Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Explore 1.5M+ audiobooks & ebooks free for 30 days

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Storm Watch: The Kayavan Chronicles, #0
    Storm Watch: The Kayavan Chronicles, #0
    Storm Watch: The Kayavan Chronicles, #0
    Ebook91 pages1 hourThe Kayavan Chronicles

    Storm Watch: The Kayavan Chronicles, #0

    By Maria Grace

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Myths older than most of the Kayavan System's settled worlds warn that when the Kayavan comet appears, storms would upset the Lighten landscape--both the literal kind and the whatever-can-go-wrong-will variety.

    Though some ignored the myths, firsthand experience convinced Piers Phalen they were true. As crack pilot and security specialist for one of the most important men on Lighten, Mining Guild Master Brels, Phalen was prepared for storms, though. 

    At least he thought he was.

    Warning the Guild Master about in-house security concerns should have been a simple conversation. One and done. But it got him noticed and assigned to the Guild Master's pet project.What should have been a simple flight unravels into a tangle of danger, unexpected betrayal, and budding political intrigue destined to change the future of the entire Kayavan System. A storm worthy of Kayavan's Rising.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWhite Soup Press
    Release dateJan 27, 2025
    ISBN9798230922599
    Storm Watch: The Kayavan Chronicles, #0
    Read preview
    Author

    Maria Grace

    Though Maria Grace has been writing fiction since she was ten years old, those early efforts happily reside in a file drawer and are unlikely to see the light of day again, for which many are grateful. After penning five file-drawer novels in high school, she took a break from writing to pursue college and earn her doctorate in Educational Psychology. After 16 years of university teaching, she returned to her first love, fiction writing.   She has one husband, two graduate degrees and two black belts, three sons, four undergraduate majors, five nieces, six more novels in draft form, waiting for editing, seven published novels, sewn eight Regency era costumes, shared her life with nine cats through the years and tries to run at least ten miles a week.    

    Read more from Maria Grace

    Related to Storm Watch

    Titles in the series (1)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Science Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related categories

    Reviews for Storm Watch

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Storm Watch - Maria Grace

      image-placeholder

      Chapter 1

      Piers Phalen attacked the punching bag with a fury unwarranted by any inanimate object, not immediately standing between himself and his objectives. Best get his frustration out before he went in to talk to Guild Master Brels. Kayavan’s comet, or star as the traditionalists called it, was rising and that meant storms. Both the literal ones and the whatever-can-go-wrong-will variety.

      Brels was a fair and reasonable man, but like most, he was more open to hearing opinions that disagreed with his own when they were presented with a calm and level demeanor. And he and Brels definitely differed with respect to Lady Iantha Liner, head of the Lighten branch of Dextra’s Evering Industries.

      Evering Industries brought much needed capital and opportunity to Lighten, a humble moon settled by intrepid bands from both of the twin planets, Dextra and Thera. But Evering’s investment came at a cost. Not just to Firen Mines’ dignity, but, at least in Phalen’s opinion, their ability to choose their own path.

      Lady Ice, as he called her in the privacy of his own thoughts, seemed to think that all Lightens were primitive imbeciles who needed the assistance of their betters to establish control in their territories afflicted by the Raiders. An opinion that didn’t settle well with him, or anyone in Lady Ice’s reach. The Firen rank and file knew she was important, so they kept their opinions to themselves, but to say she was disliked and distrusted was putting it mildly.

      The core problem wasn’t that Lightens weren’t capable of managing. If only the Therans and Dextrines would quit interfering and let them actually do it, they might agree. But no, Lighten’s resources were too valuable to the system, so Dextra and Thera went about sticking their messy little fingers into every pot they could find.

      Mining Guild Master Brels wasn’t the only one who noticed and objected. The storm-addled Transportation Guild Master did too and used that to justify his draconian rule over the Lighten economy. But Brels had a plan to deal with the Transport Guild, the Dextrines, the Therans, and the Raiders—a plan that required playing nice with Lady Ice and Evering Industries for a little while longer.

      The thud of Phalen’s taped fists against the weighted bag echoed off the low ceiling and bare steel walls of the Firen Mines Headquarters’ recreation room. It smelled like sweat, a lot of sweat, a vague film of aerosolized lubricants carried on the recycled air, and that odd odor of the deep Lighten desert, earthy, herbal, with the faint musk of tunnel snake on the fringes. The sort of place that would never exactly be clean and proper, nor should it. Miners weren’t proper, but they were effective. They got things done, and everyone on Lighten was the better for it.

      And the sooner Brels’ plan went into effect, the better.

      Ritten, a moderately tall, shaggy-haired, softly muscled mine rat, on his first dispatch in the mines, assaulted a weighted bag of his own on the opposite side of the small sparring ring in the middle of the broad room. Most called him by his honest name—Ridden, which no matter what you put that with, Dust-Ridden, Storm-Ridden, Rat-Ridden, wasn’t complimentary, though it might have been entirely true, as honest names were meant to be. So, Phalen tried to think of him as Ritten to avoid the temptation to think worse of him than was already warranted.

      You already earned Champion status last year. Why you still going after the bags, Pogo? Ritten muttered Phalen’s honest name with a sneer, as though he actually questioned whether it was appropriate for Phalen to carry the name of the Arch Soul Catcher, the mythical figure responsible for capturing unworthy souls and dragging them to Abadon’s Gates.

      Damn tyro. They were always looking for a fight, as though bravado and fancy talk could overcome actual mettle in the ring—or out of it.

      Why keep that fancy tag of yours covered?

      Phalen rubbed the championship tattoo on his left bicep, the Fighting League’s clasped fist logo, with the date of his win and his honest name, Pogo, below. Usually covered by his gear, it was easy to forget it was there. So the attention it tended to draw from wanna-be’s like Ritten often felt surprising.

      Ritten kicked the bag, left, center, and right. Sloppy form no matter what direction he came at it from. No power at all in those moves. Sweat soaked Ritten’s barely there shirt and dripped down his face as he tapped his own bicep. You earned it, why not make the most of it?

      And that was why Ritten would never rise above the first level of the Firen Mine Enforcers, if they even decided to take him on in the first place. Everyone calls me Pogo—they know I’m a soul catcher they don’t want to meet. What more advertising do I need?

      Suit yourself. But with all that went to earning your championship, I don’t see why you don’t lean into it more. Ritten threw three more unfocused punches that sounded impressive, but wouldn’t stop a desert dung beetle. The way I see it, keeping that reminder front and center would only help your chances for promotion.

      Let me worry about my own career. Not your concern. Phalen was already a leader in the Enforcer’s pilot corps and on Brels’ elite bodyguard team. Further advancement, which had nothing to do with flashing the fancy tag on his arm, was on the horizon, but the details were on a need-to-know basis. And Ritten didn’t need to know. Pay attention to your own concerns, like the fact you open up that side when you punch. Drop your sarding elbow. Phalen ambled across the room and jabbed Ritten in the side as Ritten slammed another lazy punch on the bag.

      Sard you! Ritten shouted, grabbed his side, and jumped back.

      Pogo leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, flashing his tattoo. I’m on your side. Imagine it if I weren’t.

      Miserable tunnel snake. Ritten forced a bit of a laugh, as if to soften the insult. He’d meant exactly what he’d said, though. People always did. Especially when they seemed to be joking.

      But it was all right.

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 5