The State of Black Science Fiction Authors and Artists
Collective decided it is time to do a tour to let the world know that we’re
here; that great Black books, written by, for and about Black people do exist
(yes, there are many who still don’t know). In honor of Octavia Butler and L.A. Banks, two giants in the
world of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror and, indeed, the entire world of
literature, I am giddy excited to be not only a host for this tour but also an
author featured in it!
What is it, exactly, you ask?
The tour is 30 days of Speculative Fiction (Science Fiction,
Fantasy and Horror / Paranormal) written by and about Black people. Each day, a different author will take the stage and bring
us into their world – or worlds!
1st up in the Butler / Banks Book Tour: Colby R. Rice
Ghosts of Koa: The First Book of Ezekiel
Get
it now in ebook or paperback (and audiobook coming in June)!
Amazon & Kindle
And coming soon to Ibookstore and Google Play!
Here's the blurb!
For over one hundred years the Civic Order and the Alchemic Order have
held a shaky truce, peppered by violence and mistrust. But when Koa, a
Civilian-born insurgency, bombs an Alchemist summit, the truce is shattered.
Now, Koa is rising. War is coming. And all sixteen-year-old Zeika Anon can do
is keep moving as she watches the lords of alchemy slowly overtake her home.
But
when clashes between Koa and the Alchemic Order put a final, deadly squeeze on
the remaining Civilian territories, Zeika finds herself in the crosshairs of
fate. She must walk the line between survival and rebellion against the
Alchemists. On one side of the line awaits death. On the other, the betrayal of
her civilization, her loyalties, and herself.
__
GHOSTS OF KOA is a fast-paced, post-apocalyptic
survival tale, set in the streets of a dying city that has been crushed by
alchemic law. Layered with the elements of gritty crime drama, dark urban
fantasy, hard sci-fi, and horror, GHOSTS OF KOA is a wild ride to the end of a
young girl's sanity as she struggles with an impossible choice: to keep one
step ahead of a war... or to be consumed by it.
CONTENT
WARNING - Contains coarse language, intense violence, adult / suggestive
themes, and aberrant behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
ABOUT
AUTHOR COLBY R RICE
Sci-fi,
Fantasy, & Thriller Novelist. Screenwriter. Film Producer. Globetrotter.
Action Junkie. Rebel Ragdoll.
A
shameless nerd and bookworm since the age of five, Colby R Rice is the author
of Ghosts of Koa, the first novel in The Books of Ezekiel, a dystopian-urban
fantasy decalogy. She was an Air Force BRAT born in Bitburg Rheinland-Pfalz,
Germany and came to the States at the age of one.
Colby
bounced around a lot, but finally settled in Los Angeles, where she could at
last deal with her addictions to creative entrepreneurship, motorcycles, and
traveling.
Now,
armed with a mound of animal crackers and gallons of Coca-Cola, Colby takes on
fiction writing in a fight to the death!
Current
projects include: the second novel in The
Books of Ezekiel series, the first
novel in a middle grade SFF detective series, the first novel in an adult
sci-fi thriller series, development of her first sci-fi thriller film, and the
growth of her production house, Rebel
Ragdoll. Stay tuned at her website and blog at Colby's Cove!
Grab a cup of whatever your drinking guys, sit back and enjoy an excerpt from “Ghosts of Koa”, lol let's see how long it takes you before you find yourself at the edge of your seat ;p
Shadows
flittered in the night, and Xakiah jerked his head up, his eyes automatically
tracking the movements. The light was sparse, but even from the passenger seat
of the truck, his eyes could outline the three distant figures in the dark.
About thirty yards away, the shadows of the hunted jerked and twitched with a
contained haste as they assembled themselves in their sedan. It was time. The
driver would be first.
He
lifted the rifle and anchored the butt in the soft of his shoulder. He lowered
his eye into the scope, positioning the crosshairs over the figure settling
into the driver’s seat. As he began to depress the trigger, he wondered how
exactly the man’s head would splatter— when the tires of the sedan screeched against the asphalt, and it
shot off into the dark.
“Shit,”
Xakiah hissed, letting the scope drop. “Gun it, Joseph!”
His
body felt slick with a cold sweat as their truck roared to life and lurched
forward. Joseph jammed his foot down onto the gas pedal, pushing nearly one
hundred as the truck's tires kicked up the slag of the country road.
My mission. Mine.
His jaw
ached beneath the grind of his teeth. Their hubris was surprising, that they
fancied even for a moment he’d let them get away after what they’d done.
A
sharp clack of a round being
chambered ricocheted through the truck as Bly, a teammate sitting behind
Joseph, prepared to shoot. The only man in the van who didn’t move was the one
sitting directly behind Xakiah, silent beneath his hood and cloak. He looked
out of his window, even, his chin on his knuckles, as though enjoying a slow
Sunday drive.
The
fleeing sedan far in front of them turned and reeled off the dark path,
clunking across the vast stretch of green that separated the road from the main
highway.
“Don't lose them, Joseph.” Xakiah said,
his voice low in the dark.
“Y-yes,
sir!” Joseph said, a whimper choking his voice. He veered off the road, leaves
and branches snapping in dry whispers as he leaned in harder on the gas,
following the hunted across the soft, mushy green. Both cars' headlights made
yellow eyes in the growing dark, like one nighttime monster chasing another.
Xakiah
grinned, joy swelling under his frustration. They were going catch them. He was going to win— and he felt himself
nearly thrown into the driver’s seat as Joseph yanked the steering wheel,
sending the truck into a hard lean.
The
truck’s tires lifted a couple inches from the ground, and the far right side of
the windshield exploded open, fragments of glass flying inward as hot metal
grazed the SUV in a messy swarm. A rogue in the scattered cloud clipped Xakiah
across the high crest of his cheek, kicking up a curl of flesh, a splash of
blood. As his mind made sense of the pain, his joy eroded. Bullets. The
thieving bastards had the audacity to shoot…
He
focused his thoughts on the wound, and his flesh began to heal itself.
“Vassal—?”
“I’m
fine, Proficient,” the man behind him cooed.
Joseph
jerked the truck to the side again as more bullets whined in the night. They
were already just a couple minutes off the freeway, which budded with shining
cars and vans.
“Christ,
Joseph! My granny burns rubber better’n you!” Bly shouted from the backseat.
“What
the hell are you waiting for, then?!” Joseph cried. “Shoot back!”
Bly
leaned out his window and sprayed, aiming for the tires of the fleeing sedan.
The
truck lurched from side to side as Joseph avoided the returning gunfire. “We’re
losing ground!” He yelled.
Xakiah
leaned forward, realizing that he was right. The rebel’s muscle car skirted the
mud with ease, whereas their truck was in danger of toppling over if Joseph made
another turn like that…
“That
Page is the heart of the Order, Proficient.”
The
simplicity of his Vassal’s statement threaded calm through the dark belly of
the car, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable.
Xakiah
locked his jaw, nodding as much from obedience as from the tightness in his
throat that had stolen his voice. If they didn’t get the Page back, he’d be
punished. But far worse than that, his Vassal would be disappointed. He
wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t…
“Take
them out,” his Vassal murmured. “I know you can.”
Xakiah
swallowed and nodded at him, fear and pride swelling in his chest. He rolled
down the window, and wind blasted into the truck. With a smooth slide, he
navigated his body through, positioning himself on the ledge.
White
bursts of fire lit the night as Bly’s shots knocked out one of the sedan’s
tires, slowing it down. Thirty seconds until they hit the freeway.
“Steady,
Joseph,” Xakiah said, lifting the rifle scope to his eye. He focused his
thoughts on the driver’s head, searching for it in the long dark stretch in
front of him. He had homed in on the driver right before they sped off, and he
could do it again. He just had to feel it.
He
stared down the scope, letting it drift across the swerving sedan, and
something aligned, linking his slamming heart, the rifle, his eye, and the
bobbing head of the driver in far front of them. He pulled the trigger—
Shp! —and the driver’s head
snapped forward, slamming into the steering wheel. Metal squealed high, and
rubber peeled from the rims of the sedan as it veered off its path. It crashed
into the bordering thickets of the highway, the hood folding in on itself like
an accordion, crushed.
Bly
roared with triumph, slamming his fist into Joseph's headrest. “Xakiah, man,
you’re an animal!”
Xakiah
frowned as he looked back at him.
“Uh,
I mean—” Bly stuttered. “Nice job, Captain.”
“Badges,”
Xakiah commanded.
“Yeah.
Right.”
Joseph
maneuvered the truck a few feet away from the crash. They had barely rolled to
a stop before Bly popped open his door, jumped out, and ran over to the wreck.
Joseph hurried after him, his gun up.
Xakiah
followed, holding up his rifle, aiming at the overturned car. The fools. The
hunted could have any number of traps prepared, and the young rookies were ambling
over, hooting in celebration. He, on the other hand, kept his distance, and his
eyes remained ready for even the slightest movement. Joseph and Bly were good
cops, for what flatfeet were worth, but neither of them understood the true
magnitude of this mission.
Behind
him, Vassal Moss seemed to glide out of the truck, never once making a noise in
the night. The leaves didn’t even crunch beneath his feet as he followed them
to the crash.
Bly
and Joseph had already made their ways over to the steaming wreckage and were
fumbling with something in the front seat. There was scuffling, and a scared
whine wound its way out of the twisted metal as the two agents dragged
something out of the front passenger seat. One of the hunted was still alive.
Bly
threw the rebel to the ground and spat on its shadow. “Lay down, scum!” he
snarled.
Xakiah
tightened his grip on his rifle. Bly, like a jackal, was stealing his kill.
“Calm,
Proficient,” Vassal murmured from behind him.
Xakiah
nodded tightly at the warning. His Vassal knew him well, too well, but he was right. Closing out this mission was more
important than a few seconds of glory. Resigned, Xakiah slung his rifle on his
shoulder as he approached the two agents.
“Only
one survivor, Captain,” Joseph announced. “The driver's head is dog meat, and
the one in the back died in the crash.”
Joseph
tossed him something, and Xakiah caught it, already knowing what it was. A
porcelain mask, just the bottom-half of it, hard and smooth. A tell-tale
trademark of the Knights of Almaut— Koa— terrorist dogs who fancied themselves
men.
Xakiah
cradled the mask in his hand, feeling the ridges of the molded nose, cheeks,
and mouth, all of them together barely the size of his own palm. It was the
captive’s. He looked up at the squirming rebel, finally noticing the long red
hair that spilled out onto the grass—
A
woman.
He
smiled, somehow feeling impressed amidst his annoyance. Her face was speckled
with a constellation of freckles, acne
even. She couldn’t have been any older than 16.
“Show
her to me.” The soft command had come from the shadowed man at Xakiah’s heels,
the Vassal.
Joseph
and Bly hoisted the rebel to her knees and lowered their heads in the Vassal’s
direction. Xakiah cast down his eyes and stepped to the side, allowing his
Vassal to pass before he lifted his gaze again.
The
Vassal stood before the captive, staring at her with soft eyes. Finally he
spoke: “How young. I might have known Koa would send pups to do a dog’s work.
What should I do with you, I wonder? What purpose will you serve?”
“No
purpose, sir,” Bly said. “I say kill the Koan scum.”
“No.
We’ll do no such thing. We are to honor the Articles39,” the Vassal replied. He
turned to Xakiah.
“The car.”
Xakiah
nodded and went to work. He tossed the sedan, cast the corpses aside, ripped up
carpet, gutted the trunk, seats, and glove compartment, or what was left of it.
Nothing. There weren’t even any signs
of it. No traces of energy, not even a ripple in the air where it might have
passed through. Nothing betrayed its location.
He
frowned, turning to his superior. “Vassal. This faction must have been a decoy
so that the real transport could get away.” Bitterness coated his tongue,
almost forcing the words back. “They’ve hidden it somewhere else.”
His
Vassal's cold gaze flickered, and Xakiah tensed, expecting words of
admonishment or worse, disappointment… but to his surprise, the Vassal said
nothing. Instead, he turned to the rebel.
“Lift
her up,” he ordered.
Joseph
and Bly hoisted the woman to her feet so that her gaze was level with his.
“You
Azure bastards can go to Hell,” she said, the pubescent snarl clear. “You can’t
kill me. Even your own code won’t allow it.”
“Oh
no, we aren’t going to kill you at all,” Vassal agreed. “That’s barbaric.”
The
man balled up his hand, and— schhhleck—
the girl’s face fell from her cheekbones and cartilage, slapping wetly against
the grass. She howled, a long wailing sound that whistled from the milky shine
of her jaw. As she screamed, the large white balls in her eye sockets rolled,
like slippery hardboiled eggs, and her teeth, exposed to the gums, clacked
together with frenetic snaps.
“Xakiah,
if you please,” the Vassal said.
Bly
and Joseph’s faces paled with terror, but without so much as a flicker of
disgust, Xakiah scooped the dripping wrinkles of skin from the ground, gripping
it in a fist.
“Display,
please.”
Xakiah
held the sagging flesh in front of the woman’s eyes. The cheeks and lips of it
drooped, as though lamenting the girl’s disfigurement.
“Three
cc’s of morphine, please, Joseph.”
Trembling,
Joseph pulled the kit from his side pack and began to prepare the anesthetic.
Bly held her, still turning his eyes away as Joseph slid the needle into the
base of her neck and emptied its contents. Then the Vassal stepped forward,
bringing his nose close to her face.
“I
can imagine that you are in incredible pain,” he said. “The morphine is to numb
that for you so we can talk.”
“Ooou
astards!” She screamed, but without lips, the curses just sounded like angry
jibberish. She began to sob.
“Not
to worry, my dear. You are going to get your face back. How much of it is
returned, however, is up to you. Now. I am going to ask you some questions. For
every answer I think is a lie, my Proficient is going to slice away an inch of
your face and burn it.” The Vassal motioned to Xakiah, who still held the
sagging flesh in the moonlight.
“Lllease…
llease don’t…” Her sobs crescendoed, forming echos in the night, and her body
heaved with each cry.
“And
we’ll begin,” And with almost a lover's touch, he took her chin in his thumb
and forefinger. “Now. You tell me. Where is the Final Page?”
That's bad ass isn't? See, I told you. Have a super good day guys, see you tomorrow!
~The Wordsmith
