The Stirge

By Leigh Kimmel

When Liphrel's family fell too far on their debts, he was sold to the priests of the death god. But his family were followers of the birth goddess, which left him in a difficult position.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Starship Cat Press
• Release date: Apr 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223962083

Book preview

Sweat beaded on Liphrel's brow and ran down his face. He wanted to wipe it away, but he couldn't lift his hand. His arm lay a leaden weight at his side.

I shouldn't be here, Liphrel thought, struggling to keep the delirium at bay.

He recalled the day the moneylender came to their hut, accompanied by two thugs. Liphrel's parents had sold their last possessions to make the previous payment. This time they had nothing left but the rags on their backs.

And themselves. Liphrel choked back a sob, remembering the slave broker's compound. The rough-handed man had dug his fingers into Liphrel's ribs and laughed.

The others I can use, but this one's so scrawny he's worthless. And he's not pretty enough to sell to the brothels. I might be able to get a few coppers from the temple, but no more.

Liphrel had watched the rest of the family being led off to the holding cages as silver coins changed hands. Afterward the big man rang for an assistant.

Take this little scrap to the temple, and mind you get at least a silver starpiece out of that swollen Chief Priest. I'm sick and tired of him trying to cheat me. He charges enough for funerals. If he doesn't want to pay the price, he can make do with the children his worshippers bring to him.

Liphrel shuddered, wishing he could forget those memories, or the agony in his loins where the priests had cut him. I shouldn't be here, he thought again. We are the people of the Book of Birth, sworn to serve Nasanya, not Devarion.

He felt coldness on his forehead, drawing away some of his fever heat. For a moment he feared it was merely another figment of delirium, then he felt the damp cloth being pulled away. A splash, and the cloth returned, cooled by a quick dip in icy water.

Liphrel opened his eyes to find a boy about his own age standing over him. No, not a boy. The creature's hands looked more like the claws of a lobster, pincers of black horn.

Ashamed for staring, Liphrel averted his eyes. I'm sorry.

The creature laughed. Don't feel ashamed. You haven't hurt my feelings.

Liphrel looked back to find the creature still standing  over him, smiling. When Liphrel met its eyes he knew this was no child.

What—I mean who—are you?

My name is Tithlivron. I'm a stirge.

A stirge. His parents might be as haphazard about their religion as their finances, but they made sure he got to the temple school for basic religious classes. The priestesses