Having taken so very long to get back to my manuscript for Book 3, I thought my readers might like a teaser. This is the Prologue (any Frankie Howerd impressions from Up Pompeii?) In my usual fashion, I have written this when the work is half finished, just as I wrote Book 2 before Book 1 – if you know me you will be keeping up, if not – stick with us, it gets better!
The Capital, Black Shaman’s Guild
The night following the Drum ceremony where I made her lover an honorary shaman, I knew that I had lost Riga, my Blood-Daughter, forever. This did not require The Sight. I felt her heart close off to me and devote itself to this other man, this stranger to our ways.
In the early hours of the morning I wept as I have only done twice before in my life, both times at the loss of someone I loved. Having steeled myself to never having children of my own, I had not realised how very much Riga had filled that large hole in my heart.
I drifted into disturbed sleep and found myself “summoned”. This was no journeying of my own making but my ancestors calling me. In a half-dream, I found myslf in the sweat-lodge, as I should have been at my man’s naming ritual. My father, grandfather and other elders of the tribe were seated on the opposite side of the fire. They called me “Death Eagle” the tribal name which had been forced on me after my disgrace to mark my shame.
“You must come home.” My grandfather, the Faith-Keeper, spoke first but became a continuous drumming chant as all the men repeated it.
“Home? I am outcast. How can this tribe now be called my home?” I dared to question him.
“You are needed. You must come home. In this way you may buy your redemption.”
The vision blurred as smoke rose from the fire. I knew nothing more would be explained but I was also fore-warned to expect more contact from the tribe.
Obviously my time with the Guild was over and Spirit was moving me elsewhere. Outcast or not, if the tribe needed me, I had no option. I would return to America.