Saturday, April 23, 2016

Read the 1st Chapter of Tony Hilling's soon to be released "The Voice of Aedistamen - Volume 6 - Leile"

Tony will be releasing "Leila" in May.

We hope that you enjoy the first Chapter of the story.If you do read it,please leave a comment at the bottom of the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar of the blog.Tony would love your feedback! Thank you and enjoy!

We almost forgot,here is the link to Tony's Amazon Author Page:

True to Banowan’s promise, his small holding in the Ma’apone Hills was the remains of a log shack set on a small, secluded plateau, cut between two wooded hills. Though it had been stoutly built, there was now twenty Seasons since anyone had lived in it. It was virtually a ruin. During the first Cycle of his exile in the Hills, Owa’en had to sleep in a rough lean-to he had constructed. He had made inquiries among the other tenants of his father’s property, styling himself as Banowan’s nephew and heir. Most were suspicious and refused to answer him. But one older man, an acquaintance of Banowan, gave him directions. The man mentioned that he had been in the army. Owa’en cringed quietly, fearing that he had been recognized. But the other said nothing, and Owa’en assumed that his beard and bedraggled state had disguised him yet again. Now fully into the cold Cycles of the Season when the weather vacillated between wet snow and freezing rain, most of the Ma’apone had left the fertile valleys in the west where they farmed for their Davarenge captors. Here in the Ma’apone Hills, they would gather root vegetables and live off the plentiful game.

Owa’en spent the first two Cycles of his exile working on the cabin; coating the roof with tree bark to staunch leaks and replacing rotting timbers. He also had to be creative in finding food. He had very quickly made a bow from strong flexible Davarenge Yew and had pleated thin dried grass and strips of sinew for a bowstring. He had been an expert with the bow, but not in making them. However, after some trial and error, the bow was serviceable, and invaluable in bringing down larger game. Later, he improved on the Yew bow by working a composite reflex bow of elk bone, wood and sinew. The final product was smaller than the previous bow but more powerful, and could even penetrate a shield of hide and wood that he had made.

Though this time was hard, he had enjoyed the challenge of improving the bow and of living off the land. The loneliness had been more difficult. He missed his former life in the army and his friends; even Vanus. During the Light, he would go over in his mind many times that meeting with Malengus and those frightful Cycles in the Mines. Asleep, he would dream almost feverishly, and then wake up to the stark darkness of his father’s shack. Gradually, almost imperceptibly he recognized a darkening in his attitudes once more. He noticed that he was not eating as much and caring less about his new place and even the recent success with the bow. He sensed that he was shutting down in his ability to relate to anything beyond him. This was especially puzzling and confusing. And he wondered if his ailment at the Mines was returning with renewed vigor. But there was a difference: earlier, his lucidity had been adversely affected, whereas now it seemed to be heightened. Then, in a moment of insight, it occurred to him that man could bear almost anything in company with others, where he had an identity. In this deep solitude, there were no markers to guide. He had lost his way. “Who am I?” he said once to a brazen sky, which returned to him as a dying echo.
After the second Cycle in the Hills, he became desperate for human company. But the other Ma’apone in the area did not seem to want him around. None came near, and they avoided him whenever possible. He assumed that they did not trust him because he had no grasp of their language. Despite his interior darkness he forced himself to continue to live beyond the cabin, and as his hunting prowess continued, he would approach some of the other shacks and trade meat for fruit and grain products. They grudgingly accepted these meetings of commerce, but refused any further social encounters. Owa’en had become a hermit.
The Voice was silent. He had tried innumerable times to reach out, to ask, beg even for a word, but there was nothing. He was alone: though, not quite. There was another voice that he had recently heard. But this voice left him agitated and anxious.

“He has abandoned you. You must accept it. You sinned and He has left you. You didn’t measure up, so He has forsaken you for someone else. Don’t you understand: you’re a failure. You are fated to fail. Accept it. Embrace it, even! You will find peace in that.”

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