The Sky Woman: From Ringworlds to Earth, an Epic Struggle of Love and Survival (Fiction Without Frontiers) - Softcover

Moyer, J. D.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1787580415 ISBN 13: 9781787580411

Verlag: FLAME TREE PUB, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

"A wonderfully entertaining debut novel."–Compelling Science Fiction

Reclaimed Earth Book 1

Car-En, a ringstation anthropologist on her first Earth field assignment, observes a Viking-like village in the Harz mountains. As Car-En secretly observes the Happdal villagers, she begins to see them as more than research subjects (especially Esper, a handsome bow-hunter). When Esper’s sister is taken by an otherworldly sword-wielding white-haired man, she can no longer stand by as a passive witness. Knowing the decision might end her career, she cuts off communication with her advisor and pursues the abductor into the mountains.

FLAME TREE PRESS is the new fiction imprint of Flame Tree Publishing. Launching in 2018 the list brings together brilliant new authors and the more established; the award winners, and exciting, original voices.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J.D. Moyer lives in Oakland, California, with his wife, daughter, and mystery-breed dog. He writes science fiction, produces electronic music in two groups (Jondi & Spesh and Momu), runs a record label (Loöq Records), and blogs at jdmoyer.com. His previous occupations include dolphin cognition researcher, martial arts instructor, Renaissance Faire actor, dance music event promoter, and DJ.

His favorite authors include Iain Banks, Octavia Butler, William Gibson, Kim Stanley Robinson, Margaret Atwood, and David Mitchell.

His short stories have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Strange Horizons, The InterGalactic Medicine Show, Cosmic Roots And Eldritch Shores, and Compelling Science Fiction. His novelette The Icelandic Cure won the 2016 Omnidawn Fabulist Fiction contest. His debut science fiction novel The Sky Woman was published by FLAME TREE PRESS in 2018.

Recurring themes in his fiction include genetic engineering, the sociological effects of climate change, virtualized consciousness, and evolutionary divergence.

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The Sky Woman

By J.D. Moyer

Flame Tree Publishing Ltd

Copyright © 2018 J.D. Moyer
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-78758-041-1

CHAPTER 1

Trond struck the thin steel rod with his hammer. Each precise blow sent up a fine spray of sparks. Slowly he flattened and shaped the rod into a narrow leaf: an arrowhead. He pretended not to see Elke, his mother, watching him from across the anvil.

A piece of charcoal ricocheted off his forehead. Trond lowered his hammer and sighed.

"Respect your elders, you ungrateful fool!" bellowed Jense. The older smith readied another piece of coal. Trond raised his hands in surrender and gave his attention to his mother.

"I'm making leaf-points for the Burning. Whatever it is you need, can it wait?"

Elke shook her head. Her pale blue eyes rarely blinked. "We need bodkins. Can you make me five by midday?" The bodkins, long needles for piercing and sewing leather, could be made from the same narrow rods Trond was already using. This was not lost on Elke; as usual she had timed her request well.

"I have twenty more leaves to make before dusk," Trond grumbled. "Urd will need time to make them into arrows."

"Make the bodkins first," Elke said. "Time enough to finish your work." She reached across the anvil and pinched his bearded cheek. "The Red Brother guides your hand. And Jense will help you. Right, Jense?" She turned her gaze to the older smith. Jense did not look up from his work, but grunted in assent. Elke strode to the door and left the smithy as if all were settled.

Trond shook his head. "The day of Bjorn's Burning, and my mother is worried about bodkins."

"Your mother worries for all of us," Jense said. The older smith always defended Elke in her absence, though in her presence he was standoffish. Trond did not understand their relationship, so he simply accepted it. Easier to let some mysteries go unsolved.

Elke had gotten it into her mind that each man and woman in Happdal should be equipped with boiled leather armor, a spear, and a dirk. The steel bodkins were needed for sewing the tough cowhides into armor. Elke was convinced Haakon and his raiders would descend upon Happdal any day. Trond had given up arguing with his mother. It was easier to just work day and night at the forge, growing the village armory to immense proportions.

Trond finished the arrowhead – not his best – and quenched it in a bucket of ice-melt, unleashing a plume of steam. Though the winter snow had mostly thawed, there were still icicles to be gathered in the shadier sections of the riverbank. He listened for the high ping of cracking steel, but heard nothing. This was more of a danger with larger pieces – spearheads and swords – but every silent quench was a good one.

Haakon was a real threat, and his mother was right to insist they fortify their defenses. But the real problem was a shortage of fighting men. He wished Bjorn was not Afflicted, and could help in the defense of Happdal. His uncle had been a formidable warrior before falling ill.

A young woman's voice rang out over the clanging of Jense's hammer. His sister, Katja. "Brother! I hear you are tasked to make bodkins this fine morning." He could barely see her through the steam of the quench. Trond ignored his sister's taunt and grabbed a thin heated rod from the furnace. Katja did not relent. "Maidens will sing of your greatness at the forge, the huge beast of a man who made the sharpest sewing needles in all the Five Valleys!"

Holding the cold end of the rod, Trond placed the glowing tip on the anvil and prepared to strike it. "And will bards write epic poems about Katja Elkesdóttir, the smith's little sister, and her laziness?" He struck the rod with his hammer, hoping the racket would silence her. Trond Ariksson had two siblings. Katja was the youngest – not quite a woman. While everyone in the village was expected to contribute to the þrif of the village, Katja worked less than most. She got by with charm and beauty. And she was the jarl's daughter. Only Elke dared scold her.

Katja stuck her tongue out at Trond and sidled up to Jense, who lowered his hammer. "Jense, how is my blade coming along? Will it be ready for tonight?" She slipped past his anvil and gave the huge man a tight bear hug. Jense blushed deeply and lowered his eyes.

"Not for a week."

Jense adored Katja, and Trond's sister was taking advantage. She had convinced the elder smith to forge her a godsteel blade. Usually Trond and Jense worked with mudsteel, raw ore quickly melted in the big charcoal oven. Mudsteel was soft and easy to work; after hours of pounding most of the impurities could be driven out with brute force, each spray of sparks purifying the metal. Mudsteel worked well for plows, hammerheads, hinges, kitchen knives, dirks, arrowheads, spearheads, and most every other item produced by the two smiths. But for longer blades, swords and greatswords, mudsteel was not ideal. Even if the ingot was pounded and folded for hours to drive out the impurities, mudsteel was brittle and stiff.

"Make haste!" taunted Katja. "Haakon is coming." His sister did not take their mother seriously.

"Out!" Trond bellowed. "Leave, or make yourself useful."

Katja wrapped one of her long braids around Jense's face, lending him a blond mustache. The older smith grumbled and gently batted Katja away. She stumbled back, collided with a heavy wooden beam, and exhaled sharply, clutching her midsection.

"Sorry ... I'm sorry!" Jense rushed to Katja and patted her back gingerly. Trond's sister coughed until she regained her breath and color, then grabbed Jense's beard and pulled herself upright.

"Will you never learn your own strength? You nearly broke my back!"

"Forgive me."

Katja released Jense's beard and slapped him on the arm. "No apologies. Just finish my blade. And you, brother – finish those bodkins!" She staggered to the door, coughing. Trond bit his lip until she was gone.

"Forgive me," he teased, wiggling his fingers in the air. Jense scowled and went back to his hammering. It was obvious that the older smith and his sister were fond of each other, but Jense refused to admit it. Trond shrugged and went back to work.

In many ways Trond and Jense were a matching pair. Jense was nearly twice his age (Trond was one and twenty), but both men had dark blond hair, thick red beards, and limbs as massive as oak branches. Trond had been strong for as long as he could recall. When he was little, his father Arik had given him full sacks of grain to carry, or buckets of ice-water, while his younger and smaller brother, Esper, carried only a stick, or a hatchet, or nothing at all. "You are built for it, Trond," his father had said. "It's your destiny to heave and ho, like the Red Brother and his hammer. Might as well get used to it."

Trond was used to it, after a seven-year apprenticeship with Jense. Now he was a full smith, his back as broad and powerful as his mentor's. His beard was shorter, but his shoulders and forearms were thick and dense with muscle. No man was stronger than Trond. Not Jense, not his father, not even bloodthirsty Haakon.

Using a small hammer, Trond pounded the end of the heated rod until it was as thin as a reed. He clipped it, shaped a sharp point, and used a thin spike to make a tiny hole for the thread on the flat end. Working quickly, he repeated the process four times.

"Deliver those yourself!" yelled Jense from across the forge. "You sweat like a pig – spare me your stench for a few moments. I'll send the leaves to Urd for fletching."

Trond...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: FLAME TREE PUB
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1787580415
• ISBN 13: 9781787580411
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 288
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar