Victoria A. Jeffrey's authorly doings. . .

Sunday, February 10, 2013

February Blog Hop: Schisms (Novel Excerpt)


Well it's here! The February Blog Hop! Below is a posted excerpt of a chapter in my latest fantasy novel, Schisms. It is the first in the Red World trilogy. I have also made available a partial of the novel in various digital forms on Feedbooks. It's a partial of ten chapters so you can download those chapters and you get part of a new chapter that has not yet been posted. (link to first ten chapters of the novel, Schisms) To the right in the side bar are all of us bloggers who are participating in the Blog Hop! Check it out and happy reading!

Excerpt of Chapter Twenty-Three:

When Rhajit walked through the gate and entered the arena he could hear the deafening roar of the crowds baying for blood. He was numb to their wild cries. It was as if they were merely a haze of specters. The sudden presence of harsh sunlight nearly blinded him but he had the axes firmly in hand, feeling their tough, hide grips. He swung them as if they were extensions of his arms, ignoring the jeers and whistles. He refused to look in the direction of the king or anything else but kept his eye focused on the north gate. He was told two lions would come out from there. He had two axes, sharp as the best sword blades and iced with venom. His father had taught him hunting and how to wield weapons. When he was ten he had killed a small desert lion and his brothers helped him skin it. He still wore the tunic, fifteen years later. If he died perhaps he would find himself resurrected in paradise to meet Airend-Ur and he would have questions for Him. Like why did He allow such things like these to happen to His people? Rhajit immediately pushed these thoughts away. There was no time to be angry with the gods now. There were lives to save, if he could manage it, his own the least of these. The immense statues were the second things he saw after coming from the dimness of the prisons. The whiteness of the stone was bright like fire. There were the three sister-wives of Hec; the queen, Hetar. She who judged whether one was worthy to go to the halls of fire, Helia, the second wife that healed and bounded up the dead to go to Hec or to the Black Fires, Hari the youngest who rode, like Hec, a golden chariot and took the souls counted worthy by her sisters in her chariot to the halls where Hec himself stood and judged finally for himself and allowed entry. At least that was what those who worshiped him believed. Then there were Hec's brothers, Heros, the forger and maker of all weapons and Hinurayu the singer of lays and songs of glory and battle. Then there was the unnamed one of the Black Fires. Rhajit worshiped no god and viewed it all as useless. It enraged him that any god would demand the innocent lives of men and women just to sit in some hall drinking and eating. Perhaps if he died he would go there and then he would have questions for Hec as well. He shook these thoughts away and steadied himself as the gates at the other end began to lift. It seemed to take forever. Rhajit's eyes began to adjust to the light and he shifted his attention to both his sight and his sense of smell. Finally, two lions strode out into the arena, one roaring and shaking his great mane. Rhajit suddenly felt his bowels turn and the knots turn over in his stomach. He had never had to face two predators before.

“If there is a god in the heavens, be with me now. Help me save these people and myself, if you will do nothing else.” He drew a deep breath as the crowd grew quiet and he took his stance, the axes ready, heavy in his hands. The barest stains of the venom created odd waves of color patterns in the metal. The bolder lion came at a gallop. His mind extinguished all conscious thought and became a swirling red storm of instinct and emotion. He raced forward at the lion, his left arm over his chest to protect against a lunge attack against his throat. He did not have time for more than one or two blows and he was thankful for the fearfully sharp iron blades. He leaped up like the joyful rams at play he often saw in his childhood – the young men of the Karig tribes were known for jumping many feet high like the mountain red-horned rams. His arms flew up beside him like wings and he landed on his feet, painfully, right behind the beast. The lion, turned quick as lightening and reared up and pounced upon him as he drove the axes with all his might into the beast's underbelly. The lion roared as he dug the blades in but could not push any further. The lion had bitten into the side of his head but the venom worked its evil quickly. As it tried to break his neck, sinking its teeth into his skin, its body grew rigid. Rhajit screamed, in pain, in fear and exhilaration and rolled himself out from under the lion's weight. It roared again but this time in pain from the venom. It's eyes had the look of rage as it snarled at him. He hated to kill an animal for the amusement of lazy city people and such a majestic one at that. Somewhere, a pride of lionesses wondered where their king was. It's roars turned into wails. He felt his own hot blood streaming from the side of his head. The lion had ripped a gash in his scalp. In a rage against the crowd he thought to finish the beast quickly when in the corner of his eye he saw movement. It was the other lion moving in for the kill. Rhajit was bleeding, his body hurting from the mauling with the first lion and blood was in his eyes. His soul was emboldened again and he lept on his feet. The second lion, younger and smaller than the first came at him, fangs bared. It leaped forward and then instead of pouncing, swiped his chest with long claws, ripping his leather-hide armor and then jumping to the side and circling around again. They circled each other for what seemed like an eternity with the crowd in rapt attention. He paid no heed to anything or anyone outside of their deadly circle. He only heard his own heart beat in his ears and the snarls of the lion before him. Sweat poured off him like water. The axes handles felt damp in his hands. He felt himself tiring from the loss of blood. He kept his eyes on the beast and said a silent prayer to Airend-Ur. The sun was high across the sky, glittering like a bright white gemstone. So bright, in fact, that Rhajit saw his opportunity. The sunlight glinted off the polished metal of his axes. He turned them over. Suddenly the lion came in for the attack but stopped for a moment, as if to look for him, blinded by the fierce flash of sunlight. He would have only one chance. Like an attacking bird of prey Rhajit leaped in the air and swiped the lion's back with a hard blow from one of his axes. It roared in pain and rage and jumped at him but he was just out of reach. He landed on the ground on his back and the lion pounced upon him and held his arm fast in its teeth and would not let go. Rhajit had dropped one of the axes and shouted in agony and exhilaration but the other ax he used to slit a gash across the side of lion's head, opening a long cut and drawing blood, infecting it with the serpent venom. He nearly came close to cutting himself with it. The lion loosened its bite, ripping out a small chunk of his arm, staggered and rolled over. Rhajit then turned over, with great difficulty, crawled to pick up the other ax and he buried it deep, with all his might with his uninjured arm into the young lion's neck taking off the head in four powerful blows. His own strength, which was great, shocked him in that moment. The crowd screamed in elation. Then, with great difficulty, he took the head of the other lion. He was now trembling, ripped and bleeding and sweating profusely. It was over. He saw the king wave a white silk. He was the victor. Garlands were landing at his feet and there was the roar of fevered adoration from the people. But he had no love for them or the king. He felt the feral, animal-like instinct subsiding within, finally, and his capacity to think reappeared. And the only thing on his mind was revenge. Now he would have the names of the greedy cowards who caused this uproar. And he made a silent vow. If Amat did not keep his oath he would seek him out in a dark alley somewhere and take his head, shrink it and hang it from his belt.
His eyesight became blurred and he soon saw the world turning dark. (Amazon) (B&N)



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