The cover art for Stone Serpent is nearly complete, so I want to give you a preview of the amazing work that Liam Reynolds has done. We’re still aiming for an early May release for my third fantasy novel.
Chapter 1 of Stone Serpent begins with the following scene.
“Crack!
The sound of the rattan ripped through the spreading cloud of dust kicked up from the tournament ground. Like the shouts and gasps of the crowd, their shadowed faces squinting below the eaves of the surrounding huts, it was drowned out by the roaring of Ta’s own blood; thundering in his ears through a clinging haze of sweat. Only the pain, shooting up his forearm from the shock of impact, cut through his carefully erected wall of concentration.
Wrist loose...like a fisher catches a fish…
His old man’s lessons echoed faintly beneath the booming of his pulse. He only remembered to relax his grip at the last second before his father’s riposte came like a bolt from the blue.
Fighting down the fatal instinct to flinch, he simultaneously lifted the bo and took a defensive half-step back.
His old man wasn’t going easy. Not after seasons’ worth of practice.
No sooner had Ta brought the bo up to parry the incoming stroke, it changed direction; by some inexplicable sleight of hand, the steep angle flattened and whipped toward his ear.
Ta shifted his stance, but the blow caught him before he could move his arms further than the length of a rice grain.
Exploding stars turned the sky yellow as he pitched on his back in the dirt. Only then, ears ringing from the roar of the crowd, feeling like a blacksmith’s hammer to the head, did he realize his mistake.
Hands before feet…always hands before feet.
His throat convulsed as he sucked dusty air into his empty lungs. Voices pounding at his throbbing skull, he fought back tears. He was nearly a grown man. It would not do to weep boyish tears before the whole village.
Even in defeat, he was his father’s son.
Presently, that strong, familiar hand, scarred and smelling of earth, found Ta’s own through the dust and noise. Its grip was gentle, drawing him effortlessly to his feet, the one sure thing as the world spun in a blur of browns and greens.
Rows of faces swam into focus under the blue canopy of sky surmounting the circle of hard-packed dirt before the shrine. Sul, the village priest, was a solitary sentinel of gleaming white, his expression hard as the Goddess’s jade statue, brought from its sanctuary so that the Lady of the Rice Harvest could view those fighting for Her favor. She and Her priest were the only ones not on their feet shouting and cheering.
Given that She was the only woman permitted to watch the bouts, it was strange that She wasn’t more excited.
These idle thoughts were dispelled by more faces. Ta was prepared for the happiness that showed in so many pairs of eyes – happiness at seeing the outcast ‘stick boy’ beaten down, even by his own father whom most of them liked even less.
Lu was among the few who bore expressions of concern. The thick-set, black-haired lad was badly bruised from the earlier contests and dried blood encrusted his broad forehead. But there was awe in his jubilant eyes. Awe that his friend had kept his feet so long, making it to the rounds reserved for men. It was rare for boys to make it so far and still rarer for them to withstand the first blow when they did. It had taken two strokes from a master to bring Ta down. That was more than respectable. Had Ta been anyone but his father’s son, every boy in the village would be cheering him, and not beseeching the ancestors for his injury and humiliation. But Lu’s approval was enough, shining through in one of his typical silly grins.
Ta knew to take the good with the bad; he’d had little choice in the matter.
Shaken, head ringing like a temple bell, his skin covered in a leopard’s patchwork of bruises earned in the course of seven rounds of stick fighting, Ta peered into his father’s dark eyes. The pride in those deep wells flowed into him and his pain fled along with all sense of loss.
In that moment, Ta felt like a man.
He knew his strength. He knew his weakness. He had made a mistake, but he would get better. His hand would strike with the speed of a serpent. Friends and foes alike would respect him.
It was not over. His father had more men to fight before the Day of the Ancestors was done and the lanterns could be lit. Vengeful men who hated him.
Stooping, Ta picked up the fallen rattan and held it high toward the onlooking heavens as the noise of the crowd died away. In that moment, standing by his victorious father’s side, he was a warrior. He was free of the fields and the mud. His every dream had come true.”
More updates soon!
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