Praise for The Child of Chaos
“This book shows [Glen Dahlgren] to be a formidable novelist in his own right.” —Piers Anthony, New York Times best-selling author of the Xanth series
“An immensely satisfying page turner with some profound things to say about friendship, responsibility and true courage.” —Lee Sheldon, award-winning writer of Star Trek: The Next Generation and The Lion’s Song
“The book managed to surprise me with clever twists and turns, and as a lifelong fantasy reader, that's a tough trick to pull off.” —Christy Marx, award-winning writer of Conan, Red Sonja, and Elfquest
"Epic yet somehow intimate at the same time. [The Child of Chaos] echoes similar shades of Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones and is a fun, sprawling story that's hard to put down!" —Cliff Bleszinski, lead game designer of Unreal and Gears of War
"Having made all of my games about the battle between Order and Chaos, I was captivated by Glen's interesting, powerful take on that eternal struggle." —Tom Hall, co-creator of the games Wolfenstein 3D, DOOM, and Anachronox
“One of my favorite fantasy novels, period.” —Lily Luchesi, USA Today best-selling author
To my incredible family.
My daughter Amanda is my tireless cheerleader, my son Emmett’s art expertise helped to illustrate this book, and my wife Sabrina is the foundation for everything I do: my first reader for whatever I’m writing, my inspiration, and my emotional world.
For decades, my family has put up with my random-seeming pronouncements, plot discussions, and interrogations about how they view my characters and world. Without their constant love, support, and feedback, this book would not exist.
WHY ISN’T THERE a path?” Lorre wondered aloud. “Every temple should have a path.”
Most people dream of the Longing awakening inside them, leading them to their god's temple, and changing their lives forever—but Lorre was not most people, and nothing about this journey felt right.
For over a week, the Longing pulled Lorre forward like an invisible thread hooked into her brain. This latest leg of her trip would have been a challenging hike on the best of days, but Lorre found herself clawing through a never-ending forest of dense brambles and broad trees during the dead of night. Rain soaked through the light travel cloak on her back hours ago.
As she pushed aside a branch, yet another thorn clutched at her crudely-made, twine bracelet. Lorre rolled her eyes, grunted in frustration, and stopped to free her wrist. She winced as the thorn added a scratch to her collection.
Your fate awaits, whispered a voice in her head. You’re on the right track. How can a bit of string hold you back?
“Keep quiet,” she said as if someone could hear. “I'm not leaving it behind.” The woven strands of rose twine were a Nameday gift from her daughter Myra, and the bracelet helped her keep her twins in mind. She resented leaving them alone for so long.
Through the curtain of brambles, Lorre glimpsed a flickering light. She gasped with excitement, pushed through the remaining bushes, and arrived at a hill wall, steep and overgrown with vines and scrub. Before her was a grotto, twice her height, blocked by a thick iron door cut with narrow, vertical slits that showed the darkness beyond. A chain with links as big as her fists hung from the handles attached to an open padlock. A sturdy iron brazier stood on either side. Flames danced in the bowls, unaffected by the rain. They lit the door with a sickly, deep orange glow, not so much warm and welcoming as hot and unnatural.
Lorre's eyebrows arched up. “This is a temple? I can’t imagine that whatever god owns this would be happy with it.”
The door is open and your way is clear, said the voice. Don’t get distracted when your goal’s so near.
The slatted door swung ajar with a slight effort, revealing no mere cave. The smooth walls had been painstakingly carved from the hill.
Inside the entrance, four dry torches were lying on a shelf. She hefted one, then reached out and stuck its tip into a brazier. The torch caught, but the strange flame unsettled her. She tried to hold it as far away as possible.
As Lorre walked, the pounding of the rain did not fade behind her. Ahead, on both sides of the tunnel, the walls curved out into alcoves. Each was home to a huge statue carved from alabaster. Chimneys above these statues opened to the sky. While Lorre suspected that the openings were intended to bathe the statues in sunlight, this night, they doused them in rain.
The first statue depicted a richly-dressed ten-foot-tall man standing with one hand raised as if delivering a speech. “Is that the god of Drama?” Lorre mused. “But his temple is far from here.”
On the other side, a hunched stone woman stared with huge eyes. She was dressed simply and carried an empty basket. “I definitely was not called here for Nihility.” And indeed, neither statue was her goal. The Longing pulled her deeper into the dark hallway.
In the next pair of alcoves, an unfamiliar man on the right contemplated a globe. On the left, an exquisite, stately woman wore a crown of roses. Lorre recognized her as the goddess of Beauty.
The strange cave presented statue after statue, no two alike. There was a different god for each of the countless aspects of Order. Were all of them here? She had walked so far that the braziers at the entrance were out of sight, and the procession of statues did not end.
Why did the Longing bring her here? Whose temple would contain a collection like this?
As she traveled deeper into the tunnel, the gods grew in popularity and power. She was happy to identify bosomy Charity's ever-full bowl of plenty and welcoming smile, but the next was the twisted body and haunting expression of Despair. Hurrying by, she almost tripped on a bone lying on the ground.
One touch told Lorre that the bone hadn’t been carved. This was a human leg bone, old and crumbling, but not nearly as ancient as the cave. The implications made her pause, but the Longing pushed her to continue on.
Another bone, then another: a skull, an arm, a pile of ribs. These were newer, more intact than those she passed. She walked by the statue of War: a tall, muscular man with a broad shield strapped to one arm, holding a long spear with both hands. War faced the statue of Law in the opposite alcove, a proud bearded man holding a scroll in one hand and a sword in the other.
“I must be getting close to the end,” she whispered. “How many gods are more powerful than Law and War?”
“Not many.” An answer floated from deeper in the tunnel. “I will show you.”
Braziers matching those outside the entrance flared up and cast their orange malevolence throughout the tunnel. At first, the light blinded Lorre. She covered her eyes with her free hand. “Who's there?”
“Sorry if I frightened you. Not to worry. I'm here to help.”
As Lorre's eyes adjusted to the strange orange light, she made out a handsome, dark-haired man of middle years, dressed in a long black robe with his hand outstretched. Once she met his gaze, Lorre could not look away from his gray eyes and the haunting smile that played upon his lips. For some reason, she could not bring herself to take his hand.
The man shrugged and continued. “It's natural to be overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of the gods of Order. There are so many. Too many, yes? Even the smallest god gets a share of the tithe. Do they deserve it? Do they contribute? How those lesser gods attract any priests at all is a mystery.”