Meet Marsheila Rockwell of Shaala, Made of Stone

TALES OF SAND AND SORCERY

My mom likes to tell the story of how I came home from Head Start one day (at the tender age of three) and told her that I’d learned how to read, so I didn’t need to go to school anymore. I don’t actually remember that, but I do have a distinct memory of reading Frank L. Baum’s Ozma of Oz in the front room of our bright pink house (hey, it was the seventies; psychedelic was in, even for house paint). We moved out of that house when I was four, so I imagine my mom’s story is probably (mostly) true.

Ever since then, fantasy has been my genre of choice (I’ll read anything, but you never forget your first love). By the third grade, I’d graduated from Oz and Narnia to Bulfinch and the Brothers Grimm. Fourth grade brought Tolkien and Dungeons & Dragons (D&D), and by the fifth grade, I’d discovered Robert E. Howard, Fritz Leiber, and the rest of the sword & sorcery greats. There was no going back for me after that. I was hooked. More than that, I was home.

It’s probably understandable, then, that my first attempts at writing also sprang from the fertile ground of fantasy. The first story I can remember writing (in sixth grade English) was a twenty-page Conan pastiche complete with a reluctant warrior, a damsel in distress, and an annoying talking cat. My first short story sale (in college) was to Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine (though I’d hoped to get it into one of her Sword & Sorceress anthologies), and my first published novel (in 2007) was for Wizards of the Coast (the folks behind D&D).

Fantasy has been in my blood from the beginning. Epic fantasy, urban fantasy, and the one that takes the best elements of both and ties them up with a glistening bow made of your enemies’ entrails – sword & sorcery. (Did I mention the fun purple prose you get to use?) The high-powered magic and adventure of your favorite multivolume series, coupled with the dark and snark of your favorite fantastic city-dweller, shaken (not stirred) and poured over action scenes that would make the late, great Bob Anderson proud – that’s sword & sorcery.

Sword & sorcery is typically differentiated from its more well-known brethren by the lack of world-shattering stakes. There is usually no Dark Lord – and if there is, your protagonist is at odds with him for personal reasons, not because she wants to save the known universe (or even Chicago). I think that’s the appeal of the genre, frankly – while we all admire Frodo, which of us, given the choice, would actually do what he did? Taking the ring to Mount Doom – a dangerous, nearly impossible task with an agonizing death the most likely reward? No, thank you. But taking out Thulsa Doom, because that bastard killed your parents right in front of you, then enslaved you for years? I don’t know about you, but that’s a mission I can get behind. And if I happen to save some royal scion along the way and reap a hefty profit, well, all the better, right?

Which is not to say that sword & sorcery deals only with blood, violence, and mercenaries out for personal gain. If it did, it wouldn’t really be much different than watching the evening news (especially the political segments), and who wants to do that? No, the best sword & sorcery – the best fantasy, no matter how unremittingly grim or how high the body count (GRRM, I’m looking at you) – offers something more. It offers hope.

My latest series out from Musa Publishing, “Tales of Sand and Sorcery,” is (in my not so humble opinion) a perfect example of this – female-centric sword & sorcery that’s dark and gritty and, above all, hopeful.

Seem contradictory? Well, let’s take a look at the first installment in the series, Shaala, Made of Stone. Here’s the blurb:

Shaalaraharrah was once the favored daughter of a sultan, trained in the art of martial dance. Then (the stories claim), she disobeyed her father and was transformed into a fountain as punishment, doomed to stand alone in his gardens forever, weeping for her folly. In truth, she has become simply Shaala, a warrior wandering the desert in search of a way to lift her curse – one that turned her not into literal stone, but which made her both impervious to pain and incapable of experiencing pleasure. In the land of the River People, she becomes embroiled in a dispute between desert tribes and meets a young man who might be able to break her curse at last – but at a terrible cost.

Shaala’s not looking to save the world (because, let’s be honest, her world’s kind of a crappy place to live, especially if you’re female). No prophecy or Evil Empire here – just a woman following her heart…and leaving a wake of carnage behind her as she does.

Shaala waited for him in a ring of torches the Red Rock People had left behind for her. The orange flames painted the sand in dancing shades of carnelian and gold, like a false dawn. Shaala stood inside the light, sooma held easily at her sides.

When he saw her, Khal reined in his horse and dismounted, waving his korum back. He stepped into the circle with Shaala, but did not unsheathe his scimitars.

“Are you not my koruma? And yet you stand here against me, with weapons bared.”

There were so many things she could have said. That he had tricked her, and no allegiance thus gained could be true. That he reminded her of a stable boy she had known once, and loved, and she was sorry.

Instead, she raised her sooma, one pointed at him, one pointed at the sky.

“Dance with me, Khal.”

He fought back; he cared that much for her, at least.

She was hampered by her ankle, of course, and instead of the alternating step-hop-strike-shift pattern that was the foundation of the Dance of the Staves, she was forced to keep most of her weight on her right leg. Step-hop-thrust, step-hop-kick, step-hop-retreat.

Then, as the drumbeat in her ears reached a crescendo, step-hop-trap-twist, and one of his scimitars went flying. She followed the blade, cart-wheeling past Khal to kick it outside the combat circle, delivering a solid strike to his chin with the blunt end of her sooma as she tumbled by.

But Khal had seen her fight before, and her dancer’s tricks did not catch him entirely off-guard. His other blade snaked in, slicing her just below the ribs, a deep gash that exposed muscle.

The blow might have felled another warrior – one who could feel pain – but Shaala ignored it. This battle would be finished well before blood loss slowed her down. One way or another.

Shaala, unlike many of her male sword & sorcery counterparts, never seeks out battle, but she doesn’t shy from it, either. She never kills for the sake of killing, but because she has no other choice – and as a warrior woman in a patriarchal society, she very seldom has a choice. She fights for freedom – not only from her curse, but also to live and love as she chooses. She is not motivated by revenge, or greed, or the lust for power, but by hope.

Come join her and the other women of “Tales of Sand and Sorcery” as they battle the dictates of tradition to make a place for themselves in the world – and maybe make that world a better place in the process.

*****

Marsheila (Marcy) Rockwell is an author, poet, editor, engineer, Navy (Seabee) wife and mother of three wonderful sons. She is a member of the SFWA, IAMTW, and SFPA and her work has been nominated for the Rhysling Award for five of the last six years. Shaala, Made of Stone (available here: http://www.musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=112) is the first installment in "Tales of Sand and Sorcery," her new series of female-centric sword and sorcery stories from Musa Publishing. In addition to "Tales of Sand and Sorcery," she has written three books for Wizards of the Coast: Legacy of Wolves (2007), The Shard Axe (2011), and an as-yet-untitled sequel to The Shard Axe, which should be out in 2012. She's also penned dozens of short stories and poems, and even an article or two. Find out more here:

Marsheila Rockwell
http://www.marsheilarockwell.com/.