The Golden Hills return

So, a year and one day after THE GOLDEN HILLS OF WESTRIA appeared in hardcover, a box of the paperbacks was deposited at my door. On the exact day scheduled for publication, yet. Remarkable speed and organization for a publisher. This is the Westrian revival book that picks up 25 years after the end of THE JEWEL OF FIRE, when everyone’s children are almost grown, and introduces a whole new conflict. If any of you thought the book sounded interesting but didn’t want to shell out for a hardcover (or didn’t have the shelf space), the paperback is for you.

And I give samples–

(from Chapter 1)

By day, the Sacred Wood* was a pleasant place. The great trees shielded Phoenix from the sun. He could wade in the clear stream where the fingerling trout and salmon darted away from his shadow, and watch the deer step delicately from the shadows of the trees. Ravens called higher up on the mountain, and from time to time a buzzard slid across the fragment of blue that was all he could see of the sky. Where sunlight shafted through the forest at times he thought he saw something more; around the most vigorous plants shimmered a luminous shadow. Was it lack of food or his vision of the night before that made him think he was seeing another reality?

When night fell, he was sure of it, as trees that had drowsed through the long summer day, woke, whispering. To his parents, the Guardians of Westria were old familiar friends. He wished he could be as certain of their blessings. Still, if what he had glimpsed the first night had been truth, the Lord of the Trees had now inspected him and might be expected to leave him in peace hereafter. For what seemed a long time he lay wakeful, while the waxing moon crossed his circle of sky and disappeared. That day he had gone looking for the graves of his ancestors, but the lords of Westria, who in life were honored by all, in death were wrapped in cotton shrouds and laid in unmarked graves. Even now he might be resting above his grandfather’s bones.

He was still wondering when the whisper of wind worked its magic and he moved from musing to dream. At first they were only a confusion of images—he was marching through a dry land, endlessly, it seemed, until another sequence replaced it in which he fought a succession of faceless enemies. People and places flickered by. He recognized none of them, but he knew that he was searching endlessly for something infinitely precious that he had forgotten or lost.

It was almost with relief that he recognized the confused roar in which the clangor of metal on metal mingled with cries of pain as the clamor of a battlefield. The fighting was fiercest in the center, where foes who fought beneath the banner of a serpent-circled sun threatened a man whose shield bore the star of the royal house on a field of blue.

“Westria, to me!” came the cry.

“Father!” Phoenix cried, desperate to go to his aid. And even as he spoke, he realized that he had somehow acquired armor and a sword. But as he battered his way through the enemy he saw that this man lacked the heavy shoulders that marked King Julian. But his small frame was all muscle, and his sword darted in and out like a silver flame.With a last effort Phoenix reached his side.

“Now that we are together, who can stand against us?” laughed the king. At the sound, Phoenix felt his spirit ignite with the joy of battle, all his fears consumed by that flame. And presently their foes retreated and they stood victorious upon the field. As the king sighed and pulled off his helm, Phoenix saw that his hair was dark like Julian’s, but his eyes were as deeply blue as the boy’s own.

“You are King Jehan—“ Phoenix recognized the doomed ruler he had seen in a portrait in Laurelynn, the grandfather who had died before his own son was born, leaving his pregnant wife alone. “What are you doing here?”

Some of the laughter left the king’s eyes. “Defending Westria, as in life I failed to do—“

“But why have you come to me?” said Phoenix as the figure of the king begin to fade.

“Son of Julian,” came the king’s reply, “redeem my name!”

(*the Sacred Wood is Muir Woods, for those of you who are familiar with California)

If you have read the book you will have noticed that although by the end most of the problems have been solved, there are still one or two loose ends. This is because I initially planned an entire additional sequence in which we learn that winning the peace can be harder than winning the war (I hate it when my stuff turns out to be topical), but had a length limit. So Tor is now sitting on the proposal for another story–currently titled THE TURQUOISE SCEPTRE– which I desperately want to write. I suspect their decision will depend on sales figures for GOLDEN HILLS. So if you want to read the sequel, you can write to Dave Hartwell at Tor Books (the address is included in the front of any of their books) and ask when it’s coming out, please.

It’s always encouraging to take another look at something that is already DONE– supports my faith that the current project will also one day be finished and see print. It may look easy when I write the proposal, but when I actually get down to *writing* each new project, I wonder first why I ever thought this would be possible, or even worthwhile, and then whether I will be able to finish it on time. So far the former has always resolved itself, and I have always been able to negotiate an adjustment on the deadline.

The current challenge is the book on trancework– an upgrade of the materials written for the Trance Class, now completing its third iteration under the inspiring direction of Ember, Hilary, and Dave. I hope to succeed in incorporating all the brilliant additions and insights participants have offered.

In the meantime, I also have the copyedited MS of RAVENS OF AVALON to go through and return before Pantheacon, where I will have to explain myriad times that a “tunica” is not a mis-spelling for “tunic”, nor is it a marine creature, but the correct Latin name for a woman’s garment wrapped around the body and pinned at the shoulders (known in heathen circles as the “barbarian wrap”, and in Greece as a chiton). At least, amazingly, they got it right on the cover. Fortunately I have a good eraser and am not afraid to use it.

Onward!