Spear Mother: A Tale of the Fourth World

By Brandon M. Lindsay

Sandrena of the Mist Clan has been chosen for an impossible task: to kill an ancient god bent on consuming the Fourth World. Failure leads to the destruction of mankind. Yet even success could end in true death for Sandrena and her five companions.

Armed only with a magical spear whose power she can't unlock and plagued by memories of a life she never lived, Sandrena must bind her group together if any of them hope to survive.

She must become Spear Mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandon M. Lindsay
• Release date: Mar 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310801709

Brandon M. Lindsay

Brandon M. Lindsay grew up in the Seattle area, and now lives in Tokyo, Japan. He received a degree in philosophy from the University of Washington in Seattle. While he can be frequently seen debating politics and philosophy, his truest love is writing epic fantasy. In the Fourth World series, he has released the novella Spear Mother, the novelette Dark Tree, and a collection of stories called The Clans. Brandon will continue to write stories in the Fourth World, as well as in other worlds. He is also a co-founder of The Fictorian Era, a blog for writers.

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Spear Mother:

A Tale of the Fourth World

by

Brandon M. Lindsay

Copyright © 2014 Brandon M. Lindsay

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Discover other titles by Brandon M. Lindsay:

Dark Tree: A Tale of the Fourth World

The Clans: Tales of the Fourth World

Table of Contents

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About the Author

Some believe that perhaps we are not all there is to Berahmain’s great Plan. Obviously, there are all manner of objects that populate the Fourth World which have no apparent relation to the War beyond Time: plants, stones, water, beasts and birds, and so on. Yet they are still here. And so are the Aberrations.

Why? we may ask. The Church is, generally, silent, though of course there are factions within it over the issue. Some believe the Aberrations are a test to overcome, and that test is their destruction. Others believe that they are agents of the Enemy.

I, however, am not in any way affiliated with the Church, and thus I have no one I need to impress with my tractability. What if the Aberrations are simply here? What if they were here first? Maybe, just maybe, certain elements of reality are protected from a twisted and perverse God who thrives on the bloodshed of his own creations? Some may call such an idea absurd, but that is only because their tiny minds cannot grasp the existence of a thing absent contrivance.

One wonders if they even blame the God for the unworthy content of their own stymied ideas.

- Gohngran (authenticity of the sample is, however, suspect)

1

The shelter Korilia led them to barely warranted the title. It was little more than a gouge in the hillside lined with tightly-fitted rocks to keep the soil from spilling in. A sloping curtain of vines woven together provided both a makeshift roof and door, though Sandrena imagined it served poorly for both roles. She had to admit, though, that the mat of vines did blend in with plains of chest-high grass that stretched on interminably in every direction here and everywhere else in Canterell lands, and thus made the shelter at least suitable as a hiding place.

Thumbs hooked under the straps of her pack, Sandrena stared at the shelter in disappointment. She had hoped that shelter meant a roof and cots and maybe a cup of wine. After three weeks travelling through Canterell, she knew that was far too much to ask.

She sighed and shifted Motherspear under her pack so that it didn't rub against her shoulder blade. Hopefully the woven vines would keep some of this damned rain off their heads. It seemed that ever since they set foot in Canterell lands and met Korilia, the sixth and final member of their odd group, it had never stopped raining.

Sandrena had never seen rain before. Both of her lives up until now had been spent solely within Mist Clan lands. There were no clouds, and thus, no rain; all of the moisture was trapped within the mists that coated her clan's lands, thus providing nourishment to the unique flora and fauna that lived there. When she was younger she had heard of clouds that floated above the mountaintops rather than below, and the rain that fell from them. The idea had filled her with wonder then, but now, having lived through it day after soaking wet day, she had grown beyond numb at the idea. She wished that she would never feel another drop of rain fall on her head.

Squinting up at the dark and angry sky, she knew that was a wish that would not be granted.

At least we'll be out of the wind, she thought as the drops continued to pelt her face. As another gust blasted her, she followed the other five women into the gouge.

* * *

The shelter was worse than it looked. The raindrops may have lessened in frequency, but the drops that did get through seemed twice the size. The wind, unable to harry the six of them further, howled all the louder as if in frustration, though Sandrena knew it was just how it blew across the lip of the gouge that made it seem that way. It was barely an improvement, but Sandrena was learning to get by with much less these days.

Only Korilia, who had grown up in Canterell, seemed unaffected by their conditions. She sat on a moss-covered rock, water beaded up on her fat-treated hides, whittling a stick she had found a few days back with her iron knife, focusing on the task as if it was the only one that had ever been set before her. It was a stick of brush wood; not real wood, as she had said. Sandrena assumed she meant tree wood. Trees were damn near sacred in these heathen lands.

Dormaun, the Wyrricswoman in their band, had built a small fire with the horse chips she had found earlier today. It wasn't entirely pleasant-smelling, especially since it was difficult to keep them dry.

Still, it was better than nothing.

As was the case most nights since they had met, none of them spoke much, though the silence wasn't as strained as it had been at first. While it wasn't exactly companionable, it wasn't openly hostile, either. None of the other women seemed as tense now, and Sandrena noticed that Korilia was sleeping with her knife sheathed rather than in her hand.

Sandrena glanced around at each of their faces, briefly meeting their eyes one by one. What a strange group they were. She still couldn't fathom this situation. Each of the six clans was represented here. As far as Sandrena knew, such a group had never existed in all of history. Half their respective clans had only ever seen the other half as enemies to be slaughtered. That they should be bound together in this task was incredible. That they should share the same roof without killing each other was amazing enough.

The dreams, though, were clear about what would happen should they fail in their task.

Sandrena shuddered at the thought. Lady, but how she wished she were home! Not only did she miss her parents, but being so far from the mists that gave her people their strength made her feel vulnerable. If she ran into trouble, she couldn't call upon the powers that made her clan nearly invincible. She would be weak.

Well, she thought, brushing a finger against the bone-white shaft of Motherspear, lying across her folded legs, not as weak as I could be, I suppose.

She had never seen such a weapon before. The shaft, made of sturdy