Release date: February 7, 2023
Subgenre: Fantasy Mystery, Epic Fantasy
About Hultichia:
A mysterious and disturbing summons brings Aurien Pemmick, an untested deacon of the Church of Druthal, across the border to a peculiar and disquieting kingdom: Kellirac.
Despite being in this antiquated and superstitious place, Pemmick is determined to root out the truth behind the summons. But Kellirac proves to be a place of dangers beyond the natural realm, especially since Pemmick arrives on the eve of Hultichia: a sacred night where the locals claim the dead will walk.
Pemmick's faith is tested against Kellirac superstition, even as his mission threatens to drag him into madness, on the darkest night of his life.
Excerpt:
Aurien Pemmick’s entire body was a shrine to his devotion—his feet calloused, every joint ached, his stomach growling with a hunger that had not been truly sated in months— while he kept a joyful smile on his face and a polite nod to everyone he passed on his slow, painful walk to the High Cathedral of Gorivow. The cathedral was a gaudy, ostentatious structure: polished stone, stained glass, grand doors inlaid with silver, all towering over a cracked and faded square of the city’s threadbare market district. Given the surroundings, Pemmick was surprised to see that active construction was underway—a new wing was being added to the already immense church.
It was not his place to question it, though. He was merely a deacon on his Itinerancy, doing good works in the name of God and the saints until he was ready to be named a reverend and placed in a residency. Which was exactly why, in all likelihood, Calistair Prenton, the Bishop of Gorivow, had summoned him.
As Pemmick went in the front door, a robed friar ran up to him with disapproving waves of his hands.
“No, no, no beggars through here. The soup line starts at two bells, and is at the door on Calder Street.”
“I’m not a beggar,” Pemmick said amiably. “Though I can see why you would think that.” As was the tradition on Itinerancy, he had travelled on foot with just one set of clothes, so he was dirty and ragged. “Deacon Aurien Pemmick, on my Walk.”
“Your accent’s a bit odd,” the friar said. “How far has your Walk taken you?”
“However long it is from Marikar to here,” Pemmick said. “Six, seven hundred miles?”
“And you have your papers?” The friar said, his face still filled with doubt.
“Of course,” Pemmick took his pack off and dug out his credentials. “I also have a letter from Reverend Andale, telling me to come see the Bishop.”
The friar snatched the papers out of Pemmick’s hands. “We don’t have an Andale here.”
“He wrote to me, and I’ve known him for years,” Pemmick said. “There’s a signet seal at the bottom.” It was odd, certainly, that the summons even found him on his Walk, but God and the saints must have guided it to him themselves.
“Hmm,” the friar said. He glanced at the seal and the garnet ring on his own finger. “Come with me to the quarters. I will alert the bishop, but you cannot have an audience with him in this state.”
“Really?” Pemmick asked. “He’s never met with a deacon on the Walk?”
“It is highly irregular. Come with me.”
It was not his place to question it, though. He was merely a deacon on his Itinerancy, doing good works in the name of God and the saints until he was ready to be named a reverend and placed in a residency. Which was exactly why, in all likelihood, Calistair Prenton, the Bishop of Gorivow, had summoned him.
As Pemmick went in the front door, a robed friar ran up to him with disapproving waves of his hands.
“No, no, no beggars through here. The soup line starts at two bells, and is at the door on Calder Street.”
“I’m not a beggar,” Pemmick said amiably. “Though I can see why you would think that.” As was the tradition on Itinerancy, he had travelled on foot with just one set of clothes, so he was dirty and ragged. “Deacon Aurien Pemmick, on my Walk.”
“Your accent’s a bit odd,” the friar said. “How far has your Walk taken you?”
“However long it is from Marikar to here,” Pemmick said. “Six, seven hundred miles?”
“And you have your papers?” The friar said, his face still filled with doubt.
“Of course,” Pemmick took his pack off and dug out his credentials. “I also have a letter from Reverend Andale, telling me to come see the Bishop.”
The friar snatched the papers out of Pemmick’s hands. “We don’t have an Andale here.”
“He wrote to me, and I’ve known him for years,” Pemmick said. “There’s a signet seal at the bottom.” It was odd, certainly, that the summons even found him on his Walk, but God and the saints must have guided it to him themselves.
“Hmm,” the friar said. He glanced at the seal and the garnet ring on his own finger. “Come with me to the quarters. I will alert the bishop, but you cannot have an audience with him in this state.”
“Really?” Pemmick asked. “He’s never met with a deacon on the Walk?”
“It is highly irregular. Come with me.”
Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Apple | Paperback
About Marshall Ryan Maresca:
Marshall Ryan Maresca is a
fantasy and science-fiction writer, author of the Maradaine Saga: Four
braided series set amid the bustling streets and crime-ridden districts
of the exotic city called Maradaine, which includes The Thorn of Dentonhill, A Murder of Mages, The Holver Alley Crew and The Way of the Shield, as well as the dieselpunk fantasy, The Velocity of Revolution. He is also the co-host of the Hugo-nominated, Stabby-winning podcast Worldbuilding for Masochists, and has been a playwright, an actor, a delivery driver and an amateur chef. He lives in Austin, Texas with his family.
