The Deck of the Numinon (A Tales of Terranovae Novel): Fantasy by GJ Scherzinger ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway
The
Deck of the Numinon
A
Tales of Terranovae Novel
by
GJ Scherzinger
Genre:
Fantasy
Full
Color Illustrations
With
a turn of the cards, a Stone Giant breaks loose from the Granite
Mountains, leaving a path of destruction through the Regency of the
Stands. The fabled guard towers of Safrasco are destroyed by a
sorcerous griffin, the threat of war rising in its wake. Captain
Ferriman turns to a blind herb trader named Cerra Meadows in the
hopes she can help him navigate the sorcerous paths that threaten the
peace of the Empire.
The
Cards are drawn, the cast put into play. The Deck is ruled by the
majics that created it. Events take on a life of their own, reliant
on the strengths and motivations of the players whose avatars are
determined by the draw. The Queen of Quills represents qualities that
Cerra must embrace in order to discover the identity of the Seer and
locate the Cards before her world runs out of Time.
Ddraig Och
The FIre Dragon ... an excerpt from “the Deck of the Numinon”
~*~
Sheets of flame spread like ragged claws as the center winds grew in tempest, the funnel forming a fiery snout with baleful eyes scorching hot above its flaming maw. Each lick of flame fluttered into the swirling center to form wavering triangles of dragon-like teeth, scything scales and monstrous claws, raging as it gained fuel. Fire began to dance throughout the scrub pine as his eyes took in the inferno, lashing out in hot vapors like a creature of terrifying myth, etched in the air with burning inks.
The mass of flame wrenched around, its calamitous eyes passing across his form as it turned, spurring Starrel into action. He bolted for the Commander’s tent as trailing fires from the sorcerous beast whipped like a spiked tail against the siege engines staged beyond the camps. Wood and pitch combined with the impact to explode in phosphorus brilliance.
Officers were ineffectually shouting orders at each other and their confused messengers, as Starrel neared the Commander’s pavilion. Suddenly, a crackling wind caused him to instinctively duck. Talons of fire, trailing acid smoke, surged overhead and sliced through the tent like burning knives, the fiery rip of rending canvas overlaid by the screams of those within. The pavilion bloomed in conflagration. Starrel shuddered to a stop and bolted back towards the Painted Horse lines without hesitation. Chaos was charging through the foot soldier and heavy horse encampments. Heat washed past him in waves, pushing him as he raced up a short hummock to the Cherros lines. He saw the horses freed of their hobbles and saddled, though most of the men were racing about, gathering belongings and setting packs. There were no commands to relay and the curse of the Gates … it could be nothing else … was an enemy for which he had no weapons nor commission to fight.
“Mount and ride! Now!” Starrel shouted as he ran towards a lean roan that held the end position of the picket. His Second tossed the reins and they bounded onto their mounts in unison as others reached the horse lines.
“South. Reach the sands!”
Starrel spurred forward through the whirling smokes of the camp, which seemed to burst with scalding heat as they passed. He pounded up the low rise, racing his horse past the divide of trees where he wheeled to a stop at the crest of the hill, waving the rest of the troop towards the sandy benches beyond the reach of both river and trees.
Behind, the mass of flame was rising majestically from the mad capers of fire that raged throughout the encampment, drawing in the air with violent gusts. Starrel’s dark hair whipped at his face as he gazed upon the raging crimsons and golds of the apparition beginning to rise with ponderous sinuations of its blazing tail, lifting in shreds with the crackling smoke of the burning ground. A hideous blazing maw snarled, while fiery claws grasped at the gases for flight, growing larger and lofting ever higher in their ethers. In the fireglow he could see clusters of soldiers racing towards the river, too few considering the numbers that had been amassed.
Starrel froze as the dragon’s burning gaze passed over the encampment. There was no escaping its violent wrath should it advance upon his troop. He fought to still his breath as the spectre’s eyes were drawn beyond them, the fiery enchantment beginning to shear away from the torched remains of the army and towards the Black Gate. Its sinuous flight pulsed the air like the rush of heated bellows, leaving a trail of cindered debris and smoking soots which further blackened the night as it swept in the direction of the Stands.
Once past the cloak of the scrub pines, Narya turned, jerking his horse to a halt at Starrel’s side. “What is it that I’m seeing?” Narya was a solid fighter in battle but his eyes looked as wide and wild as a raw recruit seeing a blooded sword for the first time.
Starrel had the same level of disbelief, though he had the advantage of years to add ice to his veins. He watched the shredding flames of the dragon diminish as it gained distance away from them, the sinuous curves of its serpentine flight finally disappearing beyond the protective screen of the nearby Granite Mountains.
THE THREE OF QUILLS
an excerpt from “the Deck of the Numinon”
~*~
Susinna looked carefully at the young woman, gauging her reactions as she spoke. The calm and accepting posture told her that Haviana was entirely comfortable with her upbringing. She did not expect an answer and continued. “You show every sign of being their offspring … undeniably smart and eager to learn.” Susinna’s smile drooped, a measure of sadness crossing her face. “Therefore, it pains me to send you away.”
Haviana’s stomach seemed to drop deeply, leaving her feeling void, her skin momentarily an empty shell. “I’ve done nothing wr …” She barely had a plea formed on her lips when the abbess continued.
“Oh. Well, I didn’t say that quite right, did I? I meant that I have an errand for you, Haviana. I’m afraid it will interrupt your schooling.”
“An errand.” There was no questioning in her voice as Haviana felt her senses tingle, a sudden burst of relief and attention spiked by immediate curiosity.
“Maybe you should think of it more as a ‘mission’.” Susinna countered. “It will involve some discretion. And tact.”
“I’ve never been known for tact. Aren’t there other Sisters more qualified than I?” Haviana knew it was a bold question. She would not be here by happenstance. The Mother Abbess gave no clue that she had heard the question.
“They call you Havi, do they not?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve adopted the Gyrfalcon. A most marvelous bird. It’s attention to detail and ferocity suits you well.” Susinna looked out towards her balcony mulling over her next words. “So unlike your parents … yet we are all our own people, are we not?”
“Yes.”
The Abbess turned back to face Haviana. “You asked if I had more qualified Sisters to, er, send … on this errand.”
“Mission.”
“heh. Mission. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously from the start.” Susinna gave the young woman another appraisal. Young or not, she had a strong disposition, further advanced in her training and abilities than her years. She had her parents to thank. “Yes, there are more qualified candidates. I have very strong misgivings about sending you at all, yet to do nothing is worse. The fact is, I can’t send anyone … important.”
“You want someone who won’t attract attention.” Havi stated, following the Abbess’ trail of logic.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. And, for reasons I’ll explain, one not in position to directly affect the proceedings.” The young girl was intent, her sharp hazel eyes already absorbing information. “Some years ago, there was a purge within the order … your mother may have mentioned it?” A glance was enough to see that the young girl was well-versed in her mother’s history. “As it happened, a number of Sisters went missing, many dead, sadly. But for the grace of the fates, your mother could have been one of them. Some artifacts also turned up missing during that unfortunate time. Without divulging the entire list, I will speak of one …” The Abbess drew a card from underneath the small stack of old parchments and turned it face up on the desk. “ … the Deck of the Numinon.”
Haviana remained silent, waiting for the Abbess to continue and noting details of the exposed card with a glance, the lacquered figure an ancient goddess by her reckoning.
“This is one of the cards … Azinnan … the High Priestess. The Deck … a story in itself … was commissioned long ago by one of my predecessors. A fortune telling deck by its nature … but also a creator of fortunes. It was devised by a mage who lived for a time deep within the mountains of the far Jimals. By all accounts, he was quite a powerful one and the Abbess had a long affair with this vizier in the course of her Office. The Sybellines are known for the power of their Oracles. It is part of who we are, no? The spirit that dwells in the deck is the result of their collaboration.”
She passed the card over to Haviana, who took it carefully, as though handling a relic. The novitiate turned the card over, the old lacquered paint appearing to glitter with life and power when the light chanced to glance over it a certain way. The figure of the High Priestess was seated on a lotus flower as a throne. Bees decorated the hems of her robes and on her head lay a crown of crescent moons. Havi’s eyes sharpened with a raptor’s intensity, examining both sides as Susinna continued.
“The High Priestess represented the Abbess who had the deck formed, though by lot, the onus belongs to her heirs as well. It is considered the most powerful card in the deck, which is saying a lot. She had the good sense to remove this card and hold it separately, so it could not be used against her.” Susinna retrieved the card and studied the face of it for a moment while she spoke, as if addressing the High Priestess of the Deck.
“One of the cards. There are seventy-six more and many of them quite dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Cerra ... an excerpt from “The Deck of the Numinon”
A heavy jangle of harness and clomping of hooves marked the approach of horsemen. The measured gait indicated a closed formation that spread laterally in front of her as they drew to a stop. A handful of men on either side, perhaps two dozen by reckoning.
“They have us in numbers,” Cerra observed quietly, leaning to Ferriman. The delegation seemed less secure and another layer of insulation was formed between her and home. She pushed away any thoughts of the excesses of barbarian hordes, as portrayed in any number of old tales. The Abbysins were a proud empire, known for their traditions. Hospitality was said to be one of them. Ferriman confirmed her thoughts.
“Security is the price of diplomacy.” Ferriman observed, dryly. “However, they won’t violate their own vow to protect.”
Cerra found some consolation in that as Ferriman and Commander Holder rode forward a few paces, claiming charge of their small delegation.
“Collenel Lazaros of the Imperial Paladon Crussars.” There was a snap of leather and a jangle of harness as salutes were exchanged. “You will not need your own escort. You have the protection of the Empire. Please dismiss them.”
The Collenel’s speech was thick with Abbysin intonations, the ‘p’s’ getting lost like ‘b’s and a rolling of the r’s that caused Cerra to listen with care. She held her head slightly down, the better to catch the negotiations directed at the two soldiers and not the rest of the party. Kamir was equally as attentive for she could feel him rocking his view side to side past Sugar’s neck. Holder replied in a much clearer Abbysin, a belligerent edge to his tone, one accustomed to having his word enforced.
“It is our custom to travel with an escort. We have the women to consider and their comfort. One of them is blind, mind you … she requires extra attention. We are under your aegis as you say. As the Abbysin own their honour, we will own our men-at-arms. This is not for negotiation.”
Cerra hated being singled out and she could feel the scrutiny of the Abbysin troop as their horses shuffled a few steps with impatient snorts. There was an aside she didn’t catch, an Abbysin slur she figured she was better off not knowing, as a slight round of snickering was heard to pass along the right side of the Abbysin line.
“Their behaviour is your responsibility.” There was no sourness in the Abbysin commander’s voice, apparent to Cerra that he had expected that very reply and was ready to assume charge of the complete detachment.
“What’s he saying?” Pryan called out impatiently to Holder from the left side of the assembly before turning aside to Westre, still speaking loud enough for Cerra to catch his words. “Why can’t that tinman speak decently … or slower at least? Can’t trust a one of them.”
“Who is that? He looks like a freshly slapped arse.” The Abbysin commander’s accent wasn’t so halting with the question. Derision was an oil for eloquence and Cerra smiled inwardly, the Abbysin officer had a better facility with language than he let on. Pryan continued his observations to Westre, who was wisely silent.
“A minor Lord … and the least of our embassy, I must add. A man of business.” Holder paused in response, as though that were explanation enough, his discomfiture evident. “He is my responsibility.”
“pssht. Not an enemy, hey? … but none of his friends like him either. The one to watch is also the one to ignore.” The commander spoke aside in quick Abbysin to his aide, before replying to Holder. “See that he does not embarrass your company.”
Cerra concentrated on the sounds of the Abbysin escort as their leader gave a gruff command. No one spoke, yet the horsemen moved in unison to the right and the motion passed throughout the Standish horses like a current of water, as they all sought to follow with the turn of their heads. Ferriman voiced his own short command and the embassy moved forward. The singular screech of a hawk or eagle, high overhead, seemed like a cry from the heavens to proceed. To Cerra, it sounded like an invitation more than omen and she let herself imagine the scene from a lofty height.
Cerra of theMeadows
‘Demon of the Black Gate’ was originally meant to be the story of
the Demon. But then, after writing the opening chapters, Cerra came into play
and before I had gone much further in the original draft, the tale became hers.
I can’t even say exactly when that happened, but a story takes a life of its
own and ‘Demon of the Black Gate’ grew with the telling.
Because I envisioned a blind character, when I first
introduced her, I had an associate helping Cerra and guiding her in her day,
though the character proved cumbersome for me to write. It was frustrating, for
I realized that for Cerra to do what she needed to do in the story, she needed
to have more moxie and spirit. The companion was written out before I’d gone
little more than a page.
As soon as that happened, Cerra came to life and
became the character she needed to be. She was a challenge to write, as all of
her interactions would be without the benefit of sight. It was the description
of her other senses that became the narrative of her story. It also seemed the
more I involved her in the story, the harder her challenges became. She never
let me down. She persisted because she had no choice. A life lived within the
confines of her blindness had left her a creature of a vivid imagination,
resolute and determined. Assessing the clues that her remaining senses present
to her has given her a head for sharp analysis, as well as a quick wit, though
Cerra’s real strength is her kindness. It was her pure intentions that allowed
her to survive the trials in ‘Demon of the Black Gate’. I made her
strength of character and kindness the stronger magic on purpose.
Imagining the powers that could be wielded by the
Deck of the Numinon demanded a protagonist equal to the task. As soon as I
had the idea formulated for the book, I knew I had to resurrect the characters
of Cerra and the Demon for the tale.
Unlike ‘Demon of the Black Gate’, ‘The Deck
of the Numinon’ was Cerra’s story from the beginning and I welcomed her
return to my pen. She had lost a little of her worldly innocence with her first
adventure, but none of her warmth and generosity. I admit it was difficult to
remove her from the comforts of her home, but once again she proved equal to
the task. Her growing involvement in the proceedings appears to the Seer
commanding the Deck as ‘Nuith, Queen of Quills’, a powerful card in the
Royal Arcana. Nuith is depicted on the card as blindfolded and of course the
blazing fire of her red hair is symbolized as well.
Cerra faces the challenges of prejudice and
unexplained magics in ‘The Deck of the Numinon’ with grace and steady
nerves, organizing the clues she’s given with the same attention to detail
necessary in dealing with her sightless world. Despite setbacks and tragic
events, she carries on because she knows she must. Ultimately, Cerra survives
because she is able to accept herself as she is. Her card remains in play as a
threat to the Seer throughout the story, despite the best efforts to remove her
from the board.
Cerra is a delightful and engaging character. I hope
you enjoy reading her stories as much as I did writing them.
(Tarot Art by Bluebird - essay from the author’s
Facebook page)
Greg
Scherzinger spent the bulk of his career as a TV Producer and
Director, and skiing as much as possible in the Western mountains and
the Alps, before leaving the broadcast business and spending the next
13 years living on a 41' yawl in NW Washington. He has sailed the
Inside Passage, the Gulf of Mexico and the Bahamas. The author's
newest book, “The Henna Witch”, along with "The Wizard of
Grimmer's Wharf", was written after he moved to a small farm in
the coastal hills of his native Oregon. "The House on Chambers
Court" was penned while living in Todos Santos, Baja California
Sur in Mexico. He wrote his first book, "Demon of the Black
Gate" while residing in the San Juan Islands.
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