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Darkrange

by S. Roy L. Hawkins

370 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0307; ISBN 1-55212-905-5; US$29.00, C$35.50, EUR23.10, £16.00

An earthly saga of a time perhaps to come; a tale of a man in search of love, truth, and himself.

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About the book      About the author      Sample excerpts      Catalogue info

About the Book The time: perhaps eight hundred years after a cataclysmic interruption of the earth's rotation; a cosmic stumble that came near to wiping man and all of his doings from the face of the earth. The near-savage, sword-wielding descendants of the few survivors of that conflagration now inhabit a land that is clean, primal and beautiful, beautiful, except for one vast and mysterious tract known to all people of the world as the DARKRANGE. None may enter the Darkrange, for legend speaks of it as a place of the beforeones; the very domain of the devil himself. Now, while on a seasonal herb-gathering, a Doctor-woman has been stolen, and Odd, the premier battleman of the Ussen people of Shadowhill-grange, is selected to fetch her back. The trail of her abductors leads into the Darkrange. Odd follows, for he lives in an age of courage and honor, and can do no less. There, beyond the forbidden fringes and within the unworldly, moss-hung depths of the Darkrange, he learns the truth of the world, his people and begins to fathom his own terrible legacy. Reviews of DARKRANGE ---------------------------------- 5 Stars! fabulous futuristic phenom, July 20, 2003 "Eight centuries ago, give or take a decade or two as post catastrophic historical time is not precise, pandemic devastation occurred when the magnetic poles shifted. Most people drowned on continents flooded by the oceans; others died not long afterward. Over the next eight hundred years, the few survivors live a sparse nomadic lifestyle with tribes constantly vying with others as available sustenance is slight. The Usenn know life is a bitch and then you die, but a local calamity strikes the tribe when invading strangers abduct a Doctor-Woman while she gathered herbs. The leaders assign their greatest warrior Odd to rescue the Doctor-Woman, but they have taken her to the forbidden eerie Darkrange, the last place even a great warrior like himself would not want to enter. However, Odd enters the uncanny realm not just out of honor and duty, but also because he loves the Doctor-Woman, though no one knows his deepest secret feelings. The DARKRANGE is an exciting post apocalyptic tale that takes the audience on a powerful journey because this future earth seems like a genuine depiction of an orb impacted by a change in global polarization (as has happened in the eons of the planet). Odd is a great lead character whose physical prowess and consequently confidence in his abilities are legendary amidst his people, but now knows fear as he enters a real to be avoided, but his biggest apprehension is for the woman he loves. S. Roy L. Hawkins blends action-packed science fiction, a mystery of past present and future, and a touch of romance into a fabulous futuristic phenom that needs time for its one sitting read." -Harriet Klausner ---------------------------------- "I have just finished reading "Darkrange" which I purchased online at Barnes & Noble and was favorably impressed with this up and coming author who leaves just enough of the details to the readers imagination---- Very refreshing! I am now reading Scarab-4, which is also promising to be another good read, and equally as intriguing as Darkrange." Sincerely C.J. Durkee ---------------------------------- 4 Stars! "Some eight hundred years or so after the greatest catastrophe to ever strike mankind - the Earth's magnetic field had suddenly shifted poles, as it often has in the past, throwing the earth's oceans out of their beds and destroying most of the life upon the planets surface. Those few humans who remain eke out a meager nomadic existence and engage in intertribal warfare as a way of life. One such group is the Usen of whom Odd, most appropriately named, is a member. Bigger, stronger, and faster than the others he is a warrior's warrior but, when the doctor woman is captured by strange invaders, can even Odd face up to the challenge of rescuing her from The Dark Range, where dwell mysterious creatures out of nightmare. Yet Odd must go for she whom he secretly loves has been captured, and something in his own inner being bids him seek the answers to the mystery of his own origins there beneath the Dark Range. In the DARK RANGE, S. Roy L. Hawkins has once again woven a masterwork of mystery and science gone wild where a man finds out that that which he most desires has been right there before him the whole time. Be sure you have plenty of time so you will not be disturbed when you sit down to read this one because you will not want to put it down. This is truly a book for a lover of a good fast paced mystery adventure and I have no reservations about giving it a full four star rating. This is definitely a must read." Reviewed by: Robert M. Blacketer Scribes World Reviews www.scribesworld.com/reviews/ ----------------------------------

About the Author Mr. Hawkins spent twenty-two years as a member of the United States Navy, served with distinction during the Vietnam era and, of course, experienced the civic unrest that accompanied those times. During his lifetime he has seen much of the world, gotten to know a great many of it's people, and has experienced a diversity of cultures. He has fought in the prize ring, attained recognition as a martial artist, and found time to earn a degree in Law. Mr. Hawkins now resides in Mobile, Alabama with his wife, Coe, where in addition to his writing, he works in the Shipbuilding industry. Other books by Mr. Hawkins are The Avalonians, PROPHET-SEED and Scarab-4. Click here to read about SCARAB-4 Click here to read about PROPHET-SEED

Sample Excerpts

From Chapter 2

     Nadya rose shakily to her feet, gripping the big knife, and looked in the direction of Besco's awed gaze. She gasped, and gave out with a strangled expostulation of horror, for there, beyond the milling crowd of chattering Darkeyes, a monster from a madman's nightmares waddled ponderously toward them. The small sea of Darkeyes parted, giving way to the thing, prodding it onward with a jabbing and pricking of their blades; urging it toward Besco. The muscles of Nadya's legs weakened, and she went to her knees as the beast stopped at the edge of the firelight.
     At it's shoulders, it stood taller than two men. Between it's forequarters and it's muscular, bowed hind legs, was more than ten paces' length of a body that was wider and thicker by three times, than that of a horse. Behind, was another twenty paces of length, taken up by a scaly, tapering, snake-like tail. The creature's head, again, was that of a gigantic snake; wedge-shaped, with flaring nostrils and great, hooded, slit-irised eyes, glinting yellow in the firelight; focused now upon Besco and the girl. It's body was covered in pale-green, hand-sized scales, and when it lifted it's head and flicked forth a three-foot, forked tongue, dark and slimy, it exposed row upon row of whitish, interlocking belly-plates.
     The Darkeyes whacked it's scaly hide with clubs and again prodded it with their blades, but the beast seemed confused; afraid of the fire. It scratched at the ground with it's splayed claws; curved, ivory scimitars, reared it's head to the moon-less sky, and opened it's mouth. Stringers of thick saliva hung from it's tooth-studded, upper jaw; curling and flapping in the wind from its cavernous throat, as it gave forth a deep-throated, hissing roar of rage and fear. The sound was that of an erupting steam-geyser; a vocalization to curdle the blood in one's veins. At the thunder of that voice, Nadya's breath was locked within her chest, her muscles loosed, and a widening puddle of her own urine formed in the packed mud around her.
     Un-cowed, Besco whirled his cutlass above his head and bellowed his own challenge: "Come, devil!" he roared. "Come and test the edge of my blade! Come, see how a battleman of the Sliteyes dies!"
     At this, the Darkeyes grew even more excited; frenzied with a killing glee. They leapt high in the firelight, like crazed monkeys, with their outsized genitals a-flop; howling, gnashing their teeth, and slinging spittle. They stabbed, beat, kicked and punished the beast until blood ran and dripped from it's scaly sides; black and shiny in the dying light of the fire.
     Under this relentless prodding, the thing roared again, waddled quickly forward, reared itself upon the bodies of the dead before it, and arched it's head back for a strike.
     As the gaping, death-white maw of the beast plunged toward him, with it's slime-laced fangs extended; reaching eagerly for his flesh, Besco cocked his mighty, sweat-glistening arms, and swung his blade.
     Nadya saw the keen edge of Besco's great cutlass clang against the ivory studding of teeth, then bury itself in the lower lip of the horror, a mere heartbeat before it's jaws closed over his head and shoulders, and the long, backward-curving fangs pierced his body. Her world swam crazily about her, as Besco was taken up by the beast, amid a wild, raucous cheer from the Darkeyes, and shaken as a dog might shake a tree-rat. Then, Nadya's eyes rolled white, and she fainted.

From Chapter 7

     Odd stopped and turned. "Jun-yore?" he questioned, then hearing a splashing as of someone moving, he looked into the dimness and saw a tall figure coming through the water toward him.
     One of the devil's whorewomen? Has one of them not been drowned? he asked himself, squinting at the oncoming figure and thinking perhaps that one of the females had survived. Then, No. No, 'tis...'tis... By the Gooden's shining beard, who in hell...?
     As the figure neared, Odd saw that it was a naked man, a naked man with his chest bare and his tallywhacker a-dangle. Odd was taken aback by how familiar the man's walk and carriage seemed to him. Yet, as his mind quickly sorted through the looks and body-shapes of all those whom he had encountered in life, the Undercappen found that he knew no one who looked like this stranger. That was unsettling, for Odd knew himself to have a particularly good memory, concerning such things. At the same time, and adding to his perplexity, he knew with a near certainty that all of that was academic, for no one with whom he was familiar could possibly be here; here in this flooding underground so far removed from the world that he had come from.
     "Damned crazy Junior!" Sprinkle warned. "Mean and crazy as hell!"
     Odd felt Owlsong's hand on his arm. "By the Gooden," she breathed, in amazement. "'Tis...'tis you, sire! 'Tis you, outside of yourself!"
     As the rising water lapped at his thighs, Odd felt his blood rush from his head to leave his scalp a-tingle, and his face a stiff mask of astonishment. Through widened eyes he saw that Owlsong was correct, for as the figure approached to within ten paces, the Undercappen found himself looking into green eyes that were mirror images of his own; eyes that burned forth from the twisted features of a man that could have been his twin.
     What devil-buggery...? Odd began asking of himself. For one of the few times in his life he stood stunned, while the man came closer. He felt a sudden, inexplicable kinship with this stranger, and thought to open his mouth to voice a greeting, and to ask the stranger why he looked so much like himself.
     "Don't trust crazy Junior!" Sprinkle screeched into Odd's ear. It was at that moment that Junior struck with his pipe. Owlsong cried out in alarm, staggering in the water with the heavy cutlass, waving her free arm for balance.
     Instinctively Odd raised his left arm to block the unexpected blow. Sprinkle took to wing and hovered behind him, as the pipe whistled down and struck Odd on his uplifted forearm with such force that the crude cudgel bent like a piece of soft taffy. A numbing pain shot through Odd's arm to his shoulder.
     Tricked! he chastised himself, as he felt John Quincy slipping from his shoulder. Tricked and ploughed me like a girl in her teenseasons! Now my arm is broken...damn me for a fool!
     Actually, the awkward blow had been delivered with more speed and power than Odd had ever faced, and he realized that he had been lucky to block it. His left arm was numb from the elbow down; most likely broken, but if he hadn't of gotten it up in time, the pipe would most certainly have made a pulp of his skull.
     "Watch out, 'ol Odd!" Sprinkle cried from behind him. "Junior strong! Strong and crazy! Crazy as hell!"
     Gritting his teeth against the pain, and holding his injured left arm against his chest, Odd grabbed the bent end of Junior's pipe with his right hand before his attacker could draw it back for another blow. Junior tittered a high giggle, and tugged at the pipe, dragging Odd toward him while John Quincy splashed limply into the water. Owlsong moved to help the unconscious cripple.
     "Kill you!" Junior rasped, jerking at the pipe. "Kill you...bust your ass good!"
     "Why?" Odd asked him, then. "Why crave you my life? I've not laid me eye to you before this secondspass."
     "Go away, crazy Junior!" Sprinkle yelled, hovering, while Owlsong grabbed John Quincy by the hair and lifted his head clear of the water. "Go drown, crazy bastard!"
     "For fun!" Junior chortled, ignoring Sprinkle. "For fun...for female and for elevator."
     Odd held onto the pipe with his right hand. Hold on was about all that he could do, for the water prevented him from using his feet and knees to fight with, as he had been trained to do from childhood. His belt blade was gone, and Wulfsfang was out of his reach. Therefore, he thought perhaps that his only hope was to get close and grapple with his attacker; get close and grapple with his one good arm, and see if he was stronger and more wily than Junior, him with his two good arms. Odd could feel Junior's strength, as he jerked at the pipe, and he knew that for the first time in his life he faced an adversary that was at least as swift and powerful as himself. Sensing this, he dared not let go of the pipe, for fear of being immediately brained with it.
     Strong, Odd observed. Strong, yes, but awkward and untrained him. Maybe...
     Sprinkle hadn't mentioned this fellow until a few minutespass ago, and even then he had called him 'crazy Junior', as if all upon the face of the world should know and be wary of him. Crazy Junior must be a correct naming, for the wild glow in his green eyes, and the feral expression of killing glee there upon his face, told Odd that perhaps because of the craziness, this would be a struggle to the death.
      Gone crooked in his mind, Odd told himself, feeling the skin beginning to peel from the palm of his right hand. Crooked...as it is with all things within this shit-hole! By the devil's ass, is there not one person or thing abiding here with goodness in it's soul? Very well, then. If this crook-minded Jun-yore so craves him a death, he shall have it!
     Odd jerked at the pipe, bent his elbow, and stepped closer. As he did so, Junior let go of his makeshift club and grabbed Odd around the neck with both of his hands. The strength in those hands was incredible. Odd hardened his neck muscles, and felt the fingers digging into the back of his neck, while the thumbs crushed down onto his adam's apple, cutting off his air. Junior giggled again, and bore down, while Odd dropped the pipe and jammed the palm of his right hand beneath Junior's chin.
     "Kill crazy Junior, ol' Odd!" Sprinkle encouraged, buzzing about the combatants. "Bust his ass! Kick him in his dangly balls!"
     Of course Odd could not kick Junior in the testicles, because of the water. If he could have, he would most certainly have already done so.
     I am tired and weak, me, he thought, straining to push Junior's head back. And I have me but one good arm to his two. This fight must end quickly, for if it goes long, It will be me who empties me piss-pots in hell...
     The two men staggered about, straining at each other, while the returning water now lapped at their waists. Odd's face felt swollen and hot, and he knew that his eyes were beginning to pop from his head. Already, the tiny blood vessels in his eyeballs were bursting from the pressure, and his vision was dimming. He suddenly released the pressure on Junior's chin, and when Junior's head recoiled forward, Odd slammed his forehead down onto the bridge of his assailant's nose with a sickening thud. Blood flew, and Junior's grip loosened. Again, Odd slammed his forehead down. Junior released him then, and staggered back with blood spurting from his smashed nose, and cascading down from a deep cut on his cheek-bone. Now, instead of the mask of madness, Junior wore an expression of pain and puzzled innocence.
     Gasping for air, Odd knew that he could not give Junior a chance to recover. He stepped close again, and when Junior struck at him-a confused, half-hearted offense-he ducked under the blow and slipped quickly behind him.
     Now, you will have you your death. Go you now, and meet you the devil...
     Hurt. Hurt. Want to go back to my room, now, flashed into Junior's mind, as he felt Odd's arm snaking about his neck from behind. Want to go back...have papa bring food...fix hurt. Want to... Odd's elbow was beneath his chin, now, forcing it up and to the side. Junior wanted to cry out; to voice his alarm, and perhaps to tell the man who was killing him that it had all been a joke. But now, with his opponent's knotty arm mashing the veins in his neck and pinching his windpipe shut, it was too late, far too late for that.
     As she helplessly watched the struggle, Owlsong thought to give Odd his cutlass, but she could not leave the unconscious John Quincy to drown. Finally, realizing that she could do nothing to help the Undercappen, she grasped John Quincy by the collar with her free hand, and dragged him through the rising water toward the elevator. Sprinkle flew near, and grabbed at a wisp of her sodden hair.
     "Don't leave us!" he cried, scornfully. "Don't leave us, ol' hateful, skinny bitch!"
     "Im not leaving me," she gasped back at him. "...I only wish us to be us ready, when...if..." Her lips trembled, and she couldn't finish.
     Odd bore down with all of his strength. Junior flailed his arms helplessly, and tried to use his elbows on Odd's ribs, but to no effect. In a panic, he clawed at Odd's arm-the steel-solid python-clamp that was choking the life from him. His jawbone unhinged with a painful, tendon-ripping pop, and a white light exploded behind his eyes. His legs suddenly buckled, and he went under the water, dragging Odd with him.
     With the water thrumming in his ears, and with Junior bucking and thrashing in his grasp, Odd managed to move his left hand up and close it about his right wrist. The pain in his arm was so intense that spots burst before his eyes. Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and held on. He lifted his legs and locked them around Junior's hips, and bringing the muscles of his back and shoulders into play, he twisted Junior's head to the side until he felt a sudden giving. The dull cracking of a breaking neck was loud, there beneath the water. Junior jerked once, then went limp.
     Odd burst from the water, sucking wind and cradling his injured arm against his chest. He heard Owlsong give forth a little cry of delight at seeing him still among the living.
     "Come on, ol' Odd!" Sprinkle yelled at him, sounding much relieved. "Got to go! Water gettin' deep!"
     Junior's body bobbed to the surface, an arm's length away, eyes open and staring. A stringer of bright, frothy blood trailed from the corner of the gaping mouth, spreading and fading upon the water. As a strange remorse flooded his conscience, Odd reached with his good hand and touched the blond curls of floating hair.
     "Come!" Owlsong cried at him from the door of the elevator. "Come. He is dead him. You have killed him, sire."
     Odd shook his head as if to clear it, then gently and respectfully pushed the body from him. The stranger who looked like him had been strong and willing, but sorely unskilled at battle.
     Yes. Yes, I have killed me this one, he thought, feeling a great sadness, and not comprehending the source of it. I feel me as if I have killed me a part of myself. Would that he had not forced me to do it.
     Though he could not know it, Odd had indeed taken a life that had arisen from the same genes as had his own. Even as his instincts prodded at him-striving to convey this fact to a mind that would not understand-the Outlander could have no inkling of the truth: that he had once lain in the belly of the same woman as had Junior, those many lifetimes ago.
     He turned tiredly toward the elevator and the others then, while the corpse of his half-brother swirled in the current, staring sightlessly upward at the black and dripping ceiling of the only home he had ever known; now the watery grave that he would never leave.

Catalogue Information