Cover Reveal

Allene R. Lowrey

I am on the home stretch in preparing Einarr and the Oracle of Attilsund to go live wherever ebooks are sold! This cover was done by the wonderful William Eyster, Jr of Eyster Artistry Studios.

Oracle cover Wil Eyster

I think he did a great job, and we’re planning on working together on not just covers but other series art going forward.

My goal is to have Oracle live as an e-book by February 20. Around that same time I should be able to move Jotunhall from Smashwords, which hasn’t been updated in almost a decade, to Draft2Digital, so if the appearance of the non-Kindle versions was turning you off, it might be worth another look.

Oh, and keep your eyes open: rumors of a wild sale in the area are afoot.

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6.27 – Revenant

Allene R. Lowrey

The dust cloud swiftly resolved itself into a whirlwind, and soon thereafter Einarr could make out the features of the revenant it followed.

The spirit’s gaunt face was twisted in rage. Einarr couldn’t have said how he knew that, as what little flesh remained hung from the bones in tatters. A rusty horned helmet sat on its brow, dirty white hair tossed about in the wind of the creature’s own passing.

Einarr settled into his fighting stance, ready to defend Runa. The creature did not appear to realize it could be seen – or, perhaps in its madness and hunger it did not realize any but the storyteller existed.

“Surely, the shade thought, this newcomer will know my name, for before my banishment I was famous indeed. And perhaps they will have word of my clan. And so the shade began to follow the newcomer.”

Einarr sidestepped into the path…

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6.26 – Spirit Bait

Allene R. Lowrey

Before Einarr put his new recruits to work, curiosity burned a question through his lips. “What was it drove everyone out of the town, anyway?”

Arkja shrugged, shaking his head helplessly. “Some sort of ghost, we all figured. Right up until people started keeling over, bleeding out their ears.”

Einarr looked at Runa, who shook her head. “It might still be some sort of ghost Or it might not. I’d never heard of a leshy before, either.”

He nodded. “So when everyone fled the town…?”

“Broad daylight. A group of folks in the town square all died at once when the wailing picked up, and that were the last straw.” This from one of the men Einarr had pegged as a farmer.

Einarr frowned. They would have to deal with that spirit, one way or another. He stared at the mouth of the tunnel that had led them here and set…

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Into the Light, A Photographer’s Journey by Indywatchman

This spoke to my photographer’s spirit. Reblogged with permission from http://www.indywatchman.com/uncategorized/into-the-light-a-photographers-journey/

Into the Light

Old and blind but in love with light, he’d reach for the hands of friends to guide him back to bygone landscapes, once the subject of his photographs.

Often he’d reimagine how hard it was to interpret it just right, and now felt sad but free of such weights.

Then, it was a last fleeting cloud on a lake he’d let carry him into darkness. Breaking sounds of autumn’s crunch he’d leave a pond to compose, rustling the stream of reflected images. The panicked flight of frightened grouse; he’d allow the dry leaves and grasses to recapture them in golden yield; his freedom.

Even in the crimson awakening of an evening, he’d wedge himself, coiling into a ball without twilight ever lessening him. The man would swim in the fog and its very question was a longed-for answer.

Further, than any poet, his thirsty shadows licked up the ground. All this revisited in the waning days of a ninth decade by the pond, and an inlet pictured by its love affair with the sky.

When the watchman of the moonlight came to wash his darkening window, a heavy mist now presented disappearing worlds through closing shutters, often his hand would reach for larger apertures on his old camera, and the creator’s intent became the subject of his complaint.

But the ancient brush of the Divine artist was dipped in a cloudy sea, and the lighthouse he’d eagerly ascended exposed to him sceneries of celestial luminance. The blind photographer now having completed his assignment receded into the landscape, understanding, and now traced the vast horizon of unchained glory that he could once only imagine.

6.25 – Banditry

Allene R. Lowrey

Einarr bared his teeth at their assailants in a feral grin. So they thought they were raiders, did they? Farmers turned to banditry, fishermen who might make decent warriors if given a few years practice. They had spirit, at least. Sinmora practically leapt into his hand. He would teach them who they were up against and gladly – and then he would offer these desperate men a chance to get off this rock.

It felt like it had been ages since he’d fought against men who were actually men – since their unfortunate run-in with the Valkyrian Hunters early in the spring, Einarr thought. Unfortunately, he had not underestimated the skill of their opponents here. They did not so much put up a fight as receive a sound drubbing from the experienced raiders of the Vidofnir.

Perhaps a minute later, even their leader sat huddled in the center of…

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6.24 – Tracks

Allene R. Lowrey

The tunnel stretched on long past the point when fatigue made itself known in Einarr’s thighs. They had walked all day to reach the town in the first place, and now whatever had chased away the residents had also done for them. After a time with no sign that the source of the wailing had followed them, Einarr stopped and shook his head.

“We camp here for the night. These tracks are at least a week old: there’s nothing to be gained by forcing ourselves onward tonight.”

Judging by the groans of relief from Erik and Jorir as their packs dropped to the ground, it was the right call. Runa sat on her bag and began unlacing her boots.

Jorir looked about without moving from where he’d stopped. “Not a lot of room for a proper camp here.”

“Plenty of room to stretch out and sleep, though, and less area…

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