Before The Fire at the Sanctuary of Inauron.
Port Farnith, Farnith’s Cut.
The hectic bustle of the tavern drowned out almost all the surrounding noise. It was dark within the walls of this building, and the faces of all the surrounding patrons were lit only by the mounted torches on the supporting pillars within the room. A thick, acrid smoke danced through the air, emitted by the many onlookers who wanted to see her fail, wanted to see her burn.
Even through the jeers and chaos, she could still hear her guide. It felt like a voice, but it wasn’t: it straddled the line between an innate instinct and a guiding voice. To her, it was simultaneously imperceptible and abundantly clear. Ever since she could recall, it had been of service to her.
…and it told her to hold her position.
The bulky man facing her stiffened as the voices nearby hushed, onlookers warming to their bout. His receding hairline gave way to a multitude of furrows and scars that told the tale of a hard life on the seas. She could see his sweat glistening on his face and noticed the way he pressed his lips together in a way that told her just how on edge he was.
“I hold,” Caroline said, levelling a narrow stare at the grimacing brute.
“Last chance…” It felt more like a warning.
“I said, ‘hold’,” Caroline repeated. Her guide had never steered her wrong, and she had no reason to believe it would start now.
The tension between them was palpable, and the chaos surrounding them lowered to a whisper, waiting for the grand reveal.
He suckered his teeth and sneered as he placed his cards before her.
Caroline couldn’t prevent the inevitable smile from creeping across her face.
She revealed her own cards, slowly, methodically, to a building chorus of gathering noise from the crowd. The moment she laid them upon the table, the crowd erupted to jeers aimed at her opponent.
She had won.
The brute shot up from his chair and roughly flipped the table to the side, crashing it into a nearby pillar. Caroline, by instinct, lifted her hands to beside her face to protect from any damage. The crowd laughed raucously at his anger, but that only seemed to flare his ire.
With the space between them cleared, the brute leaned in close; she could smell the earthy aroma of gravel on his breath, and it sickened her.
“You cheated,” he said, quiet enough to not openly discredit her. “I don’t know how you did it, but I know you cheated.”
“You just got outplayed,” she said confidently.
“This isn’t over,” he spat.
He straightened, brushed himself off, then threw the small leather pouch of coin at Caroline’s chest. He turned and left the building, out into the cold maritime night blusters, the doors dulling the chaotic energy of the drunks and gamblers all around her.
She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes to let the nervous energy run from her body.
Now Caroline could celebrate.
She wasn’t the type to stand on the table and announce that all drinks were on her, despite how heavy the coin pouch was. No, she was homeless, a drifter, and she was desperate for some stew. She gingerly lifted the table back upright, aided by an awkward drunk from the quickly dispersing crowd. Then she made her way over to the bar.
“One stew, please,” she asked quietly, in a voice that was barely audible above the laughs and shouts of the tavern patrons.
“You’ll have to be louder than that, lass,” said a hooded man sitting on the bar stool beside her.
“One stew, please,” she said, waving her arm to catch the barman’s attention. He nodded, threw the filthy bar towel over his shoulder, and turned into the back to dish up her stew. She looked towards the hooded man. “Thank you.”
Caroline let her eyes wander around the room, watching the merriment of the drunks. Sailors mostly filled the bar, but there were also a fair amount of dock workers, with a noticeable divide in the room between them. Port Farnith was one of the largest docks in Gilgannon, and the only way of accessing the island of Farnith’s Cut. The port itself was always a hive of activity, and it was the perfect place for her to exercise her abilities. Try as she might to distract herself with the bubbling tension between the various rival groups in the room, she couldn’t tear her curiosity from the hooded man. Finally, she turned her body back towards him.
“I know it’s cold outside, sir, but surely it’s warm enough inside this tavern for you to remove your cloak?” She tilted her head to the side as she looked him up and down.
She saw his shoulders move as he laughed silently, still hunched over his drink on the bar.
_Duck. Now._
She obeyed her guide and ducked, slipping off the stool to plant her feet firmly on the stone slabs on the ground. The hooded man’s clenched fist flew over her head, just out of her way; close enough for her to feel the wind from his missed strike flowing over her hair. Her guide had saved her again.
There was no follow-up attack as she’d expected. From her position ducking beside the barstool, she fully expected to need to defend herself further. The man turned upon his barstool so his knees faced her; his posture was non-threatening, almost welcoming.
“Very good,” he said, as he reached up to pull his hood back, revealing his face. He was an older man, perhaps around the same age as the father she left behind in Creighton Ford. He had a weathered look about him that could only come because of travelling long distances. Despite his aged appearance – because of his ridged and furrowed dark skin, he displayed a youthful vigour, as evidenced by the speed of his strike.
Confused, Caroline sat back up and retook her seat alongside him.
“You took that poor sailor for his month’s wage,” the man said, smirking at her. He had thick, dark hair of tight curls that flowed down his back, a rough, unkempt beard, and teeth that had seen better days. He looked much like a drifter himself. Perhaps he was… just like her.
“Who are you?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“I think the more pertinent question is: who are you, lass?”
“Caroline,” she said flatly, “now, you.”
“I am Alden,” he said.
The barkeep brought over Caroline’s stew, throwing it down in front of her in a wooden bowl, before pivoting to deal with the throng of built up customers. Her mouth began watering the moment her nostrils sensed its presence. Her attention left Alden, and she tucked in.
She shovelled spoon after spoon of the watery yet spicy stew into her face. Her chin glistened with the broth, as she took it down messily, spilling it in her frenzy.
“Inauron, take your time, girl,” Alden said. She paid him no mind as she continued to devour the stew like it was her first meal in months.
“Where are you from, girl?” Alden said.
“What business is it if yours?”
“Look up at me. Indulge me for a moment.”
She dropped her spoon, sighed and met his eyes.
“You can’t be more than, say… fourteen summers, and you’re here, a place where you certainly don’t belong, taking people’s wages from them.”
“Winning their wages,” she said. “Nobody asked them to bet that much.”
“Right you are,” he smiled. “How did you know you’d win?”
“I’m pretty good at cards,” she said.
“I think it’s more than that, though, right?”
She eyed him curiously.
“I think you knew you’d win.”
“You’re accusing me of cheating? Just like that big, dumb idiot did?”
“I guess it depends on your definition of cheating, lass,” he said, laughing.
She turned her head to return to her broth.
“I recognise your extraordinary talent, friend,” he said. His mouth hadn’t moved. The voice seemed to be within her very mind. It made her feel uneasy, violated.
She sneered. “How did you do that?”
He held his hands up, palms facing her.
“I just want you to know that you have kindred in this world,” he said aloud.
Deep suspicion of his intentions bubbled to the surface of her mind; this stranger, unkempt and haggard, had ill intentions for her, she was certain. She wanted to leave, to run away. This stranger, speaking into her mind, being so candid with her, evoked the same feelings that the man from the Church has given her at her parents’ house all those years ago. She felt exposed, nauseated, and afraid.
The man from the church had used a similar trick on her and being violated with that sensation again brought up a wealth of complicated feelings she thought she’d quashed in her years on the run. Her guide, her voice, had told her that the man from the church meant her harm, so that night, she’d snuck out of her parents’ house, left town, and never looked back.
The stew she so desperately desired wasn’t worth this. It wasn’t worth the uneasiness, wasn’t worth the memories of her past. The only thing that mattered was her survival. Her guide _seemed_ to show goodness in this stranger, but the emotional baggage she held around her gift, her history with betrayal, and her lack of trust in any other being vastly overwhelmed her guide’s wisdom.
She wanted to run.
Without thinking, she was already halfway to the door, pushing her way through the horde of drunks. The hooded man got up to follow, but she scampered through the tavern as she tried to flee. She pushed through the door, almost falling through it into the street.
The cobbled dockside street that the tavern sat upon in the town of Port Farnith was lit with few streetlamps, with the shadows between providing ample cover for her. A bitter chill ran through the winter air; it shocked her, altering her pattern of breathing, but she couldn’t stop to acclimate. As she recovered her footing, she turned heel and dipped into the alley alongside the tavern, and in her fear, she again ignored her guide.
“Well, well,” a voice rang out.
Stepping out of the darkness, the burly sailor she had beaten in cards struck her hard in the stomach. All energy left her body, and she crumpled to the floor.
“How’d you do it, girly?” the sailor said, before kicking with a large booted foot into her side. “How’d you cheat me?”
The kick sucked all the air out of her lungs, stopping her from replying. Even if she wanted to, her body wouldn’t let her. The pain in her ribs radiated warmth; she knew it would bruise. This wasn’t her first fight, but this is the first time it had ever been so one-sided.
He squatted over her.
“Thing is,” he said. “I was actually cheating you…”
He grabbed a fistful of her wild, brown hair and lifted her up to face him. She winced and awkwardly pawed at his hand, without success.
“I knew the order of the cards; my victory was certain.”
He put a large, meaty hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall of the tavern. The sickly, earthen scent of Gravel overpowered her senses.
“All you had to do was play normally, and I’d take home all the cash… but you cheated against me…”
_Kick. Left knee._
As she struggled against his grip, she kicked out, following her guide’s advice, and her foot collided with his left knee. He screamed, and let go of her throat, falling backwards into the ice-cold puddles between the cobbles. She must have aggravated an old injury; only her guide knew for certain. As he tried to scramble up to his feet, a wooden staff struck him at the temple, and he crumpled.
He lay silent.
Her eyes found the staff’s owner. The hooded man. Alden.
“Glad I found you when I did,” he said, holding out a gnarled hand to help her up. Reluctantly, she took it, and as she stood, she brushed herself off.
“Are you here to take me away, back to my parents?” she said, frowning.
“No; nothing of the sort.”
“Then what do you want with me?”
“I’ve got an offer for you, lass,” he said. “I would have much preferred this conversation in the tavern’s warmth, but here we are.”
“What’s your offer?” she tilted her head.
“A new family,” he said. “Filled to the brim with others who have abilities just like you.”
Her brow furrowed.
“You’ll be warm, fed, trained and welcomed,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Of course,” Alden said, “if you decline, then you can go back to swindling sailors out of their hard-earned coin, just tell me where your parents live so I can send them your remains after you rob the wrong person.”
She exhaled.
Did she want this? Was he trustworthy? Would he guarantee her safety?
_Agree._
Her infallible guide wanted her to do this. Despite this, her reservations were tough to quell. She looked him up and down, then pursed her lips, scrunching them to the side of her face as she considered his offer.
She nodded her head. “Okay. I’ll join you.”
He held out his weathered hand for her to shake, confirming their new alliance. “Welcome to the Children of Inauron, Caroline. Let’s get you to your new home.”
Stone Cold Blood (Children of Inauron: Book 2)
Releases Q3/Q4 2025
Haunted by guilt, stalked by shadows, Lawson’s own mind is the Wildlands’ deadliest predator.
In the wake of tragedy, Lawson and three other exiles find themselves plunged into the oppressive darkness of the Wildlands, their parallel journey shadowed by the events of The Great Leap.
For Lawson, the fight for survival is twofold. As the crushing weight of guilt and shame for a fatal accident consumes him, the lines between reality and nightmare begin to blur. Visions plague his waking hours, twisting the already menacing forest into a landscape of personal torment. Is he succumbing to the same mental illness that haunted his mother, or are the grotesque figures he sees a genuine threat lurking within the Wildlands?
Battling the cruel environment, his sleepless nights, and the terrifying possibility of his own unraveling, Lawson and his companions must confront not only the external dangers of their exile but also the devastating power of their own minds. As the mystery of the Wildlands deepens, and the horrifying truth behind Lawson’s visions begins to emerge, their ability to distinguish between inner demons and tangible terrors will determine whether they survive at all.
This is a story about the crushing weight of guilt and the desperate fight to maintain sanity in a world where the unimaginable becomes real.