Michael Johnston brings you the first in a new epic fantasy series inspired by ancient Egyptian history and King Lear.
The ruling family of the Soleri Empire has been in power longer than even the calendars that stretch back 2,826 years. Those records tell a history of conquest and domination by a people descended from gods, older than anything in the known world. No living person has seen them for centuries, yet their grip on their four subjugate kingdoms remains tighter than ever.
On the day of the annual eclipse, the Harkan king, Arko-Hark Wadi, sets off on a hunt and shirks his duty rather than bow to the emperor. Ren, his son and heir, is a prisoner in the capital, while his daughters struggle against their own chains. Merit, the eldest, has found a way to stand against imperial law and marry the man she desires, but needs her sister’s help, and Kepi has her own ideas.
Meanwhile, Sarra Amunet, Mother Priestess of the sun god’s cult, holds the keys to the end of an empire and a past betrayal that could shatter her family.
Detailed and historical, vast in scope and intricate in conception, Soleri bristles with primal magic and unexpected violence. It is a world of ancient and elaborate rites, of unseen power and kingdoms ravaged by war, where victory comes with a price, and every truth conceals a deeper secret.
Praise for SOLERI
"Soleri is bloody and utterly epic. A huge saga in a rich and deeply original world.” ―Lev Grossman, New York Times bestselling author
“Prepare to be ensnared in a web of ruthless politics and unbridled ambition, where even the authority of the emperor may be based on an ancient deception. Johnston builds an immersive world with elements of Egyptian and Roman history, myth, and religion. This story seethes with twists and turns, betrayals and secrets, and will keep you guessing until the very last page.” ―Cinda Williams Chima, New York Times bestselling author
EXCERPT...
In the distance
a trumpet blared, high and tinny and full of self-importance. The Feast of the
Devouring had begun; in five days the sun would blacken for a brief span, the
daylight turning as weak and shadowy as twilight, the people hushed and awed at
the yearly spectacle of the sun god’s blessings.
Mithra-Sol dims his light to acknowledge
our emperor and the whole of the empire watches as if it were some great
miracle. Ren didn’t
care if the sun dimmed for a brief span. He’d never even seen the sun, not even
a sliver. The fact that the sky blackened each year didn’t seem particularly
special. He was well accustomed to darkness.
Ren Hark-Wadi,
the youngest child and only son of Arko, king of Harkana, had not seen the
world beyond his prison walls since the emperor’s soldiers had delivered him to
the underground city of the Priory ten years earlier. Only three years old at
the time, Ren could not recall the moment he had been taken from his family,
could not remember his father’s face, or his mother’s, or his sisters’. He knew
his sisters’ names, Merit and Kepi, his teachers had told him that much, but he
could not remember what they looked like. He wondered if they remembered him.
If they would recognize him now. If anyone cared that he still existed.
Am I a name without a face? An empty
chair at the table each night?
Surely they
would know him if they saw him, even if he was now nearly as tall as a man. His
hair, once honey-colored, so different from the other boys’, was dull and mousy
now from years of living underground, though it had attracted a lot of
attention when he was younger. Ren had sharp cheekbones and a narrow, angular
face marked by fox-colored eyes and a mouth that sometimes seemed set in a
permanent frown. He was tall for his age, but surely there was something left
in him of the boy he had been. Surely his father and his sisters would see it,
if no one else could. He spent his nights trying to recall his childhood,
searching his memories for a glimpse of their faces: his sisters, his father
and mother. Did they love me? Were
we a family once? Did they eat meals and tell stories and were the
children held at night until they fell asleep? He longed for memories, but had
none. Even a dream would have been acceptable, but he had never dreamed of them
either. The idea was too foreign, too distant to conceive. He recalled only
these rooms, the boys, the priors, and the bitter nights he had spent in this
cell.
Copyright © 2017 by Michael Johnston
Michael Johnston was born in 1973 in Cleveland, Ohio. As a child and a teen he was an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy. He studied architecture and ancient history at Lehigh University and during a lecture on the history of ancient Egypt, the seed of an idea was born. He earned a master’s degree in architecture from Columbia University, graduating at the top of his class. Michael worked as an architect in New York City before moving to Los Angeles. Sparked by the change of locale, a visit to the desert, and his growing dissatisfaction with the architectural industry, he sought a way to merge his interests in architecture and history with his love of fantasy. By day he worked as an architect, but by night he wrote and researched an epic fantasy novel inspired by the history of ancient Egypt and the tragic story of King Lear. After working this way for several years, he shut down his successful architecture practice and resolved to write full time. He now lives and writes in Los Angeles with his wife and daughter.
Photo Credit: Cathryn Farnsworth
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