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  Praise for Awakening

  “In Awakening Raymond Bolton presents us with an intricate and interesting problem, characters you care for, aliens who are alien, and a carefully-thought-out future.”

  —Mike Resnick

  “Raymond Bolton’s genre shattering Awakening is a skillfully woven hybrid of science fiction and fantasy that brings cultural conflict to a whole new, thoroughly believable level that goes straight to the heart of what really matters.”

  —Matthew J. Pallamary, author of Land Without Evil and Spirit Matters

  “Bolton navigates through the plot lines and the mixed genres (Science Fiction but not exactly, Fantasy but not entirely, Paranormal but not completely) with the clear gesture of the conductor of a large orchestra. A new voice and author who is bound to grow a faithful readership.”

  —Massimo Marino, international award-winning author of the Daimones Trilogy

  “… it’s a grand debut. An ambitious and well considered SF crossover [that] breathes originality into the genre.”

  —BookViral.com

  Book Description

  How does a world equipped with bows, arrows, and catapults, where steam power is just beginning to replace horses and sailing ships, avert a conquest from beyond the stars? Prince Regilius has been engineered to combat the Dalthin, a predatory alien species that enslaves worlds telepathically, and to do so he must unite his people. But when his mother murders his father, the land descends into chaos and his task may prove impossible. Faced with slaying the one who gave him life in order to protect his world, he seeks a better way. Set in a vast and varied land where telepaths and those with unusual mental abilities tip the course of events, Awakening goes to the heart of family, friendship, and betrayal.

  Smashwords Edition – 2017

  WordFire Press

  wordfirepress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61475-532-6

  Copyright © 2007, 2008, & 2014 Raymond Bolton

  Originally published by Regilius Publishing 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Tasha Brown

  Cover artwork images by Tasha Brown

  Kevin J. Anderson, Art Director

  Book Design by RuneWright, LLC

  www.RuneWright.com

  Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers

  Published by

  WordFire Press, an imprint of

  WordFire, Inc.

  PO Box 1840

  Monument, CO 80132

  Contents

  Praise for Awakening

  Book Description

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Map of Ydron

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  If You Liked …

  Other WordFire Press Titles

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I would like to thank my wife, Toni, who has patiently and supportively endured the countless hours I have spent writing, with no promise my efforts would ever amount to anything beyond a time-consuming hobby. She has served as my first reader and editor, spotting typographical errors and inconsistencies I missed over numerous reads and revisions and has never hesitated to let me know when part of the story or a particular ending “sucks.” Because of her honesty and her uncanny intuition for what makes a good story, if you enjoy reading Awakening, it is in part because of her.

  I would also like to thank my Facebook friend, New York Times best-selling author, Melissa Foster, without whose websites Fostering Success, fostering-success.com, and World Literary Café, worldliterarycafe.com, the original edition of this book, which I self-published in 2014, would never have made it into print.

  The series of events that put this edition into your hands began at Sasquan, WorldCon’s 2015 incarnation, at the WordFire Press book launch party for science fiction great Mike Resnick. It was there I met Alexi Vandenberg, WordFire’s events and bookings manager. We struck up a friendship at once and the next day he dropped by my author table and noticed Awakening’s Spanish language edition entitled El despertar. A Spaniard by birth, Alexi picked up a copy and opened it to a chapter’s beginning. After reading a paragraph, he looked up, said, “Wow! We’ll be talking,” and purchased it.

  Two months later, I ran into Alexi again at Rose City Comic Con where he invited me to WordFire’s party at Starbucks in Portland’s Pearl District. There, he introduced me to publisher Kevin J. Anderson and then acquisitions editor, Peter J. Wacks, to whom he enthused about my book. Although Peter requested I send him a copy, his schedule prevented him from reading it. He eventually passed it on to his successor, Dave Butler. When Dave found time to read it a few months later, he praised it to Kevin and, to my delight, Awakening found a home.

  I must also thank feminist artist, graphic novelist, and cartoonist, Maureen Burdock, for turning my sketches into t
he map of Ydron.

  Culture photographer, Jennifer Esperanza, was the eye behind the lens of the author’s headshot at the back of this book.

  I was privileged to have author and iconic former Redbook Magazine editor, Audreen Buffalo, lend an early version of my manuscript her critical eye and set my feet on the path to proper writing.

  Lastly, I give a grateful nod to my childhood friend, George “Pooge” Pryor. He was an early reader of the manuscript and his encouraging comments kept me working hard to get Awakening published, even through discouraging times.

  Map of Ydron

  Cast of Characters

  Royal Family:

  Regilius Tonopath (Reg)—prince of Ydron

  Lith-An Tonopath (Ria)—Regilius’s little sister

  Manhathus Tonopath—Regilius’s father

  Duile Morged Tonopath—Regilius’s mother

  Reg’s friends & their families:

  Ered—the boatkeeper’s son

  Pedreth—Ered’s father, the king’s boat keeper

  Danth Kanagh—one of Reg’s childhood friends

  Leovar Hol—one of Reg’s childhood friends

  Lord Emeil—a conspirator

  Palace Personnel:

  Satsah—palace cook

  Marm—Reg’s nursemaid

  Ai’Lorc—Reg’s teacher

  Royal Advisors:

  Meneth Lydon—Manhathus’s chief advisor, conspirator

  Badar Endreth—minister of foreign affairs, conspirator, executed

  Peers of the Realm:

  Lord Asch—a conspirator, ruler of Pytheral

  Lord Kareth—a conspirator, ruler of Rian

  Lord Danai—a conspirator, ruler of Dethen

  Lord Ened—a conspirator, ruler of Liad-nur

  Lord Hau—a conspirator, ruler of Miast

  Lord Mon—a conspirator, ruler of Deth

  Lord Bogen—ruler of Limast

  Lord Dural Miasoth—ruler of Meden

  Rebels:

  Pithien Dur—rebel leader

  Jenethra—dancer at the meshedRuhan pub

  Benjin—Jenethra’s husband & pub owner

  Bedya—introduced Marm to Pithien Dur

  Roman—the redhead

  Loral—one of the outlaws at Dur’s table

  Justan—“number four”, driver of the get-away coach

  Losan monastery:

  Hazis—high priest

  Osman—on watch at the gate

  Jez’ir—killed by Dargath

  Mordat—killed by Dargath

  Bort—a monk

  Dalthin:

  Husted Yar—poses as Duile’s advisor

  Pudath—captures Danth

  Dargath—tracks down Regilius

  Miscellaneous characters:

  Barnath—tailor & former beau of Marm

  Ganeth—another tailor & friend of Barnath

  Samel—the wayfarer Pedreth encounters at Hassa’s Pass

  Ohaz—runs the hotel in Bad Adur

  Orim—runs Lord Bogen’s kitchen

  Ghanfor—agent of Lord Dural

  Boudra—Lith-An’s foster father

  Sa’ar—Lith-An’s foster mother

  Bakka Oduweh—Regilius’s Haroun guide back home

  Part One

  Flight

  Chapter One

  Father!

  Regilius awoke with a gasp. He attempted to sit, but the damp, prickling bedding entangled him. Drenched with perspiration, he tore off the covers, propped onto his elbows, and peered into the darkness. On a table to his right, dimly silhouetted against a blinded window, stood a light globe. Rocking onto one arm, he stretched toward the sphere and tore off its cover, bathing the space in soft blue light. The room was plain, sterile, and while he could not say where he was, he was certain this was not the palace.

  He was trembling as he tried to remember where he might be and how he had arrived. The hand he ran through his hair came away dripping, while his mouth was parched and his tongue, thick and leathery, stuck to the roof of it. He reached for a glass of water, but as he tilted it to his lips, the room began to spin. Confused, he managed to empty the glass into a vase of morrasa blossoms before the world turned black.

  He awoke again, this time his mind awash with images of murderers entering his home, of carnage and things that should not be. Yet, unlike childhood nightmares that become ethereal and fade, these coalesced into semblances of truth, of substance. Struggling to clear his head, he pushed them aside and searched for the tumbler. Miraculously, it lay unbroken on the nightstand. He was looking for a pitcher when his eyes fastened onto the vase. The blossoms, once white and fragrant, were now black, twisted, grotesque.

  The door opened and he jumped. Light poured in and a woman wearing a nurse’s cap peered into the room.

  Ah!

  The utterance was not spoken. It filled his head and settled among his thoughts.

  Still alive, young prince?

  She stepped inside and closed the door.

  You are truly remarkable. I have never sensed one such as you. You perceive my thoughts. Such a predicament for me and mine.

  The nurse—no, the thing, for it felt as wrong as the flowers—approached his bed, and the hairs on his arms, neck, and scalp stood erect. His instinct was to bolt.

  Stay where you are.

  He had not moved, yet it had anticipated him. As the creature neared, it started to shimmer. Its shape and color began to change, and the abdomen of its now soft, gray, wormlike body rippled. Something like a mouth opened where its belly should have been, then closed, followed by another mouth and another until there were several opening and closing.

  An appendage sprouted from its torso and snaked toward him. He had once seen something similar under his tutor’s microscope when a tiny cellular predator reached out to snatch a meal. Eyes wide, unable to move, he was following this manifestation when, faster than he could react, it wrapped around his ankle and began pulling him toward it. As he opened his mouth to scream, light flooded the room.

  He tore his eyes from the thing around his leg and turned to see a doctor and two orderlies entering. The physician paused, regarded his patient closely, and asked, “Your Highness? What in the world have you been doing?”

  Prince Regilius found himself at the foot of the bed, clenching a handful of sheet. The covers, seemingly frozen as they streamed from the pillow, marked how he had been dragged. Yet, except for his odd location, all else appeared normal. His eyes went from the physician to the nurse and saw she appeared quite ordinary, her face betraying nothing.

  “I want to get you into something dry and change your bedding,” the doctor was saying, but as he followed the prince’s gaze, he started when he noticed the woman in the corner. “Nurse, why are you here?”

  “I was on my way upstairs and saw the light. I thought I would look in,” she replied.

  “Well,” said the doctor, releasing his breath, “since you’re here, perhaps you can assist us.”

  She and the orderlies set to work, and after several minutes the prince was clean and dry, wearing a new gown on a freshly made bed. The doctor ordered them out, and after a brief examination said to Regilius, “You have improved some, Your Highness. That is encouraging. I will check back again in a few hours. Meanwhile, please try to sleep.” He covered the light globe and left, closing the door behind him.

  Were it not for the flowers, Reg might have done as the physician had ordered, but their misshapen forms insisted he was not safe. Instead, he padded barefoot to the closet where he located his clothing. As he shed his gown with trembling hands and struggled to dress, an odd awareness overtook him: a cold certainty that the nurse, sensing he was leaving, was returning. Assuring himself he had forgotten nothing, he went to the window, struggled briefly with the latch, and as the blackness of night gave way to the deep green sky of morning, he slipped out and down to the street below.

  Glancing over his shoulder, still sensing the presence behind him, he hur
ried along the cobblestone streets between the granite and marble edifices of the upper city. Eventually, however, his weakened state returned him to a walk. Feverish and thirsty, he spotted a fountain. He approached it and plunged his face into its waters. Stunned by the cold, he tossed back his head and gasped, sending a shower skyward. Then, leaning against the wet stone lip, he brought handful after handful of crisp refreshment to his lips. Satisfied, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, breathed deeply and pressed on.

  There was no question now that he would walk. After drinking so heartily, he knew he would cramp if he pushed too hard too soon, and the pace gave him time to consider the event that had brought him here.

  Just yesterday, he had been engaged in a brisk game of platter with his friends, Danth, Leovar, and Ered. He recalled how Leovar had made a brilliant backhand catch. Without pausing, he had whirled and hurled the disk toward Regilius. It was an errant toss, and Reg had leapt to grab it. Then … nothing. No memory of a catch, or a miss, or of landing—nothing until he awoke in the hospital. And now he was fleeing from apparitions and a voice in his head with only instinct to guide him. He shook his head.

  By the time the road had begun to slope up toward the palace, morning had arrived and the city was awake. Mahaz, the giant orange sun, had risen two hours above the horizon and second light would follow shortly when its smaller but hotter and brighter companion, the white dwarf, Jadon, appeared. More than enough time had elapsed for anyone looking to have discovered his absence and mounted a search, so he left the road, favoring footpaths to pavement. Ordinarily, he would have made directly for the security of home and family, but the visions that persisted warned him away, even from his own battalion. Despite everything within arguing to the contrary, he decided to leave the city. Although he would pass near the citadel, he did not need to enter its ramparts to reach his goal. Yesterday, before the game, he had dropped off his roadster at the club. Too small to carry four, he had left it, and with his friends had taken Leovar’s coach. The club lay between him and home, but he reasoned if he could make it that far he could escape undetected.

  As he climbed the ever-increasing grade, fatigue overtook him. He had abandoned the more commonly used paths for those he had known as a child, and the soil here was not always compacted. His legs grew rubbery and his feet slipped on loose earth in some of the steeper stretches. Climbing eventually reduced him from walking to scrambling, using hands for support until breaths became gasps and exhaustion forced him to halt.