I'm starting off this year right: by sitting down and blogging! I have some good stuff to share with y'all.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I had finished drafting Book V of The Legacy Incarnate: Incarnate Truth. However, I kept chewing and chewing on what I had written for the climax and aftermath, really unsatisfied with a lot I had written, and I finally decided to dive back in and add a few more things to round it out. I normally don't do such heavy revision right after drafting, but my mind will be much more at peace once I finish these last touches. Then I'll set the manuscript aside and focus back on E'lsra and the LI anthology (Book IV.V).
Here's my author goals this year:
- Publish Book 3 of The Legend of Draconite: E'lsra
- Publish LI Book IV.V
- Outline Book VI of The Legacy Incarnate
- Create more book illustrations
- Brainstorm ideas for a junior novel series
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The borders of the Ukkari tribal lands were marked by stone columns, their tops engraved with winged lions. The plains swept past these markers into tall, rocky cliffs that rose towards the White Seas. Overcast skies arched over the cliffs, along with a brisk wind.
Sabra spotted a group of five Hakaan riding horses about half a mile off; all of them were wingless. They soon turned toward the travelers and made their way down at a canter. Sabra halted Honey at the line of carvings, waiting for the patrol. Caemorr patted a fidgety Thurr, who kept tossing his head. Bedua circled over the patrol, and then followed them down the hill.
The Hakaan halted their horses, and their cream-feathered leader hopped off. Sabra dismounted and opened her arms as the lupogryph rushed at her. He squeezed and lifted her into an enormous hug.
“Sabra!” Tarcua crowed, spinning and setting her down. Sabra laughed, burying her face into his warm neck feathers. They hugged tightly, rocking back and forth. She reluctantly pulled back to look at his wonderful grass-green eyes.
“Oh Tarcua,” she breathed. “It’s been much too long. I’ve missed you so.”
He gently butted his sleek, hawk-like head against her forehead. Her old friend, loyal and true.
“We have ridden out here every day expecting you,” he said. “Now we will have a great feast in your honor.”
The other riders dismounted to greet Sabra, and she gave them hugs and handshakes. These wingless lupogryphs had once been Hunters like Tarcua, but through the cleansing power of the Moonstone, had chosen a new and better life. They had wanted to return to their tribal roots, and the Ukkari was the only tribe that would accept them. Now they were forming new families and ties here among the eastern cliffs, and Sabra had long looked forward to seeing how they were.
Bedua stood off to the side, fingering his travel pack. Caemorr slid off Thurr, and Tarcua shook her hands heartily. He turned to the brown and gray lupogryph, his crest flattening. Sabra quickly came to Bedua’s side and grasped his shoulder.
“Tarcua, I found Bedua in the southern border, and he honored us by guiding us home,” she explained.
“Father, I know I haven’t brought much honor to the tribe,” Bedua said. “I fly too often into storms.”
Tarcua clicked his beak thoughtfully, and then clapped Bedua’s shoulder.
“We’ll talk more about it later, son,” he said. He waved. “Come, everyone. Storm is on the way; let’s get inside."
The other Hakaan chanted acknowledgment, and soon everyone was off on their steeds. Bedua took flight, keeping a close watch overhead.
They took a trail that sloped towards the coast. Waves rushed against the rocky shores, and the wind lifted Sabra’s hair. They turned back north and took the trail between the water and the granite cliff face. Sabra leaned back, awed not for the first time at the soaring heights of the gray, black, and brown stone.
The cliff bore a large crack that sliced inward at an angle, creating a wall of stone against the windy, stormy White Seas. They rode into the canyon, where the path began to ascend into its recesses. Sabra sighed in relief as it cut off the cold wind completely.
The canyon walls became spotted with caverns, occupied by lupogryphs standing in their openings and watching the procession. Other Hakaan glided through the narrow spaces. Overhead, rocks jutted over the top, creating a partial roof that continued to block much of the rain.
At the end of the trail was a stairway carved out of stone, and to the side of it a ramp that led thirty feet up into a larger cavern.
“Does this place flood in high tide?” Caemorr asked Tarcua.
“Yes, it’s one of our best defenses,” he said. “See how there are no roosts below the top of the stairs. Tide will be coming in soon; it’s highest at the start of Spring, when the moon and the sun pull equally on the sea.”
“I suppose you can’t take the horses out during high tide,” Sabra said.
“Yes, but we have a tunnel that goes up to the cliff for those that can’t fly,” Tarcua said. He lifted his head proudly. “Tribes have threatened our sovereignty before, and one even tried to attack us, but our canyon and its tide kept us safe. Luna truly blesses the ocean for our sake.”
When Tarcua had married Harran, she had had the approval of all the chieftains to start a new tribe. It seemed some of the politics of the Kuuti had shifted since Sabra had last visited.
They rode up the ramp into a large cavern, Bedua swooping in above them. Ancient stalactites pointed to the floor, with magicked orbs of golden light attached to their tips. Spaces along the layered floor had been corralled off, with stables to complete them, all surrounding a center opening with white sand. Tarcua had some of his tribewolves take Honey and Thurr’s reins. However, Thurr reared and snorted at the handlers, and Caemorr quickly took his reins.
“I better settle him in,” she said. Sabra patted Honey’s neck as the lupogryphs and Caemorr took their steeds to one of the corrals. She, Tarcua, and Bedua waited for Caemorr to return, and he took them back outside and up the stone steps to the roost entrance.
The stairway rose into a great cavern, continuing up and up. On either side were tunnels leading away to more hallways and rooms. The walls had been painted with huge murals spanning their entire breadth and height, colorful depictions of landscapes, Hakaan, animals, and celestial objects. Sabra paused at one mural, her jaw hanging.
It was her. She had been painted in the peculiar style of Harran’s people, a little thinner than usual with sharp lines and shallow curves, but intricately detailed. She walked towards a sunrise, arms wide and mouth open as she sang. A blue and golden sky swept over her. Several red herons glided over her, and in the distance were several lupogryphs, their arms also open.
“This…this wasn’t here last time,” Sabra said. She took a deep breath, tears pricking her eyes. “You do me honor, Tarcua.”
“Soon after we honored you as a tribewolf, we painted this,” Tarcua said. He squeezed her shoulders with an arm. “Your teachings help this tribe soar.”
She smiled at him and nodded. Caemorr had pulled out one of her journals and was sketching the painting. They waited for her to finish before moving on.
Tarcua led them about halfway up the stairs before turning into a tunnel on their right. This went into a hall that branched into three rooms. Two were closed, with signs on the drapes covering them. The last had the drapes pulled back.
“We are still carving out more rooms, so this is all I can spare you two for now,” Tarcua said, motioning to the doorway.
Sabra and Caemorr ducked into the low doorway, heads swerving. It was a simple room with two low sleeping pallets made of furs and grass, an alcove in the wall with a little clay lamp, and a narrow, curtain-covered door on the other side. Sabra dropped her bags by one of the pallets and moved to the other door before drawing the thick leather curtain back. There was a stone door behind it, and she swung it outward.
Cold air blasted her. Sabra blinked, sliding out the door sideways. She came upon a small ledge with a low parapet. Ocean waves crashed against the cliff over a hundred feet below her. On either side, above and below, were more ledges connected to Ukkari rooms Sabra took quick breaths, hair flowing back. She folded her arms and gazed at the horizon, towards Adajerre. Her destination. Her quest. The fate of so many people awaited her in the east.
She clenched her teeth. She had always intended on traveling to Tarcua’s roost regardless of whether or not it was time to go to Adajerre again. However, now that she had chosen to descend from the highest tower of the Lunar Temple, it was just a stepping stone. She shook herself. She was determined to enjoy herself here with her friends before moving on; she refused to mull over her quest too much at the moment. She turned back inside.
Caemorr took a turn to look at the sea while Sabra removed her duster. She took a small box lamp she carried in her things and lit it, setting it beside the clay lamp in the alcove. Both cast a warm light over the curves of her water-tempered armor.
“I will send someone to fetch you for the feast,” Tarcua said. “Do you have a particular request?”
Sabra tapped her chin.
“Do you still have that white wine?” she said. “I would love some.”
“White wine it is,” he said with clap of his red talons before he left the room.
Caemorr returned, closing the stone door and pulling the leather curtain across it again. Sabra moved to her pallet and reached between her shoulder blades, to a piece of armor that swept over her spine, and pulled a small triangular rod from it. Each edge of it had teeth cut out of it. The key to her armor. Sabra inserted the key into small holes in her armor, which unlocked Adel’s plate. The pieces unfolded on hinges, and she laid them reverently on the end of her pallet.
Caemorr finished folding her cloak, setting it on her bed as a pillow, and she laid on her pallet with a sigh. Sabra, dressed in only her glossy unitard, sat cross-legged on her bed, pulled out her travel journal, and started writing.
She summarized her journey that day and her thoughts about Tarcua. She had first met him almost forty years ago, when she had been imprisoned and tortured by the Hunters. After burning the necromanced magic of the Hunters out of Tarcua, her own father, High Priest Aaron, had sent him to Hakor to reveal to her the method by which she could stop the Golden One. The flames upon the water. The stored power of the Moonstone and its ability to cleanse magic.
Now she was out here to find the great amplifier, Bolondarrette, to cleanse shaman magic. The ironic thing was that none of the shamans in Tyrell had any idea that was how she would help them fight Vapor. Not with her blade or her martial training, but with the divinely-fueled power of her incarnation. She was Luna’s mouthpiece. The Moonstone was made from the essence of Luna’s spirit and tethered to Sabra’s very soul. She was as Caemorr often called her: the Holy Mouth, the Arushé.
To have that connection damaged or taken away completely…Sabra had wondered that on occasion. She supposed a deep, sacred part of her would die; she might even lose her mind. She couldn’t imagine living without the Moonstone’s fires flowing in her veins, or the memory of the gods holding back the Golden One’s curse that almost had driven her insane. But if it did happen…would she even be the Incarnate anymore?
Sabra frowned. As long as she lived worthily, Luna would never allow it.
She paused writing, looking around at the plain gray cavern. As she listened to the distant rush of the ocean and the steady breathing of Caemorr, and ran her fingers over the texture of the page, she felt very much mortal and vulnerable. She may be Incarnate, but she was still flesh and bone. A tremor ran through her body, heralding the emergence of her usually suppressed doubts. Could she really do this? What if she—
I won’t die. Sabra frowned angrily and signed off on her journal entry. She moved to the next page and started writing not in her usual Standard script, but in shamanic.
One of her proudest accomplishments when it came to learning a new language was memorizing letters and characters. Shamanic was a letter system, with twenty-nine unique letters, along with different characters for punctuation and inflections. The letters consisted of curved and flat lines connected to open and closed circles. Some of the characters reminded Sabra of lightning, the way the lines shot at different circles. The letters tended to be tall as a result, requiring some more page space.
She wrote one paragraph, focusing on adjectives as she described their room. Sabra devoured vocabulary in her studies, and she smiled when she was able to use some larger shaman words. She paused, listening to Caemorr’s breathing. It was the steady, shorter breathing of someone still awake.
“Caemorr,” Sabra said. Caemorr blinked her eyes open and sat up. Sabra stood and held her journal out. “What do you think?”
Caemorr hummed and held the journal, reading the large paragraph. A sharp sensation swelled in Sabra’s head, making her vision flash red. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut with a frown, and sat on her pallet. The headache rung through her head as she rubbed her temples. These migraines had been hitting her ever since she left the Lunar Temple, but what they meant was a mystery. At first she attributed them to her hasty ride from the deep jungles to the plains, the change of climate affecting her body, but it had been long enough that she should have acclimatized. Sabra tried to fight back the migraine, but quickly stopped, as that seemed to make it worse. Instead she let it come, as it would go leave quicker that way.
The pain made sweat dot her forehead, and she laid down with a deep breath. Caemorr nodded, finally looking up from the journal.
“This is wonderful, Arushé, although I think for the lamp you meant ‘revett’ instead of ‘ravett’….” Caemorr rose, brows wrinkling. “Icariu? What’s wrong?”
“These thrice-blasted migraines,” Sabra muttered. “They’ve gotten worse as we’ve approached the Ukkari.” She rubbed sweat away. “Just give me a moment. They always fade away.”
Caemorr sat slowly on her pallet and looked at the cover of Sabra’s journal. Sabra had been tempted to use her pain killer to help with the migraines, but they didn’t come everyday, so she simply endured them. She let out tight breaths as the headache began to fade.
“Tribewolf Icariu and friend Caemorr, the feast awaits you in the upper chamber,” came a voice through their doorway cover.
Sabra sat up slowly as Caemorr acknowledged the messenger. From her duffel she pulled out her fur-lined tunic and slipped it over her unitard. She pulled her leather boots from her bag and tugged those on as well, then belted on her dagger. The last thing she retrieved was her flute case, a rectangular wood box with one of her most precious possessions. Caemorr put on her boots and sword, and together they left the room.
The lupogryph was a brown-furred female, and at first Sabra mistook her for Harran, but her eyes were green instead of blue, and her build was a bit thicker.
“You must be Marran,” Sabra said, head pulsing slightly with every sound. “I haven’t seen you since you were small.”
“I’ve heard many legends about you, Icariu,” Marran said with a wink. “But come. We can speak more at the feast.”
They headed to the main stairway and ascended to a large, open cavern. Multiple ledges took up the gray and brown walls of the cavern, and in the middle of the cavern was a large, open sandy area covered in blankets and upon which sat a menagerie of foods. About a dozen Hakaan sat or reclined around the food, while other groups took up the ledges with their own spreads. Above them, rocks in the ceiling emitted a gentle yellow glow, shedding warmth upon all the residents of the cave.
Marran led them to the central spread. Tarcua and Harran stood upon seeing Sabra, as did the rest of the tribe members. The migraine finally began to fade, and Sabra sensed a sad sort of defeat about its retreat. She ignored the feeling for now, smiling at her friends.
Harran spread her wings wide. She was a lean, dark brown Hakaan, and she wore a sleeveless robe decorated with seashells. Tarcua donned a similar robe.
“Welcome, honored guests,” Harran announced. “Sit beside us for the blessing.”
Sabra and Caemorr sat to the right of Tarcua. Tarcua pronounced a blessing on the food in the name of Zarem, god of the universe, father of their souls. Then everyone began picking at the different dishes. Most of the foods consisted of fish, crab, clams, and other mollusks, along with some lamb from Tarcua’s sheep herds. There were no plates; you simply took a handful of whatever you could hold, eat it, and then move on to the next food that caught your fancy. Bowls of water were placed intermittently between the dishes to rinse off fingers before choosing a different food, along with bowls for discarding shells, bones, and other garbage.
“You’ve had a good harvest this Winter,” Sabra commented.
“The gods bless our food and our lives,” Harran said. “Ever since you first came to our roost, Icariu, it as if Luna has filled the ocean with more fish and Zarem’s sun has greened the grass tenfold for our sheep.”
Sabra had indeed left a priestess’s blessing upon this roost the last time she had come, and she nodded with a grateful smile. The power of the gods was still well and good through Luna’s Incarnate. However, she did not boast of it; she was a servant to the gods and a servant-leader to those around her.
Chatter filled the cavern, accompanied with the clack of beaks and the rustle of feathers. Sabra explained to Tarcua and Harran her mission to continue north in search of a sacred stone, and she requested an escort to Jerenn. Tarcua vowed to guide her there himself.
“Some of ours are drying your ridgeback furs to make a good covering against the cold winds,” Harran assured. “They will serve you well in the Kuuti and Adajerre.”
Sabra nodded her thanks and pulled her flute case forward. Harran’s crest rose.
“Are you up for a round of music, Harran?” Sabra said. Harran flicked her ears and lifted her harp from her pillow with a laugh.
“I thought you would never ask, Icariu,” she said. “I thoroughly outpaced you last time.”
“I’ve been practicing,” Sabra assured with a wink. She lifted her platinum flute from its case, a treasure from Adajerre that had made its way to Hakor, where she had traded a good amount of money for it. Despite her father’s instruction growing up, Sabra had been novice with it, but a few decades practice had fixed that issue. “I’ve learned some new tunes from my friend here. Caemorr? What do you think I should play?”
“The Clover Dance,” Caemorr said with a shrug. Sabra winced but smiled, and Caemorr laughed.
Some of the Hakaan went silent as they blew or plucked a few notes, getting a feel for their instruments. A few others had brought their instruments as well, such as a pair of small drums and a tambourine. At a large dinner like this, it was tradition among the Ukkari to bring any instruments you had so you could play music and enliven the feast.
Everyone went dead silent as Sabra started the tune. It started in a quiet but cheerful tune, and then repeated faster and louder. Harran bobbed her head to the beat, and then began emulating the notes on her harp. The drums and tambourine soon followed, along with half a dozen other instruments.
Sabra’s passion for music drew her deep into the arrangement, tuning out everything else. She could only hear the flute’s soft whistle, could only feel her fingers deftly dancing across the keys. The love she had developed for the shamans, from her dreams with the golden owl to Caemorr’s friendship, filled the Clover Dance. It was a community dance, Caemorr had once explained, danced through the trees, hand-in-hand, to bring unity to the tribe.
The tune was as complex as the dance must have been. Sabra struggled to keep her fingers from tripping, trusting her musical instincts to guide her hands. The Hakaan musicians got most of the notes correct, but the speed of the dance was what made them fumble a bit, even Harran. Sabra finished the song with a blasting note, and the other musicians, having caught onto the ending beats, managed to finish with her. Hooting, howling, and clapping filled the cavern.
Sabra smiled and wiped some sweat from her brow. Caemorr clapped, eyes wet as she grinned.
“I think she beat you, wingheart,” Tarcua said. Harran threw her head back with a laugh.
“Yes, this time,” she said. She lifted her stone goblet. “To Icariu, honarary tribewolf, and chief bard of the Ukkari.”
Sabra lifted her goblet as well to the cheer and drank deeply of the sweet white wine. The rest of the evening passed in song and music and drinking. It was nearly midnight by the time everyone retreated to their nests, including Sabra and Caemorr. Sabra’s head thoroughly buzzed from the wine, and the world swam in her eyes. Caemorr didn’t fare much better than her, and they held each other up as they stumbled their way to their room.
“Tell me, Caemorr dear,” Sabra said as they navigated a careful step at a time down the main stairs. “Is Xenta treating you well? And I mean really well? Don’t be shy, just tell me and your Aunt Sabra will fix any problems.”
Caemorr giggled.
“Really well, Auntie,” Caemorr said. “I wish he would get a new tooth brush though. He wears it down and down to the base until he scrubs wood.”
“Scrubs wood?”
“The wood on the porch,” Caemorr said. She squinted, looking at a nearby doorway. “This way?”
“Scrubs wood,” Sabra repeated. The words echoed through her brain. “Scrubswood. Scrub porchwood.”
Caemorr tugged Sabra after her.
“He scrubs his teeth on the porch like this,” Caemorr explained. “Grah grah grah.”
Sabra laughed.
“Then I will get a tassel and carvunut,” Sabra said. “Auntmum Sabra can fix anything.”
“Except being carvunut drunk,” Caemorr said with a snort.
“Oh my, I must be unseemly talking this way,” Sabra said. “But I cannot resist the Ukkari wine.” She waved a hand at the hallway. “It is filled with the love of my friends. That is not unseemly.”
“Scrubbing teeth on a porch is.” Caemorr paused them in the hallway. Fortunately they had entered the right one. “Dreamtime, Auntie Sabra.”
“Oh that Vaneera better not bother me tonight,” Sabra said, abruptly yanking herself from Caemorr and tugging at her tunic. She tried to look dignified, but she was soon sagging against the wall. “I shall have a savage hangover in the morning and I do not want her interrupting it.”
Caemorr tilted her head with a frown. Was she puzzled? Amused? Sabra had a hard time telling. She pushed through the leather hanging and flopped onto the bed. A distant part of her told her she didn’t have time to mess with alcohol like this, but after a stressful week of travel, it was exactly what she had needed. What was time, when all she had to do was enjoy the warmth and company of friends and family?
You don’t have a family.
Of course she did. She had the Lunar Temple and the vurys. She had so many friends. She had the Ukkari.
You don’t have a real family.
Caemorr laid on her pallet with a sigh, fumbling with the front of her robe as if trying to undo her prosthetic. As her clothing was in the way, though, she gave up and turned on her side, back to Sabra. Turning her back on Sabra. A friend, but not a daughter. Not even a niece. Sabra wasn’t a real Auntie.
Her son was dead and her daughter was faraway and aging. Her father sat in the Zanollian Temple worrying about his adventuring daughter, hoping she would live long enough to return. Sabra hadn’t found an elven husband yet like she had promised dead Henry. She was scattered, broken…Sabra shook her head. It was the wine creating the doubts. It was time to sleep it off.
Sleep took her to a place of darkness. Then grayish light crept in, revealing a huge wood table covered in piles of glossy, gleaming food. Sabra approached the table, her stomach twisting in hunger. Standing beside the table was Vaneera, who smiled and pressed her hands to her chest.
“Welcome, Arushé,” she said. “I thought you may be hungry. Please, eat as much as you like.”
“Vaneera,” Sabra said. She examined the foods again. Lots of meat in particular. Some of the food was even decorated in jewels and delicate gold chains. Pastries, breads, fruits, vegetables, some things she couldn’t even name burdened the table. The savory and sweet smells swelled in Sabra’s nostrils, and her mouth watered.
Vaneera came to the table and started biting into meat on a long bone. She started carefully first, but the more she ate, the faster and messier she became, moving from one thing to another. Sabra furrowed her brows, reaching forward, and plucked out a large white nut from the table edge.
It was just like the one the golden owl had shared with her when she had been imprisoned by the Hunters. She held the smooth, soft nut, cradling it against her chest. Vaneera paused, strands of meat hanging from her lips. Her pupils had dilated.
“Will you not eat with me?” she demanded. “It wasn’t easy dreaming all this in, I can promise you that.” She swallowed her mouthful and waved to the food. “The finest things, some of which I hunted myself.”
“What…what do you hunt?” Sabra said, grip tightening on the nut.
“The most dangerous creatures in Libera,” Vaneera said. She continued stuffing herself, staining her apron as sauces dripped down her face.
“Sabra…”
Sabra stiffened and turned from the table. She peered into the darkness surrounding her.
“Sabra…”
That voice…she knew that voice. She grunted as the migraine suddenly hit her again, ringing back and forth through her brain.
“Find me, Sabra. I know you can!”
Sabra closed her dream eyes. Flashes of red lightning filled her vision. Red lightning, red fires…red fires stretching across a barren land. The buzz of wings. Sabra’s eyes snapped open, and she heaved breaths. She glanced at Vaneera, who had dug further into the pile, out of sight as she continued to glut herself on the food.
Sabra fled the darkness back into the waking world. Thunder rumbled outside the cave, and wind whistled against the stone door. Sabra swung her legs from the bed and stood, that intense headache pulling her towards the door. She pushed under the leather lining and pushed the door, grimacing.
Rain sluiced across her, and waves roared far below. Frequent lightning lit the black night, highlighting the bellies of stormclouds. Sabra blinked rapidly, still trying to catch her breath as the rain soaked her. Her hair whipped back and forth. Her eyes looked at the sea, beyond the sea. Her ears strained for that call from dreams. Sabra gulped and focused on a strange magic deep, deep inside, one she had ignored for far too long.
A familiar, stinging buzz accompanied the headache, and as they greeted, the migraine abruptly disappeared. Only her ears rung. Sabra gasped and fell to her knees, hugging herself. She looked helplessly across eastern Libera, her tears joining the rain.
“Deborah,” she whispered. “Oh little Deborah, my dio-kran, my dear friend….where are you?”
Her fairy familiar was in trouble, and she had been reaching across the world through their dio-kran bond with an intensity Sabra had never felt before. Sabra stood, her knees trembling. Her already urgent mission had become even more so. She didn’t have much time left, and all she could do was gaze across the sea as if she would see that fairy light rise and greet her.
There was only the storm and the lightning, though, unrelenting in its wrath upon Luna’s Incarnate.
Thanks again for reading, and Happy New Year!
Excerpt from Book V of The Legacy Incarnate: Incarnate Truth © 2025 by Sarah Bailey.
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