Trial of Intentions

 

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About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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To Mom and Dad.

Your example has meant everything.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Something happened on the way to book two. Life, mostly. Upheavals at work. A change of editors. Loved ones passing. A friend taking his own life—more on that later. A writer (me) trying to persist. Trying not to become cynical. Trying to write the best book he could.

To whatever degree I succeeded at any of this, it's owed in large part to others.

First, my wife, Cathy. In this book, there's the notion of a glyph of power. A glyph that represents the pole-star, a fixed point in the heavens by which to navigate. It also represents the continuity of family. Cathy's my pole-star. Also, she has the best laugh. Ever.

Next come my “little ones.” If I ever decide to get all “meta” about The Vault of Heaven, I'll probably find that on some level having kids changed the resonances I both seek and feel in fiction. Also, you're never too old for a tickle-fight.

My agent, Nat Sobel, is an extraordinary man. Beyond his superb agenting, he says the exact right thing I need to hear, and does it with an economy of language that's really rather stunning. Also, he knows where to get the best New York bagels.

My editor, Claire Eddy. What a wonderful thing to find trust. Mine for Claire. Hers for me. I didn't start this Vault of Heaven journey with Claire. But I damn sure hope to finish it with her. Also, she taught me the delightful phrase “And that doesn't suck.”

I need to mention my beta-readers. Especially those who read the first draft of this book, which topped 450,000 words. Pretty sure there's a sainthood in it for them. Also, collectively, they do the best snark.

Then there's the army that is Tor. Folks like Bess Cozby, Patty Garcia, Leah Withers, Ardi Alspach, Irene Gallo, the
Tor.com
crew, the production team (I appreciate your patience), Phyllis Azar and the superb marketing department, and others I've likely forgotten. Thank you. Also, you guys rock!

A special thanks to the Tor sales team. I wasn't in the room when some of the “meetings” took place, but my editor shared them with me. I'm deeply grateful to you for your support and enthusiasm and publishing acumen. Also, you're flat damn creative.

Thanks, this time, too, to Tom Doherty. He graciously accepts my dinner invitations whenever I'm in New York. I learn something new every time. His support on this journey has meant a great deal. Also, the man has stories.

And a very special thanks to Linda Quinton. Linda has been a key decision-maker in how things have evolved for me. I have immense respect for her. And I'm grateful for the support she's shown me and my writing. She also rocks!

Here, again, I'll thank my parents. The most decent people I know. They taught me the ethics of hard work, doing what I say I will do, and fairness. They taught me sacrifice by sacrificing for
me
. Hopefully, I'll be able to adequately express my gratitude to them
someday
(yes, that's a Trans-Siberian Orchestra reference).

Finally, and most of all, to my readers. Thank you for your patience. Like I said, life happened. And since it's been four years since
The Unremembered,
I wrote
Trial of Intentions
so that it could be an entry point to the series. I thought that just made sense. Readers unfamiliar with
The Unremembered
can jump into the series with this book. Of course, there's deeper context if you read book one. But I've peppered in the backstory, so whether or not you've read
The Unremembered,
you're covered.

And as to the story, after finishing
Trial of Intentions
and going back to do some revisions, I saw a few themes that had worked their way into the book. That's how theme happens for me. Organically. And I only see it in hindsight. This time, a person's
intention
as a powerful part what they say and do was certainly one of them. The study of the sky—astronomy—and the wonder and perspective it inspires was another. And maybe on a deeper level was the topic of suicide.

I mentioned above that a friend of mine chose to leave this life. The harsh world of the Scarred Lands in my series has always been marked by those who do the same. But I feel sure now that the emotional resonance of recently losing a friend to suicide worked its way into Tahn's story here. And looking back, I remembered it all, and it filled my mind again (yes, that's a Disturbed reference). Was a damned hard thing.

And so maybe I do have one more thanks to give. Maudlin as it may sound, I'll go ahead and thank: music. For me, it plays a part in every aspect of life. Sometimes to lift, as good intentions try to do. Sometimes to soothe, like looking up at the stars. Sometimes to prepare for my own battles, when I'm angry or hurt. So it won't surprise anyone to see music move closer to center stage in
Trial of Intentions.
To lift. To soothe. To take to battle.

 

I feel it, too.

—Considered by some Aubade Grove philosophers to be an irreducible proof of Resonance

 

BOOK TWO

Trial of Intentions

 

PROLOGUE

A Third Purpose

Encouragements are drawn from living things—trees, grasses, animals. First and best from family. All are vital. All nourish. Perishment results from the absence of these.

—From
The Effect of Absences,
a correlative war doctrine originating in the Bourne

A
fter long years in the Scarred Lands, Tahn Junell realized their patrols held a third purpose.

First, and most obviously, they were meant to provide early warning when visitors or strangers came into the Scar. Patrol routes held long sight lines of the wide, barren lands. From a distance, newcomers could be easily spotted and reported.

On a second, more practical level, patrols were used to build and maintain stamina for fight sessions. Every ward of the Scar—age three to nineteen—spent no less than six hours a day in ritualized combat training.

It wasn't until later that Tahn finally came to realize a subtle third reason for patrols. They were a way for wards of the Scar to monitor themselves and guard against one of their own wandering from home, alone.

With the purpose of self-slaughter.

Tahn and Alemdra ran fast, arriving at Gutter Ridge well ahead of sunrise. They slowed to a walk, catching their breath and sharing smiles.

“You're starting to slow me down,” Alemdra teased. “I think it's because I'm becoming a woman, and you're still a boy.”

He laughed. “Well, maybe if we're going to keep running patrols together, I'll just put a saddle on you, then.”

She hit him in the arm, and they sat together with their legs dangling from one of the few significant ridges in the Scar. Alemdra was twelve today, barely older than Tahn. And he intended to kiss her. Seeing the glint in her eye, he wondered if she'd guessed his intention. But if so, the unspoken secret only added to the anticipation.

Casually wagging their toes, they looked east.

“See that?” He pointed at the brightest star in the eastern hemisphere. She nodded. “That's Katia Shonay, the morning star. It's really a planet.”

“That so.” She squinted as if doing so might bring the distant object into sharper focus.

“Katia Shonay means ‘lovelorn' in Dimnian.” He liked few things better than talking about the sky. “There's this whole story about how a furrow tender fell in love with a woman of the court.”

She made no effort to conceal her suspicion of his timing for sharing the story of this particular planet. “You might make a good furrow tender someday. If you work hard at it, that is.”

“Actually,” he countered, smiling, “the story's only complete in the conjunction of Rushe Symone—the planet named after the god of plenty and favor. You know, bountiful harvests and autumn bacchanalia.” He nearly blushed over the last part, having learned the richness of bacchanal rituals. “Rych is the largest planet—”