Launch day is right around the corner and we hope you are as excited as we are! Beginning April 27, 2021, Shadow-Spun, the first book in The Great Legend Chronicles, will be available on Amazon for purchase!

To celebrate (and because we simply can’t wait) we’re sharing a sneak preview of the third chapter from Shadow-Spun. Check it out below!

— Duncan

Shadow-Spun Chapter Three

Cloak snapping in the wind, a tall figure approaches through the dust-choked streets of a gray city. Hissing shadows congregate in the alleyways, but the figure strides past each one until it steps out into a rustling field riddled with twisting paths. It raises an arm to the sky, and a loose sleeve slides down, revealing four silver claw marks on golden skin. Stars slip out from the dark veil of the sky. The brightest form a diamond constellation with two sparkling lines intersecting in the center of it, waiting like crossroads of destiny.

                And then it all faded away, as always.

                Abavla grabbed the edge of a table and pulled himself to his feet. The room spun like a twister of leaves settling in the wake of a wind gust. When he could stand without swaying, he busied himself cleaning up the mess from the fallen potions.

                For over a year he had seen the same mysterious vision every time a storm blew over southern Shun. Abavla had come up with all manner of excuses to explain why he had blacked out or broken off mid-sentence to stare into space. His collection of lies included not eating enough food, passing out from the heat, coming down with a bad cold, and even just tripping and falling. Father worried more about him every time it happened. At least he hadn’t been there for today’s episode.

                He picked up his rag and rinsed it out with a water spell. Leaving it to dry on the windowsill, he shuffled out of his workroom and toward the armchairs by the kitchen fireplace. Before Abavla sat halfway down, a loud knock rang over the noise of the storm. He grumbled and headed for the front door. “Seven Stars, Father, just open the door yourself.”

                He grunted at the old door when it didn’t give. Another good pull did the trick, but Father wasn’t the one waiting outside. Abavla’s eyes widened and he took a step back. Swathed in a blue, hooded cloak stood the figure from his recurring visions. He cried out and slammed the door shut.

You’re seeing things again, Abavla. The knock came again. Oh, yes. And hearing them, too.

Another knock. He bolted the door, shaking like he’d taken a cart ride down a mountain path. Why was that figure here? What was it? And what in the four moons did it want with him?

More knocking, this time on the back door. Abavla dashed through the kitchen and shoved a chair in front of it. Why did that old latch have to rust off this week, of all times?

The knocking paused and then resumed at the front of the house a few seconds later. Abavla whirled around. How was the cloaked figure moving so quickly? Were there two of them?

He sprinted into his potions room and clawed through a drawer for something—anything—he could use to defend himself. He snatched out a bottle of acid, sucked in a steadying breath, and stepped back into the living room. As he crept to the front door, he gripped the glass tighter. Studying magic for years didn’t make him good at attacking with it. If it came to a fight, he’d have more luck lobbing a potion bottle than throwing a spell.

“Open this door.” The figure spoke from the other side of the wood, its voice carrying a strange accent that blended the low, soothing music of a forest creek with the shrill notes of wind over snow-capped peaks. With the barrier of the door and the din of the storm, it was impossible to tell if the voice belonged to a male or female.

Abavla stepped closer, heart pounding, and steeled his nerves. “Whoever you are, I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave!”

                The reply was even and calm. “Why should I?”

                “I’m warning you. Get out of here, now!”

                Another knock answered him. Lightning flickered overhead and rain poured through the living room’s open windows.

                Open windows!

                Abavla thrust out his hand, unleashing magical forces to latch the windows shut. There. Every point of entry was closed now.

                A queasy sixth sense told him that that didn’t matter.

                He turned in slow motion like a galley ship sailing against a current. The billowing curtains rippled back and revealed the figure standing in the far corner of the room. Its drenched cloak clung to the flowing curves of a woman’s body.

                Abavla lifted the bottle of acid higher and tried to stop himself from shaking. “Get out of here or I’ll throw this.”

                The woman’s hand flew out of her cloak. Invisible magic tore the potion from his grasp, and the bottle shot over to her hand—a clawed hand. He edged backward.

                “Empty threat.”

                “I-I’ll report you to the Guard.”

                “Really? I’d hoped for more from you.”

                “Be careful what you ask for.”

His hands began to glow with blue light, the characteristic color of his magic. He couldn’t see her face to gauge her reaction but kept his eyes on her as she set the potion bottle on a side table and then lowered herself onto the couch.

                “Are you going to attack now? You’re wasting time.”

                Abavla tensed and then let his spell fade away. Her composure hinted that he didn’t want to be in a duel of spells with her. Instead, without magic or a potion as defense, he stood naked before the mysterious woman of his visions.

                “You’ve seen me before,” she said. “Every time this past year when a storm came to Shun.”

                Abavla’s stomach flipped over and curled into a knot. If he had planned to deny what she’d said, his wide eyes had ruined that.

                The woman folded her hands in her lap and leaned back on the cushions. “It has been nineteen years since I first saw the sign of your coming.”

                “S-sign?”

                “The stars have much to tell to those who understand their whispers.”

                “You call that an answer?”

                “An answer? Is that what you want?”

For once, he actually didn’t. “I want you to leave. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I won’t have anything to do with it.”

                “Fear makes a hasty judge. You should listen to what I have to tell you before you condemn me. I have come to speak to you of great things, Abavla Blackstarr. Mighty legends and ancient secrets. You would be a fool to turn me a deaf ear.”

                He backed farther away. “Consider me a fool then.”

                “You should have anticipated this day since the first vision we sent you, and you should have known you cannot run.”

                Abavla paused mid-step, a bitter flavor of dread filling his mouth. Behind his back, he’d been starting the hand motions he’d need to manipulate the magic around him for a spell to escape. A cool, invisible pressure pressed against his fingers and held them in place. He glanced at the woman. She’d raised one claw, the only sign she’d summoned any magic.

                “What do you mean, ‘we’? You and who else?”

                “Others like me—other Alarri.”

                Abavla blanched. What was this? Was he still seeing things from the storm?

                “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

                She lowered her finger. “Because I know your destiny, young Abavla.”