The Story Behind the story with Author Joyce Rice of Quispamsis, New Brunswick, Canada.

 Someone new to the Scribbler this week. 

I met Joyce at the GMRD book fair which took place last spring. 

She kindly accepted my invitation to be our guest this week. 

Read on, my friends

 

 

 

 

I was born and raised in the beautiful province of Newfoundland. In my early twenties, I moved to Ontario, where I spent over 25 years working as a personal support worker in long-term care, providing compassionate, hands-on care to seniors to help them maintain dignity and quality of life.

 

In 2020, the East Coast vibe called my husband and me back, and we now call Quispamsis, New Brunswick, home. We love the warmth and friendliness of the locals, the abundance of hiking trails in the area, and the breathtaking beauty of the ocean. This environment, along with my Newfoundland roots, also influences my creative writing style.

 

I’m a proud mother to my non-binary child, H, and to my son, Patrick, and a Nana to six incredible grandchildren. They continually remind me of the power of imagination, the courage to embrace one’s true self, and the strength that comes from facing life’s challenges head-on.

 

Book title: The Rise of Little Bear.

 

Synopsis: In my first book, Bray and the Adventures of Zorkon, Bray and his friends, alongside a mysterious, riddle-speaking alien named Zork, bravely face a bullying crisis at their school. In my latest release in the Zorkon series, The Rise of Little Bear, the story bursts into a fast-paced fantasy adventure that captivates both middle-grade readers and adults. Once again, Bray and his friends—joined by some intriguing new characters—embark on an epic journey filled with courage, growth, and self-discovery. This time, they confront a dangerous new threat: AI-driven scavengers intent on stealing the powerful Zorkon crystals and seizing control of the universe.

 

The Story Behind the Story: As the fifth oldest of fourteen siblings, my childhood was often shaped more by responsibility than by carefree play. Each day was a whirlwind of chores—washing endless dishes, helping with homework, and calming the chaos. However, in those rare, stolen moments of silence, usually lying in bed after my siblings had fallen asleep, I would craft magical worlds in my imagination, where I became the hero, not the misfit, in my own story.

 

In 2014, after chronic back issues forced me to leave my career, I shifted my focus to studying grief and loss and childhood trauma, with the intent of becoming a counselor. During this time, I had a revelation: What if the stories I write could have transformative power? What if they could serve as tools for healing—offering a way for people to process emotions that were too complex or overwhelming to put into words?

 

Suddenly, the quiet moments I had once stolen between chores and homework as a child took on new meaning. The worlds I had dreamt up were no longer escapes; they had become the foundation of my journey as a writer.

 

In The Rise of Little Bear, the protagonist, an adopted Métis boy, embarks on a journey to reconnect with his identity and discovers that he is part of something far greater than himself. As an Indigenous (Mi’kmaq) author who has recently come to embrace and appreciate my heritage, it felt natural to guide the main character on this path. While his journey differs from mine, it reflects the profound experience of rediscovering one’s roots and the deep connection to culture and identity that comes with it.

 

Cultural diversity and the impact of bullying are very personal issues for me. Both experiences have inspired me to create stories that go beyond simple adventure or fantasy. My narratives address the pain of bullying, celebrate the strength found in diversity, and delve into the complexities of self-identity. Through storytelling, I aim to foster emotional growth and resilience in both children and adults. My primary goal is not only to provide an escape from reality but also to offer a mirror that reflects their feelings and experiences, helping them navigate the sometimes painful, confusing journey of growing up.

 

In addition to being the author of two middle-grade books, I’m also a blogger and write 3-4 articles a year for Burns Mosa’s Roots and Wings, the church my husband and I attended while living in Ontario.

 

Facebook Author page: Please go HERE.

 

 

A question before you go, Joyce.

 

Scribbler: Who Was Your Favourite Author or Story Growing Up?

Joyce: Looking back, I realize that every twist, every challenge, and every unexpected detour has shaped the writer I have become. The hardships I faced during my early years taught me resilience, while the moments I spent escaping into magical worlds ignited my imagination. Ultimately, leaving my career in healthcare revealed that endings often disguise new beginnings and that paths we never intended to take can lead to the most extraordinary destinations. For me, that destination is the magical world of storytelling.

 

Excerpt from The Rise of Little Bear

 

A rhythmic hum whoosh, hum whoosh beats in my head like a rapper’s soundtrack as I zoom past one humming fluorescent light after another, landing on a cold, steel-ribbed tunnel floor.

 

A bird’s shadow lies next to me.

 

“You better eat your food if you know what’s good for you,” a gruff voice commands from the end of the tunnel. 

 

Cling-clang echoes off the walls, followed by fading footsteps, and then … an eerie silence. 

 

A familiar sweet scent fills my nostrils as warm air brushes against my ear.

 

“Store what you find deep inside your mind. It will be a guide for another time,” Zork whispers. 

 

I clumsily spin around, but no one’s there.

 

“That was weird and creepy,” I mutter.  

 

Zork’s fading voice replies, “I’m here to prepare you, not to scare you.”  

 

“Uh? Prepare me? For what, Zork?”  

 

“Follow the ravens’ lead, and you will surely succeed.”  

The shadow spreads its wings. Swish, swish, swish. I lift off the floor, glide down the tunnel, and then swoop back to the ground.

 

There’s that bird’s shadow again. I can’t seem to shake it. 

 

To my left, someone walks away, swinging what looks like a lantern. In front of me is a dead-end with a steel grating. I glance around. The coast is clear, so I hop closer to the grating and peer inside.  

 

“Is anyone there?” I ask in a low voice.

 

“Bray, you’ve come on the wings of my friend,” a faint voice says.

“Mya!” I gasp.

 

My heart races as I struggle to escape. I kick and punch at the soft material that wraps around me like mummy cloth. Finally, I break free into the light of day and realize the “tomb” is just my bedcovers.  

 

“Oh man, another Zork dream,” I groan, still panting from the battle beneath my blankets.

 

 “Wait! That was Mya’s voice. There’s no mistaking it. She’s alive! But … was I a raven?”

  

 

Buy the book HERE.

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Joyce. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

 

And a HUGE thank you to all out visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

 

The Story Behind the Story with Author Christopher Sweet of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

We are beyond pleased to have Christopher return.

His dynamic novel is gathering lots of great reviews. 

It should. It’s a terrific tale. 

Mr. Sweet is no stranger to the Scribbler. If you missed his last visit, please go HERE. 

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Christopher is the author of four published works, including his newest novel of supernatural horror, The Orchid Room.

He’s worked as a freelance writer, manager, waiter, bartender, event DJ, actor, children’s entertainer, truck driver, shopkeeper, call centre operator, concierge, office assistant, barista, supply teacher, and—most recently—a campground manager.

Christopher is an avid reader and a lover of cinema. He's a nature hound who isn't above crawling through the dirt to get a closer look at a particularly interesting beast, bird, or bug.

He lives with his growing tribe of people and pets on a peaceful river in New Brunswick’s Acadian Peninsula.

Christopher’s newest novel, Encore, is set to be released in April.

 

Title: The Orchid Room 

Synopsis:

The teenagers of Maggie’s Knee have been vanishing without explanation, their disappearances blamed on everything from adolescent rebellion to “shadow people” in the woods. 

Farren Murakami, an eighteen-year-old who has suffered more than most, finds out first-hand where the youth have gone when she’s recruited to join a tribe of teens living in an abandoned camp hidden deep in the woods. It isn’t long before she learns there is more to the story than just runaway kids; a sinister presence dwelling in the forbidden buildings tucked far back in the camp seems to have handpicked her for its purposes.

In her search for answers, Farren discovers her involvement with the tribe goes farther back than she can imagine, and that whatever lives in the forbidden buildings wants much more than the fealty of some kids playing in the forest.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

When I was nineteen or twenty I read an instructional writing book that, very early on, rebuked any writer who dared to base a story or novel on a dream they had. Young as I was, I took this advice to heart and made sure my dreams stayed in the dream world where they belonged. Bummed me out a bit because I tend to have pretty vivid dreams. Goes without saying, whether I like it or not, my dreams have at least peripherally influenced my writing. But I never directly based anything I wrote on a dream I’d had.

Never say never, though, right?

Five or six years ago, while we were still living in Ontario, I had a dream about a girl running away from home. In the dream, she was being chased and escaped her pursuer by leaping into a pond, swimming down through a tunnel, and surfacing in a wooded clearing where a bunch of other kids lived. But since real writers don’t write about their dreams, I let it fade into memory. Several months later, I was hiking an escarpment trail and came across the ruins of an encampment set amongst some crumbled brickwork from a long-forgotten structure. Something about it triggered my memory of the dream I’d had about the girl running from home. The ideas merged and underwent the sort of transformation one can rarely deliberately orchestrate. A major element of The Orchid Room was born.

Over months, and many long walks, I mentally developed the general storyline for The Orchid Room, making notes on whatever was handy—mainly my pocket notebook and, when that wasn’t accessible, the Notes app on my phone, which is especially useful for dictating ideas while walking. I wasn’t really “looking” for another story idea at the time, which allowed the elements to come together pretty organically. Almost any time I had a relatively clear mind, the story would rise to the surface and new elements, characters, and settings would take shape.

I soon had a “world” full of places, characters, hazards, and bad guys. What I really needed was a protagonist to send into the world and fight her way through the nightmare I’d set in motion.

A couple of years earlier, in the summer of 2017, we lost my little sister when she took her own life. Lara was a strong, determined, kind-hearted girl who could and would take on any challenge. In spite of her own struggles, she put the wellbeing of others ahead of herself. Hard as she fought, she ultimately lost the battle being waged within her. Though I didn’t set out to base the character off my sister, I’d like to think the protagonist of The Orchid Room, Farren Murakami, carries the spirit of Lara with her. Both were dealt a rough hand early in life, both had their share of personal demons, and both ultimately wound up living away from home in a less-than-ideal situation for a young person.

The first draft of The Orchid Room was quite a bit different from what wound up being published. Many scenes were rewritten and more than a few characters were added and taken away. Several of them had their page time reduced while others got more backstory and wound up playing a bigger role in the story.

After a less than awesome experience with an editor I hired at a discount (lesson learned), I thought The Orchid Room was ready to be published. I’d been promoting the release date for some time by then and was on track to have the book ready to go by the promised date. With less than a month to go before the publication date, I decided to skim through the book once more, just to make sure nothing small stood out. That was both the worst and best decision I’ve ever made. I scratched out almost the entire first chapter! Anxious, I read on, red pen in hand. I significantly marked up every single chapter in the book, sometimes cutting entire paragraphs and, at other times, adding them. I was powerless to resist the violence. Finally, I was left with a ragged first printed copy of my novel, dozens of pink sticky notes protruding like square tongues from every angle. Nearly every page was soaked in red ink. And with only weeks to go until publication.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so stressed out. Two weeks to go and dozens of hours of work ahead of me. Seeing my distress, my wife, Annie, told me to forget everything else and focus purely on the book. I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a gift so meaningful. I worked my butt off day and night, sometimes feeling like I was going insane.

With a couple of days left, I uploaded a much-improved, vastly changed version of The Orchid Room. The work was absolutely grueling but it all paid off, the end result is what the book was meant to be all along. I learned a very important lesson about giving oneself ample time for revision. I’ll never again rush a book to its deadline, at least if I can help it. 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Chris:

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Chris: Growing up, and well into my adulthood, Stephen King was my undisputed favourite. I still remember being handed a copy of IT by one of my friend’s parents as an impressionable thirteen year old. I barely understood most of what I was reading, but that book grabbed me, as it did so many others. Tommyknockers came next, followed by nearly everything the man has written. The Dark Tower is still my favourite series.

Buy the Book HERE.

 

Thank you for being our guest once more, Chris. The Orchid Room is a great story. One I enjoyed tremendously.

 Best of luck and we wish you continued success with your writing.

 Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with author Andrew Butters of Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome a new author to the Scribbler.

I met Andrew through a mutual friend a few years ago. He has kindly agreed to our invitation to be our guest this week.

Read on, my friends.

  

Andrew is a multi-genre writer who also creates content, eats snacks, blogs, freelances, toils over his next novel, sucks at golf, enjoys science, supports equality, and always uses the Oxford comma. He sometimes lets his love of attention override common sense. You can find evidence of this pretty much anywhere you can find Andrew.

 

Title: Known Order Girls

 

Synopsis:

As new technology develops, allowing people to share consciousness, global wars erupt over how to control it and who should be at the helm. A scientist with thirty generations of knowledge fears that those in charge cannot be trusted with what he knows and takes the secrets to his grave. That doesn’t stop The Association from harnessing the power of the AI behind the advanced tech and using it against the citizens in what is now called the Known Order. 

Life in the Known Order is predictable and sanitized. Every action is tracked, and every outcome is known, but when Katherine Webb uncovers vestiges of the old world, it creates a spark. With the help of a small group of trusted friends and confidants, Katherine decides that if anything is going to change, she needs to stop asking for permission and have no interest in forgiveness. Through small acts of subversion, Katherine and the Girls begin a movement hoping to restore freedom, individuality, and choice to a society that's gone without for generations. 

The Story Behind the Story:

The idea for this book came to me while watching my children play in the lobby of the Great Wolf Lodge in Niagara, Ontario. Fitbits were all the rage then. As I checked my steps, I heard a staff member start barking orders to people so they could make room for children to sit in front of the creepy animatronic tree and woodland creatures for story time. My daughter, Avery, who was four years older than her brother, AJ, explained to him what was going on. “Should we do what he says?” he asked her. “No, we’re not in the way. We can keep coloring.”

This was long before AI started growing like mold on society, and by the time I put pen to paper, it was only used on the periphery and hadn’t taken hold yet. In November of 2023, I finished the final draft of the book, and less than a year later, Generative AI was a ubiquitous juggernaut of amorality, misinformation, and theft.  

My hope when I wrote it was to prove a point by viewing society through a highly exaggerated lens. It turns out it wasn’t a lens after all. It was a mirror.  

Katherine and Chadwick’s personalities were modeled (at least a bit) on my daughter and son, to whom this book is dedicated. Katherine Webb’s name is a combination of Katherine Johnson (NASA mathematician) and James Webb (NASA administrator for whom the telescope is named), and Chadwick’s character got his name from the late actor Chadwick Boseman. 

 

 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Andrew.

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Andrew: In elementary school, I read the usual assortment of Dr. Seuss and other children’s books. A big favourite of mine was Alligator Pie by Dennis Lee. A collection of silly and nonsensical poems that are still a joy to read as an adult.

In middle school, I gravitated to The Great Brain series by John D. Fitzgerald, as well as Beverly Cleary’s Ralph Mouse trilogy: The Mouse and the Motorcycle, Runaway Ralph, and Ralph S. Mouse. Of course, the Choose Your Own Adventure books were always on my bookshelf.

I started high school feeding on a steady diet of sports biographies, with Ken Dryden’s The Game and Vladislav Tretiak’s Tretiak: The Legend, instant favourites. After I discovered Rush’s album 2112, a stolen copy of Ayn Rand’s novella, Anthem, remained in my backpack for a good year. In fact, a few elements of that album and the book are found within the pages of Known Order Girls. However, over my last two years of high school, I read more Stephen King books than any other author. Tommyknockers was my first, followed by Pet Sematary, IT, Misery, and Needful Things. Today, I keep a copy of On Writing on a shelf in my desk.

An Excerpt from Known Order Girls:

“Whereas the short-term impact of AI depends on who controls it, the long-term impact depends on whether it can be controlled at all.”

—Stephen Hawking

00000000 [Zero]

Carlton Sedgwick paced in front of the desk in his lab and quizzed his lab assistant and closest confidant, Isaac Valderrama, on the procedure.

“Do you understand what you’re supposed to do?” Carlton ran his hands through his thinning gray hair.

“Completely.”

“There can’t be any deviations.”

“There won’t be.” Isaac clenched his teeth and swallowed.

“Recite it back to me.” Carlton leaned against his desk and folded his arms.

“You lie down on the stretcher at the side of the plastic tub in the containment chamber. I’ll

hook the IV into the PICC line you’ve already got in your arm. Once you give me the word, I’ll inject the general anesthetic.”

Isaac paced back and forth in front of Carlton.

“Once you’re unconscious, I give you the diazepam-digoxin-morphine sulfate-amitriptyline cocktail. I confirm death, put on my chemical protective suit, and slowly slide you into the tub filled with concentrated sodium hydroxide, keeping the rubber stretcher between me and the chemical bath. Then I exit the chamber, close the door behind me, take off the suit, and wait. Once you are sufficiently—”

His voice hitched, and he inhaled to collect himself. 

“Once you are sufficiently dissolved, I push the green button to start the timer and press the red button to release the aluminum tubes. Once the last tube is in the tub, I turn on the gas by your workbench and exit the lab, leaving the door unlocked. I walk home via the exact route you specified.”

He sat down on a lab stool and folded his hands into his lap, making eye contact with his mentor.

“When I hear the explosion and the sirens, I do not pick up the phone to make a call. I wait for it to ring. When it does, I sound surprised. When the authorities come, I act inconsolable.”

“Good. They’re going to question you after this. They may even arrest you.”

“I’m prepared. The answer to every question is ‘no’ or ‘I don’t know.’ Aside from what happens here, now, it’s not a lie. I don’t know anything. In fact, I know less than they do about your work.”

Carlton stood up and put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders. “They won’t believe you. For thirty generations, we’ve protected this and only provided enough wisdom to outside influences to move humanity forward, albeit slowly. We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure a single chain of humans is involved, and no computer has spent so much as a millisecond connected to the internet. They will not accept that it’s all lost forever.”

Isaac pulled his friend into an embrace. “I want to know more.”

“You can’t. It’s not safe for you or for humanity.”

“You’re being hyperbolic.”

Carlton broke from Isaac’s hug and stood ramrod straight.

“I’m not. You don’t realize how special you are. You’re one of a thousand people in the world, if that, whose brains are clean. Since Shared Intellect and Inherited Consciousness was created thirty Carlton Sedgwicks ago, only a few people have opted out. You come from the longest known line of those who have. It’s why I chose you.”

Isaac shook his head.

“Once scientists understood dark matter, dark energy, and quantized gravity to build the Grand Unified Theory, there was nothing left to discover. There are no more unanswerable questions. We live as part of The Known Order. What of The Association? Surely, they have the Commander computer and countless humans working around the clock to fill in the gaps you and all your predecessors intentionally left.”

“You are aware of the differences between information, knowledge, and wisdom, yes? All you need to know is Commander X-15 possesses all worldly information, and The Association all knowledge. I, and I alone, thanks to my twenty-nine former physical hosts, possess the wisdom. No one can be trusted with it. No one can, not anymore, and certainly not The Association. It must die with me.”

“I understand.”

Carlton met his assistant’s eyes.

“Do you?”

Isaac nodded.

“Good. It’s time.”

Carlton stripped off his clothes and entered the clear acrylic containment chamber. It took some doing to find six seven-foot-by-seven-foot sheets, discreetly acquire them, and get them into the lab, but he’d made more than a few friends over the years, and he got it done. Room- darkening fabric with thermal-image-blocking capabilities adorned the windows. Eavesdropping-proof devices sat every few feet around the perimeter of the room. With everything in place, he lay face up on the stretcher, being careful not to touch the inside of the tub.

Isaac attached the IV to his PICC line.

“Goodbye, Isaac.”

“Goodbye, Doctor Sedgwick, all thirty versions of you.”

Carlton Sedgwick lost consciousness and died before his smile faded.

 

Buy the Book HERE.

 

Thank you for being our guest, Andrew. I look forward to reading your story. We wish you continued success with your writing.

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author S.C. Eston of Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

One of our most popular guests is back!

 

With a new book on the shelves, Steve is anxious to share the SBTS. The novel is garnering a lot of attention. I am quite a ways into the story and enjoying it tremendously. I highly recommend it.

He's been a guest many times and if you missed them, please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Steve C. Eston is a fantasy and science fiction author with a lifelong passion for the fantastical and the scientific. He wrote his first story in elementary school—a tiger-masked ninja battling mystical monsters—and has been writing ever since. When not spending time with his family, Steve enjoys reading, gaming, sports, music, movies, puzzles, and travel. He is the author of six books, including Deficiency, The Lost Tyronian Archives series, and The Baneseeker Chronicles series.

 

Title: Defeat (Book 2 of the Baneseeker Chronicles)

 

Synopsis:

The young warrior-sorceress Lyna sets her course on Brecon, one of the largest and richest cities of Tilia. There, she plans to visit the grand library and learn more about the Territories of Sij, a land where her ancestors once lived, a place she hopes to eventually call home. 

But evil seems to follow Lyna wherever she goes, and one of the sinister bane cores looms near Brecon, sowing discord, twisting hearts, claiming lives. She’s the only one who can feel its presence. She’s the only one who can stop it. 

Yet as she sets out to destroy the accursed object, she unwittingly befriends the family who harbors it—and who possibly created it. Quickly, it becomes clear that the misery wrought goes much deeper than Lyna could have imagined, making her doubt her own senses, her own judgment. 

Time is running out and Lyna must decide: take the knowledge she discovered about her ancestors and run, or stay behind and attempt to eliminate the bane core, at the risk of destroying those she now calls friends.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

I wrote The Baneseeker Chronicles because I wanted to spend more time in Arvelas—a world that has been growing with me since my teenage years, when it first took shape through tabletop role-playing games. Decades later, I’m still playing in that world, but I’m also writing stories in it. Arvelas has become the setting for multiple works, including The Conclave, which I often recommend as a good introduction to the world before diving into The Baneseeker Chronicles. I believe I’ll continue to travel to Arvelas for many years to come. It’s a place I love that continues to evolve and to surprise me.

The series is dark fantasy at its core, blending elements of classic epic and high fantasy with mystery, horror, action and adventure.

Defeat, the second book, takes place three months before Surrender and explores the events that shape Lyna and lead her to where she ends up in the first book. She was a character in some of our past games, and I always felt there was more to her story than what we’d seen at the table. This series gives me the space to dive into her journey—her struggles, her choices, and the way she grows and shapes the world around her. In many ways, it’s a series about discovering Lyna, and rediscovering Arvelas, all over again.

 

 

Website – Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Steve:
Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Steve: Growing up, my favorite authors were Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Some of the very first fantasy books I read were the Dragonlance Chronicles and Dragonlance Legends—they had such an engaging storyline and an exceptional cast of characters that they made me fall in love with the fantasy genre. From there I devoured more of their work, including the Darksword series and The Rose of the Prophet trilogy, but the series that has stayed with me the longest is The Death Gate Cycle.

The Death Gate Cycle is a seven‑book fantasy saga that takes readers through a richly imagined multiverse where ancient races, elemental worlds, and deep conflicts all intertwine. The series opened my mind to the possibilities of fantasy—not just as escapism, but as a way to explore experiences, motivations, and transformations that echo real life. Weis and Hickman’s blend of deep world‑building, memorable characters, and thoughtful themes are a huge part of why I enjoy and write fantasy today, and why I keep returning to the genre time and time again.

An Excerpt from Defeat:

(Copyright is held by the Author. Used by permission)

The white knight jumped off her horse with surprising ease. A puddle from the previous night’s rain splashed as her boots connected with the ground. The elven woman placed the reins on a low branch and staked her silver lance in the dirt. Then she pulled out packed rations from a pouch hanging from the saddle.

“This is as good a spot as any,” she said, turning to her companion.

Lyna acknowledged the invitation with a brisk movement of her head.

Dalahana had selected a glade just off the main road, an open space shielded by the thick mottled canopy of a crooked tree with bark the color of amber. A talsarius tree, unique to these regions, if Lyna remembered correctly. The fall season had already started to dye its leaves in fiery hues.

“I have my own food,” Lyna said as her companion placed a round loaf of bread, fresh cheese, and purple berries on the flat surface of a large boulder.

“Do not be like that,” said the elven knight. She took off her grand helm, freeing her silver hair and revealing the three emerald pearls forming a vertical line on her forehead. “Share my meal, and keep what you have for when you need it.”

The pearls identified Dalahana as one of the elites of Quilanis, and yet she called Telstar, a human city, her home.

“Brecon is but half a day away,” Lyna said. “Why not spend the night there?”

“That’s your destination. I need to return to Telstar. I’ve been absent for too long.”

Although Lyna had expected nothing less, she couldn’t help being disappointed. Her friend, her only elven friend, had dedicated her life to the White Shield and serving the queen. She had abandoned her own motherland for Telstar, a city she continued to believe to be the long-lost City of Light.

“Do you see the silhouette above the tree line?” asked Dalahana.

Lyna nodded.

“It is the first statue of the guardians of old. Brecon lies yonder.”

Lyna had noticed the statue the night before. Its size alone awed anyone looking upon it. It soared above the trees, standing in front of a high cliff, detached from it and yet born of its rock.

“Have you walked the streets of Brecon before?”

“No.” Lyna had traveled these roads but had never veered off to visit Brecon or look upon the guardians. She didn’t quite care for this realm. Once, she had been fond of Telstar, more particularly its temple dedicated to Tyr. But those days were past. “How many statues are there?”

“Forty-three, carved into the cliff’s I more than fifteen hundred years ago.”

“By whom?”

“The carvers of Kurtor, as a peace offering. All but one still stand strong.”

Here was a truce that had endured through the centuries, remaining intact even as some kingdoms fell and others rose. Kurtor and Tilia, dwarves and humans, forever allies, or so it seemed.

“Who were the Silver Guardians?” Lyna asked.

“Defenders of the weak during the Time of the Beasts, the third era. A fascinating age, although little is known about it other than the fact that dragons and hydras ruled the world. Did you know that most of the guardians were of our kin?”

Lyna lifted an eyebrow.

“Surprised?”

From the little she had heard, Lyna had assumed that the guardians had been human. The fact that they were elves, of the Ilth’Ilanor, meant that once some of her ancestors might have walked and inhabited these regions.

“That’s why Altanos chose Brecon, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Possibly,” said Dalahana, “and also because its library rivals the one in Var Galdin, although it is much less frequented. A quieter place to study and learn. Altanos values his privacy and space.” Her friend studied Lyna for a moment. “I hope he can offer some assistance, although I continue to believe you’ll be disappointed in the end.”

Lyna ignored the note of disapproval in Dalahana’s voice. Instead, she grabbed some of the bread and cheese, both of Quilanis. Neither would ever spoil, staying as fresh as the day they had been prepared.

Dahalana continued to look toward the statue, eating slowly, her face inscrutable yet serene, as if she had no worry. Even with a cloudy sky, the round emeralds on her forehead glistened.

“Why not head farther north instead?”

“No,” said Lyna, “not Kolt.”

“How long has it been since you left?”

“Not long enough.”

“I think you should go finish what you started.”

This time, condescension.

“There is nothing there for me.”

“So you keep telling me, but who are you trying to convince?”

 

Buy the book HERE. 

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