Fossilized Gods
Lithified Saints
Songs of Sa'bahr
The Great Celestial Machine of Saithan

Some things should not be awoken. Unless you have coffee.

Fossilized Gods Front Cover
[ Sample Chapter ]
I shivered. These were no dead things--they were the remnants of gods, faded but not gone, dormant but not dead. A golden mask caught my gaze and held it, heat hammering into my brain. With great difficulty, I wrenched my eyes away. Oh yes, there was power here!

Being a god isn't easy. Oh sure, you can crash the super-exclusive club at that hot new pyramid, but one little drought and your worshippers are suddenly burying you neck-deep in scorpions.

Samantha never expected to wake from her long sleep. When she came to, mortals were riding around inside big metal cows, shooting invisible info-rays across the sky, and doing amazing things with cake frosting. They took cell phones for granted and thought nothing of a university where Physics stood between Inhumanities and Necro.

Now, deep in the great museum, other gods have begun to wake--old gods, terrible gods, gods that would drown the world in suffering. If Samantha can just wake the dead, outwit a huge disembodied brain, and evade the Great Hunter who's after her head, maybe she can do something about it!

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An Unwitnessed Mistake is Just Another Form of Perfection

Lithified Saints Front Cover
[ Sample Chapter ]
I never knew that fighting evil required so much lounging on the beach, not to mention fruity drinks infested with colorful little umbrellas...

How can a minor goddess like Sammy compete with cell phones, computers, or cartoon mascots that actively implore people to have candy for breakfast? The days of burnt offerings are long past, and chanting her own name at barbecues just isn't the same.

At least she can make a few bucks returning some sleeping gods to Belize. Easy, right? Of course, that was before everyone and their undead cousin started meddling in her business. With the Mad Doctor attacking her, the Great Hunter helping her, the River Guardians' guardian inserting pizza wizards into her memory, and Death itself taking a playful interest in her, it soon becomes clear that something far bigger is at stake. And this time, sadly, that does not mean a cake big enough to sleep on.

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Boy. Girl. Strife. Love. So it is told...

Majra Front Cover
[ Sample Chapter ]
"In distant Sa'bahr, divinely inspired lunatics spend their lives inscribing every story ever told upon the backs of giant tortoises. The tortoises spend their lives weeping, for they cannot read the wondrous tales written upon their own backs. Here among grandmother's tales and drunken boasts, teaching legends and fabulous lies is at least one true tale. I know, for it is my own..."

Aris has somehow managed to live a quiet life, even in a stark desert land of glorious tales and beautiful lies, crazed artists and mad hermits. So what if he has a knack for tales? A single young man isn't going to change the world, especially not a messenger with no proper career. Mighty great works he'll leave to mighty great men.

Sar Efrem snorted. "You're looking well. Too well. A man might mistake himself for a corpse in comparison to your radiant healthfulness."  "Ah, but you're quite a beautiful corpse! That is... everyone else would kill themselves, if that were so, to be more like you."

Now the soldiers of Majra are sweeping across his homeland, bound by an unwavering determination to pacify his "savage" people. Few dare stand against them. Certainly Aris never meant to. Taking work with the invaders was supposed to be a way to help his family, not gain insights into the alien ways of their singular truth.

"Thinking is evil, wouldn't you say? If the Truth lies complete in a book, all thought either agrees with it--and is redundant--or disagrees, and is wrong. Come, let us take out our brains and we'll all be Majeri!"

Beset by beguiling widows and vengeful plutocrats, firebrand Sheyks and sword-tongued maidens, Aris must now choose: The elaborate, demented, wheels-within-wheels complexity of Lies--or the swift straight purity of Truth. A city--indeed, an entire people--hang in the balance.

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Vanquish the Tyranny of the Literal!

Songs of Sa'bahr Front Cover
[ Sample Chapter ]

"In distant Saithan, holy hermits have perfected a great celestial machine of flawless design. In its whirling stars and planets, vast as a mountain, shining as the sea, they can read every story that was, is, or ever will be. Why, then, do they only see the bloodthirsty conquests of powerful men? I defy them. Let my tale be told with as many voices as the sky has stars, though it sunder their creation to the foundations of the earth. Perhaps, in the wreckage, a clockwork maiden will find a tongue that works."

Growing up amidst wealth and privilege has been endlessly frustrating to Eyla. Real life is out there: Matching wits with desert nomads and wise old men; Throwing dice and telling tales enough to shame Reality with its inadequacies; Exploding the sky with fire powder and eating curries hot enough to make stone burst into flames.

"My father labors under the curious belief that gold equals happiness. Loving him as I do, what choice do I have but to lance the wound and drain away the offending substance?"

Now the soldiers of Majra have come, outlawing anything not in accordance with their narrow ideals--including the delicate beauty of tales and lies, exaggerations and insults. When her captors try to use her as a weapon against her own father, Eyla must decide whether to forsake everything she's ever had--and everyone she's ever known.

"I lashed out with a sky-sundering seven-monkeys spin kick so vicious it killed everyone in the universe. Of course, the gods--unwilling to surrender their sadistic little game just yet--brought everyone back to life. Being too lethal, to an uninformed observer, can look an awful lot like being utterly ineffectual."

Majra is about to learn what happens when they pick on the wrong person. With the help of the shadowy, insidious Black Cabal, Eyla is planning the most extraordinary theft her city has ever seen. All depend on her--extravagantly eccentric artists and magnificently offensive grandmothers, oddly perilous sages and a rose-breeder whose flowers (he claims) will someday become grand enough to rise into the air and fly. The only question is, can she pull it off--and in time?

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Do Magic Wish-Giving Toads Dream of Frogs in Wizard Hats?

The Great Celestial Machine of Saithan Front Cover
[ Sample Chapter ]

"Now there's a plan!" I grinned. "Pointless, insane... it's like watching The Camel That Sweats Honey be murdered by huge swarms of butterflies. No matter how the horror mounts, I just can't look away!"

Aris is a reluctant lawbringer, helping his people even when he'd rather be sitting around the fire spinning tales so beautiful, lunatic artists could drown the world in paint and no one would notice. Eyla desperately wants to be a dread criminal mastermind, at least when it comes to defending all the exuberant widows, demented storytellers and proud desert Sheyks that make up their crazy world.

"Forgive me for speaking so plainly--"  "What's there to forgive? In my memories, you set the world aflame with such salacious innuendo that Reality herself ran off with you, leaving the rest of us naked save for daydreams."

The soldiers of Majra have found conquering this land far harder than they expected. How could mere savages withstand the simple, swift sword of Truth? A final great push may settle the matter once and for all. If Aris is exiled, if Eyla and all her ilk are taken captive, who will be left to stand against them?

"I hope I have time to grow a long prisoner's beard," I mused, stroking my chin. "Last time, I only had enough to braid into half a story. It was horrible. Everyone saw the headless princess and the happy dancing mice and drew a wildly wrong conclusion."

There aren't stories enough in the world to turn a whole people into smoke so they can drift unseen from an unbroken prison. A city can't be rebuilt in a day, the sky can't break, the desert can't burst into an artist's fever-dream of flowers. So the Majeri claim. But somewhere in a world so vast and strange as ours, mustn't all things be true?

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Email : Aris