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King

by RJ Larson

Paperback, 352 pages

Published July 1, 2013 by Bethany House

Akabe of Siphra is certain his people are insane. 

Why have they made him a king? 
What, in the name of peacetime boredom do kings do?

Frustrated by a lengthy silence from his Creator, the Infinite, Akabe decides to prove himself as king by undertaking a monumental task, his own lifelong dream: Rebuild the Infinite’s temple in Siphra. 

But Akabe’s impulsive decision sweeps him into a storm of controversy. The Infinite’s enemies join forces in Siphra, and beyond, conspiring to destroy the emerging temple—and to kill their king and his mysterious new queen.

Goodreads * Amazon * Barnes & Noble * Bethany House

R.J. Larson is the author of numerous devotionals featured in publications such as Women's Devotional Bible and Seasons of a Woman's Heart. She lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband and their two sons. Prophet marks her debut in the fantasy genre.

Website * Blog * Facebook * Twitter

Map Puzzle Tour... Follow the tour to reveal the entire map!

22 - Launch!

  Kien (Judge cover) is the original owner of the map... the scrolling mimics his sword...

23 – ADDLibrarian - Review

 My own perceptions of God as portrayed by the Old Testament have been challenged.

-         

Rose & Beps Blog  - "Compass: The Dream" RJ Larson

"...if anyone had told me that I would be writing Inspirational fantasy I would have laughed, shaken my head, and offered them chocolate..."

24 – TheWonderings of One Person - Review

This last book in her series is simply amazing in its passionate pursuit of wholeness through obedience.

25 – TheOther World  "Beginnings" RJ Larson

"King’s main character, Akabe of Siphra, first appeared in book one, Prophet, as an honorable rebel-hunter roaming wild in the mountains east of Parne." 

26 – Pieces of Whimsy - "Romance & Action: The Balancing Act"

"This symmetry between lovely gowns, awesome weaponry, and pondering the eternal Word..."

28 – The(Mis)Adventures of a Twenty-Something Year Old Girl 

"Mythical-seeming beasts and monsters from Earth’s own ancient legends'

29 – JoJo’sCorner 

I give KING by RJ Larson *****5/5 STARS*****

-         

Christy’s Cozy Corner - Ela's Griddle Bread

30 – Proud Book Nerd 

"Akabe’s task, which threatens to be thankless indeed, is to unify his country, restore peace to his people, and reestablish Siphra’s reputation among neighboring countries."

31 – KellyP’s Blog 

 "Belaal’s ruler is a god-king named Bel-Tygeon who believes that his own will supersedes all others, including his Creator, The Infinite."

-         

JL Mbewe

Prophet is such an interesting read... the author has created this awesome world that springs to life with great characters from Ela’s little sister Tzana to Kien to the destroyer called Pet.

1 – Worthy 2Read - Reviews of Prophet, Judge & King

Larson creates a believable world inspired by the Old Testament. The narration is rich and the characters are well-developed. The plot is suspenseful, drawing the reader in as Ela grows as the Infinite’s prophet.

2 –

Mommasez…

4 –  Backing Books

Can we follow God in faith even when he seems silent to our prayers? This is something that we often struggle with and that Larson approaches in her newest novel, King.

5 – Shannon’sBlog 

With likable characters, a fresh world, and a powerful measure of spirituality, King is a fine addition to Christian fantasy.

-         

Mel’s Shelves  Review

This is a well written book with lots of great quotes and thoughts. I found myself stopping a lot to digest the words I had just read. I loved the ending and this is a book that I highly recommend!!

6  - A Year of Jubilee Reviews 

7 – Tressa’sWishful Thinking - Review

You can see a lot of similarities or situations based off of different Bible stories. The circumstances and resolutions are not the same though. This is a different world with different characters and other factors, 

-         

A Tiffyfit’s Reading Corner - What's Next?

Exiles

Two tribes will close the map’s circle in two spin-offs now underway in my imagination and in my computer. Working titles...

Queen

8 – TellTale Book Reviews 

I sincerely hope that R.J. Larson continues writing more of this style of book, either continuing the series or possible writing another one. Fantasy isn't my top choice in genres but R.J.'s books have been and will continue to be at the top of my wishlist!

9 – Grand

Finale

The map... complete!

Giveaway:

Print copy of Prophet, Judge & King.  USA, Canada, UK only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Best. Tag. Ever.

Hannah at The Writer's Window tagged me in this delightful meme! Thanks, Hannah!

1. If the main villain of your favorite book/movie/TV series showed up on your front doorstep, what would you do? (Explain who it is first...)

I have too many favourite books, so I'll choose Firelord Ozai from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Which is one of the best cartoons ever made, seriously.

So, Ozai is a power-hungry firebender who wants to take over the entire world while subjecting others to his rule. Think almost Hitler-like. Like other firebenders, Ozai can shoot fire at you through a method of fancy moves based off a certain style of martial arts.

So how do you fight such a vicious foe? I would lure Ozai outside my home, and then.... spray him with the garden hose!! Water-bending!

 2. Now supposing the heroes opposite this villain showed up just after your exchange. What would you do then? 

So the heroes of this series include Aang, the Avatar, who masters all the elements of water, fire, earth, and air. He happens to be an airbender. His friends are Katara, a young waterbender, Sokka, her sarcastic, boomerang-wielding bro, and Toph, a sassy blind earthbender.

I would go hang-gliding with Aang, get into water fight with Katara, ask Toph for good comebacks, and persuade (coughcoughbullycoughcough) Sokka into marrying me. Our wedding would be full of sarcasm and meat.

 3. So... moving on, the heroes defeat the villain (with some help from you, of course- whatever it may be. ;) But the next day, you're just walking along, minding your own business, when you suddenly come across the same villain... who is now lying in the dust severely wounded and unconscious. What do you do? 

Well, actually, I defeated the villain before the heroes showed up. They just had to drag him away, but you know, whatever, right? Point is, he's done for.

But Ozai's pretty good at slipping through the cracks.... I would probably tend his wounds than call Aang and the gang up to come back and get him--and scold them into taking stricter measures to keep the thug locked up.

 4. Now his minions show up and kidnap both you and him and take you to their universe (or version of your universe, whatever it happens to be.) Your reaction? 

Ahhh, firebenders! Then oohhh, firebenders! Can you give me some tips? Plus, they have cute little turtle-ducks and interesting animals and locations to explore! In-between moments of heart-stopping terror, I'd probably be really excited. After all, it's a whole new world, a fantastic new point of view.... No one can tell us no, or where to go.... Whoops, wrong universe.....
5. Your fantastic heroes have arrived to rescue you- but now you're faced with a choice. The villain, out of gratitude for your earlier help, (assuming you actually did help him when he was wounded) has offered you a chance to travel back to your own universe. However, the heroes warn you not to trust him. The only other way for you to get back home is to travel with the heroes on a long and dangerous journey... and there's no guarantee that you'll survive.
What. Do. You. Do. 

Go with the heroes, obviously. Even if I  don't survive, it's more time with Sokka (sigh)--oh, and everyone else, too, of course! The gang always ends up in interesting situations, plus if I die in that universe, there's a cool spirit world waiting for me on the other side. So it's all good. 

~

TAG YOU'RE IT:

Grace at Fictionally
Rissi at Dreaming Under the Same Moon
Kara at Flowers of Quiet Happiness
Amber at Seasons of Humility

Once you're tagged, you can take these same interview questions and answer them in your own way on your blog. If the people tagged don't really want to join in, they don't have to! If any of you reading this would like to partcipate, consider yourself now tagged!

Romancing the Righteous: The Phantom of the Opera and Shannon Hale

This is not a spoiler-free post. Read at your own risk. Also, this is a very long, slightly winded post. But it discusses topics that I feel very strongly about, and that I feel are very necessary to discuss in this day and age, where love, lust, and romance are so easily entwined and very hard to distinguish from each other. I appreciate any insights and comments you might wish to share. :)


All right, so while I am a romantic at heart, I'm often disenchanted by romance in popular books or movies--or perhaps, I'm more disenchanted by people's reactions to them. One example in particular is The Phantom of the Opera, which I saw for the first time last year on my first reading break at university.

Among my friends and family I am known for having an opinion about almost everything, and usually I am quick to voice it. This case was no different. While many others I know swoon over Eric and how misunderstood he was, I preferred the quiet, understated Raoul. And I hated how, in the movie, the last scene seems to imply that the connection the Phantom and Christine shared was stronger than that of her and Raoul.

Which brings me to the point of this post. The tendency to romanticize disastrous relationships while dismissing the quieter suitors as boring and unable to bring out or appreciate the heroine's fiery spirit. This idea is seen in the insistence on Christine/Eric, however subtly suggested in the movie. Basically, the 'bad boy' is glamorized.

There are many authors that take this trope and twist it. Shannon Hale, in her book Enna Burning, tackles this problem in the character of Sileph, whose smooth-talk, charming manner, and good looks ensnare Enna, the main protagonist. He accepts and encourages her ability to control fire, without any  thought to the consequences for her. Enna, like many of us readers might, therefore ignores the suit of Finn, a quiet, steadfast forest boy.

The righteous boy.

I wouldn't be so concerned about this issue if I didn't see its consequences in real life. I've known girls and women who have fallen for the 'bad boy,' who have embraced the idea of an unhealthy relationship and made it something 'romantic.' It turns my stomach and has invoked a slight cynicism of romance altogether that I regularly struggle against.

So how can we, as writers, change this? I've seen it argued, very well too, that readers know better, that they can see the fact from fiction. But the very same writers will agree that words have power to influence. So we can't have it both ways. We can't have the glorified, unhealthy men in our novels and not expect readers to glorify them. Of course everyone knows fact from fiction, but it's the context, the social idea, behind the characters in these books that blur the lines.

Eric isn't just Eric. He's every boy who has ever been picked on and pins all his chances of happiness on one girl.

Enna isn't just Enna. She's every girl who's wanted to be noticed, who's wanted a boy to charm her and love her and seem to accept her as she is, make her feel beautiful.

Characters have power because they aren't just characters--they're parts of ourselves on the page. And it's so easy to see people on paper and think they're not dangerous, that they can't affect us.

But one reason why I love to write is because I know words have a way of connecting with others. Words are our thoughts and emotions, our desires and non-desires, tangled into a tale of someone else's life. But underneath it all runs another story, one between and above and under and sometimes through the lines.

So we have to ask ourselves: How do we encourage the romance of the righteous?

(Please don't misunderstand. I realize and accept that some 'bad boy' characters are written on purpose, for a particular point or character arc. I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about the ones who are more subtle; whose character is 'bad' but more likely to be described as 'misunderstood.')

Shannon Hale does this wonderfully. I've never read a Shannon Hale hero I couldn't love and respect and cheer for. Her heroes are each very different, but NONE of them are the typical 'bad boy' character you'd expect from popular culture. They're not the handsome, brooding, mysterious vampires or the womanizing super hero we're so quick to laud.

No. Some are princes, some are beggars, some are goofs.

But they all treat the women in their lives with respect. They love and cherish them. These men don't angst about their problems--they go out and solve them. They ask for help when they need it and don't push their love interests around as though they have no brains.

If you can't tell, I'm utterly infatuated with all of them.

But what Shannon Hale does so well is that she doesn't make a big deal out of this. She does it so naturally, so subtly in her novels--like she's asking: Why isn't every girl out there finding guys like these? This--this is what normal is. 

Normal does NOT equal the misunderstood boys whose complete and utterly creepy fascination with the heroine is supposed to make us sigh. It does NOT equal the smart-talking hero who sleeps around and later manages to convince some idiot that she's actually his ONE TWU LUV.

No. What's normal is a man who puts the best interest of the heroine first, who tells her what she needs to hear, and who treats her like a human being. The hero whose goals and ideas align with the heroine's, creating a mutual respect that is the foundation of something more.

We need to take this sort of relationship and shout it from the rooftops. We need YA authors to break out of the creepy love interest idea and dare to be different--dare to romance the righteous and leave their bad boys in the dust.

Musical Musings -1-

Welcome to "Musical Musings," a feature in which I take some favourite song lyrics and share my thoughts about them. It's my hope to introduce some fabulous artists you may never have heard of, and encourage you to to truly appreciate the beautiful songs available! You're plenty welcome to join me in this feature--just nab the picture and link back to this blog. I'd love to see what you have to offer!

To celebrate the first in this series, I'll begin with a favourite song of mine, from one of my favourite bands.

"Hopeless Wanderer" by Mumford & Sons

Lyrics

You heard my voice I came out of the woods by choice

Shelter also gave their shade

And in the dark I have no name

So leave that click in my head

And I will remember the words that you said

Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart

But I was sure we could see a new start

So when your hopes on fire

But you know your desire

Don't hold a glass over the flame

Don't let your heart grow cold

I will call you by name

I will share your road

But hold me fast, Hold me fast

Cuz I'm a hopeless wanderer

And hold me fast, Hold me fast

Cuz I'm a hopeless wanderer

I wrestled long with my youth

We tried so hard to live in the truth

But do not tell me all is fine

When I lose my head, I lose my spine

So leave that click in my head

And I won't remember the words that you said

You brought me out from the cold

Now, how I long, how I long to grow old

So when your hopes are on fire

But you know your desire

Don't hold a glass over the flame

Don't let your heart grow cold

I will call you by name

I will share your road

But hold me fast, Hold me fast

Cuz I'm a hopeless wanderer

And hold me fast, Hold me fast

Cuz I'm a hopeless wanderer

And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under

And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under

The skies I'm under

(lyrics from Metrolyrics.com)

My Analysis

One thing I appreciate about Mumford & Sons' songs is that in their dreamy vagueness, they can mean different things for everyone. It's up to us as listeners to find the meaning between the lines, to find the reason why it resonates with us. It forces us to pay attention, to interact with the music we hear.

The reason why I adore this song so much is because it captures so well my spiritual struggle and journey. God calls us by name, promises to share our journey in life. As shown in the first stanza, it's often in our darkest times that we cry out to God, who hears us and beckons us to choose Him.

Yet as the song goes on, problems emerge. Even though God has promised to be with us, we find it difficult to trust Him. We fall back on our old ways for security, our old desires tempting us to wander from this new road we've chosen--the road that leads to God. This brings us to the part where we cry out to God to hold us close to Him, to 'hold me fast', because in our sinful nature humans are hard-wired to wander in the wilderness without the One who knows the road. This can lead us sinners into times where we are so burdened by sin and guilt that we just wish to grow old so we can die and finally find rest.

The chorus, to me, is God's voice, calling us not to hide our love or desire for Him, not to stamp it out. Though we desire Him, our sinful side tugs us away. He calls us to encourage out desire for Him, to not allow our 'heart grow cold' but instead kindle the warmth of being a child of His.

The last few lines to me are, after a final pleading for God to hold us and help us through the sinful urge to wander from Him, a pledge to trust Him and accept where He has placed us in the world. So often we want to run away from Him, from our problems, that we forget He's put us someplace, or is leading us somewhere, for a reason. If we follow Him, we will truly love the 'skies we're under', no matter where we end up.

Hope you enjoyed this, and stay tuned for further "Musical Musings"! 

Teaser Time: "Rebel's Daughter"

Much to my chagrin, I'm one of those writers. Writers who can have as many as ten projects on the go without finishing any of them. Incidentally, I have so many WIPs that when I hit writer's block with one, there's always another waiting in the wings.

Rebel's Daughter is one such story. I got the idea for it a few years ago, typed up a short synopsis and opening scene, then abandoned it to continue work on Ice Roses. But this book is one close to my heart, drawing on my Eastern European heritage and childhood obsession with the movie Anastasia (which, if you haven't seen, you MUST SEE IT NOW). Like many other authors, I've wondered what it would be like to be a princess exiled because of who she was. I've wondered what it would be like to be a young woman surrounded by a bloodthirsty revolution, targeted because of my birth.

But, perhaps because of my eccentricity, I then started wondering what it'd be like to be the revolutionary who ruined the life of that princess. What would drive someone to do that? The image of a young girl revolutionary took form in my mind.

Hence, Anya, my main character, was born. She's by no means perfect, but I love her and can't wait to write more of her story.

Here's that opening scene I wrote so long ago, now edited and part of a completed first chapter! Hooray! Hope you enjoy this tiny peek into the darker side of my brain. ;)

Rebel's Daughter: The Firebird Trilogy Book One

Synopsis

Twelve years ago, the rebellion that tried to overthrow the Russak monarchy ended, and with it everything Anya knew. Her father, the head of the revolutionaries, became the most hated man in Russak. With his young daughter in tow, he fled the country.

But unrest still reigns. After her father’s death, Anya receives a visit from a childhood friend, the son of her father's co-conspirator. He wants them to continue their fathers’ legacy and lead the common people out of the ashes. Anya wants revenge against those who ruined her life and drove her beloved father into an early grave.

To help conduct the conspiracy, Anya goes undercover in the royal palace, working as a maid in order to gather information to pass on to the revolutionaries. But after one of the nobles involved is discovered and executed, rumours begin to circle of a traitor in their midst—someone playing both sides. Someone with the power to destroy the revolution before it even begins.

As tension builds, Anya also befriends the prince and princess of the nation. But their very birth spells them out for death, and when the time comes for the revolution to strike, Anya must make a choice—

Between legacy and love, father and friendship, past and future. The choice she makes will not only affect the fate of her country, but that of the entire world.

Part One

The Shadows Beckon

Chapter One: Shadows of Yesterday

Her name was Anya Kerachova, and she feared little. Not the bears or wolves that stalked the deep, dark forests of her home country, nor the beady-eyed thieves of the city streets.

The only thing that made her knees shudder and shake was darkness. The kind that wraps around one's soul and squeezes so tightly you feel lightheaded. The kind that hides behind a handsome face or friendly smile—the kind that is nearly impossible to kill.

And now it was standing on her doorstep, staring past her shoulder into her home.

“Hello, Anya,” it said. “May I come in?”

She gripped the door handle. “Go away. Do svidaniva.”

The darkness cocked its head, its lips curved down. “Is that what you say to an old friend?”

Anya curled her fingers into the door frame, determined not to show her fear. Outside, the wind screamed and scattered the blowing snow, and inside her bones tingled with dread. But she pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze at the tall, bundled figure before her. She would not let him in. “You are no friend of mine.”

“Then why do you keep the door still open?”

“Because if I close it, I cannot see you,” she said. And if there was one thing Papa had driven into her before life had fled his body, it had been to trust little, and never turn your gaze from an enemy. If she could not see him, she could not know what he did.

He chuckled. “I thought it perhaps had to do with my charm.”

Anya forced the laugh through her mouth, though she felt sick to her stomach. He had as much charm as a bear. “Go away,” she said.

“Or what? Do you know witcheries to force me to your will?”

Her hand flew to the pendant at her neck. “You know I do not practice such things.”

He laughed again, and heat pushed against her tongue. She swallowed it back down. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her crack.

“Then you cannot make me move.”

Anya’s eyes flew to the city street. The lamps flickered, illuminating the hulking shadows of the guards on patrol. One hovered across the street, his eyes on her house.

“Curse you,” she hissed, and grabbing his arm, dragged him into her home.

Her stomach coiled. She had let him in.

He stood there in his dripping furs, grinning and sweeping the snow from his body. It hit the ground and sizzled in the heat from the crackling hearth. “I'm surprised you remember me,” he said.

“You have your father’s ugly nose.”

His hand flew to his face, then he lowered his arm with a scowl. “You have your father’s bad attitude.”

She crossed her arms. “What do you want, Ilya?” she spat. His name burned like coals.

“The same thing your father wanted. The Phoenix Rising.”

Chills prickled along the fine hairs of her arms. Khotkin stirred from his sleep before the fire, raising his head to growl at the stranger who trailed shadows in his wake.

Anya shook her head. “You are insane.” She kept her voice level, calm, pretending she spoke to someone she might interview for the newspaper. Pretending.

Ilya shrugged out of his furs, dumping them on the ground. Khotkin bared his teeth, struggling to rise. Anya crossed the floor to kneel by her dog, running her fingers through his thick, curly coat. “It’s all right, boy,” she crooned, though she wished to scoop him into her arms and bury her face in his fur. But even he could not save her from the past.

The Phoenix Rising.

Ilya crouched beside her, cold radiating from his body. He stared into the flickering flames, his dark eyes glowing like embers.

“It’s been twelve years,” she said, her voice breaking the quiet that had descended. The quiet that threatened the invasion of dark thoughts, of shattered resolve. “Too long to start—” She broke off, choked by a swarm of images. She pushed them back, her stomach vaulting with nausea. To start all that again.

Ilya pursed his lips, a furrow digging into his brow. “So you would abandon all your father lived for?”

“He died for it, too,” she said. Khotkin nosed her hand, his tongue rough and wet against her fingers.

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

She shot him a glare. He bullied his way into her home, then had the nerve to treat her like they were friends?

He returned the look with a cocked eyebrow, his head tilted to the side. “Your father would say yes.”

She winced, turned to stare at the photo on the mantle Papa had insisted they have taken before he died. For years he had shunned photographs or portraits, living in fear of being discovered by those who had driven him and his daughter from Russak. But after learning he was dying, he’d wanted something for his only child to remember him by. “When you look at it,” he’d said, “remember me.” And Russak.

Anya stared at her thin, frowning likeness, studied her father’s gruff, bearded face—and the Russakin carpet hanging in the background. The same carpet that now draped over the wall above the hearth, telling the tale of Vasilisa the Beautiful—a woman far braver than she.

A woman who would not have abandoned Russak in its time of greatest need.

“I’m not my father,” she said.

“You’re like him in many ways.” Ilya slid his hand over hers.

She yanked her hand out from under his touch, her fingers digging into Khotkin’s side. Khotkin whined in protest. Jerking to her feet, she paced the floor. “Why now?” she asked at last, spreading out her hands, her knuckles cold from Ilya’s fingertips.

Ilya drew his long legs to his chin, resting his head on his knees. “After you and your father fled Russak, the monarchists dug out nearly every single revolutionary and executed them.” Firelight played across his hawkish features. “Including my father.”

Anya’s steps faltered. She remembered the dark, joking man who had always stuffed her mouth with sweets. But Ilya was not the type of person to show vulnerability to; he could wield feelings as a weapon as well as he could use a sword. So instead she gave a curt nod, her braid slapping against her spine.

Ilya’s lips thinned, but he continued. “Many of us were too frightened to try again for years. But times are no easier now than they were then, and the peasants are only growing poorer, the workers more disgruntled. And the Tsar continues to use his money foolishly.”

“What makes you think you’ll succeed this time?” she asked. Unbidden, she saw before her the lineup of dead corpses after the Tsarik Riot—the wide, glazed eyes of her childhood friends. The same pain she had bottled that day and hoped never to feel again swept through her. She trained her gaze on the flames once more, praying they might burn away the tears threatening to fall.

“The knowledge that something has to happen soon.” His voice was quiet, assured. “If we don’t plan a revolution carefully, a true bloodbath may occur—and Russak may never recover. We may only be a few wolves against a bear, but when wolves band together, bears will fall.”

Anya shuddered despite herself.

Ilya rose, creeping up behind her. “Anya,” he whispered, his breath tickling the back of her neck, the heat of his hands hovering over her shoulders. “The monarchy drove your father to an early grave. It killed your friends, took your mother, stole your childhood. What are you waiting for?”

Mother. Oh, Mother—kind, tender-hearted, devout mother. Anya’s fingers clutched the pendant at her neck, the gold biting into her palm. Wind battered against her windows, rattling the glass. The snow glowed in the darkness, resembling fluffed white feathers. And the darkness. Thick, oozing, seeping between the cracks in her soul.

Ilya settled his hands on her shoulders, his fingers pressing into her skin. “Anya?”

She started, sweeping herself away from him. She had to save herself from the stirrings in her breast. “Get out.”

His expression hardened. “I know you want this.”

“You know nothing!” But her voice wheedled.

He smirked, sat down beside Khotkin. The dog growled weakly. “I’ll give you time to realize what you already know,” he said, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. “In the meanwhile, I will sleep here. Unless you wish me to divulge your true identity to the street guards.”