Ecko Burning
“Danie Ware’s first novel is not so much assured as explosive. This is science fiction with the safety catch off. I hope she never runs out of ammunition.”
ADAM NEVILL, AUTHOR OF
APARTMENT 16
“Ecko Rising
explodes onto the page with the manic energy of Richard Morgan’s cyberpunk novels before taking a surprise turn into Thomas Convenant territory. It is strange, surprising, haunting and exceedingly well written. Not to be missed.”
LAVIE TIDHAR, AUTHOR OF
OSAMA
AND
THE BOOKMAN HISTORIES
“This may be Ware’s first novel, but she’s been intimately tied to the science fiction, fantasy and horror genres for years through her publicity work. That exposure and experience come to the fore with
Ecko Rising
, a novel that blends fantasy and science fiction together into an epic story about the titular antihero who aims to do nothing less than save the entire world from extinction.”
KIRKUS REVIEWS
“A curious genre-bender that thrusts its anti-hero from a dystopian future into a traditional, Tolkienesque fantasy world... marks Ware as one to watch.”
INDEPENDENT ON SUNDAY
“Ware writes fearlessly and with great self-assurance, and Ecko is a magnificent creation.”
FINANCIAL TIMES
“An admirably ambitious genre-bending novel, bringing us a memorable character... and world(s) we can’t wait to see more of. Ware’s writing style is a joy to read... brilliant filth with heart... A genuinely impressive exercise in world-building... [A] very memorable piece of work, long may Ecko rise.”
STARBURST MAGAZINE
“Ecko Rising
is grimy and crazy, and so action-centric, it should have an explosion on every page. It’s crammed with sci-fi cuss words, real cuss words, monsters, and violence. In other words:
Buy me.”
REVOLUTION SF
“Ware has successfully blended elements of science fiction and epic fantasy to create a unique story in a landscape that has just enough of a modern, dark edge to elevate it from a traditional fantasy journey to something new and compelling. Ware writes with an eloquence that is not often encountered in genre fiction... With a language almost of his own, and a witty inner monologue to match, Ecko is a captivating hero... A successfully fresh ‘something for everyone’ approach to genre fiction.”
THE BRITISH FANTASY SOCIETY
“Ecko Rising
is an incredible read, with completely unexpected twists and turns... The worlds described within the book are complete and understandable, and you might want to live in at least one of them. The author’s diverse knowledge of subcultures within our society is evident and well used. The cliff-hanger at the end has left this reader aching for more.”
GEEK SYNDICATE
“Ingenious... The story itself is engaging and totally unique, a plot that pushes the boundaries not for the sake of it but clearly to offer something different.”
SFBOOK
“Danie Ware effortlessly juggles a dystopian hard sci-fi environment with a fantasy world with its own very specific set of rules, and comes up with a story that keeps you gripped... This is a strong debut; I suspect Ware will be a name to watch out for in future.”
SCI-FI BULLETIN
“Ecko Rising
mixes science fiction à la early years Michael Marshall with the comedic fantasy of Terry Pratchett and the sprawling authenticity of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth... staggeringly impressive in both its richness and detail... A hugely enjoyable genre mash-up that promises great things to come from first-time author Danie Ware.”
ALTERNATIVE MAGAZINE ONLINE
DANIE WARE
TITAN BOOKS
Ecko Burning
Print edition ISBN: 9781781169087
E-book ISBN: 9781781169094
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
First edition: October 2013
Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.
Danie Ware asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
© 2013 by Danie Ware.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
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FOR MY BROTHER ALAN,
TO WHOM SO MUCH OF THIS BELONGS
AFTERMATH
/
HARVEST FESTIVAL
/
FAMILY
/
PLAYING THE GAME
/
NIVROTAR
/
MWENAR
/
CATALYST
/
BROTHER
/
FIRE WITH FIRE
/
INTERLUDE: UNINVITED GUEST
DANCING
/
RESISTANCE
/
CRAFTMARK
/
FOUNDERSDAUGHTER
/
CREATURES CREATED
/
TRIANGLE CITY
/
INTERLUDE: KHAMSIN
FEAR
/
MERCHANT MASTER
/
BURNING IT DOWN
/
THE STORM BREAKS
/
CHOICES
/
INTERLUDE: THE FATE OF THE WANDERER
NO TIME
/
MANIFEST
/
RAGE
/
KAS VAHL ZAXAAR
/
HERO
/
HALF-DAMNED
/
PATTERNS
AEONA
She’d walked their halls of decadence with wonder.
Now she leaned out over the parapet, breathing in the sunlight, the salt air, like amazement. They watched her through their shared eye, their curiosity whetted and mutual.
“But how do you
do
this stuff?” She turned to face them, bright with attitude. She was defiant, mischievous and confrontational. “Does anyone know? The Great Library, the Bard...”
Anticipation cut through them both, savage and immediate.
I want her, I want -!
No.
Denial was absolute.
I’m not giving you one this young. She’s mine. You know why.
The creature in his soul slavered at him.
Hungry.
I said “no”.
Ice-cold, he forced it down.
The Count of Time has brought her here for good reason.
It glowered at him for a moment, considering, then fell silent.
Patience,
he told it.
He turned back to the girl, laughing with her. “I have all the company I need,” he said, amused. “Aeona’s my home -everything’s here; my work, my art, my life. It’s quiet here, I don’t want it invaded.” He joined her, age-spotted hands on worn, pastel stone. Beneath his skin, ink writhed - marks he could never lose slid across his fingers and circled his wrists like serpents.
When he turned to look at her - one eye seeing, the other, the dark one, covered - she caught her breath.
“Shar,” he said her name with affection. “You’ve seen only the beginning.” His gaze caught hers, held it. “Would you like to see more?”
“You can’t have anything else!” Her laugh was casual, thrown away by clean sea wind. Blue water dashed into whiteness on rocks far below. “Why are you even out here?”
Ah, little one. So many questions.
Her lips were parted; her varicoloured eyes shone. He liked her eyes, one blue, one green - they were unusual, they’d caught his interest like a portent. He thought he might keep them.
“Come,” he said.
* * *
Light flooded the high garden, the stone cloisters; a glitter of autumn leaves hung from the pergolas and danced in the breeze. This time, she stared more at the scatter of creatures, his menagerie, his creations and artworks. He walked with purpose and she occasionally ran to keep pace, feet swift on patterned mosaic. Dapples of sun slid over her skin.
“What’re they for?” she asked.
“Themselves.” He gave her an amused shrug. “Me. I like them, and they have a good home here.”
They passed across the shadow of a statue, a creature of hooves and horns loomed above them.
“But why don’t you let them go?”
“To what end?” He raised his one eyebrow. “Freedom isn’t a gift to one who can’t use it.”
She frowned at him.
He pushed open a door. “Here.”
Yes, draw her in. Make her -!
Be silent.
The room was dim, shelves heavy with books. He let her wander, her fingers trailing over their spines. Somewhere in his heart, the creature hissed with heat and helpless fury.
Let me taste her. Or I will rend your insides to bloody shreds. I will tear myself free of your flesh, rip down the skies and rain death on this accursed rock -
Peace. Your melodrama bores me. I’ll bring you what you need - in time. You wait until I say.
I starve; you perish. Where is your learning then?
I won’t let you starve.
He laughed again and the girl turned to look at him, soft in the grey air.
“Come here,” he said gently.
She came, still cocky as she laid a hand on his shoulder. Her chin tilted sideways, assumption and invitation. For a moment, he allowed himself to be charmed by her brazenness.
The creature in him trembled.
And the blade opened her throat.
A single slash, a red line, a ripping, widening smile. A flood of rich darkness that covered his hands, concealed the ever-moving sigils. He caught her as she fell, bubbles on her lips and a final look of shock in those strange, two-coloured eyes. He was sorry to waste her this way, but he - they - sought answers. As if those eyes were a harbinger, a warning from the Count of Time itself, they sought answers now.
They laid her out on the stone floor, life running forgotten to the sea far below.
A single blow shattered her sternum. It took the strength of the creature within him to crack her ribcage and part the two sides like doors - tearing her open to reach the truth that lay within.
Her lungs fluttered; her heart beat desperately, struggled, and was still.
The creature in him pulsed with blood and eagerness; his skin bulged to contain it. Slowly, he raised a bloodied hand and lifted the covering on his darker eye.
Tell me
, he said silently.
Tell me what you have seen.
It repulsed his clinical nature - but his need for knowledge was absolute.
Foolish!
It was laughing, the sound immortal and terrible.
The world is wounded, riven to her heart, and now a canker spreads through her flesh. Despite Maugrim’s failure, Roviarath will fall to her knees. Fhaveon lies trembling, her pale thighs wide. Old forces muster at Rammouthe; they have waited so long. And the Bard is gone...
The creature paused.
What?
Ineffectual, his presence or his absence matter not.