Arriving the 10th of January 2026, LAHANA is a speculative history novel set across ancient Europe and Britain, with aspects reaching into the eastern Indus Valley. There is original mythology, ancient spirituality, adventure, intrigue, danger, and romance. What more could you need?

Over this year, I have polished the completed LAHANA from it’s beginnings as LUNAR FIRE (2022). Shifting the tone quite significantly and seizing the opportunity to delicately weave in new material, including a backstory for one of the more villainous characters.

The tone shift sees the romance element ‘cleaned up,’ ‘classy-ified,’ or just plain old censored! Scenes that were previously of a ‘medium steam/spice’ rating have been distilled to their essential storytelling elements with suggestive rather than explicit language. This takes perhaps a more classical approach while not closing the door entirely and still maintaining a thorough rendering of character and relationship progressions (or disintegrations in some cases!).

The tale has evolved. I was particularly happy to dive into the added scenes (and to have caught one or two or more typos . . . I swear they multiply when it rains!). I shall now quite contentedly allow it to be. I hope you enjoy reading this tale as much as I have enjoyed the journey of writing it. Add LAHANA to your Goodreads shelf here and read on for an exclusive preview from the first chapter.

Chapter 1

✤

The riders broke first from the forest, the fervent hoofbeats of the galloping ink-dark horses striking against the parched dirt road. On their trail, a quartet of pale horses drew with them a clattering carriage. Its woodwork boldly carved and colourfully painted, costly and noble. It rattled, though, and shuddered on high wheels, to be pulled as it was. The fierce haste of the party reinforced by a further group of riders charging behind the carriage.

A herd of deer that had travelled swift and far uphill to escape the noise and relentless shakings in the earth now huddled around the tall silver firs and the shady, cool ferns blanketing the peak. They felt the ground settle as the riders and the carriage made their impetuous way further and further from the forest.

From the highest point of the oldest of the firs, a small silver owl watched the herd keenly. Her claws gripped to the brittle branch she lightly perched upon. The owl blinked and then stared into the shady grounds of the forest encircling. She swivelled her head, turning to gaze into the sky above. The gloaming sweeping across the land, pulling forth glistening pinpricks of stars. A bright moon, already high, sliced clean in half.

The owl launched from the branch, away from the startled deer and the ancient firs. She soared over the huddled, darkening forest, feeling the crystalline sky around her, fresh and cool and sharpened. The colours shifting, a soft blush sinking into the western horizon faster than could be caught by the harried riders who launched themselves towards it.

The owl swooped away from their trail, gliding to the south towards the rising bank at the edge of the cleared land. Where a figure, still and alert, stood alone – watching the riders cross over the landscape before him. There was something in that party which drew his attention. Someone – one of the riders? No. He watched them, felt the air – the immense distance between himself and them – reverberate with warnings and with the message: See this. One of the old kind travels this way. One of yours. The figure remained still – only a silhouette now to human eyes, melting into the ever-darkening landscape.

To the owl, he was clear and sharp in the rising night. She swooped closer and then caught in the high-travelling currents to circle in a wide, slow path above the watching figure. The owl seeing clearly the elaborate, heavy branches of the stag’s full summer crown. Picking out even the grooves and ridges drawn along the hardened bone of the antlers.

The stag kept his eyes trained on the riding party now approaching the heavy gates of Akahna, the city of the Great King – of Cael, son of Osian, son of Eira.

The purpose of the stag’s attention being one and the same as that of the reckless journey. Seated inside the carved and painted carriage, jolted and jostled by the impatient pace, the expected bride of the Great King. Herself watching the sky for messages and signs. Watching the colours shift and change. Above the clatter of the carriage wheels and the clamour of the men, she thought she could hear a wolf’s howl – high and thin – reaching to her from the broad grasslands or even from the forest falling into the distance behind her. The sound disappeared as they entered Akahna’s gates.

✤