TIME’S DEMON , the second book in The Islevale Cycle, is the new time travel/epic fantasy novel from my pal D.B. Jackson (David B. Coe). TIME’S CHILDREN , the first volume, received a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly and was named the Best Fantasy Novel of 2018 by Reviews and Robots. TIME’S DEMON comes out today, May 28. Here’s an excerpt. Enjoy!
*****
At that evening’s meal, he sat alone far from Vahn and Lenna’s table. The palace chef had prepared roasted fowl with baviseed and greens. It was one of Cresten’s favorites, but he picked at the food, hardly eating.
“Why aren’t you with that pretty Walker?”
Cresten peered up from his platter. Tache and his friends stood around him, their own platters in hand.
He shrugged.
The others sat, Tache taking the spot beside Cresten. His friends resumed conversations of their own, but not Tache.
“I see her,” he said. “She’s with your friend, Marcoji.”
“I know.” He had no interest in discussing this part of his life with the older boy, not that Tache would care.
“I thought she fancied you, not him.”
“She did, I think. Once.”
Tache smirked. “You foul it up? Say something stupid?”
“Not me, but that’s what happened.”
“What do you mean, not you? Did someone backbite you? Someone I know?”
This was part of Tache’s charm, the thing about him that Vahn and Lenna couldn’t have grasped without knowing him as Cresten did. He was mean and full of bluster and motivated by pride, greed, and spite. But once he accepted someone as a friend, as he had Cresten, he was loyal to a fault.
“Tell me who it was, Whip. I’ll beat him bloody.”
“It’s not like that. I don’t think you should get involved.”
Tache’s expression frosted. “You think I couldn’t take him?”
“It’s not a him. It’s not even–” He broke off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Not even a what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Cresten reached for a piece of bread. Tache seized him by the wrist, grinding the bones in a pincer grip.
“Ow!”
“Not even a what?” he demanded again.
Cresten yanked his hand away. “Not even a person,” he said, rubbing his wrist, and not caring that he sounded like a sullen child. “We were talking to a Tirribin.”
Tache’s ire gave way to calculation, and thinly masked eagerness.
“A Tirribin,” he said. “You’re sure.”
“Lenna was sure. I’d never heard of them before.”
“Of course. A time demon would be interested in your Walker friend. Anything having to do with time.”
Cresten nodded, pretending he knew, hoping Tache would say more. Perhaps if he learned about Droë and her kind, he might find a way back into Lenna’s good graces.
That avid gleam lingered in the boy’s eyes. “They’re a menace, of course, like all demons. But old as they are, they’re more like children than like other Ancients, so how dangerous can they be?”
“Lenna seemed pretty scared. I think they’re more dangerous than they look.”
“This one was in the palace?” Tache asked, ignoring Cresten’s warning.
“On the grounds. Lower courtyard.”
“Interesting,” the boy said. “I wonder if she comes here a lot. If they’re drawn to Walkers, then this would be the place, wouldn’t it? Not recently, maybe, but the palace has seen lots of Walkers over the years. And Tirribin live a long time. Centuries. Maybe more. Imagine the stuff she might know.”
“I’d rather not,” Cresten said. “I’d prefer never to see her again.”
Tache laughed and thumped him on the back. “You’re thinking about this all wrong, Whip. Never mind the Walker. Sure, she’s pretty, but there’s others prettier. You’ll forget her before long. That time demon, though – her kind know things. They can tell when time is different, and they remember stuff the rest of us don’t.”
Tache’s excitement insinuated itself into Cresten.
“The demon said something like that. She could tell Lenna had been Walking. She said her years were… were changed somehow.” He reached for the memory. “‘Confused,’ she said.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she has all sorts of information. Knowledge of this place, the masters and mistresses. She might be able to read our futures.”
“I don’t know if–”
“The lower courtyard, you said.”
Cresten faltered. Hurt as he was by Lenna’s recent treatment, he regretted having revealed so much. It felt like a betrayal.
“Whip?”
He twitched a shoulder. “It was only that one time. I don’t think she comes there a lot.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”
A betrayal of her trust, of what they’d shared that evening and before, of their entire friendship, however brief it had been. He should have said nothing. He should have lied.
He reached for the bread again. This time Tache let him eat. Later, as Cresten gathered his platter and utensils to leave, Tache stopped him.
“You let me know if you see her again, you understand?”
“The– the Tirribin, you mean?”
Tache laughed too loudly. “Of course. You think I care if you see your Walker friend again?”
“Right. Sure I will.”
He scuttled away, refusing to glance back, despite the laughter that chased him from the table. He didn’t look at Lenna and Vahn either. Not since his first night, years ago, had he felt so alone.
Cresten tried to avoid them all – Tache, Lenna, Vahn, the time demon – but the palace, which he thought so huge when he arrived, now proved to be terribly small.
A ha’turn after their first encounter with the Tirribin, as Cresten walked back toward the keep from another late session with the Binder, he heard Tache call to him.
He slowed, unable at first to spot the older boy. Tache materialized out of the darkness, pale eyes shining.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “She’s down there again.”
Cresten didn’t have to ask who he meant.
“I don’t want to go, Tache.”
“I don’t care. I want to meet the Tirribin. You’re going to introduce us.”
What could he do? He followed Tache to the lower courtyard, where Lenna and the demon – Droë – stood together in the bone-white gleam of a half moon.
As they neared the pair, Lenna spun. Seeing who had come, she glowered, flicking a glance at Tache before directing the full weight of her anger on Cresten.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted a word with your friend,” Tache said, though she hadn’t asked the question of him.
“You wanted,” she fired back. “What business does a mediocre Spanner have with a Tirribin?”
“Careful, Doen,” he said, velvet menace in his voice. “You may be a Walker, and the masters’ favorite, but I don’t tolerate that from anyone.”
She glared at Cresten again. “How could you bring him here?”
I didn’t bring him. He made me do this. The denials withered before he could give them voice. If she hadn’t hated him before, she did now.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a Tirribin,” Tache said, looking past Lenna to the time demon.
Cresten could see her more clearly this night. Moonlight illuminated dark, perfect features – high cheekbones, a delicate nose, full lips – and lent its glow to long, golden hair. Her eyes, as light and haunting as they had been during that first encounter, registered amusement.
“I almost never wish to treat with humans, unless they happen to be Walkers.” She shifted her gaze to Lenna. “Did he threaten you a moment ago? I thought I heard a threat in what he said.”
“You can read the future can’t you?”
She ignored Tache, her attention still on Lenna, a question in her raised eyebrows.
“Yes, he threatened me, but it’s not important.”
“Hey!” Tache snapped his fingers. “I asked you a question.”
Droë’s smile slipped. “He’s quite rude. I don’t think I like him.” She lifted her chin in Cresten’s direction. “What about this one? Is he still your friend? Something’s changed.”
Yes, you changed it.
“He’s still my friend,” Lenna said.
His eyes met hers. He read an apology in her glance, and also forgiveness. He essayed a smile, but she had already turned away, back to Tache.
“You should leave,” she said.
Tache shook his head. “I’m not finished speaking with your friend. I want an answer to my question. Can you read the future?”
“No,” Droë said, ice in her tone, her expression, her very stance. “That’s not how our powers work. I read time. I can tell when years don’t match the person, or when time has been altered. You want a Seer, not a Tirribin.”
“I think you’re lying. Tirribin are supposed to be powerful. What you’re talking about…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s nonsense.” A breeze stirred the air, and Tache wrinkled his nose. “What is that stink?” He frowned at Droë. “Is that you?”
“He’s very, very rude,” the Tirribin said.
She continued to glower, and she opened her mouth, revealing small, dagger-sharp teeth. At the sight of them, Cresten backed away.
“You’re right, Droë,” Lenna said. “He is. I’m leaving. You and I can speak another time.”
She tried to walk past Tache, but he grabbed her arm, spinning her around. She gave a small cry and struggled to break free.
“You’re not leaving until I’m done talking to the demon.”
Cresten took a step toward Tache.
“Release her,” Droë said.
Tache grinned. “Not yet. Tell me what else you can do.”
“Release her or pay in years.” A rasp roughened the threat.
Lenna ceased her struggles, her eyes going wide. “Droë, no!”
Tache let go of her and raised his hands for the Tirribin to see. “No need to get angry,” he said. “She’s fine.”
Lenna stumbled away from him.
“You,” Droë said to Lenna, her voice grating still. “And that one.” She indicated Cresten with another nod. “That was our arrangement.”
“Yes, but–”
Lenna had time for no more. In a blur of golden, moon-touched hair, wraithlike eyes, and breadknife teeth, the Tirribin launched herself at Tache.
He managed a truncated scream, fell under the fury of her assault. Fists flailing, feet lashing out, he tried to fight her off, but she held fast to him, her mouth at his throat, a nimbus of sliding colored light surrounding them both.
Lenna screamed, but didn’t move. Cresten thought he should try to pull Droë off the boy, but he was too horrified to make the attempt, too frightened of what the Tirribin might do to him.
He heard voices and footsteps. Others approached from the upper courtyards. Novitiates and at least one master. As they drew near, Droë lifted her head from Tache’s still form. She eyed Lenna and then Cresten before dashing away. After a few strides, she blurred to unearthly speed. Cresten lost sight of her.
He crept closer to Tache’s body. The boy stared at the stars with lifeless eyes, his cheeks sunken, his skin desiccated, as if he had died days ago. Cresten sensed Lenna beside him. She drew a sharp breath and screamed again. He reached for her, intending to comfort. She shrank from his touch.
*****
D.B. Jackson is the pen name of fantasy author David B. Coe. He is the award-winning author of more than twenty novels and as many short stories. His newest novel, Time’s Demon, is the second volume in a time travel/epic fantasy series called The Islevale Cycle. Time’s Children is volume one; David is working on the third book, Time’s Assassin.
As D.B. Jackson, he also writes the Thieftaker Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy set in pre-Revolutionary Boston. As David B. Coe, he is the author of the Crawford Award-winning LonTobyn Chronicle, as well as the critically acclaimed Winds of the Forelands quintet and Blood of the Southlands trilogy; the novelization of Ridley Scott’s movie, Robin Hood; a contemporary urban fantasy trilogy, The Case Files of Justis Fearsson; and most recently, Knightfall: The Infinite Deep, a tie-in with the History Channel’s Knightfall series.
David has a Ph.D. in U.S. history from Stanford University. His books have been translated into a dozen languages. He and his family live on the Cumberland Plateau. When he’s not writing he likes to hike, play guitar, and stalk the perfect image with his camera.
http://www.dbjackson-author.com
http://www.dbjackson-author.com/blog/
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