The following is an excerpt from THE DARK PROVINCE: SON OF DUPRIN:

Let me first say that I apologize for nothing—not an action, not even a thought. Not for the caress of an angel’s bare flesh, and not for the deviant touch that transgressed, none of it. I will not off er the slightest notion of an apology for a single breath of life I lived and breathed in the Dark Province.

As I look upon each of your faces, I see those I once loved most; my brothers, my sisters, my countrymen, even my own mother has come. I know what you’ve come for. You’ve come for the truth. Our homeland has been submerged into the crimson bowels of a gruesome civil war. The integrity of our precious culture stands in the shadow of extinction. But what’s worse, it is our hands that threaten it—the very hands that have sought to raise it up like a lamp for the entire world to see, believe, and join us in the pride of our faith.

You’ve come with the hope that the truth will end your suffering.

I must tell you, the truth you seek is not what you’ll find here. That truth, the one you yearn for, the one we’ve been bred to pursue, is a cunning temptress. In her gaze, we are weaker than the feeblest of men. The moment we believe we have her firmly in our arms, she turns to liquid and slips through our fingers.

What I have for you, my brothers, is simply a story. One only a sober mind can receive. One I thank the Almighty Goddess for every single day. It is only by Her amazing grace that I, a man convicted of high treason against the Holy Nation of Duprin, can come before you in the land of the living. Believe me when I tell you my heart breaks
with yours over the bloodshed back home. Despite Duprin’s calls for my public execution, I still love her from the center of my core to the calloused skin on the palms of my hands.

I am not so naïve, however, as to think that all of you have come to hear me speak. No doubt, one or more of you have come to carry out my sentence.

Have mercy on my mother, dear friend, whichever of these gathered you are. While she may well be prepared to witness my end, please, allow her and all who have traveled here to the Dark Province tonight to know what really happened to my sister Marilyn. Because the answers you all seek so desperately in your hearts begin with her.

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The following is an excerpt from THE DARK PROVINCE: SON OF DUPRIN:

I stood not far from the entrance as I watched Tjoldana remove her coat and place it neatly in the closet on a small hanger. My anxiety only accelerated to find she was wearing only sparse undergarments underneath—a black finely netted covering up top that was deliberately translucent with a matching piece on her full hips covering only the most critical area in front and disappearing between two rightly present symbols of her curvaceous health behind her.

Brothers and sisters, allow me to be straightforward; this woman’s body sloped and turned curves in ways that would put a master sculptor in a wheelchair for the duration of his lifetime. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t take my eyes off how her tight waist exploded gracefully to a set of hips. Though paired, each hip could stand alone as sufficient on most of the women I knew. What was amazing about it was there was no trace of indulgence or gluttony of any type. It was this woman’s body’s nature to be full and push the boundaries of her shape out into the spaces beside and behind her. And with all of her firm blessings around her waist and hips, still, the Goddess spared no expense when endowing her chest.

Tjoldana was a full deck of cards.

After taking a moment to proudly show off her wares, she seemed almost to laugh softly to herself. I suppose it was clear that I was overwhelmed. Her small laugh seemed to yield a trace of pity. But pitiful or not, I was set to be the subject of some very advanced affection. Advanced, I feared, well beyond my qualifications, let alone the threshold of my convictions.

“Tell me your richest fantasy,” she whispered, stalking toward me as a spider might her prey.

“Fantasy?” I replied in broken speech as I felt the unfortunate need to swallow several times as she drew near.

“Yes. Surely you had one in mind when you selected me over my fair comrade.”

“No, actually,” I squeaked back at her, “I chose you because the aggression in your comrade’s eyes looked intimidating, and I feared certain injury.” My single-witted reply seemed to draw a smile from Tjoldana, and she paused in her amusement. I hoped it might buy me time to strategize a way out of my predicament.

“You’re very intuitive,” she said with an amused inflection. “D’ is … well, she engages her partners with a sort of tunnel vision; she is a poor improviser. She knows what she wants and doesn’t deviate. I, on the other hand, want to know what you want. Tell me so I may bring your fantasies out of the prison of your mind and unfold them upon your skin.”

Tjoldana placed her hands on my clothed chest and began descending them toward my waist. Her solid brown eyes defined her state of presence—how they held on me patiently awaiting my commands. I had none. All I had was a dreadfully quickened heart rate and rapid breaths to provide accompaniment.

The game had begun.

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The following is an excerpt from THE DARK PROVINCE: SON OF DUPRIN:

“I want to believe, Calvin. But I don’t have the faith.”

“I have it,” I said. “And I will carry it for both of us. I swear to you, Mari, I will not let you die.”

Fresh tears burned across the soft brown skin of Mari’s face.

“Calvin, no—that’s not up to you.”

“The Goddess calls us to stand faithful to the highest principles of our creed,” I maintained. “Healing and restoration are at the core of our covenant.” I could see the conflict in Mari’s eyes, the confusion and the panic. It shimmered before me so clearly. Though I had been taught all my life to watch my tongue—to be thoughtful and diligent with every word I would ever speak—I willfully gave over to the moment’s passion and refused to restrain my call to faith.

“As sure as Our Lady Beloved lives, I promise you tonight that you will soon stand on your own two feet again—free of ailment and free of this threat to your life.”

A dense and deafening silence settled between us. Mari no longer wept. Her eyes rather showed concern for me, a weighted acknowledgment of the seriousness of my words.

“You know it’s against wisdom to make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered. Her pause and the tone of her new gaze were sobering.

Suddenly I felt bare and cold. I had spoken far beyond my station. What power do I have? I thought as I quickly evaluated the promises I’d made. I was neither priest nor seer, and these were the words spoken only by one or the other.

“By whose authority do you proclaim these things?” Mari solemnly asked.

“My own, Mari, by my own authority; as a covenant-carrying Duprinite.”

Mari watched me for a moment, and then her soft gaze returned.

“It is just as it is written; the kings who performed miracles did so as common men,” I said defiantly. “This is well within my right. Please, Mari.” I squeezed her hand just a bit more, pulling myself as close to her bedside as I could be on my own knees. “Please stand with me in your heart. Believe with me for your restoration. My faith can carry us. I know it can.”

Mari nodded and began to weep once more. I leaned my head against hers and wept alongside her.

“I swear, Mari, for us death shall be just as life. If you should walk across the cool fields of slumbering souls, I will follow right behind you just as I did on the day of our birth. And the gates of Nozoria will be just as the entrance to this world, one we shall greet together!”

Mari said nothing else; she simply offered a tremulous nod. With her head still leaned against mine and holding tightly to each other’s hand, we wept, for bitterness as well as for precious hope.

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