The SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS column on Mondays and Wednesdays is a place at Shannon Muir’s author website showcasing books from a variety of fiction genres, with an emphasis on interviews and guest posts from other authors. One thing Shannon firmly believes in for readers not only to learn about new books available, but about those who craft the tales behind them. As its name implies, SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS weekly column features writers from all genres of fiction who want their potential audience to get to know them, and their works, better.

 

The FALL INTO READING BLOG TOUR event brings together several days of looking at books  – with features this Monday through Wednesday – before leading into the site’s newest feature, BETWEEN THE PAGES, coming this Thursday!

Today, we look at DREAD PIRATE ARCANIST.

 

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Pump Up Your Book Tours. None of it reflects opinions of Shannon Muir. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

DREAD PIRATE ARCANIST
Shami Stovall
* YA Fantasy *

Title: DREAD PIRATE ARCANIST
Author: Shami Stovall
Publisher: Capital Station Books
Pages: #437
Genre: YA Fantasy
 

 

While protecting the newborn griffins on the Isle of Landin, Volke
Savan and his adopted sister, Illia, run afoul of the Dread Pirate
Calisto, the same cutthroat who carved out Illia’s right eye. As a
master manticore arcanist, Calisto’s strength and brutality are
unrivaled. When Illia suggests they bring him to justice, Volke wonders
if they’ll have what it takes to fight the corsairs on the high seas.A fast-paced flintlock fantasy for those who enjoy How to Train
Your Dragon by Cressida Cowell, Unsouled (Cradle Series) by Will Wight,
and Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan.
Praise for the Frith Chronicles!Perfect for those who enjoy the Codex Alera series, the Homas
Wildus series, and the Harry Potter series. Stovall is quickly becoming a
name I look for
.”
Seattle Book ReviewAn addictive series. Shami Stovall has produced a mesmerizing story of magic, intrigue, and true adventure.”
ManyBooksAbsolutely brilliant.”
ArchaeolibrarianNow continue the Frith Chronicles with the second book, Dread Pirate Arcanist!

★Amazon —-> https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WK2H37L



  

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CHAPTER
ONE
THE DAY OF
PHOENIXES
            I outlined a fresh grave for the cemetery as bells rang
from the isle’s tower, signifying the start of the celebrations. The soil
reeked of ammonia and rot, but the crisp morning breeze washed the scent away,
dispersing it over the ocean. I removed my shirt, allowing the wind to cool me
while I worked.
            Every ten years, the people on the Isle of Ruma gathered
to watch the fledgling phoenixes bond with a few chosen mortals. Lamplighters
did their duty despite the glorious sunshine, each lamp’s fire representing the
flames of phoenixes. Merchants cleared their horses and carts from the main
road in anticipation of the crowds.
This
was my second Day of Phoenixes. A decade ago, on my fifth birthday, I missed
the bonding ceremony to attend my father’s trial. He was convicted of murder,
but because he hadn’t been born on the island, he was taken to the mainland for
final judgement. That was the last time I saw him.
            Although the last Day of Phoenixes had been inauspicious,
I intended to change that. Once I had finished digging a shallow grave, I would
make my way into town.
I
slammed the shovel’s head into the dirt and scooped deep. The cemetery sat near
the edge of the island, far from those gathering to observe the hopeful
students trying to win the favor of the phoenixes.
            Tradition stated that anyone who handled sewage, waste,
and dead bodies wasn’t allowed to attend the bonding ceremony, which was just
my luck. After my father was sent away, I could’ve been given to any profession
for apprenticeship. I could’ve gone to the carpenter and learned the craft of
woodworking, or I could’ve gone to the silversmith and learned the art of fine
metal work, but misfortune hounded me like a shadow. I was given to the
gravekeeper, slated to dig corpse-holes until the end of time, forever exiled
from the festivities.
            I still intended to go. Even if it meant ignoring the
traditions of the isle—something unheard of on our tiny spit of land—no one
could stop me from proving myself to a phoenix. No one.
I
scooped another mound of dirt and tossed it to the side.
            “You look deep in thought, Volke,” my fellow corpse-hole
apprentice, Illia, said. “What’re you planning?”
            “I’m waiting for the trials to begin.”
            “And then what?”
            “You’ll see.”
            Illia sat in the shade of a cypress tree, her legs
crossed and her chin in both hands. Most people hated the thought of sitting on
graves, since it was supposed to bring bad luck, but Illia wasn’t like most
people. She leaned back on a headstone and exhaled as the ocean wind rushed by,
catching her wavy brown hair and revealing the scars on the side of her face.
            She held a hand over the marks, like she always did. The
moment the wind died down, she pulled some of her hair around to cover her
scars, hiding the old knife wounds that had taken her right eye.
            I finished one half of the grave and huffed.
            Illia and I lived in a tiny cottage on the edge of the
cemetery, apprenticed to Ruma’s sole gravekeeper. We both held the glorious title
of gravedigger. Like me, she had no
family. Well, we had each other, and Gravekeeper William, but he hardly
counted.
            For ten years, Illia and I had considered ourselves
brother and sister, and siblings always know each other’s mood. Illia displayed
all the telltale signs of irritation—narrowed eye, rarely blinking, her mouth
turned down in a slight frown. She hated the fact I was keeping secrets from
her. If I didn’t explain myself quick, she’d exact her revenge.
            “I don’t want to become the next gravekeeper,” I said as
I threw a mound of dirt off to the side.
            With an eyebrow sarcastically raised, Illia asked, “So
you’re going to impress a phoenix and leave this place, is that it?”
            “That’s right.”
            “Only two phoenixes were born this year,” she said,
wagging her finger. “And the schoolmaster has already picked his two favored
disciples to win the right to bond. No one wants you to take a phoenix from
either of those try-hards.”
            “I don’t care.” I scooped out another clump of dirt, my
grip on the shovel so tight it hurt. “Bonding with a phoenix is too important.
Besides, no one on this isle likes me anyway. Why should I start caring about
their opinions now?”
            “Hmph. I should’ve known you’d say that.”
            Of course. Anyone who bonded with a mystical creature,
like a phoenix, became an arcanist—a
powerful wielder of sorcery, capable of great magic based on the creature they
bonded to.
            Arcanists were the pinnacle of society, the most
influential people, and revered by everyone. Some arcanists could control the
weather, or devastate armies, or make the land fertile. Even the weakest and
laziest of arcanists were well-thought-of and important members of powerful
guilds, shepherding humanity to greatness with a mere flick of their wrists.
            What I wouldn’t give to become an arcanist. They were
things of legend.
            More significant than a gravedigger, anyway.
            “You’re not the only one with plans today,” Illia said.
She waited a minute before adding, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ll be
doing during the bonding ceremony?”
            I shoveled another chunk of dirt, taking some weeds with
it. “All right. Tell me. What will you be doing?”
            “It’s a secret.”
            She stood and brushed herself off with a few gentle pats
to her dress. Then she crossed her arms and stared at me, no doubt waiting for
me to pester her about the secret just so she could say, see how annoying it is when you do it?
            “I’m sure you’ll have fun doing whatever it is you have
planned,” I said with a shrug.
            “You’re not the only one who wants to become an arcanist,
Volke,” she replied, saying my name
as though it were venom. “But there might be easier ways than embarrassing
yourself in front of everyone.”
            I finished carving the outline of the grave, determined
not to be sucked into asking her what she meant. I had too many things on my
mind to get into an argument. Besides, I knew she was right. It was irksome
being excluded from secrets, especially by family. But I didn’t want to run the
risk of her trying to dissuade me.
            Another round of bells sounded in the distance. I threw
my shovel to the side and turned toward the cemetery cottage. “I have to go.
Whatever you do, don’t get into trouble.”
            Illia replied with a smile. “Never.”
            Something about her sarcastic tone told me she had
trouble planned, but there wasn’t any time to go into it. I jogged into the
cottage, ran up the rickety stairs, and then dashed straight into my room. It
was technically a storage closet that Gravekeeper William had converted into a
sleeping space so that Illia and I wouldn’t have to share the second bedroom.
            The cramped room fit my cot, a chair, and a trunk for my
clothes. That was it.
            I squeezed myself in, ripped off my dirty trousers, and
then dressed in a clean white shirt and black pants. Although I owned nothing
fancy—everything in my trunk had been Gravekeeper William’s at some point—I
still wanted to make an effort. The phoenixes bonded with individuals they
liked the most after the Trials of Worth were over. I needed to impress them,
and I couldn’t do that with grave dirt on my clothes.
            Once dressed, I combed my disheveled hair, even though it
never cooperated. For some reason, it always puffed out and tangled at the
ends, defying gravity just to make me look foolish. And the blackness of it—an
inky hue taken straight from the
midnight hour—wasn’t common on
the isles. Everyone else had red or blond hair, so other kids made fun of me.
            Coal head. Ink brush. They weren’t clever kids—any
dumber and you’d have to water them twice a week—they were just mean. No one
harassed me after I grew tall, however. Six feet meant I stood out in the
group, and not in a wimpy way.
            When I finished the last of my brushing, my hair puffed
back out.
            Satisfied I had made myself halfway presentable, I laced
up my boots and headed downstairs to the kitchen. I grabbed a small canteen of
water and the cleanest rag we owned before rushing out the front door.
            The vast ocean sparkled in the distance, so blue it put
the sky to shame. The winds brought waves, but nothing strong enough to reach
far inland—just the melody of water lapping across the white sand beaches.
            With the breeze in my face, I ran down the dirt road
until I came to the cobblestone streets of the city. I pushed my way through
the crowds of people swarming toward the town square.
            Our small island didn’t have much flatland, so the one
city—creatively named Ruma, like the
island—was the only place to live. The two-story houses were smooshed together,
most with stores downstairs and homes above. Despite the congested living arrangements,
people went out of their way to keep the place lively. Potted flowers, colored
cobblestone for the roads, wrought-iron fences in the shape of fish for the
balconies—Ruma had a special beauty waiting in every nook and cranny.
            The crowds made their way to the Pillar to watch the
bonding trials begin.
            The Pillar—nothing more than a sheer column of pointed
rock jutting straight up into the sky—was well over one hundred and twenty feet
tall. It could be seen from anywhere on the island, the reddish stone
shimmering in the sunlight. A single tree grew at the top, its branches forever
swaying in the ocean winds, its roots laced over the rock, its fruit rare and
delicious.
            That sole charberry tree was what had attracted the first
phoenixes to our island centuries ago. The spicy fruit tasted like a chili
pepper, but sweeter and juicier. Phoenixes loved them.
            The base of the Pillar was the starting location for the
Trials of Worth—the tasks given to the wide-eyed hopefuls wanting to prove
their value to the phoenixes. I continued through the crowd, my head tilted
back, my gaze locked on the Pillar. A staircase wrapped around the column of
rock, all the way to the top.
            “Hey,” someone yelled as I shoved my way deeper into the
excited masses. “Isn’t that one of the gravedigger kids?”
            I ignored the remark, sidestepped the slow-moving
families, and nimbly maneuvered through a group of schoolchildren. If I bonded
with a phoenix, I wouldn’t have to stay here anymore and listen to their
whispers. All new arcanists traveled to the mainland to join a guild for
training.
            A third round of bells chimed, and my pulse quickened
with each step. I didn’t want to be late for the trials.
            The whole population of Ruma packed the streets, shoulder
to shoulder. No one missed the Day of Phoenixes unless they were specifically
excluded, like the garbage men. Everyone wore their best attire, children
tossed red flower petals, and the theater troupe wore costumes made of bird
feathers while they pranced around pretending to be phoenixes. It took all of
my willpower not to crane my head to get a better look as I ran by.
            “—and today is a day of glory,” the schoolmaster’s voice
boomed across the town square.
            Schoolmaster Tyms was a naturally loud
individual—Gravekeeper William described him as a regular blowhard in love with his own voice.
            I slipped between two elderly men and stayed off to the
side, making sure to remain in the shadows cast by the morning sun. Hundreds of
people crowded the center of town, but their gazes never turned in my
direction. They all kept their attention on a wooden stage near the Pillar—a
platform only a few feet off the ground—where Schoolmaster Tyms stood squarely
in the middle, his arms raised.
            Whenever he glanced in my direction, I ducked. Schoolmaster
Tyms didn’t care for anyone except those who attended his lectures, and he
especially hated those with “unsavory” professions.
            “I’ve mentored two extraordinary people,” Tyms said.
“Both are talented beyond their years and worthy of a phoenix.”
He
walked to the edge of the stage, lifting his arms even higher, his wrinkled
face pulled back in an unnatural smile. I had seen corpses do a better job at
conveying emotion.
But
I didn’t stare at him for long because on either side of him, perched on ornate
bird stands, were two phoenixes.
            I stood transfixed, taking in their lustrous scarlet
feathers and golden eyes. They had the build of herons, delicate and sleek, but
every time they moved, soot fell from them and drifted to the ground. Fire
flashed underneath their wings as though their whole bodies were made of flame.
Their tails hung down two feet and twisted a bit at the end, like a peacock.
            They were young, not even a year old, but that was old
enough for them to leave the island. Mystical creatures didn’t reach maturity
unless they were bonded to a person—I was certain they were giddy for the
ceremony as well.
            “We’re honored to be here today,” one phoenix said, her
voice sing-song and brilliant.
            The other added, “We can’t wait to see our potential partners.”
He lifted his head as he spoke, his voice soft but distinct.
            I wanted to hold one in my arms and feel the warmth of
their magic coursing through my body, but touching a phoenix was forbidden.
Only once they bonded with a person were they allowed to be handled.
            The phoenixes tilted their heads as two individuals
walked forward. The two were around my age, fifteen, the age of adulthood. They
wore robes of glistening white, tied at the waist with silver ropes made of
silk. Fancy outfits made on the mainland, betraying their wealth.
            Tyms motioned to the rich newcomers. “On this Day of the
Phoenixes I’ve selected Zaxis Ren and Atty Trixibelle to take part in the
trials.”
            Of course they
would be picked. Ever since we were kids, they were always favored by the
schoolmaster.
            I cursed under my breath as Zaxis walked to the base of
the Pillar.
            He stopped under the metal archway, a century-old
artifact which had been shaped into a phoenix and gilded. The arch signified
the start of the trial. Anyone who passed beneath it would become a
participant.
            Zaxis smiled at the crowd with the smuggest expression a
human could muster. His red hair shimmered in the sunlight and fluttered about
with the wind. It wasn’t long enough to tie back, and I took a small amount of
pleasure in watching him clumsily pat it down every few seconds, only for a
stray hair to poke him in the eye again.
            Zaxis’s family, the Ren House, stood at the front of the
crowd, their personal soldiers keeping the “riffraff” a couple feet back. They
cheered for Zaxis and threw flower petals. I had never been cheered for
anything, yet all he did was show up.
Life wasn’t fair sometimes.
            “Thank you,” Zaxis said as he flashed a toothy smile.
“Thank you. Once I’m bonded with a phoenix, I’ll make all of Ruma proud with my
many accomplishments. I’ll become the world’s most renowned arcanist, loved by
all.”
            I balled my hands into fists and gritted my teeth. He
already assumed a phoenix would choose him and
that he would make one of the world’s greatest arcanists? Of course he did—he
wasn’t expecting any competition.
            Then Atty stepped forward, and the crowds hushed.
            Unlike Zaxis, whose insufferable attitude knew no bounds,
Atty held herself with regal sophistication. Her long blonde hair, tied in a
neat braid, didn’t twirl in the winds. She held her head high, her slender neck
adorned with a silver necklace depicting a charberry tree. I had always admired
her poise and grace, like a pauper admires a member of royalty, even when I was
young.
            If things had been different—if I wasn’t a
gravedigger—maybe I could’ve courted Atty. No doubt she would be disgusted to
have someone like me approach her now. But once I bonded with a phoenix,
perhaps I’d have the courage.
            “Thank you, Schoolmaster Tyms,” Atty said, her voice a
sweet relief after a long day’s work. “It’s a privilege to prove myself worthy
of a phoenix. If I become an arcanist, I swear to dedicate myself to becoming a
helpful ruler, one all of Ruma can be proud of.”
            Atty’s family, the Trixibelle House, owned most of the
buildings on the island. They sat on nearby balconies, each of them poised on
chairs and cushions, cheering for Atty, along with everyone else on the island.
            Although I wanted a phoenix for myself, I almost joined in on the clapping. Her
answer was perfect, and when the phoenixes exchanged glances, I knew they
thought the same.
            No one else stepped forward.
            While other people could
offer themselves to the phoenixes, it was frowned upon. The schoolmaster knew
best, or so they said—for centuries the keepers of knowledge were deemed the
wisest and most capable of determining who would become the best arcanists. It
was tradition. And for the last few decades, the schoolmaster hadn’t even made
it a competition. He simply chose the exact number of students equal to
phoenixes, ensuring his recommendation carried more weight than gold.
            And the Isle of Ruma knew the importance of picking the
right people to become arcanists. If the competition was open to everyone,
someone with ill intents could gain vast magical power. The schoolmaster was
supposed to weed them out and put forward only the best, most deserving people.
That was why no one else entered the competitions. Following traditions is the way of the isles! Our island’s motto.
            But even if I was noble of spirit, Atty and Zaxis studied
and trained eight hours a day under the care of Schoolmaster Tyms. Everyone
else, myself included, had work and chores. Atty and Zaxis were lucky. I
wasn’t. How could I ever hope to match their knowledge and skills?
            That didn’t matter, though. I wouldn’t make excuses. The
phoenixes could, in theory, bond with anyone they found worthy. And I would
show them just how worthy I was by passing each of the three trials.
            “Once our hopefuls walk through the archway,” Tyms said,
gesturing to the gold phoenix arch, “they will officially become participants
in the trials. For the first task, each hopeful must walk up all one hundred
and twelve steps of the Pillar to the charberry tree. Then they will pick a fruit
to present to the phoenixes and return down the stairs.”
            Every Day of Phoenixes had the same three trials. The
charberry tree was the first. Only one stairway led to the tree—the spiral
stairway made of stone steps that wrapped around the Pillar. The steps were
hundreds of years old and worn smooth from use. Oh, and no railing, which was
why I never felt safe standing on them, as falling from anything past the tenth
step meant serious injury, possibly death.
            “And with that, you may begin,” Tyms shouted.
            Both Atty and Zaxis bowed to the crowd before turning and
walking through the archway.
            This was it.
            My moment.
            I ran through the crowd, pushing people out of the way
when I needed to, even knocking over a few men of the Ren Family as I dashed
toward the arch. My heart beat so hard I almost didn’t hear people screaming
for me to stop.
            “Hey!” a woman barked.
            “What’s he doing?” someone else shouted.
            “Stop him!”
            But before anyone could grab me, I raced through the
archway, dashing past Atty and Zaxis.
            “What do you think you’re doing, Volke?” Zaxis growled.
“Good-for-nothing gravediggers can’t enter the trials!”
            I had my foot on the first step of the Pillar when I
glanced over my shoulder. “I already passed under the archway. That makes me a
participant.”
            “What? That’s not allowed!” Zaxis glanced over his
shoulder. “Right, Master Tyms?”
            Tyms blubbered and flailed his arms. “How dare you,
Volke! You walk back through that archway this instant. You’re disgracing all
of Ruma with your disrespect!”
            I ran up the steps, taking them two at a time despite the
lack of railing.
            Today I would prove myself to a phoenix. I would prove
myself to all of Ruma.
            I was more than just a gravedigger.
I
wouldn’t stop. Not now, not ever.

 

 

 

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Interview with the Author

Hello, Infinite House of Books! (Or should I call you IHOB?) Thank you so much for having me on your website. I always love interviews!

 

What initially got you interested in writing?

I love story telling! It was after I started running Dungeons and Dragons campaigns that I realized I had a knack for it. Telling fantasy stories with compelling characters is in my blood and I just couldn’t wait to get those stories down on paper.

 

How did you decide to make the move into being a published author?

My friends read my writing long before I thought it was serious. Several of them thought it was good enough that they offered up the money to invest (to get editors, go to writing conferences, etc.). Since they’ve been so supportive, I knew I had to give it a shot. Plus, when I landed my agent, and he praised my work, I had to be on the right track!

 

What do you want readers to take away from reading your works?

I want my readers to have a good time. I write adventures first, and any sort of moral or theme is embedded, but not up in your face. Sure, I dislike “the ends justify the means” mentality, and that appears in my works, but it’s never in your face.

Reading is about enjoying the adventure! I want people to walk away from my book thinking that first.

 

What do you find most rewarding about writing?

Seeing positive reviews. I love knowing that people had a good time with my work. As a matter of fact, I keep a “review wall” on my website to keep all the super-awesome glowing reviews up as inspiration! I look at it if I’m ever  doubting what I’m writing.

 

What do you find most challenging about writing?

Any negative reviews. No one is immune to them. Even my favorite books of all time have less than 4 stars on Goodreads. People have subjective tastes.

… But that doesn’t help me cope with negative reviews. I still get depressed whenever I see them.

 

What advice would you give to people want to enter the field?

You better want it! Publishing isn’t fast or easy. You have to give a lot – and sometimes you’ll only get a little. If you have a passion for it, however, you’ll definitely be successful.

 

What ways can readers connect with you?

They can reach me at my website, on my Twitter, or on Facebook!

Author Bio

Shami Stovall grew up in California’s central valley with a single
mother and little brother. Despite no one in her family earning a degree
higher than a GED, she put herself through college (earning a BA in
History), and then continued on to law school where she obtained her
Juris Doctorate.As a child, Stovall’s favorite novel was Island of the Blue Dolphins
by Scott O’Dell. The adventure on a deserted island opened her mind to
ideas and realities she had never given thought before—and it was at
that moment Stovall realized story telling (specifically fiction) became
her passion. Anything that told a story, be it a movie, book, video
game or comic, she had to experience. Now, as a professor and author,
Stovall wants to add her voice to the myriad of stories in the world and
she hopes you enjoy.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: https://sastovallauthor.com/
Blog: https://sastovallauthor.com/blog/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/GameOverStation
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SAStovall/

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