Masques of Darkover by Deborah J. Ross

Masques of Darkover by Deborah J. Ross

Author:Deborah J. Ross
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Darkover, laran, Free Amazons, space travel
Publisher: Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust
Published: 2017-05-02T00:00:00+00:00


Sight Unseen

by Steven Harper

Steven Harper Piziks was born with a name that no one can reliably spell or pronounce, so he often writes under the pen name Steven Harper. He lives in Michigan with his husband and sons. When not at the keyboard, he plays the folk harp, fiddles with video games, and pretends he doesn’t talk to the household cats. In the past, he’s held jobs as a reporter, theater producer, secretary, and substitute teacher. He maintains that the most interesting thing about him is that he writes books. Most recently, he wrote the Books of Blood and Iron, a fantasy trilogy, for Roc Books.

“An untrained telepath is a danger to himself and everyone around him,” runs the old adage, proven true time and again. Sometimes even a trained telepath can wreak devastation with a careless thought, an angry mood. And—echoing Shariann Lewitt’s hero in “The Wind”—even a forgotten, “throwaway” orphan can rescue a prince.

The day I turned fifteen, Brother Hiram kicked me out of the orphanage. I mean that literally. Brother Hiram planted his foot on my ass, and I almost went to my knees on the cobblestones outside the front door.

“We’re done with you!” Brother Hiram announced unnecessarily. “Beg Zandru for help if you need it.”

And he slammed the door.

It was quiet outside. The main street of Haydentown, halfway between Neskaya and Armida, wandered around the city like a stone squiggle. Thank Sharra it wasn’t raining. Or snowing. Or hailing. To the west, the city climbed the hills toward Castle Hayden. Behind it, the sun, low and bloody, was touching down on the Kilghard Hills. It was a clear summer evening, the perfect day to be kicked out of the only home you’d ever known.

I staggered upright and turned around. The orphanage seemed to stare down at me with empty, dead eyes that saw nothing. They sure didn’t see me. The orphanage was one among a dozen row houses, all huddled close together in the smelly part of town. The shutters were closed tight so that not one scrap of light might escape for anyone on the street to use. Inside, Jerrell and Larion and Giley and the others would be hanging up their socks in front of the fire to dry about now. Orphans didn’t stay up late, and they didn’t sleep after sunrise. I always wondered about that. What in all nine hells did it matter if we stayed up late and slept in the next morning? We were orphans. But Brother Hiram said suffering made us better people, and that included going to bed early and rising before dawn, and using stinging willow switches on my bare legs for looking him in the eye, and locking me in the basement for asking questions during reading time, and beating me with an axe handle on the day my voice broke.

“That’s to remind you never to touch yourself for evil,” he had snarled. “And that and that and that.”

I looked at the white scar on my palm and remembered the hot iron.



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