by
The Height of Land follows the quest of a young man torn between spiritual longing and commitment to his community’s survival in a harsh landscape. Red sacrifices everything to study the long-lost words of the gods. He does not know that he is reading the poetry of Lucille Clifton, Ḥáfiẓ, and Walt Whitman, as well as the Bhagavad Gita, the Bible, and the Tao Te Ching. In a world reborn from catastrophe, these ancient texts take on new meanings.
To seek such things is to court peril. Belief in the gods is forbidden. But Red is desperate to know the gods. And he is not searching alone. Forsaking all that is familiar, Red pledges himself to a clandestine church in the city and falls in love with the charismatic priest. But Red may lose both love and faith in defying the church for the sake of a friend.
Have the gods truly abandoned the earth, or just Red? What kind of answer can he receive when he has lost the words to ask?
Publisher: Orison Books
Editors:
Cover Artists:
Genres:
Tropes: Dying World, Dystopian Governments, Farmer to Hero, Humanity is Dangerous, Humanity is Good, Mirror Shows True Self, Post-Apocalyptic, Powerful Artifact, Prophesy, Quest, Secret Society
Word Count: 90000
Setting: Barren Countryside
Languages Available: English
Tropes: Dying World, Dystopian Governments, Farmer to Hero, Humanity is Dangerous, Humanity is Good, Mirror Shows True Self, Post-Apocalyptic, Powerful Artifact, Prophesy, Quest, Secret Society
Word Count: 90000
Setting: Barren Countryside
Languages Available: English
And so the afternoon passed slowly. At last, the bucket was empty of shakes. Given the sinking angle of the sun, Red decided to pack his tools down with him and come back to the roof tomorrow. No, not tomorrow. His spirit brightened again. They would leave for Exchange well before sunrise. It was a long journey, and Dusk liked to get there before the market stalls had been picked over.
Setting his buckets on the ground, Red lowered the ladder with its thick rope and tipped it down to lean against the barn. He carried the roofing tools to the shed and ambled back out into the yard, crouching beside the bean patch in the kitchen garden, his hands draped between his thighs. His eyes moved through the plants with careful attention. The plants looked healthy enough, but there were faint white spots on the leaves closest to him.
READ MOREPutting the garden here had been Dusk’s idea. He had turned over the soil for this new bed in a single afternoon, bashing clumps of sod on the edge of his shovel and hurriedly picking out the ubiquitous chunks of cement, brick, and plastic from the upturned soil, piling them beside the bed. Having a kitchen garden would save them the walk to the lower fields, Dusk had explained, and decrease their dependence on the dry stores, which they could save for the spring markets. But Dusk hadn’t bothered to gauge the sun and shade before he dug the new bed, and this corner of it sat in shade almost until midday, even in the summer.
“Have you said your prayers, little beans?” Red asked. He liked to play his old game of the gods when no one else was around. Red reached out and lined the edge of one bean leaf with his finger. “Do you ask the god of beans to heal you when you get moldy? What do you offer in return?” Red listened, but the beans said nothing. A part of him always hoped they would.
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