I took down Receiver of Many for publication last June and split it into two parts. Now the second half of the original is ready for preorder. And better than the version you first read here!
Please enjoy the brand-new Prologue and first three chapters, available here for free! Destroyer of Light will contain new, previously unpublished scenes, and I retooled some of the original text. Given that RoM's original length was over 275,000 words and given that I wrote nine new scenes between the two books, I had to split RoM into two parts: Receiver of Many and Destroyer of Light. Receiver of Many was published on September 23, 2015, and Destroyer of Light on will debut on March 20, 2016. Both books will be available in trade paperback through Amazon and CreateSpace, and in ebook through Kindle, Nook, iBooks, and Smashwords. For more information, please visit kata-chthonia dot com.
I cannot thank you enough for your support throughout this whole process of publishing this story, and thank you so much for reading!
~ Rachel Alexander, aka Kata Chthonia
—
"Just a little further, my love… a little further." The rabbit pelts bundled around his feet had kept out the snow, but not the cold. The wet leather straps holding those flimsy wrappings around his ankles chafed and bit into his skin.
"Why…"
"There's food ahead in Eleusis," Dimitris said. "Everyone says so."
She stumbled, trying to balance on her own two feet, leaning on her husband to take just one more step. "Everyone?"
"Yes, love," he said gently. "Everyone we've met and all we walk with. We're nearly home. And Eleusis is not far beyond. " More feet crashed through the snow onto their path, a caravan of the starving and sick, bound for the promise of food, praying to all the gods that they'd make it. Dimitris pointed at the shadowy outlines of those around them, some walking faster, driven by hunger or by grief for the dead they had left along their journey. Others trudged slowly across the frozen landscape: those with children, the elderly, the ones refusing to abandon their dead. "Demeter is in Eleusis. There's food there. And so many people."
"You said that about Athens."
"This is different."
She coughed violently and he stopped again, the third time in the last hour. Dimitris stroked Melia's back and held a rag against her mouth to keep her from breathing in the chill air and the blinding flurries of snow. She leaned harder against him, her coughing subsiding. He pursed his lips when he brought the linen away. More bright flecks of blood had joined the ones that had already dried brown. She wheezed, and dropped to one knee. "Dimitris, please. Let's stop. Build a fire."
"We can't," he whispered. "There's no more kindling. And the branches are too green to burn, and frozen through."
"Oil, then," she rasped. "Burn the oil."
"It's the only thing that keeps you from coughing. We shouldn't—"
"There's nothing—" she coughed again. "There's nothing that can stop it. Please. I just want to feel warm. Just once… just once."
Dimitris looked around them for shelter or anything that could stoke a fire. Oil could set a branch or two aflame. They had nearly reached their small farm. Surely these reserves could be spared. He tilted her head up. "Melia, my heart. Look there. You see? You see the grove there?"
"Yes." She smiled for the first time in days. "We were married there."
"Yes, we were." He spoke low and stroked her back as she coughed again. "And I will wager that none of these people know that our grove has scattered kindling. Enough to make a fire. It can't be seen from the road. They would have missed it." He forced a smile.
"Go gather wood there."
"Alone? Melia, it's only half a mile—"
"I can't." She sat still closing her eyes. "I need to rest."
He nodded to her, somewhat relieved. By himself it would take a third the time to collect wood. And with the sun setting, time was in short supply. He wrapped the extra blanket securely around her, and propped her against their meager provisions and belongings. Dimitris kissed her on the forehead. "Stay warm. I'll be right back."
Dimitris struck off from the road, trudging through the drifts and banks. His feet sank through new fallen snow and crunched against the packed ice, the cold biting at his shins. He grabbed the branches above for balance and kept himself from sinking into a fresh drift, then plowed into the center of the grove.
He shook his head. Melia had told him the morning after their wedding that Kore, Demeter's flower-bearing daughter, had been there to bless their union— that she'd felt the young goddess's presence at their ceremony. Dimitris had brushed off her fancies. Why would a goddess pay a visit to two lowly mortals on their wedding day? They weren't kings or queens, and neither of them had divine blood.
He chuckled. Dimitris had always thought Melia was a goddess among women. She always wore flowers in her hair. A daughter from the next farm over, he had known her since childhood, and they had secretly promised themselves to each other in youth. When she came of age, Dimitris had begged his father to speak with hers and make the arrangements, even though he was still too young to marry. The second happiest day of his life had been when Melia's father gave his approval.
It had been sunny the day of their wedding. He still remembered the taste of honey and barley cakes and her soft lips. The day after was eerily calm, and other farmers reported strange fallow spots in their fields. They'd thought nothing of it until the next day, when the sun had disappeared behind clouds, the wind howled, and all the wheat and flowers died.
"If you're there, Maiden, as she thought you were that day, then please…" Dimitris whispered in prayer. "Please… please let us reach Eleusis. I'll sacrifice the rest of our stores. Anything. Please help us. Help her."
Dimitris reached the clearing. The trees above had shielded it from snow drifts and passers by, but the ground was bare. Every piece of fallen wood had been gathered, the shrubs had been uprooted, and even the lower branches of each tree had been hacked away. His prayers were unanswered. The Maiden Kore couldn't hear him anyway. She was in the Land of the Dead. His shoulders dropped. He would return to Melia empty-handed.
There wasn't time to fell any trees. He had to get back to her. He'd carry her on his back if he had to. They only needed to get home. Eleusis could wait. He could tuck Melia into bed, safe from the wailing wind and burn everything they had in the hearth— chairs, tables, linens, and oil. She would be warm while he went to Eleusis to bring her food, and perhaps a healer. Surely there would be one among the throngs that had traveled here. He tripped and fell into a bank, the snow suffocating and wet on his face. He jumped back up and brushed his clothes off before it could melt and chill his bones.
Dimitris reached the road and quickened his pace. A man and his son trudged past him, bound for Eleusis, their bodies cloaked and faces bundled. Through the haze of drifting snow he made out the outline of Melia, her knees huddled against her chest under layers of shawls and blankets, leaning against their packs.
His strides became longer. He would pick her up and carry her. It wasn't far. If the grove was so close, then their home was just beyond the ridge. They needn't build a fire here. They could wait for home. Home…
"Melia!" He called out, waiting for her to turn. She didn't move. "My love, it isn't far. Let's get you up. It's time to go home. Melia?"
She lay still.
"Melia!"