Progress Update + Sneak Preview (Patreon)

Hi Team!

Firstly, I'd like to welcome two new arohim to the ranks! Great to have you guys on board. Secondly, APJ 20 is well underway and sits at around 40% done. This chapter is so far opening up on Shenla, as well as touching base with Smythe at the Chapel.

Thirdly, I wrote a draft for a future scene that I've been meaning to get to for a while, and thought I might give you guys a peek at it :)

Stay safe out there.

- Anti.

***SCENE***

Waves crashed and churned against the rocky shoreline, whipped into furious frenzy by the howling wind blustering in from the north. Spray sailed into the air and was whisked away by wind strong enough to knock a man down, though Aran stood firm, untouched by the elements as he watched the pounding surf. Above, the sky boiled with heavy black clouds that showed an eerie green tinge, as one might see beneath a storm threatening twisters and hail. Both were possible at any time, now. Even here.

Amathani was this way all the time, now, not spared by Maharad’s touch. Aran could push back the tempest, if he wished, push the clouds back to feel the warmth of the sun, but it took a certain effort of will, and he was content to save his strength, for now.

Behind him, a hundred yards up the beach, an enormous stone wall stretched east and west further than the eye could see. Fifty yards high and ten thick, the crenellated Dawnwall protected the five cities behind it from invasion from Palistair. At least, that had been its intended purpose. Now, a gaping hole broke the smooth surface of the wall. That was where Vasuda had torn through it like paper, creating a gateway for Maloth’s hordes to enter the city behind.

Aran was unsurprised when a figure appeared on the beach next to him, a foot taller than Aran and well-muscled, with skin the colour of blood. He wore fine black boots of polished leather, and black trousers that looked to be made of serpent’s scales, shining dully. He wore no shirt, leaving his upper body bare but for a black cloak that hung from his shoulders, as undisturbed by the wind as Aran’s. A slightly curved sword hung at his hip, the hilt and scabbard as black as everything else he wore.

The two men did not look at each other as they stared out to sea. Lightning stabbed the sand less than fifty yards away, causing an instant, deafening clap of thunder, but neither man blinked. Aran used his vala to read Maloth, and found a maelstrom of pain and hate. There was light there, too. Deep down and smothered, not permitted the space to grow. He could feel Maloth doing the same to him. The sensation was uncomfortable, like cold, prickly fingers brushing the back of his neck, but he allowed it to happen. This was not the time or the place to fight. That day would come soon enough.

“We are the same, yet different,” Maloth said, speaking for the first time. “You have a darkness in you, like mine.”

Without looking at Maloth, Aran shook his head. “No, not like yours. I conquered mine. Yours rules you.” From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Maloth’s eye twitch ever so slightly.

“That is your interpretation,” he responded levelly, showing no further cracks in his composure. “But it is not truth. I chose of my own will, Sunblade. I control my destiny.”

“And Maharad?” Aran asked. “Does his hand not grip your heart? I feel him in you, brother, twisting and distorting. Does it not anger you?”

Maloth merely smiled. “Do not attempt to make me question myself, Sunblade. My path is laid by my hand alone. Maharad’s gifts are useful to me, so I permit his presence.”

Aran was silent for a moment. He wondered how far he should push Maloth here and now, but the tiniest seed taking root could make all the difference… “He is using you as a tool,” Aran told him. “As he used your mother, if only you could see it.” If Aran’s words had any effect on Maloth, the man didn’t show it.

“And are you not being used by Aros?” Maloth asked quietly. “Are you not his piece in this grand game?”

“I am,” Aran replied. “And yet I will serve my purpose willingly, knowing so. You are an anomaly, Maloth. You and your sister were never meant to be. I am the correction to the imbalance that is you. Perhaps things would have been different had you embraced our father’s gift to you, rather than strangle it.”

Maloth said nothing for a time, his features unreadable. “Very well,” he said finally. “You have chosen your fate, Sunblade. We will not meet like this again. The next time I see you will be on the battlefield.” He vanished, leaving Aran alone on the beach.

Aran remained there for a time, wondering if anything he’d said had made a difference.

***