The Corruption Trilogy: A Fantasy Novel Excerpt by Reed Blackstone

This fantasy novel excerpt is about a young rebel and a chieftain's son who must save their badlands from the incursion of evil elves on the sentient world of Volara. 

CHAPTER 1

Tolosian dashed beneath rocky overhangs, spear gripped tightly in one hand. The plains stretched out before him, all the way to the distant horizon where the blue sky touched the dry, reddish ground. The only thing disturbing the flatness was a small cluster of squat stone-and-thatch buildings in the distance. His goal. Unfortunately, he had to venture out from under the rock formation and into the open to reach it. 

His heart thundered in his ears, so loudly that he was worried his enemies would hear it. If they didn’t hear him, surely they’d smell his fear. He stopped beneath a particularly large overhang, panting. He pricked his gray ears, sniffing the air. He could definitely smell other kiarans, but he was putting off such a strong scent of his own that he couldn’t tell where the other smell was coming from. He needed to learn to control his fear. How would he ever make it through the trials and have his coming of age ceremony if he couldn’t even control his own emotions?

Normally, this situation wouldn’t have been so stressful. However, he wasn’t in the village anymore. He was in the long stretch of rock formations known as the Spine, where terrain was treacherous and kiarans weren’t the only predators. He’d made it to the edge of the Spine, and his goal was in sight, but the moment he stepped out into the open, they’d be all over him. Failure to achieve his goal would mean disgrace again, and not just for him. His father would be looked down upon as well for Tolosian’s failure.

Think Tolosian, think! What did Norran tell you to do in these situations?

Norran would tell him to outsmart his enemies and escape. To stand and fight was to give the enemy a chance to defeat you. If you could avoid a fight, do so at all costs. How was Tolosian supposed to outsmart the other kiarans though? He had no advantage. He scowled, balling his fists. He could never have anything easily. He was always forced to scrape and claw his way to the top, and by Volara he was getting tired of it.

Fine. They didn’t want to play fair? Well, maybe Tolosian didn’t want to either. He turned and crept back into the maze of towering sandstone spires and ridges. He stepped carefully, making as little sound as possible. As he did, he lifted his nose again, trying to scent the other kiaran. There. He turned down a path to his right. Stones skittered on a lip of rock above him, and he darted beneath it, pressing himself flat against the stone. He prayed that the other kiaran hadn’t seen him. Sand grated nearby from new footsteps, approaching the kiaran directly above him.

“Anything?” A feminine voice asked.

“I can smell him,” a masculine voice said from directly overhead. 

Tolosian could see two shadows cast on the opposite wall, distorted by imperfections in the rock. 

“I can’t pin him down though,” the male continued. “This maze makes it scrugging near impossible to track down prey.” He sounded decidedly nervous.

Tolosian recognized the voices. He winced. He should have taken familiarity into account. They knew each other, which meant they might be able to anticipate his next moves.

“He can’t be far. You know Osian: he doesn’t like to stray from the pack.”

The male let out a short, tense bark of laughter. “Especially not here. Scrugging coward.”

Well, that was uncalled for.

Tolosian crouched slowly and silently, groping around blindly on the ground. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the shadows on the wall. He finally found what he was looking for. He raised a large rock, hefting it in one hand. He listened, waiting for them to start talking again. Then he lobbed the rock as hard as he could. It sailed further down the path, cracking into another sandstone wall. The two above him immediately fell silent and bolted for the noise. Tolosian shot out from under the lip at the same time, heading back the way he had come, in the opposite direction. 

He burst from the Spine and out into the open. He didn’t stop to check for danger. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, kicking up dust. Someone shouted behind him. He cursed as dry dirt grated beneath pursuing footfalls. Tolosian twisted around mid stride, throwing his spear at the pale, sand-colored kiaran running after him. Memory hissed in frustration, skidding in the dust and falling onto her back to avoid the wooden shaft. Tolosian continued running, pumping his arms to try to gain some extra momentum. He was nearing the village now, and could make out kiaran faces peering around the sides of rough huts. He let out a wild laugh through his gasps. 

I’ll make it this time!

The ground erupted at his feet, and hands grabbed his legs. Tolosian yelled as he went down. His face slammed into the hard, dusty ground, and he tasted blood. Storm, who had half buried himself, leapt onto Tolosian’s back and grabbed his wrists, pinning him.

“I’ve got him!” he bellowed, and nearby kiarans whooped.

Tolosian growled, baring his teeth. Another training session, another miserable failure. At this rate, he wouldn’t be ready to graduate to full hunter by the time his coming-of-age ceremony came around.

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Tolosian growled. “Now get off!”

Storm let go of his wrists and stood, chuckling to himself. He was taller and heavier than most kiarans his age, though his ears were a little shorter and rounder than most. He was silvery gray with darker gray tabby stripes, with a dash of white up the bridge of his nose.

Tolosian himself wasn’t much to look at, in his opinion. He was a grayish-brown with short, fluffy dark gray hair similar to Storm’s, and blue eyes. He had darker stripes on his forehead, at the corners of his eyes, and on his neck. He’d always been told he looked a lot like his mother, though he’d certainly never met her.

Storm grinned, the short velvet around his warm brown eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Keep this up, and you won’t need to eat with the other novices anymore. You eat enough dust during training sessions.”

Tolosian rolled onto his back, groaning. He sat up and spat blood into the dirt. “I almost made it this time.”

Tolosian (used with permission)

“Sure Osi, sure.” Storm said with a grin. He held out a hand.

“Don’t call me that,” Tolosian snapped, slapping the proffered hand aside and standing on his own. 

“Oh get over it. No one uses their true names anymore. If you keep insisting that we call you ‘Tolosian’ you’ll stand out even more than you already do.”

Tolosian shot Storm a glare. “I’m the chief’s son, Storm, and as such I am expected to uphold tradition.”

Storm shook his head full of fluffy, dark gray hair, but didn’t object any further. Tolosian crossed his arms and fumed while they waited for the other hunter novices to join them. So close. If only he’d made it just a little further, he could have finally won. Then, instead of his older brother, at last his father might have been proud of him. There would be less ‘Fensandoral this’ and ‘Fensandoral that’, and more talk about Tolosian. 

The other novices, a male and two females, joined them. They chattered amongst themselves, all excited and grinning. Everyone except Joraah. She stood stiffly, tall ears pinned back against her head, displaying her displeasure. She was dark reddish-brown with paler orange markings under her eyes and white ear tips. Those eyes, a keen gold, were slitted. She was clearly upset about something, but she usually was. She always thought they didn’t take their training seriously enough, and Tolosian had occasionally found himself inclined to agree with her. 

Paws thundered on the plains. The novices stiffened, turning nervously. Tolosian’s thin layer of fur stood on end as three tajis sprinted towards them, then slowed. Chieftain Andazar’Norran, Tolosian’s father, rode the center taji. He sat tall, presenting an impressive silhouette with his broad shoulders and pricked ears. He had a strong face, with fur the same color as the land around them, mottled in intricate patterns of umber, rusty red, brown, and sand, the colors mixing and swirling in patterns reminiscent of an artist’s palette. The fur on his jaw was slightly longer than the rest, something common among older male kiarans. Unfortunately, that face was also decidedly displeased.

“That was well done today,” he said, voice containing a strength that Tolosian had always envied. “Especially you, Sundamar. That was a clever trick.”

Storm grinned. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Zaylee,” Norran continued. 

Memory, a pale sand colored female with green eyes, stiffened and swiveled her ears in Norran’s direction to indicate that she was listening, though she stood casually with her arms crossed and blonde head tilted, a bit like a petulant child. The streaks of red dye she’d worked into her shoulder length, blonde hair didn’t help with the image. 

“You were the first novice to be tagged out today. I want you to go to the priests’ hut and assist their caretakers until the sun touches the horizon.”

Memory wilted. “Yes, chieftain.”

Norran glanced over them one last time, completely ignoring Tolosian, before turning his taji away from them. “Dismissed.”

Swift, a pale orange kiaran with darker stripes and a brown mask around worried green eyes, let out a breath as Norran rode away, trailed by his two companions. “I was worried for a second there. I thought for sure he’d assign me chores after the slip-up I made.”

Storm snorted, clapping Swift on the back. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll give you something especially distasteful to do next time you accidentally abandon your training-mates to get tagged out.”

“Hey! Who said it would happen again?”

“I’m just being realistic,” Storm said innocently. 

Tolosian listened to his friends despondently. Normally he would have joined in the playful banter, but he wasn’t feeling particularly cheerful at the moment. The way training sessions worked was simple. All but one novice was prey. As they were ‘killed’ by the hunter, which was also known as being ‘tagged out’, they became hunters as well and helped tag other prey. Tolosian had been the last prey standing and had almost made it back to the safe zone, which also happened to be their tribe’s village. He had been the best that day, so why hadn’t his father said something?

Why is it so hard for me to impress him? 

Tolosian was almost certain that Fensandoral hadn’t had this much difficulty getting their father’s attention. In the past, Tolosian might have admired his brother for that. Now he just resented him. To make matters worse, Fensandoral had already had his coming-of-age ceremony, or his tajka. He was a fully fledged hunter now, with plenty of new opportunities to impress Norran. Tolosian was left to pick at the scraps. 

But that was fine. It didn’t matter. Tolosian’s tajka was only a month away, and if he continued to score in all his training sessions as he had today, he would be allowed to participate in the final trial. Then he’d be a hunter just like his brother, only he’d be better than Fensandoral. 

Memory giggled, drawing Tolosian out of his thoughts. “Osian looks like he swallowed a bad skuttle.”

Tolosian forced a smile onto his face. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be babysitting some crazy priests?”

Memory scowled and muttered to herself, jamming her hands into the pockets of her novice robes. She slunk away into the village, shoulders hunched.

Swift looked around anxiously. “Perhaps we should assist her. It might bring us favor with the chieftain, and we could use some luck on our side with the final trial coming closer.”

Storm groaned. “The trial is a whole month away! Why are you already worrying about it?”

“It is my job, as the sole voice of reason in this novice clan, to worry. If I don’t worry, who will?”

Storm continued to tease Swift as they made their way into the village. Tolosian trailed behind them, trying to look happy so no one would ask too many questions. He doubted they would prod, but it was better to err on the side of caution.

Familiar smells and sounds enveloped Tolosian as he strode through the village. The scents of cooking food, animal manure, and kiarans surrounded him, dulling his anxiety about his father. Conversations buzzed all around, stone-hounds growled and barked as they prowled among the huts, and cubs laughed and shouted. The village was large; made up of five different rings of huts, the center rings tightly packed while most of the outer rings provided more space between huts. The very center of the village was home to the Pyre, a massive fire pit that was lit at night to provide illumination, and was never lit during the day unless their chieftain was calling an emergency village meeting. 

Three little kiarans ran by Tolosian’s legs and he recognized one of them. He bent quickly and scooped a tiny, dark brown form into his arms. 

Sunny squealed and writhed, grinning. “No!” She howled, obviously trying not to laugh. “No! Put me down!”

Tolosian laughed and slung his little sister over his shoulder, spinning in a circle so she squealed again. “Not until I’ve fed you to the hounds.”

“No, no you can’t!” She gasped through bouts of giggling. “I’ve gotta win a war first!”

“Win a war?” Tolosian dumped her onto the ground and knelt before her. “How are you going to do that? Scare them away with how filthy you are?”

“You smell worse than I do,” Sunny grumbled, but she was still grinning, her good eye focused on him. 

Poor thing.

Sunny had been born with a strange blight in her dominant eye, and it had had to be removed. She would never be a hunter, no matter how many mock battles she fought with the other cubs. You needed both eyes to be an effective hunter and warrior in the badlands. 

“Alright,” Tolosian said. “Go win the war then.”

Sunny nodded solemnly, smothering another huge smile with obvious difficulty. Then she shot off between two huts after her friends. He watched her go, shivering. 

That could've been me. I can’t imagine not being a novice with my training-mates.

“She runs surprisingly well for a cub with one eye,” a voice said behind him. 

Tolosian glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to find Joraah standing there. He’d thought the rest of his novice clan had continued on without him. 

He shrugged. “She’s had her entire life to get used to it.”

“It’s still impressive. She must be very strong.” 

“She is.”

Tolosian tilted his head, confused. Why was Joraah of all kiarans so interested in his little sister? Then he remembered and felt like an idiot. How had he forgotten? Joraah’s own little brother had died of a similar illness when he was born. Something about weak lungs and a heart that wouldn’t beat quickly enough. More and more cubs were being born with defects. The priests had blamed it on Volara’s absence before they had lost their minds. Norran blamed it on poor nutrition and bad air. Tolosian wasn’t sure what to think. He was just glad Sunny’s defect hadn’t been fatal. 

“The others went back to the Den,” Joraah said stiffly. Her hands were clasped formally behind her back, and her head was held high. “I thought I’d wait. It seemed polite.”

“Right. Yeah.” Tolosian nodded. “Shall we?”

Joraah nodded once and turned on her heel. Tolosian followed her. He was left feeling odd after their exchange. Joraah, cold, frosty Joraah, had waited for him. On top of that, she hadn’t glared at him or subtly insulted him during their brief conversation. That was new. Maybe he could…

A warning horn sounded. Tolosian jumped, bristling. The horn was only blown when there were enemies nearby. A rival tribe? Wild taji attacking their raijun herds? A dozen awful scenarios flooded his mind, and he began to smell his own fear again, just as he had back in the Spine.

Joraah’s head whipped to the side, black hair swaying and ears pricked. She looked back at him. “What could it mean?”

“Let’s find out.”

Did you like the beginning chapter of this novel? Let me know in the comments. I will be posting a few more chapters soon.

About my coaching with Reed: I first began working with Reed in the summer of 2020, when Reed was almost 13. Reed took a few week long workshops on Outschool.com, but we had to switch to one on one sessions because Reed's writing was so highly professional and polished, (very little changed from what it is above,) that it inadvertently undermined the wonderful achievements of the other teen workshop participants. They were doing fabulous things in their writing--just not nearly at the level Reed was.

This is why gifted teens need individual coaching. They are either ignored in an egalitarian setting and can't make the swift progress they're capable of, or they're heralded and everyone else feels blah by comparison. Yet every gifted teens needs support when writing to develop their full potential.

My process is one part midwife-ish support. I rally the student, helping them to maintain excitement, vision, and focus through the entire project whenever motivation threatens to flag.

Secondly, usually need help wrangling together elements of the bigger picture world of their book: the logical, consistent elements that must be present throughout the manuscript in order to satisfy readers.

Finally, I'm there to step in at the point in a story where the student needs craft help. We'll look at a section that's not working well, and I'll explain the craft issue needed to fix it. I'll oversee the fixes, and celebrate them when they're done, reinforcing general axioms of narrative writing.

All three parts are essential--though it can drive parents wild when they come through a room and see the student silently typing while I watch. (I have a blog post about this.)

These days, I work as a developmental editor with Reed. Their writing has always been so strong that each time we meet, I read the manuscript out loud, and we make line edits together. Then we'll hit a patch where a scene runs into trouble. I lay out the fixes needed for a serious overhaul to bring it in line with the other chapters. It's high level, advanced developmental editing, and I'm very grateful to have the opportunity to work with someone like Reed who works so hard and makes my job a pleasure every week.

As always, if you or someone you know needs creative coaching, ELA help, or is interested in writing a big project, you can let me know in the contact form and we can chat about you/your learner and see if I can help.