A Second Edition of Jesse Pohlman’s “Pillars of the Kingdom” Volume One, is now available for Kindle!

Greetings, travelers!

The other day, after months of work and many edits, I’ve decided that I had done a worthy job of revising my very first novel, the Sci-Fi/Fantasy thrilled Pillars of the Kingdom:  Volume One, “The Forming” (POTK1).  This revision was was originally intended as an after-a-decade effort, but family difficulties and career responsibilities held up its release until this week.  Nevertheless, with cover art that serves as a helpful map of the Kingdom of Emor and honors the original artwork by the talented Jennifer Souza, this book promises to be a much neater version of the first – or, at least, I promise you that it is!

Combining the feeling of Japanese Animation along with Final Fantasy, PotK was my very first venture into the world of writing.  The series, as yet incomplete (a good book needs time to inspire it), is centered around three vital characters:  Branden Frost, Clarice Saffron, and Jacin Lancir.  Each is from a different walk of life within the multi-state Kingdom of Emor: Branden is a highborn elite from Icebridge in Gatamene, a warrior whose speed knows no peer and who wants the best for the common man even as his allies are on the precipice of staging a coup; Clarice Saffron is from Coaslund, is also a warrior, but struggles with her love for another woman in a society that questions such things; Jacin Lancir is a young Gataminian recruit who never aspires to be a hero, but finds out that his ancestors determined his destiny as much as he ever could.

Each has friends, foes, and fears to deal with, but they are joined together by their king to protect their nation from the greatest existential threats they can discover.  Whether its foreign invaders, domestic treason, or even evil demigods seeking to re-create ancient cataclysms, the bonds of this team being formed – later, to be called the Pillars of the Kingdom – will be tested and re-aligned over the course of your adventure with them!

For only a buck, why not take a day off and read this massive, 100,000+ word endeavor by Jesse Pohlman, available digitally only via Amazon’s Kindle!  Don’t have one?  Just run a google search for, “Kindle for my phone” and you’ll probably find one for free!

Song of the Sisters, Book One

About four years ago, in May of 2012, I made the last modification to an Epic Poem I was developing.  Because of an imminent shoulder surgery and other obligations, I never returned to work on it.  Today, I’m releasing the first chapter of it just as sort of a, “how does this sound to you, dear reader?” type of thing.

It’s very different than any of my previous work, or any of my work since for that matter, so check it out and let me know what you think!

Book One
Wherein the Sisters escape from the Tower. They are pursued,
but are unsure whether it is by friend or foe. They determine
how compromised the Tower they built is, and must decide
who they can trust with their vow to reclaim it.

      Flight.

The shouts of treason and the
Trumpets of war echoed against the endless night.
Swords were brandished and bandied,
Spears were readied and raised ,
Arrows, freshly loosed, flew into
The impenetrably dark sky.
Acrimonious roars accompanied the cocking
Of rifles and shotguns, weapons from the World Before,
Lost to the Torrents of Fire which shaped our world anew.

Oh, Muse! Grant me the illustrious wisdom,
The powers of description and visualization,
Needed to describe the Two Sisters descending from
That most hallowed of Towers; their true names lost
Forever to the flow of history, forgotten and fully
Replaced by the justice they forged.

“Sister,” spake the First, her feet gracefully
Brushing over the broken concrete floor surrounding
The Tower they had raised. Their great descent was
Without speed, however, as they landed this figure,
Short and slender, clad in the darkest of robes and
With fibrous obsidian replacing hair, dropped to
Her pale knee. A hand, delicately running along
The shadowy fabric, found a hole over her shoulder
And felt the moist crimson of her lifeblood draining
From a seemingly mild wound. “I must rest,” she
Stated, as teeth gnashed her bottom lip. “I have
Been marked – I do not know by who.”

The second figure, a contrasting visage of
Platinum-colored hair and the brightest of blue
Eyes, folded her arms across her chest. Tall and
Consumed, it seemed, by flowing white cloth, she
Could not resist a frown. “Please, Sister,” implored
The Bright One, “We are far too near the Tower to sit
Idle. Our flight must be now!”

A nod of acceptance adorned the figure of
Night, as her eyes matched her Sisters’ brightness
With an unsatisfiable, dark void. She brushed
Fingertips over that cruel wound, probing its
Depth. The deceit of the one who dealt it was
Deeper than the injury itself. But was it
Poisoned? She could not know.

“We move on,” the Sister of Night proclaimed,
Rising to her feet and standing close to the one of Light.

The white-robed woman made no motion, no
Gesture, yet the winds lifted the graceful pair high
Above the un-reclaimed courtyard of the Tower, and
Carried them well over its tremendous walls, unseen,
Due to a swiftly summoned sphere of shadow formed
From but a whim of the wounded one. They drifted
Passing over their city and resting only upon rooftops,
Only for the most meager of moments. The winds
Carried the Sisters across the boroughs they build
And led them toward the final, exterior walls of
Their home. The gusts scaled them effortlessly, and
Not one guardsman saw them through their shadows.

The surrounding countryside consisted of
Farms, with tiny hovels hosting peasant families
Who loyally worked the lands and fed the city. Under
The Sisters, they had earned a fair wage in return for
Their foodstuffs; a share of their meals and of the
Material wealth of the City. Most of all, they had
Received the protection of the Tower itself, and
Of the residents within. The Sisters themselves
Had made this bargain, yet now they fled across
The lands they had sworn to protect.

Beyond the farms and fields, and far distant
From the wilder lands and rivers that bordered the
Kingdom of the Sisters’ Tower, the concrete remains
Of the World Before, after the Fire Torrent, greeted them.
With Nature’s own green reclaimers creeping cunningly
Up the dull gray slabs, crushing stone into sand
And returning ruins to wilderness, the Sisters
Sought solace from their surprisers. They at
Once found a sturdy enough looking structure,
One which would enclose them on three sides
With stable shelter, and would conceal them from
Passers-By.

The pale, dark one promptly sat down in
A rough manner, resting her legs and examining her
Shoulder as best as she might in the dark of night.
She sustained the cloak of shadows which had
Permitted their egress. Her Sister, gracefully,
Advanced to assist her opposite; her white gown
Descended nearly to the dirty floor, yet abstained
From being stained.

“It does not appear deep,” the tanned one
Of light whispered, observing the severity of the
Sliced shoulder.

The Sister of Darkness sighed. “You
Are correct, Zephyr,” she answered, finally
Speaking the name of her most Beloved
Sister. Oh, Muse, they could only have used
Their chosen names, donned as a depiction
Of their destinies. They could Never have
Used the names they were once known as,
From before they became our Great Heroes.
For we could certainly never have heard them.
“It is a most ordinary wound, and it poses
No great danger to me.”

“Delivered,” answered the Sister of
Light, “with the most unbelievable scorn and
Deceit.” Zephyr could not help but lower her
Eyes, those pale, gray-blue orbs, in dismay.
“To think that our Tower would be taken from
Us, after all we have done for its denizens.”

Zephyr’s Sister gazed upon her injury,
Observing as striking crimson slid from the slit
And descended down her supple arm in an
Inconsistent, wavy line. “They will come for
Us, if they are partners in this crime.”

The lips of Zephyr were a dark red,
And they turned toward the most dour of
Frowns that man had ever seen. Her beauty,
Great Muse, could only have been diminished
By this self-inflicted, sorrow-spawned sight. “Yes,
Crash,” she answered her Sister, using the donned
Name of the Dark One. “Or if they are compelled,
As our most loyal, yet mortal subjects were.”

“So you believe it to have been the work of
William, Zephyr?” asked Crash, invoking the known,
Formal name of that Great Betrayer of the Sisters.
“Has Will, taking advantage of his capability to
Corrupt those of others’, destroyed our Tower?”

“William broke the wills of many of our men,”
Zephyr answered cautiously. “Some may have conspired,
But I could not bring myself to end them with so little
Discrimination between the enslaved and the evil.”

Crash exhaled, staring at the blood trailing down
Her arm. “Generous of you, Sister, but it nearly led to
Our unexpected demise. We might not be able to afford
The price of our subjects’ lives should they come for us
Again, their minds conquered, or not.”

Zephyr sat down next to her Sister, tearing a tiny
Piece from her robe as if it were a crystal from a gown
Made of snow. She applied it to the injury that Crash
Had suffered, stymieing the bleeding even as it stained
The white cloth red. “It is more a concern for our
Fellow Endowed to bear. Without the benefit of their
Cruel surprise, our lesser subjects will not have
The tools to harm us at their disposal. They are
Simply not capable of it, anymore.”

Zephyr’s words were calming, and were
Meant to alleviate the worries of her beloved
Sister. Crash, as she listened, did not seem to be
Convinced that they were so impervious to the
Harm that a normal man could inflict. The Dark
Sister set aside her concerns. “We must extend
Due vigilance toward our brethren, then. If they
Were found unable to defend against William’s
Sinister influence, they will be a danger. If they
Cooperated, even more-so. It is worst to imagine
How the threats may arrange themselves. If the
Old Man assails us, even, we must be strong.”

The Sister of Light allowed her slender
Shoulders to rise and fall, softly. She looked
Upon her Sister’s torn sinew once more, and
Felt for a moment a pang of anger that reminded
Her of the past, long ago – and of their uprising.
She quickly suppressed this emotion, and in cold
Logic considered the circumstances. “Well, we
May safely know that Retro and Wisher would not
Fall under his influence. They are our greatest
Friends and assets – but they may be forced, in
The cruelest manner, to serve William’s sinful,
Treasonous interest.”

Crash concurred quietly, her eyes
Remaining open as their pupils devolved into
Dark pools of obsidian. “There are many of our
Apprentices who, loyal or no, will be facing us
Shortly. If Retro and Wisher remain free, than we
Have hope of reuniting our broken kingdom. Now,
However, we have more pressing matters.”

All the wisdom of you Muses must have flowed
Toward the Sister of Darkness in that moment, for
She could not have predicted with greater accuracy
The true nature of the situation. Without warning,
A dark duo appeared at the entryway to the cavern
Within which Zephyr and Chaos, those who Liberated
Us from our weaknesses, dwelled. The Dark One
Knew of Their intrusion immediately, for the shadows which
Concealed the two ladies were reporting the nearby
Violators of that shoddy cement sanctuary.

“It is as I expected, Sister,” quipped the
Dark One, “Sparrow is here. With another.”

“Sparrow?” Zephyr’s voice was tinted with
Concern. She assessed where she stood and drew a
Deep breath, preparing herself for what war the birdlike
One might bring to their doorstep.

A calm voice echoed into the charred hulk of
The building the Sisters sought refuge in. Oh, Muse, it
Was a nervous tone, one that was so far removed from
Violence that the Sisters almost felt it must be a trap.

“Sisters,” Sparrow called, boldness overcoming
Fear at what their wrath may bring, “Do not attack! We have
Come to aid you! It is Sparrow! I come with Sandy! We
Seek only to uphold your righteous rule, and defeat the one
Who deceived our fellow subjects!”

The two ladies, our Heroic Sisters, gazed upon one
Another with suspicion. The one who claimed to aid them
Was bold, to defy this devilish villain; yet they knew with
Full certainty that if they were tricked – if Sparrow was not
Acting of his own will, but of Will’s – that he might well
Know his doom to be impending, but unable to resist. The
Sisters decided his fate.

“Sparrow, you come with Sandy? You may enter,”
Offered the Sister of Darkness, Crash, as she withdrew that
Blanket of Night which protected them from Sparrow’s own
Capability. As the shroud fell backwards, two figures took
Their first steps into the Sisters’ hiding place.

The first was a male, short; with dark hair and eyes,
He looked very much like a bird. His chosen name, one
Selected for the speed it inferred, was represented by his
External presentation rather well.

The second was a woman with skin that seemed to
Be made of small granules of sand. Grainy flesh was
Accompanied by light, brown hair and adorned in a brown
Robe. She entered with her hands clearly visible, and
With no sign of hostility in her eyes.

“We have escaped,” this woman stated firmly,
A look of pain flashing across her rough face. She
Was older, perhaps, than the Sisters or the Sparrow, but
Carried herself with what looked much like health.

The Sister of Light nodded and exhaled, relief
Shining in her sapphire eyes. “It is good to know we
Have the aid of some of our fellows, even still. Our flight
From our city is not so lonely!”

Crash, of Darkness, added boldly; “And our return
Shall not be lonely, either.”

“I had hoped to hear such high dreams,” agreed the
Woman calling herself Sandy. “May I provide furnishings?”
Upon the consent of the Sisters, Sandy fell to her knees and
Touched her hand upon the cracked concrete. The damage
To the building, caused so long ago when the world was
Torn asunder, were quickly sealed back up as bits of dirt
Worked into the cracks and congealed, forming new
Stone. Then, without notice, a quartet of gently-sloped
Seats seemed to grow from the very floor. They were
As comfortable as crafted rock could be, with each
Refugee’s form taken into account by the one who
Sculpted it. Upon resting, the four were then
Separated by a summoned table.

“Does he know you have left?” the Dark
Sister asked the birdlike one.

Nodding twice, Sparrow spread his hands
In an open gesture. “It is impossible to hide the
Facts. Sandy and I claimed pursuit of you, and
He accepted. Either he is happy to be free of us,
Or he is convinced we are under his control.”

Crash’s eyes narrowed in disgust, but
Zephyr, the Sister of Light and wielder of the
Winds, frowned sorrowfully. “I am glad to hear
He might believe you to be lost to him in honorable
Chase. It will make this task much easier, the
Reclaimation of our great City and Tower.”

“We wonder how many others have left
Us for dead,” added the Sister of Darkness, eyes
Falling upon Sparrow and Sandy. “We must be
Willing to seize what we built. Our brothers
And sisters must join with us in number, for Will
Must have subdued our rank-and-file. We must
Prepare for the worst, even as we hope to resolve
This second horror without bloodshed.”

I pray, Muse, to properly tell this tale. I
Invoke upon these pages only what is needed to
Justly portray what these sacred Sisters experienced
In their second war against injustice and the
Exploitation of the Human spirit. It was after her
Gracious Sister expressed again her fears of
Violence that the Sister of Light finally could
Not control her sentiment.

“We failed!” Zephyr conceded with a
Brutal wail, her eyes closing tightly. “We,
Endowed with the hope of our kind, have let
Only the darkest parts of our blessing lay
Claim upon our Tower! We, by pride, did not stay
Vigilant; we did not remember our past, Sister,
And we have lost friends as a consequence!”

Crash, for all of her beauty, appeared
To reflect ugliness in her thoughts. “We have
Fought oppression before, and we have slain
Those who sought to own us. I must remind
My beloved Sister, for I fear she has forgotten
That which first made us, each, of Light and Dark.”

Jesse Pohlman is an educator and author from Long Island, New York.  If you enjoyed this short sample, why not check out his latest novel, Protostar:  An Automatic Apocalypse, available exclusively on Amazon’s Kindle!  It’s a sci-fi space opera that both questions the nature of humanity and embraces space warfare!

Protostar: An Automatic Apocalypse, available on Amazon’s Kindle!

Greetings, friends!

I know this is a bit overdue, but technical circumstances can be a pain.  At the start of December, and just in time for the Holiday season, I released the second novel of the Protostar series, An Automatic Apocalypse!   It is the direct sequel to my best-selling novel, Protostar:  Memoirs Of The Messenger, and besides being a kick-ass sci-fi story it also explores themes important to the human mind:  What is a “soul,” and can machines have them, too?  What makes for a “just” war, or a “just” imprisonment of someone who cannot remember her crimes?

I hope you’ll click on the picture below to whisk yourself over to the Amazon website and pick it up for your Kindle, today!  Don’t have a Kindle?  Download one to your phone for free, using this part of Amazon’s storefront as a jumping off point.  They have them for I-Phone, Amazon, PC, Mac, and more; and it’s all free!  There’s no excuse for you to avoid Protostar:  An Automatic Apocalypse!

protostar2finalcoverbeta

 

Lahira Ocean is the Captain of the Messenger, a cutting-edge Cruiser defending Humanity and its allies against an alien race called The Orphans. After a hectic battle at the planet Gagarin, Lahira awakens from a two-week long coma to find two strangers carefully awaiting her recovery. The first is clearly from the upper echelons of Earth’s government who calls himself Herodotus Fork; the second is distantly familiar to Lahira as a woman named Amber, an ambassador from the Automatons, a ‘species’ of alien who are fully artificial intelligences. Neither are happy to be sitting over her hospital bed.

Lahira is suspected of being involved in an unprecedented attack on an Automaton: During the Battle of Gagarin, Lahira’s ship emitted a strange signal which seemed to corrupt the mind of an elder Automaton, and Amber has been assigned to levy judgment about what happened. Unfortunately for her, the chaos of the ensuing melee led to the Human receiving serious injuries: She was mentally connected to a computer system which shorted out. These injuries – along with others lurking deeper under the surface of her thoughts – have induced retrograde amnesia, meaning she cannot fully explain the events leading to her role in the brawl.

Ultimately, Lahira has to confront her actions during the Battle of Gagarin while recovering from her wounds. She can’t even remember the conflicts she charged into with her top crew-mates, and digging into her recent past only brings up reasons for guilt to weigh her down, making the depths of her pain medication’s buzz more and more enticing. She finds herself in theological debates with a machine who has just as much faith in God as any 25th century Human she’d ever met, in ethical arguments with spies over how wars are fought, and in romantic entanglements with those she’d never imagined she’d developed an interest in.

By the time the conspiracy unravels, the masterminds responsible for Lahira’s turmoil have presented themselves, and Lahira’s ship is assigned to guarantee Humanity’s innocence in the attack. After finding herself to be all-too-Human, can she establish her species’ friendliness to strange alien entities who appear, at least on the surface, to be vastly superior to her? How will she survive the latest round of chaos in one piece?

 

A Touch Of Justice

Hello!

Today, I happened to be in the Long Island town of Lake Success, at an intersection I won’t specify given that this story involves my presence as an almost-involved observer, a cop, and a guy/gal driving a beautiful Lexus.  It also includes an often-absent substance called “justice for traffic violations.”

I was approaching a major traffic artery, what I believe was the Northern State Parkway.  Immediately before this highway’s entrance ramps, on my right-hand side of a single-lane-each-way street, there is a small avenue which leads to some residential neighborhoods.  It’s more than just polite to leave some space between your car and the one in front of you in the event you cannot clear the whole gap:  It is a requirement of the law.  I did exactly this, leaving some space between the fellow ahead of me and myself.  This was all well and good, and in fact quite normal.  Someone coming towards us from the other direction (in America, that’s on my left-hand side) would be able to turn left into the side-street if necessary.

This is a common habit of mine, but fortunately for me I saw a guy in a car quite similar to this one lurking at the edge of the side-street like a lion waiting for a gazelle; like an underpaid writer glaring at a chunky over-used metaphor:

A Die-Cast Model of the car lurking around the corner. Original image found at URL: http://diecastpolicecar.poliskarr.org/

 

 

So, this fine gentleman was waiting for any potential trouble-makers, and I was conspicuously not making trouble.  I might say a lot of interesting things, but I most certainly don’t make trouble!  I’m waiting for there to be enough space in front of me to advance towards the ever-unpleasant spot of congestion where a relatively thin traffic tributary merges with an Amazon-ly strong river, and I notice this good public servant just before I notice the room to advance.

Naturally, I did!

As I was approaching the car ahead of me, I realized the officer was pulling out behind me!  My eyes blinked.  I hadn’t done anything wrong!  Well, an instant later I saw a beautiful, brand-new silver Lexus pulling around me on my left side, cutting me off!  I blinked.  This is a one-lane-road; he’d jumped through traffic.

A second later the officer is straight behind the guy cutting me off, his lights on and running.  He flicks his signal light on, and when there’s room ahead of us I politely let the officer seize his quarry.  They roll forward about thirty feet, right to where a second lane opens up.  I delicately pull around them, making sure to follow each-and-every safety rule I can think of.

In short:  I can’t presume to know why this guy felt it necessary to cut me off.  Maybe he had an emergency to tend to, and it was significant enough to put safety in the sidebar.  Maybe he was just having a bad day and wasn’t thinking, trying to escape from the forces which had overwhelmed him.  Maybe he’s simply a jerk, thinking he had better things to do with his time than wait in traffic like non-luxury-car-owners.  Whatever his reasoning is, I got justice.  I was amused!