Storm over the Blight

I'm 120 pages away from finishing The Cup of Eleeje, the fourth book in the Epic of Ahiram.

I never really know where the story is going until I actually start writing. Right now, two protagonists are standing on a snowy balcony, somewhere along an impossibly high structure.


It's nighttime and a storm is brewing in the distance. Angry lashes of a fractured thunder lace the surface of the Blight. Deep below the lake, the Spell-World seeps into the real world, and the rising flow of magic reaches its surface, turning it into a golden murky syrup. The magic rises still and turns the icy storm into a chaotic, curse-filled mass, sundering the skies with the disquieting whispers of the Spell-World. Snow begins to fall. It falls bright green and when it reaches the Blight, the snowflakes crystalize and turn into diamond-shaped spells that drop in the lake and into the hungry mouths of bright red fish that roil the thick surface as they fight furiously to catch as many of the small green diamonds as they can.

Tomorrow, after the storm subsides, spell-fishers from the coastal cities of Feriaz and Estafan will rush into the murky Blight. They will cast their nets and gut the catch, keeping only the eggs and throwing the flesh back into the water. They will ferment the eggs into potent spells, to be sold on the black market.

A peal of thunder lights up the darkness, and our two protagonists glimpse a herd of flying curses circling up in the roaring sky. Into this madness, they are ready to go. To what end, and for what purpose? I don't know, but I can't wait to find out as soon as I take up writing again this afternoon. Then we'll see what we'll see and find out how far the Epic will carry me into the world of Ahiram.