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The Blood of Balnakin — The Beta Earth Chronicles: Book Two

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The Blood of Balnakin — The Beta Earth Chronicles: Book Two
Unlike any adventure you've ever experienced in Star Trek, Star Wars, or any of your other favorite Sci-Fi sagas, in The Blood of Balnakin, Tribe Renbourn travels to a new continent, where even stranger adventures await. A vengeful island ruler captures them at sea; the revered Mother-Icealt of All-Domes shares prophecies and secrets that will change the planet; three of these prophecies are fulfilled, as the tribe is forced to reconcile with the country of Balnakin still seeking vengeance for the Bergarten disaster; and a heart-wrenching death trade results in the murder of one beloved wife and the unwanted salvation of another. Will Malcolm Renbourn and his family survive the surprising consequences of those prophecies?

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Doret: I entered the room saying my Appool prayers, circling my breasts with the

three-finger salute of worship. My eyes were fixed on the large-black pupils of the

Mother, her intense gaze fixed on mine. She held not the book my sisters described. “I

gladden,” she said, “you are last of the sisters to attend. I have visions for you

although your sister Lorei nearly drained my strength. I saved power for you. For us.

Still, I ask you share your moment with your sister.” I turned and saw Lorei standing

in the door-frame. She walked beside me and we knelt together. “We three,” the

Mother said soft and urgent, “can open a path for us all.”

 

As I closed my body-eyes, I felt the flow of interconnection in my mind. I lowered

my head. At first, random thoughts floated uncontrolled in my consciousness. Then a

flower with the face of Olos began to form, at first vague and detailed not, then a clear

image of the goddess studying her child. I knew each of us saw the same image. Then,

the flower-Olos stretched out two branches like human arms, and the astounding

revelations began.

 

In a growing flood, images filled me, not of the future, but of distant pasts. I saw,

heard, smelled, and touched the guttural-sounds of many, many men in the garb of

mere unworked animal-skins. I saw them in paddle-boats on rivers which were true

images of times before the plague. So many men, men stronger than women. Men in

seated circles around log fires. Men and women roasting the meat of giant birds on

the stone cooking platforms. Men and women stuffing simple boots with dry grass as

insulation in the cold of ice and snow.

 

Then I felt the shaking of the ground, the wail of wounded Olos, the gray cloud in

the sky that blocked out Sojoa for so, so long. I, too, felt the shaking earth and ran

into the caves and tunnels and spit up waters from my womb and peered into the gray

and endless cloud of the angry god that circled Olos, Olos crawling in pain, her hand

clutching the rip in her side. She gasped and choked and panted for her missing

consort in the sky. As looking down from above, I saw the fissures and veins of

splitting land sprouting in all directions cracking the skin of Our Mother. I saw the

waves and waves of hot liquid rock and dirt pouring and falling from the mountains. I

saw the corpses of the winged creatures that were never to fly again. I heard the howls

and growls and cries of animals as they fled into lands new and frightening. I saw

water harden and humans walking across seas without need of ships and boats.

Then, as if time moved as fast as a waver picture, I saw the cloud loose its

thickness as it became part of all-breathing. Then it faded into the soil and humans

returned to the soaking rays and waves of Sojoa. I saw the ice melt, and old

connections between tribes lost to a wandering humanity who continued to search for

game and food. Then, I saw the first wailings as infants died in surprising numbers. I

saw the burnings of women whose seed was determined rotten. I saw wives cast out

who bore only daughters and were forced inland away from tribal ports. I saw infant

girls buried in the sands. I saw the fleeings from the Old Continent when all-skins felt

the disasters within their own colors. I saw old worships change when even Olos was

branded the demon of our earth. I, too, crouched in my hut fearing the night visits of

the imagined Red-Scarfed Plague-Maiden choosing which infants to spare. I saw the

beginnings of skol writings and I saw the burnings of skols which told fearful stories. I

saw time pass and a gentleness of regret fill migrating tribes who moved from sorrow to resigned acceptance.

 

 

 

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