Authors: Danie Ware
Ecko Endgame
“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
THE VIOLENT CENTURY
“
Ecko Rising
messes with your head in unexpected and exciting ways.”
MIKE CAREY, AUTHOR OF
THE FELIX CASTOR SERIES
“I motored through this book. It’s a page turner and I’ll be getting hold of the next one.”
NEAL ASHER, AUTHOR OF
THE AGENT CORMAC SERIES
“The best debut novel I’ve read in years.”
ANDY REMIC, AUTHOR OF
SPIRAL
“One of the most intriguing and original blends of fantasy and science fiction I’ve read in a long time.”
ADRIAN TCHAIKOVSKY, AUTHOR OF
EMPIRE IN BLACK AND GOLD
“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 anti-hero 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
“The sci-fi debut of the year… Ware writes fearlessly and
Ecko
is a magnificent creation.”
FINANCIAL TIMES
“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 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
“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 has created an amazing world for her characters that truly envelops the fantasy genre while also adding in enough elements to allow the story to fit within the science fiction genre as well. Ultimately, fans will enjoy
Ecko Burning
just as much or more than the original.”
BGG AFTER DARK
“This is a dense and engaging read which keeps the reader hooked by stacking up one amazing thing after the other.
Ecko Burning
is not a subtle novel; it’s violent, sarcastic, filled with nods and references to all things geeky and fun, and features perhaps one of the most scenery-chewing, over-the-top bad guys that we’ve seen in some time.”
STARBURST
“I found
Ecko Burning
impossible to put down. Like the previous book, it’s very nearly non-stop action. And once I got to the end, I wanted more”
FANGIRL CONFESSIONS
Also by Danie Ware and available from Titan Books:
ECKO RISING
ECKO BURNING
Ecko Endgame
Print edition ISBN: 9781783294558
E-book ISBN: 9781783294565
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
First edition: November 2015
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
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.
© 2015 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.
What did you think of this book?
We love to hear from our readers. Please email us at:
[email protected]
, or write to us at the above address.
To receive advance information, news, competitions, and exclusive offers online, please sign up for the Titan newsletter on our website.
FOR TWO PEOPLE WHOSE
PATIENCE HAS BEEN LIMITLESS,
AND WHO HAVE MADE ECKO POSSIBLE
FOR JAN, MY MUM,
AND ISAAC, MY SON,
WITH ALL MY LOVE
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
THE KUANNE, WEST OF THE KARTIAH
Mountains.
Stark and cold, bitter as blades. They slant like a crooked spine, from southern slopes of rough grey scree to a northern winter, proud and jagged. Here, they throw out a backwards angle, a tumble of ground forgotten, as raw as the stone itself. Beneath it, the forests are pale and sharp, the rivers white with rage.
Nothing moves here, only the water.
But down there – there! – a black speck, shifting.
The motion is tiny, alone. It seems improbable, some lost mote, and yet it’s as loud as a shout, the only thing living in the stillness. It scrabbles insect-like up into the foothills and then higher, but it falters often and seeks about itself for understanding, or direction. It’s too small for the mountains to notice, too small for the winter, and yet it’s somehow indomitable.
It refuses to stop.
As the speck scuttles onwards, the sun slowly dies on the peaks before it, stretching their shadow long across the ground and striping the high clouds with vivid shades of threat and promise. Darkness rises, as if it spreads from the broken castle, now long since left behind. It steals west until it swallows the tiny figure, swallows the land entire. The sun’s last farewell is a sullen red, and then it is gone, and the cold really begins.
The figure stops.
Its arms are wrapped about itself now, its heavy shoulders hunched and its hands shoved clumsily into its sleeves, seeking warmth. Its breath plumes. It pauses to search its pockets, looks at its findings with confusion.
“Alexander,” the figure says, its voice creaking with cold. “Alexander David Eastermann.”
But the words fall frozen; they make no sense.
The man’s belongings scatter from his shaking hands, and he kneels to pick them up. In among them, there is a tiny red light that bathes his bearded face in a sudden flash of glare. He holds it up, pointing it in the direction he’s been walking.
“Yeah, yeah all right, I know. Dunno where you’re takin’ me, mate, but you’re the only thing that makes any fuckin’ sense round ’ere. You an’ me, we’re goin’ places.”
He looks through the remainder of his things, his bafflement apparent. He swigs from a small flask, puts everything back in the pockets of his battered leather jacket. Then he sighs, pulls the zip as high as it will go, pushes his hands back into his sleeves, and keeps walking.
The night deepens.
The mountains rise savage, teeth bared at black sky – no stars, no moons. The man stumbles on, crossing chasms that radiate cold nacre, lighting his way and blinding him, bright from below. One stops him completely, too wide to step across, and he sways on its edge a long time before he jumps.
He walks on. His progress becomes erratic and he falls often. Several times, he stops and coughs, harsh in the silence, doubled over with the violence of it. Then he swigs from the flask and keeps walking.
The cold becomes bitter, frosting his breath and beard.
After a time, he becomes aware of a sound, a liquid and crystal chiming, and he breaks into a shambling run. He crosses into a maze. Stone pillars, carved into fabulous shapes by wind and dust, rise tall round him, but he pays them no heed as he reaches the river. Here, he throws himself flat and drinks, ice-cold swallows that make him shudder and wrap his hands over his skull in sudden pain.
And then he curls in upon himself, hoarding heat, and sleeps.
* * *
Sunlight seeps across dead ground, touching the sleeping figure with tendrils of warmth.
He stirs, shuddering, dangerously cold.