Kanana: The Jungle Girl is now available at Kobo Books for Kobo devices and apps. It’s 99 cents and the book goes live Friday Nov. 25th.
In a world substantially different from our own world in 1913, former Rough Rider and adventurer Henry Goode crosses the vast ocean to explore the unknown continent of Elizagaea. Spurred on into the wilderness by emotional trauma, he finds vicious creatures from a bygone era, savage natives, long lost civilizations, and a mysterious jungle goddess.
Hsrandtuss nodded knowingly as he surveyed the forest for miles around from the top of hill his people had named Dhu-oooastu. He pointed first to the south and nodded to Tusskiqu. The great lizzie hissed in reply. Then Hsrandtuss pointed to the southeast and nodded to Slechtiss. Slechtiss placed his hand to his throat and then hurried off. A dozen brightly painted lizzies hurried after him. Others went with Tusskiqu. Still more were hurrying this way and that.
“I can’t tell what’s going on?” said the single tiny human amid the army of lizzies.
Hsrandtuss reached down and picked Terra Dechantagne up, setting her on his shoulder. Then he pointed high up into the clouds. The girl could make out little among the great fluffy masses at first. Then she saw something sapphire blue zipping across the sky at amazing speed.
“Is that it?”
“Yes,” replied the King. “That is Xecheon’s new god.”
“My eyes must be playing tricks. It doesn’t look any larger than me.”
“It is bigger than you, but not so big that I couldn’t still put it on my shoulder instead of a skinny soft-skin.” Then he gurgled loudly.
“What?”
“We’re very nearly the same size,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be glorious to engage in hand-to-hand combat with a god?”
“It wouldn’t be a very long combat,” she said. “Dragon armor is essentially indestructible. They have teeth that can bit through steel, frighteningly sharp claws, and a barbed tail. They breathe fire and usually have some other breath weapon. They are extremely intelligent and are capable of magic.”
“Why did I bring you along with me?” wondered Hsrandtuss. “Was it just to depress me?”
“I will be quite honest, Great King. I have no idea why I’m here.”
“You are here to learn how to be a great warrior. Now, pay attention. The dragon is observing us for the enemy, so I have been very careful to let her see exactly where my forces are going. Tusskiqu is taking a force of four thousand to intercept their left column of war machines. Can you see their smoke?”
He pointed and the girl could make out about a dozen columns of black smoke rising above the trees in the distance.
“Slechtiss is taking a thousand riflemen and three thousand warriors to intercept the other war machines. Of course, that leaves our headquarters here completely unprotected.”
“But you have more than eight thousand warriors, Great King,” Terra pointed out.
“Yes indeed. But you see, the dragon has told their general, my old friend Tokkenttot, that I have left the bulk of my forces in Yessonarah to defend against their fearsome human machines.”
“Why would she think that?”
“It probably has something to do with the thirty thousand females painted like warriors who are even now patrolling the walls.”
“As I just pointed out, Great King,” said Terra. “Dragons are very smart. In addition, they are famed for their eyesight. They can see things that would be invisible to anyone else. They can see in complete darkness. They can see the difference in temperatures. How is this dragon going to be fooled?”
“You are only about six years old, so I am going to forgive your ignorance.”
“I am fifteen.”
“I still forgive you,” said the king. “You and Child of the Sunrise are the two smartest humans I have ever met. Perhaps you are remarkable specimens, or perhaps I have had very bad luck in the soft-skins that I have happened upon. But you are very young and sometimes intelligence does not substitute for experience. The dragon may very well notice something different among the warriors on our walls, but will she know why that difference is important? I don’t think so, and neither does Yessonar. Oh yes, little one. Do not forget that we have our own dragon.
“So where are the rest of our warriors?” whispered Terra. “I mean the real ones.”
“Ah, here is the next lesson. A great warrior plans where his battle will take place. That is how I killed so many of your people.” He paused to look for her reaction. She just shrugged. “We have carefully arranged for the war machines to ride over a series of underground caves that run in a long chain from just south of here to the west. I’ve had 20,000 males working the last 72 hours straight to weaken some of the stone supporting the cave ceilings. When the machines go over them, a few, relatively small charges will drop them down into the earth, along with all the warriors on foot that travel with them.”
“And when is this going to happen?” asked Terra.
Hsrandtuss pulled a gold pocket watch from a small pouch on his belt. Flipping open the cover, he examined it. “Assuming Tokkenttot is as foolish as I expect him to be, our counter attack will occur when the little hand is on the two stacked stones and the large hand is on the claw.”
“Eight-fifteen,” translated Terra. “In about thirty minutes.”
“Yes,” said Hsrandtuss, pulling her from his shoulder and dropping her onto a folding chair. He sat down on an identical one, and waved his hand. “Just enough time for breakfast.”
A male brought a plate full of kippers and sat it in the girl’s lap.
“Your favorite,” said the king, as another male gave him two large raw eggs and a small cooked bird. “Eat up. The battlefield usually makes one vomit their first time and it is better to have something on your stomach.”
“But we’re miles from…” Terra’s voice drifted off.
“Now you see the hole in the plan,” said Hsrandtuss, breaking an egg into his mouth.
“Um, you said we were unprotected here at the headquarters—completely unprotected. Surely that means that Tokkenttot will send a force here to attack us. It will be his best chance to kill you.”
“Yes, he will want to make sure he kills me. He really doesn’t like me. I expect him to send between two and four thousand warriors.”
“But why? Why did you make it seem we were unprotected… or wait. Are we really unprotected?”
“Well, as for why,” said the king. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“We want to be part of the battle! We want to feel the glory of victory! We can’t let Tusskiqu and Slechtiss have all the fun. Can we? Maybe… maybe Tokkenttot will have enough tail to lead the attack himself? What do you think?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Terra, so off balance that she spilled all her kippers onto the dirty ground.
“Imagine it,” said Hsrandtuss, standing up. “There we are! At the top of the hill is Hsrandtuss the king, sword in hand! Next to him is Stands Up Tall With a King, her thunder weapon in one hand and her tiny but bloodied sword in the other! All alone…”
Several of the nearby males gurgled.
“All alone, but for a few sturdy warriors whose names will go down in history, they face off against one or two or ten thousand warriors of Xecheon, and Yessonar be willing, a dragon!” The great king took a deep breath. “A dragon! You could not find a better death if you searched a thousand years. I have never seen a better opportunity for my death than this. It’s not a bad death for you either, Kaetarrnaya. Your father had a fine death—as you yourself said, a good exchange, but this would be much superior. The humans can sing songs about your death—the bravest young female since… since that one that you humans admire so much.”
“Kafira.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Your death will be infinitely superior to hers.”
“I didn’t realize you were leaving, Wizard Coote.”
The wizard turned around to find Police Chief Saba Colbshallow standing very close. Unconsciously, his hand reached up, even as the incantation for an amnesia spell came to his lips. Then he noticed Saba’s hand in his pocket, the shape indicating that a pistol probably accompanied the hand.
“I… I was hoping to leave unnoticed.”
“Why? You haven’t done anything that should concern me, have you?”
“Of course not.” His eyes were suddenly moist. “It’s just time to go.”
“I thought you were going to help us with our wizard problem.”
“Don’t you know? Can’t you see?” Coote’s voice cracked. “You don’t have a wizard problem.”
Saba frowned. “We shot one. Arrested a couple more. That seems to have put a damper of public disturbances,” he allowed. “Of course we’ve got a few in jail. Still, there are quite enough to keep my men on their toes.”
“Fools! They’re fools!” Coote grabbed the police chief by the lapels even as he broke into a fit of sobbing. “They don’t have enough art in them to feel what’s coming! It’s coming! It’s coming and none of us are going to survive!”
Saba grabbed the wizard by the wrists and pulled him around the corner of the ticket booth.
“Go on about your business,” he barked to the few other passengers turned audience members. Around the corner of the building, with nobody in sight, he looked deep into Coote’s eyes. “What they hell are you on about? What’s coming?”
“The Drache!”
“The dragon? It ate one wizard, and nobody’s seen it since.”
“Not the dragon.” His voice became a whisper. “It’s mother.”
“What they hell are you talking about? That dragon was raised from an egg by…”
The wizard squeaked.
“Senta!”
Coote began shaking. Saba kicked open a side door of the office, throwing the man inside and then following him. A middle-aged man in a railroad uniform was sitting in the only chair, sipping a cup of tea. Saba pulled out his pistol.
“Get out!”
The man dropped his teacup, which shattered on the floor, and ran out. Saba shoved Coote into the recently vacated chair.
“Senta’s not dead?”
“No,” cried Coote. “I mean I don’t know if she is or isn’t or was or whatever. But whatever it was… that she was… it was their fault! And now she’s killing them all!”
Saba slapped him across the face, knocking off his hat.
“Listen. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll let you get out of here.”
The wizard nodded.
“Who are they?”
“The Zenith.”
“And what is The Zenith?” asked Saba, through clenched teeth.
“It’s a secret extra-governmental organization of wizards.”
“Another secret magical cabal? Like the Reine Zauberei?”
“No, not like them. The Reine Zauberei were trying to ensure the purity of the master race. The Zenith is, well, mostly just about making sure that Brech interests are secured.”
“Yes, it’s the exact bloody opposite. Are you one of them?”
In many ways, A Plague of Wizards is a bookend volume for Senta and the Steel Dragon. In chapter ten, there is a retelling of events in book 1, The Voyage of the Minotaur, from the point of view of a different character. There is also a great deal about Senta’s cousins, some of whom haven’t been seen since The Voyage of the Minotaur. However, the book doesn’t tell the final story. There will be more volumes– probably two. I think ten novels (plus the novella prequel) make for a complete series. In any case, the story doesn’t really end until we find out the final resolutions for the second generation Dechantagnes, and of course for Senta and the Steel Dragon.
I’m not going to jump into another book though. I have two many other partially written manuscripts that I really want to finish– including A Great Deal of Patience and 82 Eridani. Keep an eye out for A Plague of Wizards on Oct. 28th, and remember Kanana: The Jungle Girl comes out Nov. 25th.
The Port Dechantagne Hospital was one of the newest additions to the downtown business district. It was a three-story building of red brick, with white stonework along the corners and the windows, very much in the same style as Police Headquarters. Inside there was very little similarity. The hospital had a large entryway that led to three wings stretching out to either side and to the back. At an oak desk just inside the door was an aged nun who smiled pleasantly as Saba Colbshallow stopped to inquire the location of Maro McCoort.
A young girl in a candy-striped dress was summoned to lead him to room 128 in the east wing. The room was typical of the hospital, large and with four beds, two on either side. All four were filled with patients, all but one of whom were unconscious. McCoort was in the bed on the far left. A nurse standing beside him was writing notes on a clipboard.
“How is he?” Saba asked her.
“Oh, Chief Colbshallow.” She stopped writing and fiddled with her hair for a moment before answering. “Mother Auni and the doctors have done all they can for him, but he still hasn’t come to.”
“Do they expect him to?”
The nurse shrugged. “He was frozen… I mean, rock hard. I don’t think anyone has seen that happen to a person… who survived, I mean.”
“I want to be contacted immediately, if he wakes. I intend to see that the person responsible pays.”
“I for one am a little surprised that you’re so vehement,” said a voice behind him.
He turned around to find a young man in a Colonial Guard captain’s dress uniform. With him was a girl, a few years younger, in an expensive green day dress.
“And why exactly would that be, Tiber?”
“Maro was never very generous in his editorials about the police department.” Tiber Stevenson smiled crookedly. “Oh, you remember my sister Mona, don’t you, Chief?”
Saba nodded to the girl and then turned back to her brother.
“All the more reason to be vigilant in the execution of my duties. People need to know that the police department is here to maintain law and order for everyone, no matter what may or may not have been said in the past.”
“Very judicious of you.”
“You’re looking very sharp,” observed Saba. “Not dressed up just for a hospital visit, are you?”
“No. We’re on our way to the wedding.”
“Oh, Sam Croffut’s. I had forgotten that it was today. I had to send my regrets, what with all that’s going on.”
“I’m standing up for Sam,” said Tiber, “as well as acting as Mona’s escort. Her fiancé is in Mallontah on business. She’s engaged to Fitzroy Norich, you know.”
“I hope you’ll be very happy,” Saba told her. “Do you suppose your older brother will ever find a young woman?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Tiber.
“He means you’ll find out when he’s disinherited,” said Mona.
“Really! Prepared to give up everything for true love? I would never have thought you had it in you, Stephenson. You’ve grown three-fold in my esteem.”
“That and a pfennig will buy me a cup of coffee,” said Tiber. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Chief, I would like to spend a few minutes with my sick friend.”
Saba nodded and left the two young people beside Maro McCoort’s bed.
I’m taking a break from writing to do the final edit of Kanana: The Jungle Girl. Kanana will be available November 25, 2016. Watch this space for information on preordering.
In a world substantially different from our own world in 1913, former Rough Rider and adventurer Henry Goode crosses the vast ocean to explore the unknown continent of Elizagaea. Spurred on into the wilderness by emotional trauma, he finds vicious creatures from a bygone era, savage natives, long lost civilizations, and a mysterious jungle goddess.
Maro and Sherree McCoort sat across from one another at a cozy table in Bonne Nourriture. A lizzie waiter arrived with open bottle of wine and poured a sample for the gentleman. He took a sip and nodded. The lizzie filled both of their glasses and stepped away.
“This is a lovely treat,” said Sherree. “I didn’t think we would be able to go out as often, since our livelihood in the form of the publishing house and newspaper is gone.”
“That’s all being taken care of,” said Maro, waving his hand dismissively. “The colony can’t do without a newspaper. The banks have to give us the loans we need to get going again. Until then, we’ve got your family’s money.”
His wife frowned, but didn’t say anything else on the subject.
The human waiter, a rather oily-looking Mirsannan arrived at the table. “And what would monsieur and madam like to start out with?”
“We will have the escargot in garlic butter.”
“Very good, monsieur.”
“Why do we always have to start our meal with escargot?” pouted Sherree, when the waiter had gone. “I would like to try the crepes. Everyone says they’re wonderful.”
“But escargot is the best appetizer they have. It’s three marks fifty more than the crepes, so it has to be better. I’ll tell you what. You pick our main course.”
“All right. I think we should have seared xiphactinus with crabmeat in sherry sauce.”
“Are you sure? The beef is one mark fifty more. It’s probably better.”
“Oh, no! I’m not eating Beef Dechantagne!”
“But they don’t call it that here,” he said. “It’s just boeuf en crute.”
“I don’t care,” she pouted. “Those people are just too full of themselves, without going and naming food after them too.”
The couple ate their dinner of fish with crabmeat and both enjoyed it. For pudding, they had Mirsannan ice cream topped with local pineapple. With a friendly handshake for the maître-de, a clandestine five mark banknote in his palm, Mr. McCoort guided his wife out of the restaurant and down the walkway to where his bright yellow Sawyer and Sons steam carriage waited. Helping her into the passenger seat, he started to step around to the driver’s side.
“Bechnoth uuthanum pestor paj,” said a voice from the darkness.
Bright blue light engulfed Maro McCoort and within seconds, his body was frozen solid. Sherree screamed.
“Shut your yap, girl,” growled a man stepping out of the darkness.
He was tall and thin. Dressed in a suit and bowler hat, he seemed completely unremarkable, unlike the wizards who had been strutting around town. But his black eyes were filled with menace. He climbed up into the seat next to the woman.
“You can get out and take care of your fellow, or you can take a ride with me.”
Sherree jumped out of the car and hurried around to stand by her husband. With a laugh, the man slammed his foot down on the forward accelerator. Then he frowned as the vehicle rolled a few feet. The steam cock had not been set.
“Premba uuthanum tachthna,” he growled, placing his hand on the dash. The vehicle lurched forward and raced away into the darkness.
A man in a pristine black suit with a grey waistcoat came down the line, finally reaching Iolana and Esther. His carefully waxed mustache emphasized his thin-lipped smile.
“This is the procedure,” he said. “When you hear your names, you will step forward and stop at the yellow dot on the floor in front of the throne. Your name will be called, and you will curtsy. Then you will exit through the opposite door. If the king asks you a question, you will answer in as few words as possible, finishing with ‘Your Majesty’. If either of the princes should address you, the same applies, but in their case, it is ‘Your Royal Highness’.”
“Of course,” replied Iolana.
“I was told you understood Brech?” said the man to Esther.
“She does,” said Iolana.
“Then, there will be no surprises?”
“No sssurprises,” said Esther.
The line moved slowly onward. They were afforded a view of the royals long before it was their turn to stand before them. His Majesty King Tybalt III was a tall, thin man who, though his red uniform seemed to hang on him, was still quite spry for his sixty-four years. His thinning hair and mutton chops were still more blond than grey. Behind the throne, on either side, stood the two princes, dressed, like their father, in red uniforms filled with medals. Twenty-four-year-old Crown Prince Tybalt was on the left, looking completely bored. His fifteen-year-old half-brother, Prince Clitus, looked more nervous than anything else.
When she was close enough to actually hear the king’s conversation, Esther paid close attention to the exchanges.
“Lord Winsdall and his daughter Lady Ewa Windsdall,” droned the announcer.
“Good day, Lord Winsdall,” said the king. “This can’t be your daughter. There has to be some kind of mistake. Why, your daughter was only this big,” he held his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart, “when last I saw her.”
“They do grow up fast, Your Majesty.”
“Tell me, young lady, do you shoot? My son is a great shot.” He waved toward Prince Tybalt.”
“I don’t, Your Majesty, but I’d love to see him shoot.”
Prince Tybalt glanced down at the young woman the way a street sweeper looks at a pile of horse dung, sniffed, and turned away.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Van Josen,” called the announcer, signaling that Lord Winsdall’s time was over.
“You’re the fellow that laid the trans-ocean telegraph line, aren’t you?” asked the king.
Prince Clitus looked interested. His older brother still looked bored.
“I was the chief engineer, Your Majesty. It was a team effort.”
“Quite, quite. You should all be congratulated, and you will be. We are sure to see your name on the list for the Order of St. Ulixes.”
Mr. Van Josen bowed. Prince Clitus looked as though he wanted to say something, but held his tongue.
“And how are you finding Brech City, Mrs. Van Josen?”
“Ser gute, Majesty.”
“Sir Redry Moorn, Lady Honoria Moorn, and Lady Hortence Moorn,” called the announcer, as the Van Josens stepped away.
Prince Tybalt was suddenly interested, particularly in Lady Honoria, who was a lovely young woman in a lavender gown. Both young women batted their eyelashes at him, but he was oblivious to Lady Hortence who was pretty enough, though not in her sister’s class. He leaned over and whispered something in his father’s ear.
“Sir Redry. These are your daughters?”
“Step-daughters, Your Majesty, though they are as dear to me as if they were my own.”
“You are in the city for a few days?”
“A fortnight, Your Majesty.”
“Very good. We shall see that they are invited to the Crown Prince’s tea.”
Sir Redry bowed curtly.
“Lady Iolana Dechantagne Staff and Esther… Ssaharranah of Birmisia.”
Iolana shot Esther an annoyed glance before turning her attention to the royal family.
“Lady Iolana,” said the king. “We were sorry to hear of the death of your father Sir Radley. We found him to be a fine man.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“And we express our admiration for your mother. A most remarkable woman.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Iolana suddenly looked as if she had bitten down on a lemon.
“So.” King Tybalt rose to his feet and stepped down to stop directly in front of Esther. “This is a lizzie. We are told you understand Brech.”
“Yes, Your Majesssty.”
“Outstanding! Boys, come down here.” The two princes hurried to take spots on either side of their father. “We must know these Birmisians, as we are their king too.”
Prince Clitus looked at Iolana.
“I read your book… um, two of them—the one on dinosaurs and the history. You know, Colonel Mormont was my third cousin.”
“Twice removed, Your Highness, yes, I did know that.”
“I’m hoping to go to Birmisia some day,” he said.
“There is no reason you shouldn’t,” said the king, slapping the prince on the shoulder, and then turning to ascend to the throne. “How are you being treated here in Brechalon?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Well, Your Majesty, there seems to be…” started Esther.
“She’s being treated very well,” interrupted Iolana.
“Excellent. We shall hope to see you again before you sail for home.”
“Sir Reynold Isenn,” called the announcer, as Iolana and Esther were ushered out a side corridor.
“What is this Ssaharranah business?” demanded Iolana.
“It means exiled.”
“I know what it means! No one has exiled you. You are Esther Staff! You have always been part of my family.”
“Is that what is says on my baptismal certificate?”
I was reading through some of my partially written stories today, including the beginning of a sequel to Blood Trade. It’s tentatively called Blood Moon. I started it a few years ago, and then didn’t like the story that I had originally plotted out. However, reading the first chapter again, I have to say, it may be the best chapter of anything I’ve ever written.
I whipped up a book cover that says “The startling sequel to Blood Trade.” What’s startling is that its basically a single chapter without a book.
Someday, I may sit down and come up with a new plot, with which to use that chapter, but for now, it’s just sitting in its virtual drawer.
The throne room was magnificent. It was constructed of great stone blocks, intricately carved, and the floor was composed a huge mosaic of red, blue, and white tiles. The room was filled with lizzies, most of them elaborately covered in body paint and feathers. Still, it was easy enough to see where the power was. At the far end of the room was a dais, with a heavy stone throne positioned right in its center. Sitting somewhat slumped in the chair was King Hsrandtuss. Terra thought that she might have recognized him even without his golden crown. Not only was he huge and battle-scarred, but even sitting as he was, there was something of a presence about him. It was like what Auntie Iolanthe had, though she was firmly against slouching.
The great red-painted lizzie stopped just inside the door and held out his hand in a gesture to stop. Terra stepped around him and continued on. He followed hissing, but apparently afraid to lay hands on her. There was something of a queue of lizzies waiting to speak to the king, but they, one after another, stepped aside as she approached. She stopped some ten feet from Hsrandtuss, but the monarch didn’t move, and Terra realized that he was asleep.
On either side of the king was a female lizzie. The one on the right was painted intricately with yellow and white, while the one on the left was in black and red. Both were draped in at least ten pounds of gold jewelry. These were two of Hsrandtuss’s queens. The queen on the left poked Hsrandtuss on the shoulder. He swiped at her, but missed.
Terra stepped up onto the dais. Every lizzie in the entire room let out a quick hiss. Hsrandtuss opened his eyes.
“Hello,” he said in Brech.
“Hello,” said Terra, placing her hand on her throat, palm out.
“That’s as much of your language as I know. Do you speak our tongue, tiny male?”
“I do. It is a pleasure to meet you, Great King. I am a female though.”
“Are you doing this to confuse me? Are you not wearing male feathers? Take off your hat.”
Terra removed her pith helmet, letting her limp brown hair fall around her face.
“I still can’t tell,” growled the King.
“I’m sorry to appear before you so unpresentable, but my things were all lost in an attack by gorgosaurs. I had some gifts for you too, from my brother, but I’m afraid they were also lost.” There was no lizzie word for brother, so Terra substituted “male from my hut, born of an egg from the same female,” which always struck her as funny because it made it sound like the hut had laid an egg.
“Now I am nervous,” said the king. “Who exactly is this male hut mate?”
“He is Lord Dechantagne.” She didn’t bother with most of Augie’s titles, since the lizzies didn’t have words for them.
“Yes, I know your hut. He is The Little King. Dechantagne.” The king pronounced her family name as well as a human. “I have spent time with Child of the Sunrise. She is impressive. And I know you. You are the one they call Earthworm.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me your human name.”
“Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne.”
“A much more impressive name…” He suddenly rose to his feet. “You were attacked by gorgosaurs? I was not told you were coming! I can’t be held responsible for you if I didn’t even know you were coming! You could have dragged my people into war and I wouldn’t even know why!”
“My brother knew the risks. No one could have reasonably blamed my death on you, Great King.”
Hsrandtuss leaned over and paced his long snout right in front of her nose. “You speak as if humans were reasonable.”
City of Amathar 