The Seidr Cycle by Angela B. Chrysler Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Dolor
and Shadow
The
Seidr Cycle Book 1
by
Angela B. Chrysler
Genre:
High Epic Fantasy
A
great power has awakened within Princess Kallan.
To
keep the princess hidden, she is taken to Alfheim; her abilities
suppressed and her memory erased.
Years
later, Kallan inherits her father’s war, and vows revenge on the
one man she believes is responsible: Rune, King of Gunir. But soon, a
twist of fate puts Kallan in protection of the man she has sworn to
kill, and Rune in possession of powers he does not understand.
Lost
in the world of Men, the two must form an unlikely alliance to make
their way home and solve the mystery of their past - and of the
Shadow that hunts them both.
Praise
for Dolor and Shadow:
"...a
sweeping, epic novel... highly recommend it to all fantasy lovers." -
Erin S. Riley, author of Odin's Shadow
"Angela
B. Chrysler has brought world building to breathtaking heights with
‘Dolor and Shadow’" - Jay Norry, Amazon
Review
"This
is book one in a set that has the potential to become timeless" -
Timothy Bateson, Amazon Review
Goodreads
* Amazon
Think
back to the oldest era your mind can fathom, back beyond everything
we can remember, when gods were still men who had not yet lived the
deeds that would deify them.” Gudrun’s aged gold eyes peered from
behind her curtain of long, silver hair. Think back before the
time when the Aesir and the Vanir were still men who had settled here
on ancient Earth, ages before their war.” “Back
when the Earth was new?” Kallan asked, looking up from the vellum
scroll before her on the table. The tips of her tapered ears poked
through the brown hair she had tied back to avoid the candle’s
flames. “Was
it?” Shadows flickered over Gudrun’s face and shelves full of
jarred things. All sorts of unusual jars of powders and exotic roots
had been crammed into every available corner. Dried herbs hung from
the crossbeams. The light from the candle and small hearth fire
mingled and added a heavy thickness to the room that smelled of
boiled heather and sage. “The Earth was still very old by the time
the gods found it,” Gudrun said. “By then it was already ancient
soil, which stirred beneath their feet. Can you see it, Kallan?” The
girl closed her eyes, an iridescent blue like the lapis stone, and
thought back to the earliest memory she could recall, back before the
Great Migration, when the gods lived in the Southern Deserts and the
Land of Rivers. Back before the Great War between the Aesir and the
Vanir. “I
can,” Kallan said. The
old woman kept the dry sternness in her voice. “These are the
antiquated stories that predate the empires of men. We have studied
the Vanir and their ways, their medicines and herbs. Now think of the
gods of our gods, the gods so old that we have forgotten. The gods
our gods once taught to their young. And think of their ancient
stories and their myths, the legends they once revered before they
themselves became myth. And think of everything now lost to time.” Kallan
nodded. “I see it.” “The
Seidr is older still,” Gudrun said. “Like veins, it flowed from
the Great Gap, spreading through all elements of the Earth,
stretching out, threading itself into the waters, the air, and
earth.” Kallan
opened her eyes as she drew the connection to the tri-corner knot
enclosed in a circle hanging from the chain on her neck. Gudrun
smiled, confirming that Kallan’s conclusion was correct. “Your
mother’s pendant,” she said. “Na
Tríonóide:
the three united. The Seidr fused itself to the elements, until it
lost itself inside the Earth, becoming a part of it, flowing with the
waters, churning with the soils, and riding on the wind through the
air. The Seidr is still there sleeping, waiting for us to remember.” Kallan
shifted forward in her seat. “When
the Vanir found the Seidr, they recognized it. In secret, they honed
it and mastered it. They hoarded it, keeping it concealed from the
Aesir.” Sadness hovered in Gudrun’s tone. “Afraid the Aesir
would learn of their treasure and exceed them in power, the Vanir
refused to divulge their secret.” “What
happened to the Vanir?” Kallan asked. Gudrun
visibly fought back the bitter sting of tears. “They died.” Her
voice was low. “Doomed to be forgotten, and living only within the
ancient stories now nearly extinct.” Kallan
bit the corner of her lip as if biting back a question. “Deep
within the earth, beyond the sea to the west, they met their end,”
the old woman continued. “Some say they perished far beyond the
western-most
reaches of the world where the beginning formed. There where the
Seidr emerged from the life source and fused to the elements and life
itself. The Seidr now resides dormant in all of us. However, for most
of us, it sleeps, available for the host to use, but never awakened,
its keeper unaware of its presence. “But
don’t think its power is lost,” Gudrun said. “Even dormant
Seidr, ripped from its host, will destroy the life line that has
formed around it. It lies sleeping within every man born to Midgard.
Just as the races of Men have it, we elves have it—” “Elves?”
Kallan repeated. “Alfar,”
Gudrun clarified, forgetting the word was foreign beyond the Ocean
Isle where she had lived for the past three hundred years. “The
Dvergar, the Svartálfar. Even the Ljosalfar—” “They
have it?” Kallan interrupted. “King Tryggve?” Gudrun
nodded. “King Tryggve and King Eyolf—” The
name of her father sharpened Kallan’s attention. “Father has it?” Gudrun
continued, not daring to encourage the princess’s interruptions. “As
do the reindeer that migrate across the valleys of King Raum in the
north and the elk birds that fly across the southern realms of King
Gardr Agdi. The sea worms that swim, and the pines that grow tall in
these lands. However, among us all, Men and the three races of the
Alfar, only a rare handful are still aware of its existence. Of those
precious few, only some can waken it. Fewer still can wield it.” After
concluding her lecture, Gudrun spoke faster, more sternly, leaving
behind the mysticism of the storyteller. “To
wield the Seidr is to pull on the lifeline that has formed within the
confines of your center. To master the Seidr is to pull on the
threads that have woven themselves within the elements. Find it!” As
if suddenly aware of the stuffy room, Kallan narrowed her eyes to
better see the Seidr that was somehow there suspended in the air.
This time, Gudrun’s smile stretched across her wrinkled face. “Start
small,” she said. “The Seidr around us has not conformed to the
order of a path and goes where the elements take it. Try to find the
Seidr within you, at your center. That is where it sleeps. That Seidr
will know you and be the first to obey you.” Slouching,
Kallan nodded and closed her eyes, then changed her attention to the
center of her body. “Once
you master your own Seidr, you can reach out to the Seidr in others.
It
won’t be as willing to obey as your own, but it too has adapted to
the confines of a living being.” Kallan
opened her eyes, eager to collect the knowledge that always seemed to
pour out of Gudrun. “Is it within the fire you summon?” The
old Seidkona shook her head. “Fire
is not an element, but a reaction, like when the cook blends stews or
when I mix spells.” “Like
bubbling water or brewed tea?” “Exactly,”
Gudrun said. “Fire is only present when other actions bring it out,
whereas soil, wind, and water are always there, maintaining a
permanent state that defines the Seidr.” As she listed each
element, Gudrun pointed to each point of the pendant hanging from
Kallan’s neck. As she finished, she traced her finger around the
circle enveloping the knot. “The elements don’t require fuel.
However, Seidr is living. It is a life form made of pure energy.
Compress enough Seidr, and it will release heat. Compress it more,
and it will become hot enough to produce flame.” “And
hotter still produces your lightning.” Kallan grinned. “Exactly.”
Fire
and Lies
The
Seidr Cycle Book 2
War
rips across the land of Alfheim.
As
the Fae gods draw near, Queen Kallan’s strength is tested.
She
follows King Rune, but the Shadow Beast caged within Rune’s body is
writhing in hunger. Kallan’s newest companion, Bergen - the
legendary Berserk - is determined to end the conflict in her life.
As
the three come together, the truth buried in the past resurfaces.
Now, Kallan must master a dormant power... or watch her kingdom fall
to the Fae, who will stop at nothing to keep their lies.
At
the farthest ends of Midgard, where Alfheim begins, the Fae goddess
Fand gazed upon
Kallan’s
fair city. Lorlenalin. The White Opal. The Dokkalfar citadel. Humming
a ditty, she
collected
her skirts and idly glided through the wood surrounding the city. Like
threads of gold, Seidr flowed from the tips of Fand’s fingers. It
flowed down her gown
and branched across the first autumn frost glistening in the
moonlight as if the Fae gods themselves
had emerged from Under Earth and touched down on the lands of
Midgard. Like veins,
the Seidr webbed a path to the city. The life she found there was
strong, but hollow with
grief
for their missing queen. Fand called the Seidr back, and she smiled.
Memories of the dead never
survive the ages. It was only a matter of time before the Dokkalfar forgot their precious queen. “This
won’t be too hard.” Fand
took a step and strips of leather wove themselves around her bare
foot. By the time she
took a second step, she wore a pair of fine leather boots. Her gowns
of Under Earth reknitted themselves
into something simpler, but just as suggestive. Just as inviting. The
gems she wore
to ordain her bodice became grains of golden sand that vanished with
the wind. Her cheekbones
rounded out. Her pearlescent skin darkened to look more like a
daughter of Alfheim than
the pale, jeweled complexion of a Fae goddess of Eire’s Land. Fand
pushed a hand through her raven black hair, sending strands of Seidr
streaking the black
and changing it to a pale blond by the time her fingers reached the
tips. By
the time Fand stepped into a beam of moonlight where the Dokkalfar
guards could see her,
all that remained of her original appearance was the stunning rings
of gold Seidr that encircled
her pupils and the mesmermizing smile that arched her red lips. By
dawn, only two would remember the name of Kallan, Daughter of Eyolf,
Queen and Lady
of Lorlenalin.
Angela B. Chrysler is a writer, logician, philosopher, and die-hard nerd who studies theology, historical linguistics, music composition, and medieval European history in New York with a dry sense of humor and an unusual sense of sarcasm. She lives in a garden with her family and cats.
In 2014, Ms.
Chrysler founded Brain to Books and the virtual trade show, Brain to
Books Cyber Convention. A passionate gardener and incurable cat
lover, Ms. Chrysler spends her days drinking coffee and writing
beside a volume of Edgar Allan Poe who strongly influences her style
to this day. When Ms. Chrysler is not writing, she enables her
addictions to all things nerdy, and reads everything she can get her
hands on no matter the genre. Occasionally, she finds time to mother
her three children and debate with her life-long friend who she
eventually married. Her writing is often compared to Tad Williams.
Her influences are Edgar Allan Poe, The Phantom of the Opera, and
Frankenstein.
Angela also loves
writing, cats, reading, knitting, gardening, Tai Chi, Yoga,
meditation, coffee, BBC, baking, cooking, dancing, singing, anime,
and smiling.
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