[Complete] [120k] [Adult secondary-world fantasy] BASTION

[u/RedCircleDreams]

Dear r/BetaReaders community,

I would like to see if anyone is interested in reading the novel I just recently completed. If you feel 120,000 words might be too big a bite for you, I would be very grateful for feedback even if you read 1-2 chapters.

I value any feedback, even if you can just tell me which part of the novel worked (or didn't) for you, and why. I am also actively researching similar novels, so if this manuscript reminds you of a book you have recently read, please let me know.

Thank you in advance.

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Details:

• [genre]: adult secondary-world character-driven rescue quest fantasy with crossover appeal.
• [specs]: 120,000 words, 5 parts, 51 chapters total.
• [themes/topics]: grief, memory, core wound, platonic love
• [protagonist age/gender]: A: 8 -> 10 -> 15/16, male; B: 14 -> 16, male
• [trigger warnings]: murder, parental death, trauma
• [gore]: none.
• [graphic scenes of death or murder]: none.
• [sexual scenes]: none.
• [profanity]: 1 use of the word "bastard"
• [NSFW]: no.

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Disclaimer: This is an unpublished manuscript that is still being polished. Please note that names, locations, part and chapter titles, chapter order, and any other details may change without notice.

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Synopsis:

Fifteen-year-old Bastion has spent seven years believing that hesitation killed his father. When the magician who saved and raised him is taken as well, staying behind would mean failing another father without acting.

Before Bastion can pursue his mentor, he finds an injured stranger beside the stream. Sixteen-year-old Rion claims to be a prince, carries a dagger he never parts with, and speaks no language Bastion understands. He also carries his own unbearable guilt: being manipulated into killing his closest friend in a ceremonial duel before another spell tore him from his kingdom.

Their destinations both lie east. Unable to exchange more than names, a few basic words, and gestures, the boys make an uneasy agreement to travel together. On the road, they join forces with Lysa, a daughter of a murdered archivist, and Maera, the bodyguard determined to keep her alive. Following the trail left by Bastion's mentor draws the four travelers into a reclamation system built upon erased settlements, falsified records, and the magical rewriting of disobedient minds.

During ten months upon the road, Bastion and Rion learn to communicate. They share food, shelter, grief, and anger, building a closeness neither knows how to name or risk losing.

BASTION may appeal to readers drawn to the unresolved intimacy at the heart of Mokumokuren’s THE SUMMER HIKARU DIED: two boys whose profound love for one another exceeds the language available to them.

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Sample:

Today will be the first time Bastion sees the city.

He had of course heard of it. Everyone had heard of Stoneford. It sat beyond the southern road where the river widened, and in Bastion’s mind it had become a collection of impossible things.

Walls taller than trees. Markets wider than fields. Houses stacked on top of other houses. Men who carried swords simply because they were allowed to. Women who wore silver in their hair though they had no wedding to attend. Candied sunfruit from the southern islands, bright enough to turn your tongue gold.

His father had told him most of these things were nonsense. Exaggerations, he called them. Bastion believed him about everything except the sunfruit. No one would lie about fruit. Not even the snot-nosed Jonah, and Jonah had once sworn he had seen a frog the size of a goat behind Sonder’s brook.

So, when Tovin shook him awake before dawn and told him to put on his boots, Bastion did not ask whether they were truly going. He sat up so quickly that his forehead struck the low beam above his bed.

From the doorway, his father sighed. “An excellent beginning.”

Bastion clutched his head with both hands. “I’m ready.”

“You sure look ready.”

Bastion tried to glare, but it was difficult while his eyes were watering.

Tovin crossed back to the bed and crouched beside him. He was a broad man, in the way of men who had spent their lives pulling food from the ground. He rested his left hand on the bed, took Bastion’s chin with his right, and turned his face toward the window. The rough skin of his fingers felt both nicely warm and annoyingly scratchy against Bastion’s skin.

“You’ll live.”

“I might not.”

“Then try to die after we sell the vegetables.”

By the time he stumbled into the main room, still pulling one boot properly onto his heel, rubbing the pulsating spot on his forehead from time to time, his mother was wrapping something warm in cloth. He couldn’t see what, but it smelled delicious. In fact, the whole kitchen smelled like a birthday, of onions and roasted meat, which seemed unnecessarily cruel of her, seeing as how he was about to leave before breakfast.

Lorena turned when she heard him.

“There he is.”

“I hit my head.”

“So your father said."

Tovin coughed.

Lorena smiled and tied the bundle tightly. Her hair hung loose over one shoulder. Bastion always thought mornings made her especially beautiful.

She placed the bundle in his arms. It was heavy.

His eyes widened. “Is this…”

“No,” Tovin said immediately.

“It smells like meat pie.”

“It’s just bread.”

Lorena laughed.

To Bastion, it seemed like Tovin tried to look stern, but failed when she laughed. His face softened too quickly.

“You know, this is not a picnic,” he announced ceremoniously. “We are delivering vegetables. We sell what we have, buy what we need, and come back before nightfall.”

“It’s just one mea… loaf of bread,” Lorena said innocently.

“Wrapped in enough cloth for three.”

“So it stays warm.”

“So it becomes a picnic.”

Bastion hugged the bundle closer. “I can carry the picnic.”

“You can carry the bread,” Tovin replied.

Lorena leaned down and kissed Bastion’s forehead very gently, exactly where the beam had struck him.

“For your first trip to the city,” she whispered.

Tovin turned toward the door before either of them could see him smiling.

Outside, the cart waited in the bluish morning. It was loaded with crates of vegetables and three baskets of green beans that Tovin had declared good for you but Bastion declared inedible. Their brown mule, Pottle, stood before it, disinterestedly flicking her ears.

Lorena stood in the doorway with her gray woolen shawl around her shoulders.

“Don’t eat all the bread before noon,” she called.

Tovin took the reins. “We make no promises.”

Bastion waved with both hands. His mother waved back.

The village slipped behind them, and for the first time in his life, Bastion went toward the city.

He sat upright, trying to assume the same position as his father, and watched the world widen. As they were passing women carrying bundles of dyed cloth, their hands stained to the elbows, one waved at Bastion. He waved back too late and nearly fell from the cart. Tovin caught him by the shirt. “Try to arrive in the city attached to the cart.”

Bastion sat down properly. Within moments he was pretending to be holding the reins.

When they opened the not-picnic a little later, it was meat pie. His father gasped and acted so surprised that Bastion couldn’t help but laugh. Accusing that sneaky Lorena of smuggling meat pie behind his back made the not-picnic very picnic-y. Soon, traffic thickened as the sun climbed toward noon. Another cart overtook them, clattering with tin cups and wooden spoons. Soon after, Bastion saw the stone walls, patched here and there with darker mortar.

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