Tag Archives: fantasy fiction

Novel Weekends (7): Good Progress

Well, this was actually a tremendously productive weekend in terms of novel composition. I wrote a total of 2500 words of Chapter 2, as well as some fine-tuning of Chapter 1. The latter is not completely finished yet, but it’s close to it. I’ve made a conscious effort not to leave any big gaps. In other words, I’m determined to work straight through. At this stage in my process, I think that’s really the best way.

Today’s chapter was told mostly from the point of view of the Prefect Antonius, one of my fave characters in the work. He is a straightforwardly queer character, one who lives with his beloved of many years, Trystane. He comes from one of the rural western duchies, from a farming family of modest means. This chapter reveals a lot about him, as well as his sense of loyalty, which at this point is being torn between his acolyte and his duty to the Church.

Overall, I’m quite happy with the way that Chapter 2 is turning out, and I’m excited about some of the research that I’m drawing in. Right now I’m reading a book on the Muslim conquests, as well as one about the way that the senses were understood in the Enlightenment. Everything, no matter how tangential, will prove to be grist for my imagination mill. Given that my series is loosely based on the Muslim conquests and on issues of embodiment and transcendence, these books should be especially useful for me.

I’m hoping to continue the forward momentum, though since I’m going to be traveling that might be a bit difficult. Still, I’m confident that I can eke out at least a couple thousand words before the end of the week. Then it’s back to Syracuse and back into the regular swing of things.

World Building (6): Haranshar

The empire of Haranshar is without question the leading political power on the continent of Aridikh and possibly the entire world. Featuring numerous peoples, geographies, religions, and traditions, it is without question an empire without rival. It is precisely because of its titanic mass, however, that it has remained stymied in its attempts to bring either Korray (in its entirety) or the Imperium back under its aegis. The Shahs have enough to do to keep their own provinces under their control, and they simply do not have the resources or the manpower to make a concerted push of reconquest.

Haranshar is a remarkably diverse nation, with many different races and ethnicities living in an uneasy peace. While there have been, at the start of the novel, at least two decades of relative stability and prosperity, there are still rumblings, both among the great powers of the native Haransharin (which are the dominant ethnic group), as well as among their various subject peoples, many of whom want to assert their own form of independence. The example of the Imperium is a powerful one, and there are many that would like to form their own sovereign states.

Foremost among these is the Kingdom of Eshkum, which has rebelled several times under the leadership of their powerful queens, known as Kidakia (from one of whom the current Imperator Talinissia is descended). Like the Korrayin, the Eshkumites claim a type of foreign descent, claiming that they come from the lost lands of Larkoness beyond the farthest horizons of the ocean. They yearn for a deliverer, one who will lead them to independence.

Despite the polyglot nature of the empire, since the rise of the semi-mythical Xaryush in the far-distant past it has remained the policy of all Shahs to subscribe to the faith of Ormazdh. For them, the material world is one that should be celebrated and embraced rather than abandoned or disavowed (as is the case with the Church). Thus, the trappings of the good life are to be embraced and cultivated assiduously, rather than disavowed (as is the case with the Church, as we have seen). As a result, the quality of life in Haranshar is quite high, particularly in comparison to the Imperium. This is not to say that the culture is an egalitarian one, since that would be against the hierarchical ordering of the universe that is key to the Ormazdhian belief system.

Governmentally, the empire is divided into four xhusts that are aligned with the four cardinal points. Each of these is under the administration of a powerful noble general, a svateth. These four enormous provinces are: Shakastan (the north), Kusharstan (the east), Pishapur (the south, and the traditional homeland of the ethnic Haransharin), and Hamarkhan (the west). These are divided into numerous smaller provinces, each of which are headed by great noble families, all connected by often complicated bloodlines.

Although the many powers in the empire frequently clash with one another, they all owe at least nominal allegiance to the Shah, who as the King of Kings is both the god’s divine representative on earth as well as the central part of the government. While this may be true in theory, it is not always so true in practice, and it is not uncommon for the various potentates in both the royal family and outside of it to attempt to seize the throne. While the bureaucracy of the state may ensure that Haranshar as a whole continues to function, ever man who ascends the throne of Haranshar knows that his life will be at constant risk.

The military is a powerful presence in the empire, and they frequently provide the muscle. Of particular importance in the military are the armoured cavalry. These soldiers always come from the nobility, particularly those of ethnic Haransharin stock, and it is this core of shock troops that has enabled this ethnic group to maintain its hold over its fractious empire. However, it is also a source of possible rebellion, as the events of the novels will make clear.

Women in Haranshar occupy a complicated but generally empowered position. They frequently circulate in the highest halls of power, and there is no law that states that they cannot assume the title of Shah should the need arise. Indeed, thre have been several women who have managed to secure a reign in their own right, though it must be noted that Haransharin law does demand that if a son is born his claim to the throne shall surpass that of any sisters that he might have, regardless of their birth order. Women can own property in their own right, and they can occupy the position of head of House. However, there are bans preventing them from occupying positions of authority in either the Ormazdhian Church or in the army. This does not mean, however, that they cannot influence those spheres of life, merely that they must do so on the sly.

Unlike the Imperium, which can trace the bloodline of its ruling house back to its very origins, Haranshar has been ruled by a number of dynasties, most of which are not related to one another by blood. Indeed, it has only been by a supreme effort of will that the Shahs have managed to keep the entirety of Haranshar from breaking apart altogether, and it is for this reason that there has long existed a measure of cooperation between the rulers and the priesthood of Ormazdh. For both of them, the stability of the religious and the worldly ensures that the cosmos itself remains stable and perpetual.

Indeed, as the events of the novel will show in some detail, there are many who are still quite resentful of both the House Nirhan (to which the primary character Arshakh belongs)   their successors the Harqashiri. Many of the other great clans still seek an opportunity to claim hegemony over the lands that were once theirs. The scheming and plots that will emerge among these powerful families will come to have dreadful consequences for the entire world that they have sought so assiduously to maintain.

Novel Weekends (6): Increments

Well, this weekend wasn’t quite as productive as I would have liked. I did publish a small piece of world-building, and I wrote around 1,000 words of the revised Chapter 1. However, I hope to at least write some bits and pieces this week, mostly focused on finishing up the outline for both the first volume and the subsequent ones.

Overall, I like how the entire trajectory is shaping up. There’s a lot going on in my vision of this series, and I have constructed the entire world in such a way that I see a lot of stories that I can tell that are set in it. Though I have other fantasy worlds that I’ve developed  during the years, this one feels like it has potential that the others don’t.

I know that some writers don’t like outlines, but when it comes to my fiction I like to have a strong sense of how the overall plot arcs are going to go. I don’t need to have every detail worked out, but I do like to see where all of the major characters are going to do and what’s going to happen. And, fortunately for me, I think I have all of those worked out. I’ve managed to give all of my characters, even the challenging ones, important things to do (which is harder than you might think, actually).

Speaking of the trajectory…ideally, I’d like to have a full draft of this book done by the end of the year. It’s ambitious, but I think it’s doable. Even more ideally, I’d like to start hunting for an agent sometime in the coming spring. But, given that the dissertation is also in the final stages of completion, this timeline may have to accommodate some adjustments.

But, it can be done!

World Building (5): The Art of Binding

At the very beginning days of the Church, when philosophers and theologians were still disputing about the nature of the material world, it became clear very early on that fire and air–as well as the more elusive aether–were the purer elements and that as such they should be viewed as infinitely superior to the baser elements of earth and water. Some of this was residual from the Church’s origins in the faith of the Haransharin, in which fire was held to be a purifying element. However, it also stemmed from the Church’s increasing desire to distance itself from the threads of the world, to assert its independence from the officials in the Ormazdh faith, and to provide a firm grounding upon which to build their new spiritual and political order.

In their efforts to access the transcendence offered by these purer elements, the men and women of the early Church uncovered several strange tracts written by obscure magicians and sorcerers among the Korrayin. These mysterious people, who some recorded had come from across the sea, had also brought with them the technology of Binding, one that they kept to themselves, locked behind walls. However, in the many skirmishes that had erupted in the lead-up to the revolution in which the Imperium gained independence, a number of these texts had fallen into the hands of those in the Imperium.

The practice itself involved a complex series of rituals. The base material to which the daimon would be bound had to be purified, usually through blood (it was rumoured that lifeblood was the most effective means, but that was strictly forbidden by the Church). It also required the use of an athame, a sacrificial knife, forged from a rare mineral found only in the Mountains of Korray. Through the carving of runes in the receptive material–which, incidentally, can include human flesh–the daimon is Bound, subject to the forces of the Binder’s will. The captured spirit can not only provide greater stability to building foundations (one of its most prominent uses), but also be used, albeit carefully, to produce weapons of often unimaginable destructiveness.

Foremost among those who espoused this new practice was the priest Xenoxes, who saw in it an opportunity to both attain the sort of transcendence that his fellow priests had aspired to and, just as importantly, to gain more than a little political power. He knew there were virtually no limits to this technology, and he spent a significant amount of time publishing many treatises about the ethics, practice, and philosophy around it. As a result, he gained an enormous following, and his thoughts on the matter came very close to being seen as the orthodox strain of the Church.

Such was the influence of Xenoxes that he managed to tremendously influence the other Church Elders, and there was a rush to perform Binding. Soon there arose a group of men and women who called themselves the Alchemists’ Guild, and they were determined to exploit this new magical technology to the utmost. The foundations–and many of the buildings–of the new imperial capital of Aïonis were reinforced with bound daimons. While there were some who raised questions about the ethics of doing so, the clear advantages managed to quell most of those. After all, how could it possibly be against the wishes of the Name for men and women to make the most of the accursed physical world to which they had been condemned? Was it not only right and fitting that the spirits that were the closest to the Name in substance should be used for the benefit of the fallen children of earth?

In what what would be called by some historians the First Binding Revolution, the use of this technique would soon become so ubiquitous that it transformed the world. It was, in many ways, a golden age for the Imperium. Though the production of weapons was limited–again via mediation from the Church–the buildings that were made with it were far beyond the scope of anything the world had yet seen. There was even the possibility that the power generated by Binding (and its dreadful twin, Unbinding), could be used as a source of power analogous to electricity.

Unfortunately, the technology also contained the seeds of profound destruction. A century and a half into the Imperium’s existence–after a series of protracted conflicts that became known as the First Korrayin War–a disaffected Korrayin youth, goaded on by those who did not have his own interests at heart, made his way into the center of the Palace of Justice, the administrative heart of the city of Aïonis. Having been Bound to a daimon, he had become a formidable weapon. He essentially set off a chain reaction that brought the entire Palace tumbling into ruin, and a dreadful purge of the Korrayin swept through the city.

The two synods that were convened in the aftermath of the Blaze declared unequivocally, that Xenoxes and his followers were heretical and that the daimons and the Elohim were most definitely NOT to be Bound to the mortal plane. To do so was the gravest form of enslavement, since it was held that the daimons, while they did not have the same amount of consciousness and subjectivity as humanity, nevertheless could not be held in this way. And the Elohim, which were closest to the Name in their composition–and as the servants responsible for holding the Demiurge in bondage in the Outer Darkness–were even more strictly out of bounds.

Unbeknownst to the authorities in the Church, however, there were many in the Academy who continued to conduct research into these matters. A few of these rogue alchemists were eventually betrayed by one of their own kind, however, and a terrible purge swept through every level of the Academy. Anyone who was held to have indulged in these forbidden behaviours was subject to immediate trial and execution, and the road known as Traitor’s Way was soon flocked with the flayed corpses of the heretical.

Since that time, the Art has largely vanished. It was deemed far too powerful and dangerous a weapon, and all traces of it were sealed in the forbidden vaults of the Academy. Even the Korrayin, those who perfected the craft, swore off of its use, for they saw in it the potential for the great powers on their borders to exact even more damaging losses on their sovereignty.

In the era immediately preceding the actions of the novel, the Art has once again begun to be secretly practiced among both the Korrayin and among several rogue Alchemists in the Academy, the latter of whom have discovered in the deepest parts of the archives. The discoveries have the potential to change the course of both the Imperium and, even more importantly, to disrupt the fragile stalemate that has long existed between that nation and Haranshar. Now that there are so few who have actually been trained in its intricacies, it is hard to say what the consequences will be.

It is certain, however, that they will be disruptive and, quite possibly, destructive as well.

Novel Weekends (5): World Building and a New Prologue

Two major accomplishments to report today.

First, I published a blog post (which you can see here), that is a bit of world building. As I’ve said before, that is one of the most exciting–and most challenging–parts of writing epic fantasy, but I think at last that the pieces are coming together. It’s surprisingly difficult to build a religion from the ground up, but luckily some actual faiths from the history of our world have provided at least something of a skeleton.

Second, I also managed to write over 2,500 of a new prologue for the first book.

This prologue looks significantly different than its earlier iteration. There are now two viewpoints rather than one, reflecting a pretty substantial plot development I discovered during yesterday’s outlining. The prologue narrates the meeting of the enigmatic Conclave of the Nameless, particularly two of its members, the Stranger and the High Queen of the Anukathi Y’Narra, both of whom are given tasks by their master the Demiurge (who appears as male to one and female to the other). While we know the Stranger’s task (at least in broad outline), I’m leaving Y’Narra’s a mystery (which probably won’t be revealed until Book 2).

I probably won’t have a lot of time to work on the Novel this week, since I want to finish up a novelette I’m working on and a short story (the latter of which will debut here!) Still, I hope to chip away at some outlines, just so I have an idea of how the larger series is going to work out.

Ultimately, I hope to make this two quartets, with the second taking place some years after the first.

The first quarter will be titled The Heretic’s War, while the first volume will be The Blooded Sword. 

I feel really good.

World Building (4): The Theology and Cosmology of the (Western) Church–Part One

Much has been written of the beliefs of the Church, which has exercised such complete and unrivaled authority over the rulers and people of the Imperium. Entire books have been written on the matter, and the original set of 29 books has come to be known as the Kalatheia, which translates roughly into “The Good Truth.”

Many of the foremost theologians of the new religion came (and continue to come) from the intellectual powerhouse of Helleniea. Unlike its sister provinces in the region known as the Peninsula, the men and women of this region cared more for the pursuits of the mind than for money and power. They preserved among themselves the traditions of a land that had long ago vanished beneath the angry sea, of a faith that was founded upon the pursuit of transcendence, of an aspiration to escape from the toils of time and the flesh. Through this contemplation of the world beyond, these theologians argued, one could get in touch with the transcendent power of the Name and could evade, if only temporarily, the prison of time and the body.

As they grew in power and as their theology became ever more refined, the men from Helleneia preached a message that was truly anathema to established faith centered on the god Ormazdh held by their Haransharin overlords. Unlike the priests of Ormazdh, who held that the material world was the site of the good life, that it was the duty of any good servant of the great deity to bring forth the earth’s plenty and to enjoy all aspects of its beauty, the mystics of Helleneia denounced that as at best a delusion at worst a monstrous lie. Their central tenet, which has remained to this day the core of the Faith, is that the material world is hopelessly ensnared in the corruption of the flesh and that it was to the state of the daimons, those spirits of aethyr, air, and fire, that was the goal, for these beings were held to dwell in the innermost sphere, in a state of harmony with the Name. All of humanity, so the Faithful believe, are likewise made of fire, air, and aethyr, that has been sullied and trapped in the world of earth and water, yearning to escape and return to a state of grace with the divine.

Their founding myth is the belief that the Name, the union of the male and female divine principles, had once ruled over all the cosmos, an ethereal, boundless, eternal realm beyond the limits of time and the chains of the material world. They were surrounded by their creations made of the pure elements of aethyr, air, and fire, the daimons and the elohim. However, they were not alone, for in their darkest thoughts they had inadvertently conjured up their twin, the befouled creator god, the Demiurge, who grew dissatisfied with the world of light and flame and yearned for something else.

Drawing on the lesser elements, those of earth and water, this entity crafted a a new layer of reality, and slowly it grew, and as it did so the the Demiurge saw the need for companions to populate this realm. For while the Name yearned above all things for solitude and eternal contemplation, the Demiurge craved the art of making and binding and yearned for companions in its relentless solitude. From the beginning, so the Church tells, the fallen children of the Demiurge had within them the pure elements of fire, aid, and aethyr, but they were dragged down by the trappings of matter, for the Demiurge in its madness believed that it had the power to turn the pure elements to its own ends.

In this blasphemous act of creation were sewn the seeds of a cosmic conflict, for it transpired that renegade elohim, abandoning their service to the Name, lay with humans and produced a monstrous race, the Anukathi. The Name, in its righteous wrath, prepared to destroy this hideous progeny, but the Demiurge leapt to their defense, igniting a terrible war.

At last, upon the great mountain known as Thell-Megitho–but which was known to many by another name, the Pillar of Creation–The Name and the Demiurge did battle and the latter was vanquished, imprisoned in the Outer Darkness and guarded by the elohim. The beauty of the world, however, was irreparably splintered, and from one world there were produced many. The Name, along with the daimons and the elohim, withdrew into the Inner Kingdom, where, the Church believes, the dead are at last granted solace and sanctuary, the inner pure elements at last freed.

Now, whether this is in reality what actually happened in the earliest days of the cosmos is up for dispute, and indeed the followers of Ormazdh in the East and the Anukathi in the far southern continent hold that it is the Demiurge that is entity that is worthy of worship, and that the one known as the Name is the one who ignited the war that ultimately shattered the great unity that once held the spheres together. Indeed, among the Ormazdhites the Name is known as the Great Evil, Ehrimakh, the destroyer of worlds. Their sacred texts claim that fire is in particular the special domain of Ormazdh, who uses it in an everlasting quest to purify the world but not, as the Faithful would have it, to bring about its destruction.

Whatever, the truth, these two systems of religious thought became, in their respective homelands, so bound up in the identity of their peoples that to think of the Imperium and the Church is to think of one and the same entity.  All those who choose to serve in the Church vow to abstain from reproduction, for it is held that those who would seek the purity of the soul by continuing to bring other matter into the world are doing a grave sin.

There is some disagreement even within the Church as to whether the laity should likewise abandon the reproductive cycle, but by and large the consensus has been among several Synods that not everyone is suited to the rigours required of the Prefects and other of the higher orders, and there has been some marked disagreement about whether the lower orders of the clergy should be permitted the same laxity. At the time of this story, however, the vast majority of Church elders believe that reproduction is a necessary evil but that it is necessary for ascent into union with the Name that those who are nigh on to death symbolically disavow their progeny and apologize to them for bringing them into the world.

The Church, in keeping with its origins in Helleneia, has also decreed that the love between those of the same sex is permitted, though only in very specifically defined forms. Though it is sanctioned, and often encouraged, for young men and women to seek out a partner of the same sex as they make their way through the training to become a cleric, the physicality must eventually give way to a deeper, more spiritual love. This is in accordance with the dictates of Quintinos, one of the most famous and prolific theologians and philosophers of the early Church.

The desire to escape from the limits of mortality, time, and the flesh remains key to the Church. It is the hope of every Prefect and devout worshiper that, at some point in the future, the Demiurge and all the earthly world that is its creation will one day be brought to an end in a conflagration that will not only bring the worlds back together but also, and more importantly, abolish time itself.

*Note: This faith is very broadly based on both Gnosticism and Manichaeism (with a bit of Byzantine Hesychasm thrown in), just as the faith of Ormazh is based loosely on Zoroastrianism.

Novel Weekends (4): An Outline Emerges

While I wanted to work this weekend on producing new material, I decided that I needed to sketch out an outline, at both the macro and the micro level, so that I would have a good idea of the overall canvas as well as the role that my various characters would have in it. Luckily, I had at least some measure of guidance (given that the novel is a retelling of the Sassanid/Byzantine conflict), but I have a larger canvass to deal with, so that opens up many opportunities.

That has really occupied almost the entire day, to be quite honest. At the end of it, however, I think I have a pretty strong idea of how the four volumes (it’s expanded from a trilogy) will play out. I’m pretty happy with the way that the action is resolved at the end of the first volume, which has a nice cliff-hanger but still sees all the characters where they need to be and sets the stage nicely for the next volume.

At the heart of the thing is the cosmological conflict between spirit (called æther in this world) and matter and the concomitant strife between the Name and the Demiurge, the divine manifestations of these two principles. I think that there will be a climactic battle between them, since part of my intention is to show what it actually means when deities, not just their avatars, fight for the future of the world they seek to control.

I’m also making a point of including not one, not two, but three LGBTQ+ characters, and at least two of my characters are people of colour. Indeed, I think that the romance between two of my leads will actually prove fundamental to the conflicts that arise in books 3 and 4.

Making progress!

Novel Thoughts (2): On Genre

Some time ago, I thought I would write something “literary,” some great family saga of an Appalachian family torn apart by dark family secrets and juicy gossip. It all seemed quite clever to me at the time, a neat little way of transferring the dynastic politics of the ancient world into the incongruous setting of small town America.

The problem was, I couldn’t quite get the story right. Something about the whole effort rang false, and no matter how hard I tried I simply could not get the narrative to cooperate.

Finally, I determined the problem: I wasn’t writing in the genre that I truly loved. In attempting to forge a “literary identity” for myself, I’d abandoned my efforts to write fantasy, the genre that has always had the strongest hold over my heart. That genre is, of course, epic fantasy.

(A close second has always been historical fiction, but I’m afraid that my efforts at that were also not terribly successful).

Indeed, it was only after I started reading the works of Guy Kavriel Kay that I began to see the ways in which one could combine these two seemingly disparate genres, taking history and turning it slightly to reveal the fantastic elements of it, could be done if you really tried. The more I mused on it, the more it seemed to me that here, at last, were the roots of something I could make my own.

Now, I won’t say that my writing talents are anything close to Kay’s (they aren’t), but I will say that I take him as one of my models. His work, along with that of Tad Williams and Terry Brooks, are probably my greatest influences in terms of fantasy and the creation of worlds that seem to live and breathe on the page. While Kay’s work is large in scope, it doesn’t have quite enough of the conventions of the epic for my own saga, and so I’m really trying to attain something of a mixture between these three authors. (And yes, I know how pretentious that sounds, so I hope you’ll forgive me).

Writing in the genre of epic fantasy allows me, I think, to explore some of the great issues and themes of history, while not necessarily being bound to the historical record that we know. Sometimes, I think, you can actually explore the issues of history–such as agency (or the lack thereof), epochal change, the underlying forces that move nations and peoples forward (or backward)–when you add in some element of the strange, the cosmological, or the magical. Rendering visible that which, in our world, remains largely a matter of faith can lead to some truly fascinating constellations.

So, as I move forward with this novel project, I hope to do some more thinking about what it is that I want to do with the genre that I have chosen to write in. There are certain things that are required, of course, but my hope is that my work, limited as it might be, might add a little something to the genre that I have always called home.

World Building (3): On Korray

There are many competing legends and myths about the origin of the Korray, certainly one of the most intractable groups to inhabit the continent of Aridikh. Some say that they began life in the searing sands of the regions east of the Zakrus Mountains (their current home), but fled into the mountains when the Shahs of Haran began to expand their empire. Others say that they came over the Encircling Ocean, fleeing some unnamed Cataclysm. Still others–among them the more mystical members of the Korrayin priestly castes–have gone so far as to suggest that they are not from this world at all, but are instead visitors from some other world that is beyond this one.

In any case, by the time they enter the histories compiled by those in both Haranshar and the Imperium, they had become so much a part of their mountain homeland that it is part of who they are. They have built a number of small cities and forts in the towering peaks, though some have also taken up residence in the fragrant and fertile mountain valleys as well, and it is there that one is likely to find their largest dwellings. Fiercely independent, they refuse to offer obeisance to any foreign power (and it is often a struggle to even get them to obey their tribal chieftains and kings).

In the wake of the rebellion that split the Imperium off from Haranshar, the tribes that comprised Korray have become a buffer zone. By that time, they were already known for being an independently-minded group, living as they did in the Zakrus Mountains, and so they were the perfect ally for both of the great hegemons that sought to own the world. Members of one tribe will frequently make raids on one or the other great powers and will also use their allegiance with one of the powers to justify their own wars against one another.

Culturally, the Korrayin are loosely united by a sense of identity, though ethnically there are many different divisions and groups that comprise them. Mostly, they are united by their independent streak and by their belief that, despite their differences, they are the true chosen of the god (whichever one that happens to be, as they are as divided in religious adherence as they are in most things).

Despite their mind-boggling heterogeneity, they can be loosely identified along the lines of 4 different confederations, which are comprised of 15 different different tribes. The four confederations are listed below. These tribes are in turn divided into innumerable clans. It does not necessarily hold that members of the same confederacy will be ethnically related to others who are a part of it. Instead, they are usually bonded together through their adherence to one of the four major religious groups (the Faith, the Ormazhites, unaffiliated polytheism, and the Yishurim). However, it should be kept in mind that the first loyalty that any given Korrayin has is to his clan, then to his tribe, and then to his confederacy. There thus exists a complex network of alliances and allegiances that outsiders often find as bewildering as it is infuriating to deal with.

The following is list of the various Confederacies, as well as their constituencies. This list does not include the innumerable clans that make up each of the tribes.

Ivnu Khava Confederacy (The Faith)

Comprised of the following tribes: Harikh; Ghifar; Quarish; Ashakh

Ivnu Ghavaz Confederacy (Ormazhite)

Comprised of the following tribes: E’bash; Kharaj; Lakhim

Ivnu Lakrum Confederacy (various unaffiliated polytheisms)

Comprised of the following tribes: Ashath; Qu’uda; Shutayra

Ven Naftali Confederacy (Yishurim)

Comprised of the following tribes: Vishkar, Zabîr, Shimon, Davith; Bet’yamin

Though the Korrayin are well-known for their skills in warfare, they are also renowned for their devotion to scholarship and for their devotion to their various religions. Those seeking out the most ancient versions of given texts may hope to find them in the hilly fastnesses of the Korrayin. No matter what faith they adhere to, the Korrayin cling to a very conservative model, and they are certain in their belief that it is only in their mountains that the truest, purest form of their respective faiths can be found. While this has rankled no few feathers in the capitals of their larger neighbours, they seemingly do not care. The satisfaction of knowing that they are superior to anyone more than makes up for any political losses.

At the time of the novels, matters have been largely settled for over a century. No significant conflicts have emerged, either among the Korrayin or between the Korrayin and either Haranshar or the Imperium. However, there are already ominous signs that not all is well. Ibrahim, a relatively minor prince among the Vishkar Tribe, has begun to make a name for himself as the Poison King. Dosing himself with poisons, he has assured that he is proof against assassination, even as he has also begun to make designs on becoming the Great Chief of the Ven Naftali Confederacy. More ominously, there are disturbing rumours that some of the mystic priests of the Tribe of Ashath (who have always been known for their strange and unsettling affinity for the occult) have begun to seek out ancient scrolls regarding the lost Art of Binding. The wise know that it was precisely this weapon that almost destroyed the world in the Time Before, but it is not always wisdom that governs the affairs of men, particularly when there is power to be gained.

For real-world historical parallels, think of the status of the kingdom of Armenia as the pawn between the Roman/Byzantine Empire and the Parthian/Sassanid Empire or the similar relationship that existed between those empires and the various Arab tribes that they used in their proxy wars. However, there are also a lot of similarities between these groups and the various Semitic groups that inhabited and continue to inhabit the Middle East, including the various Arab groups, the Jewish people, and others.

Needless to say, the people of Korray will come to play a very significant, indeed a pivotal, part in the events about to unfold.

Novel Weekends (3): Back At It

This was an eventful weekend for the Novel. I wrote a total of 5,000 words, mostly concentrated on three chapters. I also managed to revise part of the Prologue into what I think will be its final form. What’s more, I did some revision on a short story/novelette that’s set after the first novel but before the second. Not too shabby!

I also (you may have noticed) published a short essay on the history of the Church in this world, and I began another short essay on a history of the Imperium. Further, I have several more planned. So keep looking for those!

Given my own interests in history–and on using my novel to explore questions related to history–I also started reading a new book on the connected nature of the ancient world. A great deal of both the world-building I’ve done and the plot arc I have designed has been heavily influenced by the work of historian Tom Holland (in particular his book In the Shadow of the Sword), but I have a feeling this new book will also have a large impact.

As I wrote this weekend, I found myself oddly drawn to one of my secondary characters, a Korrayin named Ibrahim. I know that he is going to be a founder of a new faith, but I wasn’t aware that he would play such a big role in this novel. But then, that’s one of the most exciting things about writing; frequently, the most interesting things are the ones that you find by accident.

This week, I fear, will be a bit sparse on the novel. I have to submit a dissertation chapter this week, so that will suck up a lot of energy. Rest assured, though, that I’ll be right back at it next weekend.

Until then!