Author: A. Christopher Drown
Featured Book Release: A Mage of None Magic
Book One The Heart of the Sisters
May 19 to May 26, 2-14
About the Author: A. Christopher Drown is a native of Brunswick, Maine, who currently resides in Memphis. His work has appeared in several magazines and anthologies. The first edition of A Mage of None Magic won the 2010 Darrell Award for Best Novel. His story, Path of an Arrow, received the 2012 Darrell Award for Best Novella. He recently completed his second novel and is at work on The Book of Sediahm, the next book in the Heart of the Sisters series. An award-winning graphic designer, when not slogging away at his trusty Macbook, Pedro, he can be found hiding around a nearby corner waiting to leap out at either of his unsuspecting children.
Book Synopsis A Mage of None Magic: Myth tells that magic came to be when the fabled gem known as the Heart of the Sisters was shattered by evil gods. The same tale speaks of the Heart being healed one day, unleashing a power that will bring the end of humankind. While traveling to begin his magical studies, young apprentice Niel finds himself suddenly at the center of the Heart's terrifying legend. Caught in a whirlwind of events that fractures the foundation of everything he's believed, Niel learns his role in the world may be far more important than he ever could have imagined--or ever would have wished. A Mage of None Magic begins an extraordinary adventure into a perilous land where autocratic magicians manipulate an idle aristocracy, where common academia struggles for acceptance, and where after ages of disregard myth and legend refuse to be ignored any longer.
Excerpt from The Collected Writings of Professor Ignalius Potchkins,
Fraal University Society of Letters Despite more than a century of being steeped in academia, where proof remains prince, I’ve held firm to an even older adage of my kind: There is knowing, and there is knowing. When I awoke that night a year ago to discover a silent Galiiantha warrior standing by my bed, I knew something extraordinary had befallen me—aside from a Galiiantha venturing so far as the Outer Kingdoms. When he conveyed the urgent petition he’d memorized, I knew I could not refuse my assistance. And after traveling to the Great Forest to speak with Sahlif and the other city elders there, I knew right away difficult days awaited. Indeed, I’d have bet my tail that I had a sound comprehension of what was to come—and I’d have been wrong. Because it wasn’t until after I actually met young Niel that I truly knew how dire the circumstance was in which we had all become inextricably entwined. I have no personal experiences comparable to the ordeals Niel endured after setting off from his home, happy in his intention to finally attend the College of Magic and Conjuring Arts. I am a learned being, but have not the capacity to grasp the bedlam that now plagues his mind as a result of the most recent horrors he’s faced. And I certainly have no means to appreciate the weight he must now bear from his newly acquired eminence—or for some, infamy. But all the sympathy I can muster to compensate for my inability to empathize with Niel’s plight does not mitigate the startling darkness that now apprehends his demeanor, nor does it lessen my fear of so savage a power contained within so fragile vessel—a vessel that I know cannot long withstand. Nonetheless, Niel and I still talk regularly, considering what scant time the boy has to himself. I ask him things like what he enjoyed most about growing up in the Lyrrian midlands; he asks me things like how I’m able to climb stairs despite being shaped like a walrus but without the benefit of flippers. I ask him about his early schooling, though I’m careful to steer clear of any direct talk of magic; he asks about my experiments, my past theses, and shows an interest in my work in mechanics that I find surprising for a magician. As of late, though, we’ve lingered on the topic of dreams. Niel’s confided to having as long as he can remember a recurring nightmare of a maniacally screaming Biddleby, his former teacher. That lasting vision, though (which pales to my own frequent horror of being chased by giant custards) seems to have finally abided and given way to one more puzzling. And more troubling. In his dream, Niel is concealed by a line of trees, watching a peasant couple trudge along a rocky dirt road. Sometimes the couple looks far away, sometimes they seem as though they’re passing just inches from Niel’s face. The weary woman hobbles alongside their small rickety cart, one arm atop the covered belongings within to prevent them from tumbling out. The shabby man uses a thin branch to tap the hindquarters of the equally malnourished donkey hauling the cart. Suddenly, a thrown dagger pierces the man’s eye. Another pierces his wife’s. As they fall, the woman grasps the tarp atop the cart and pulls it down with her. The frightened donkey bolts, and out from the cart spill books of ever color, size and shape, covering the path like paving stones all the way to the horizon. Niel moves to step out from his hiding place to examine the books—no need to check the peasants; he’s all but certain they’re dead, and in his dream he’s all but certain he knows who they are (though during our waking conversations it’s quite the opposite). No sooner does Niel take one step than the sky darkens with vague, ink-black creatures. They swoop to the ground bat-like and cover the books like glistening black blankets. For a moment, the road is an oily river that disappears into the far-off setting sun, until one by one the creatures dart back into the air and dissipate on the wind into nothing. When the last is gone, Niel moves from the trees to the road still littered with books. He examines one, and then another, and then every one he can reach, discovering the same thing each time: All the books are blank. Not a single word remains. Each I ask Niel what he believes the dreams might mean, he responds the same way—with a faraway gaze at nothing in particular before finally telling me they probably don’t mean anything. While his eyes may be fixed on nothing in particular, though, I’ve come to realize he always stares in the same direction—northeast, toward the Black Wall. And I need not restate the obvious significance of that. For the sake of prudence, however, I keep that observation to myself and tell him he could very well be right, that dreams more often than not carry no relevance to the real world. And when I tell him that, and do it with as warm and reassuring a smile as I can summon. But the truth is I do indeed think the dream has meaning. Actually, no. I don’t. I know it.
Author Links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/achrisdrown
Twitter: @aarondrown
Website: http://www.achristopherdrown.com
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Amazon Links for A Mage of None Magic
Print Version http://www.amazon.com/Mage-None-Magic-Heart-Sisters/dp/1937929531
Kindle Version http://www.amazon.com/Mage-None-Magic-Heart-Sisters-ebook/dp/B00IZWR1DE
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