Through The Oracle’s Mist
Series- Vengelys Series #1
By- Aedan Byrnes
Genre- Historical Paranormal Romance
Published By- Drake Valley Press USA
In the blackest night, with the moon and stars to guide him, she would always be there waiting…
Cyrenna thought she died the day she watched Tynan and his brothers jump through the banishment portal in an act of solidarity with Rigor. Little did she know, it would be the first of many deaths she would experience in her quest to claim his heart. She would surrender not only her immortal soul, but a mortal one repeatedly. Through a deal with the great Oracle, she has multiple mortal lifetimes to change the direction of her future and have a chance with Tynan.
Her journey spans the ages from the GenPei War in Japan and the Silk Road west, to Cromwell, the Three Kingdoms and modern times, bringing her one step closer to forever until she makes a misstep. Then, the burden falls to Tynan. The only thing that is absolute is her fervent hope that he will come, but there’s one big problem.
Through it all, he doesn’t so much as know her name.
And Aedan Byrnes shared with us his thoughts on why you become a writer!
Why you became a writer.
Perhaps the better question for me is why I became a published writer; I’ve always been a writer. For as long as I can recall, I’ve written something; poetry, news articles, short stories, you name it – I’ve written it and loved every minute of it. Writing is cathartic and calming for me, reading is as well.
There comes a point as a storyteller that you directly or inadvertently share your writing with someone and everything changes. From that moment is when you become something more than a writer, you become an author. To me the transition from writer to author is not about publication, publication is just the big step you take and the big risk you wage to let those who don’t know you, know your writing and your world. There is more to share, more to know, more to get out of your head because it begins to consume you and all the while, there is something that won’t let you stop. The transition is when you let someone else see the writing that has the ability and nerve to tell you what they really think of it. At the end though, they are all titles…I am in love with words and putting them together to become something more. Writer? Author? Storyteller? …whatever I am, it makes me happy, insanely happy.
Writing is a great drug if you let it be your high. It will lift you up, show you worlds that don’t exist to the naked eye, and let you soar through a timescape without leaving the place you sit or stand. It is a moment of great power, great responsibility, and great accomplishment…if you can channel it. We can all doodle or ramble, but taking the time to see the story through and make it something that makes sense to anyone but you is what makes you a writer/storyteller/author in my thinking.
I’ve said before, I don’t know about ‘becoming’ a writer, because I don’t think I did. I am a writer. I am a storyteller. I am a lover of ideas and words and places that creep to mind in the waning hours between asleep and awake and I reach to know them better, to create a mad fantasy of whimsy or passion and then…to share it. Writing is my joy, my release, my fun, my sorrow, my life. How could I not be a writer? What is it that moves you? Are you pursuing it?
And here is an excerpt from 'Through the Oracle's Mist'
We landed on a hard stretch of land with a thump, a squish, a crack, a growl, and a hard exhale. Most of that I think was Dom who landed first and under the rest of us, but I’m sure we each contributed. He’s not a half bad cushion. True to our training we landed and rolled, jumping up into fighting form immediately. With no one else around, we launched on one another. The snarling and the sounds of punches landing echoed back to us, bouncing off the walls that encircled us that we had yet to notice. We were warriors born, bred and trained. We were also brothers, so the fighting went on until fewer of us could stand than not. Though most of us were down, physically drained from the exchanges, our mouths were still in prime fighting form and the verbal bickering and bashing continued long after the beat downs had stopped.
Ass, true to his nature, started in on Rigor with a relentless verbal assault blaming him for everything and anything that came to mind. Probably, a few that didn’t. Rigor, unlike himself, seemed to take it all and not say much. He was as aware as the rest of us that our current situation was largely his fault. Only when Ass stopped to take a breath did Rigor interject.
“You know, you didn’t have to come.”
“As if I had a fucking choice ya big blow hard. ‘Remember the pact, remember the pact…’ you were like a damn Edrin bird anytime we came to high house. ‘Remember the pact and Kyrna don’t shift.’”
Lone, Dom and I looked at each other. I could tell we were all thinking Ass had done a fair impression, though of Rigor or the Edrin we weren’t going to offer opinion. Deno was notoriously quiet. Killer was too. Looking at him, he was fighting his own battle half in and half out of a shift. Good thing to know that we hadn’t lost that ability on our way here. Where here was remained a mystery.
Only after we had wound out of our want to continue the bashing did the situation really sink in. Sitting amongst my brothers in a place that I had yet to notice, I was overcome with the foreign sense of being lost.
I had seen her. The one match to my immortal soul had been revealed and there was nothing I could do about it. I wonder what she is. She was obviously not like my brothers and I. I wonder if, like me, she saw my other form and knew in that moment she had gained and lost it all by my choice without her getting so much as a vote. Her tear had tracked from luminous, but frightened eyes so wide I think I could have seen the flecks in the amber if I’d had a moment longer to look. Her voice was a symphony in the only word she uttered, ‘No.’
I found myself imagining all that might have been, now that it would never be, and for a moment, second guessing my allegiance to my brothers. If I had known the cost first, would I have jumped? Of course I would have.
About the Author-There is no simple description for Aedan Byrnes. Obsessive, dreamer, reclusive, compulsive, outdoorsman and wordsmith would be among the list if one were started. The displaced Gael lives in the upper Midwest with family between jaunts wherever the road takes him. A frequent traveler, he is as likely to be found rock climbing or spelunking as sitting fireside dreaming or aimlessly floating away.
A lifelong lover of words and writing, he claims a diverse reading appetite and his writing reflects the myriad influences. A self-proclaimed 'reader's writer', he looks for the emotional and the sensory in word combinations, not just the visceral comprehension of phrases in the stories he crafts and his love of all things literary shines through.