this Q&A
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