The Hollow-Hearted: An Odyssium Novella: Odyssium, #3

By C.A. Bryers

In The 13th Paragon Part II: From Ashes of Empires, a brief, heated recounting of events offered a mere glimpse into the hasty and ultimately treacherous expedition that launched Natke Orino’s career as an explorer in the Odyssan Archipelago. Now, the story of that journey is at last ready to be told in The Hollow-Hearted.

They called her Cary the Hollow-Hearted, perhaps the first female assassin of wide renown and infamy in all of history…or was she? Many contend her vicious legacy was but a myth, while others have turned her 300 year-old story into myriad works of fiction—a caricature of what may have been.

When the opportunity to discover the truth about Cary the Hollow-Hearted arises, it comes at a fragile period in Natke’s life. Her efforts to establish herself as an explorer in these islands have met with disaster thus far, and her relationship with her partner, Fuorento, seems destined to a similar fate. But before Natke and her team even reach the earthquake-ravaged site, signs appear that they might not be alone on their journey. Someone is there waiting, but for what purpose? The fortune that is storied to be hidden there? Or is it something far more sinister?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.A. Bryers
• Release date: Jul 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536553369

C.A. Bryers

C.A. Bryers is the author of the Odyssium series, which began with THE 13th PARAGON duology comprised of SCRAPPER and FROM ASHES OF EMPIRES. When not writing, C.A. Bryers enjoys sculpting, spending time with his family, and experimenting to find the magical number of minutes chocolate chip cookie bits should sit in applesauce before they are appropriately mushy and ready for consumption. He currently resides in frostbitten Minnesota--the exact opposite of the tropical paradise that is his ideal (at least part-time) place to park his flip-flops. Until then, he is moderately content writing about such locales.

Book preview

1

Dearest Natke,

I hope this letter finds you in better spirits than I imagine it might, given recent events. Your effort in finding a place for yourself in the field of exploration and discovery has been admirable. It brings me great pain to learn that in your pursuit of knowledge, antiquities, and lost fortunes, the lion’s share of what you’ve encountered has been bad luck. Perhaps if you had taken my advice and agreed to a mentorship with a man of experience such as myself rather than stubbornly forging your own path, these words lamenting your tribulations might not be required.

I wish you well in the future, and I sincerely hope we someday meet face to face. Granted, if that day should come, I fear it may be in some backwater tavern, with you dressed in some comely, yet degrading, costume. Just remember, my offer remains on the table. And if you persist in declining it, let me give you a piece of advice. When the time comes that fate does deem fit to set us before one another, remember—I take my steak rare, heavy on ground pepper, with three splashes of fresh-cut lemon juice.

All my best,

DdC

Natke Orino set the letter down, clicking off the desk lamp that shone down upon the double-creased sheet of paper. It left her shuttered office as dark as her mood. She could still feel the letter’s presence there, and she glared absently in its direction, hoping that the author might somehow feel her withering disdain despite the distance separating the two.

Coming to the Odyssan Archipelago had seemed like the perfect getaway from a life on which she wished to shut the door. While still bearing the scars of strife, these islands remained a tropical, almost idyllic setting whose people simply had to be of a softer, more laid-back variety than those on the Miriotic Continent, she’d figured. But men like the one who had deigned to write her this letter lurked under rocks everywhere. It seemed that no matter where she went, there were always callous, self-important worms to be found.

When she had first come to the islands and declared her intentions by setting up a team of like-minded individuals with a keen interest in history and archaeology and the expertise to assemble expeditions, Natke had received her first letter from this man. It was similarly condescending, and thinly veiled as to what a partnership with him might imply. Despite his overwhelming success in the field she hoped to break into, his offer had not been difficult to reject.

Still, she had to admit the author had a point in today’s letter. Things could not continue like this much longer. Old contacts from her previous life had garnered her three major financiers for her activities in the region. In the last week, two had sent letters expressing their intent—regretful, of course—to cease funding any and all future explorations. Once the third pulled their funding, that would be the end of her little venture in the archipelago. Her record of success—or lack thereof—would speak for itself.

It wasn’t as though her failures had been due to incompetence. Bad luck had played a bigger hand than any other factor. She thought back to their first expedition and the meager scraps they had been permitted to collect. Another team had beaten them to the site, and the memory of that day sparked a reflexive glance in the direction of the letter lying there in the darkness. The second foray had gone even worse. Before she’d even set foot upon the shore, rumors of massive civil unrest in the region and stories of the beheadings of foreigners had convinced Natke to turn back. And in truth, the third had been over as quickly as the second, only they didn’t know it at the time. A former member of Natke’s team had sold and transmitted their research on the site to a band of looters already in the area. By the time Natke had arrived at the site, the secret vault in the ancient temple had been broken into and ransacked.

Natke almost laughed in the stillness of her office. If this run of bad luck had been present back in Miriotesse, she would have been dead a dozen times over. Even so, she wasn’t now questioning her decision to come here. She wasn’t one to do that. Once her mind was made up and her course set, there was little that could dissuade her. It wasn’t as if she’d expected instant, miraculous success. Fortunes and lost civilizations were not going to come spilling out of the sky once she arrived here upon the isle of Mythili. And yet she hadn’t imagined her resources drying up like the scales of a milky-eyed fish in the sun within nine months of her settling here.

A measure of the darkness was burned away for a moment as the door behind her opened and closed. Then, hands slid over her shoulders and wrapped themselves across her chest, drawing her suddenly back to the present. Her immediate reaction was to pry the hands off as she might an attacker’s, and storm out of the office without a word spoken. But she knew the hands about her were Fuorento’s. As much as she wanted none of the physical contact right now, she chose to tolerate it.

Passed by and it was dark in here. Thought I might try to brighten things up a bit.

It was a kind gesture on his part, so she tried to let herself melt into the moment. With a sigh, she imagined the ever-heightening wall that barred her from success in these islands coming apart at the mortar and tumbling away. But as quickly as she pretended the obstacle was no more and let herself be taken away by Fuorento’s soft embrace, the wall was there again, as formidable and imposing as it had been seconds before. She continued to recline against him, but that was the most she could muster.

A few seconds later, the hands lifted away, and clicked on the lamp. What’s the problem?

There were plenty of answers to that question, but none she wanted to vocalize at the moment. The doubtfulness of her team’s viability and survival in these islands was her burden to bear, not to mention an indication of her failure. Then there were issues of a more personal nature between herself and Fuorento that could easily spiral into an abrupt severing of their relationship, and she wasn’t ready for that just yet. Instead, she chose the path least ridden with pitfalls. It might end in an argument, she figured, but it would be a short one that would change little.

Nothing, she said at last, consciously diminishing the gentle curl of her native Miriotic accent. Besaru was just down here a few minutes ago. I don’t need him seeing—

Fuorento’s lips tightened, a note of irritation flashing in his deep brown eyes. I saw him outside a block away, heading in the other direction. He’s not going to walk in on anything, so you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out about me.

The rebuke was what she expected, but at least it steered the conversation in a more well-traveled direction whose conclusion was easier to predict.

"I know you don’t want us bandied about for the sake of the team, but it’s gonna come out sooner or later. Some of them probably have it figured out. They’re not stupid, Natke."

Natke shook her head, using her hands to wrap her