Excerpts anthologies Read an Excerpt From Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II, edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. As any savvy horror fan knows: the monster never truly dies. By Theodore C. Van Alst Jr., Shane Hawk | Published on August 4, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share “Neon Moon,” a short story by Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. from Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II, an anthology of Indigenous dark fiction edited by the author and Shane Hawk, publishing with Vintage on August 18th. As any savvy horror fan knows: the monster never truly dies. The team that brought you the bestselling dark fiction anthology Never Whistle at Night has risen, hungry, from the grave to summon more dark delicacies for your delectation. In these twenty-one brand-new, groundbreaking, gruesome stories—authored by both established and newly unearthed Indigenous talent and illustrated by renowned Cheyenne and Arapaho painter Brent Learned—the contributors are fully embracing horror: both supernatural horrors and the everyday horror of living under colonialist rule.  Featuring stories of unspeakable yet satisfying terror, from twisted psychological tales to gore-filled monster hunts, this new selection of sinister stories will sate your darkest appetites and leave you slavering for more. Never Whistle at Night, Part II: Back for Blood is a further celebration of Indigenous survival and the enduring tradition of transforming adversity into art. Buy the Book Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. (Eds.) Buy Book Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. (Eds.) Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget “Neon Moon” by Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. Breathe. Just breathe. Easier said than done, he told himself, flying down the alley, too scared to look down at the puddles and potholes that might snap his ankles, too scared to look over his shoulder. The thing was matching his breaths, the ragged sound filling his ears as he ran. Joey’d been at it for a mile or so, running straight across main avenues and boulevards, not missing a beat, luckily no cars this time of night blocking his path, the alleyway east of Broadway wide and clear. He looked down gangways left and right, hoping for a clear getaway, but none of them were inviting in the least and got less so as he headed deeper into opposition territory, home of TJOs and Kings, and the creature behind him gained a few steps whenever he looked to the side, so he gave it up. Here in the early spring, the air by the lake was still cool, not yet burning his lungs as he ran, legs churning with all he could give them. There were a couple of moments when he’d considered veering off the path but the thing’s heavy claws swiped into his hair streaming out behind him. It ripped out some strands here and there, even razored open a thin line in his scalp. Reminded him of the time the cops had grabbed him up by the lake, the fat patrolman Squiggy clenching a hank of his hair, throwing him on the hood of the squad car, a triumphant Gotcha, Injun, oiling across his fat, blotchy face, and he didn’t want a repeat of that shit, for real. And this was way more serious than that had been. The chilly air on his torn scalp pushed his feet frantically forward. * * * Joey and a couple of his boys had been sitting on the fire escape behind the Granada Theater, drinking beers and laughing at shit they’d read in the paper, dumbass politicians and fucked-up crimes, their crappy sports teams, even a story about a Mothman or some shit folks had called the cops on lately, swooping around rooftops and freaking people out. Chicago was an old place full of plenty of monsters, sure, but the ones they knew were real, were humans, like Richard Speck and John Wayne Gacy. Old folks counted Bugs Moran and Al Capone in those numbers, too, but to him and his pals, those guys were heroes, men who took care of business when the Man wouldn’t or couldn’t. Nowadays folks said there was a Loch Ness Monster thing out in Lake Michigan, and the city had had its fair share of bell tower–climbing escaped monkeys and even a sea lion and a hyena back in the day, but the Mothman was some new shit, just the latest distraction in a place that got bored easy in-between murders of everyday citizens and political scandals that only affected the rich and well-connected. He hung out at the American Indian Center in Uptown sometimes, and a couple of the old guys there told him and his buddies a story the other day. They said they’d heard the original Mothman-thing that showed up out East was on account of some Shawnee chief’s curse, but he figured they were just fucking with the young ones, talking shit, trying to get all mystical and whatnot. Still, what they said gave folks pause; everyone knew not to trust the government ever since they first showed up in their lands, and the way he heard it, that first one in West Virginia or whatever had shown up around some old World War II munitions plant, so who knew what they were up to in there. And after the shit they’d pulled with the COINTELPRO infiltration of the American Indian Movement a few years ago, well, yeah, everything everyone’d ever thought the government could be and do turned out to be true. So maybe somewhere in there, the old dudes were onto something. Tonight the back of the old Neo-Moorish theater on Sheridan Road was a prime perch for hanging out. The Granada was taller than most open-air spots in this part of the neighborhood, streetlights and neon on Broadway spreading south while a clear and fine view of the lake beckoned to the east. They’d all snuck inside it one dark afternoon earlier in the winter and done a bunch of mushrooms, marveling at the weird artwork and vintage beauty of the structure, had good trips. They told themselves they’d come back and hang out, try to capture the magic again. But tonight it turned out to be just an abandoned building where their young selves could drink and smoke and talk shit in peace. And that’s what they’d been doing for a while when a shadow whispered across the moon, flickered the sky pitch black for a half second. “Did you see that?” Joey asked. “See what?” Jimmy said. “What are you talking about?” Tommy said. “I didn’t see nothing.” “The moon blinked out,” he said. “You’re crazy, bro,” Jimmy said. “Just some clouds passing by. The moon don’t shut off. It don’t work like that.” “It did, Folks,” Joey said. For real, someone in the dorms at Loyola must’ve seen it, he thought. They’re out there partying all night. They’d call it in, the little narcs. They loved to call the police. They’d done it to him and his boys plenty of times. “Keep drinking, homes,” Jimmy said, laughed. Tommy handed Joey a half pint of Early Times. “You need some of this,” he said, smiling. They were cashy tonight, copped a twelve-pack of tall boys and a brick of Richards, and besides, Tommy always had something extra hidden in his wallet. Even got the old wino who regularly bought booze for them at the liquor store a full pint of his own for his troubles. “Nah, bro. For real,” he said, taking a sip off his Old Style Tall Boy, then setting it down on the step. “Ain’t lying, Folks. On the Nation. That shit happened. Like it just turned off by a switch, no light at all.” Joey turned around and grabbed a couple of ice-cold cans from the bag, snuck them in his jacket pockets for later, when nobody would remember how many beers they’d had. Getting caught short wasn’t his style. They were Royals, in the Folks Nation with the Disciples, and all kinds of other sets across the whole city. There was plenty of opposition out there, Peoples and their Nation that included Kings and Vice Lords, and lately, even TJOs. At any rate, they now had a shit ton of enemies anytime they wanted to leave the neighborhood. “On the Nation” was a serious oath, not a thing to be taken lightly. Jimmy and Tommy had to think about what he’d said, then. “For real, Folks?” they said. “For real.” And so it got real, real quick. They stood up, drinks in hand, scanned the skies. “What did it look like, homes?” They raised their voices over an incoming train on the El tracks across the street out front of the theater. “I didn’t really see it too clear, you know?” he said, got up off the step, too, pointed out over the lake. “It just flashed across the moon right there. But must’ve been big, whatever it was, I guess, blacked out everything.” As they looked toward the water Joey thought he heard a thump and scattering of asphalt rubble on the roof above and behind them, but when he tried to tune his ear to the sound an Englewood train screeched into the Sheridan El station. The conductor’s voice crackled out loud enough to hear for two blocks around. “Loyola. This is Loyola, an A train. Next stop, Thorndale.” “Was it like the thing in the paper?” Jimmy said. “You know, that Mothman bullshit or whatever it’s supposed to be?” “I don’t know, bro. I don’t think so. It was quicklike. Could’ve been anything, I guess.” “But you must’ve seen an outline at least,” Tommy said. “Not really, Folks. Just a flash while y’all were talking.” “Well fuck a Mothman, anyway,” Jimmy said, staring out at the full moon, across the purple-black skies over the water. He waved his arms. “Bring it on, homes!” “I wouldn’t talk like that, I was you,” Joey said. “Man, I’ll say what I want,” Jimmy and his beer said. “Yeah. Fuck him,” Tommy and his Early Times said. “Y’all can say what you want, I guess,” he said, “but there might be consequences. Just sayin’.” They sat on the fire escape, drank silently for a while, looking east at the lake here and there, but mostly south, the lights on Broadway an undeniable draw. The roof had gone silent. Life was good at this age, drinking together, earthly cares minimal at best. There’s a solid couple of years there, mid-teens, when the world goes on forever, and you can live your life mostly unseen. Your teachers, parents, anyone not a gangbanger too, they all walk right by you like people on the street on their way to work or some other sad shit. As long as you don’t give them too much trouble, you’re on your own, can do whatever you want. It’s probably the last time you’ll ever be truly free in your life. They might’ve been thinking about that, but probably not. The focus was on the booze tonight, and they gave it their adolescent all. Before too long, courage from the alcohol was undeniable, its clear blue flame currently racing through Jimmy and Tommy. So. “We should go do something,” Tommy popped off. “Go fuck up some Kings at Thorndale or something. Or those fucking Assyrian Eagles up on Devon. Man, I hate those shitheads.” “For real, Folks,” Jimmy said. They’d been an enemy even before the Nations got formed. “Or we could just hang here and enjoy the moment,” Joey said, looking out over the big water, eyes drifting from the horizon on up. But as he peered into the face of the purply moon, traced the nose and mouth on its glowing surface, it happened again. “There! Did you see that?” Jimmy and Tommy were oblivious, mayhem already on their minds. “No,” they said. “What?” “It’s back,” he said. “Where?” “There.” He pointed out over the lake. The inky black around the moon provided no response, at least none they could translate. “We don’t see nothing—” As they stared out over the water, their vision partially blinded by peripheral light from the street below, the creature suddenly hurtled straight at them from the deep dark. It slammed into the fire escape, skittered over the metal edge, recovered, one set of claws biting deep into Tommy’s chest; the other tore off his face, the ripping sound drowning out the scream he’d started when he felt his forehead come away from the bone. A thick black talon slashed his throat wide open, heavy fat drops of blood plopping down onto the dumpster hood three stories below, his torn carotid arcing onto the pale-yellow ceramic of the building, running down into the thirsty mortar between the bricks. Jimmy took off down the fire escape stairs, hand clutching the iron railing, struggling to get back up after twisting his ankle and falling. Tommy’s still-warm folded-in-half face grazed Jimmy’s knuckles as it sailed to the alley below. Back on top of the fire escape, Joey took the briefest of seconds to assess this thing, noted it crouched upright, gripping the rail with taloned feet on thin bowed legs, like a bat’s. The upper body was massive. Broad-chested and heavily muscled, the traps on its shoulders were veiny boulders where its wings sprouted. That meant this was no bat or bird—the creature had fully developed humanlike arms, gray-black ropes of slick muscle that ended in a pair of three-fingered hands tipped by thick black obsidian claws. If it stood up, it would likely be close to seven feet tall and, judging by the length of its glossy black wings trailing down off the rail, it probably had a twenty-five-foot span when they were fully extended. Bloodred eyes glowed in what passed for a face, no emotion but hatred there. The darkness under its gaze hinted at long, needly teeth, leaking onto the slats of the fire escape. Jesusfuckingchrist. Joey really loved all the old movies like Frankenstein, The Hunchback, and The Wolf Man, monsters who’d been created by men whose cruelty erased the creatures’ humanity, but this real-life shit was crazy. “Go, go, go!” he hollered, pushing and shoving Jimmy down the stairs, gambling on those scrawny legs and curvy taloned feet not being near as quick as they could be on the metal slats. Luckily, if nothing else, he was right about that. He and Jimmy were on their way to the first landing when it gave up chasing them down the fire escape and pushed off into the air. It roiled and rolled in the dirty fog of the alley with an inhuman scream that sounded like a broken air raid siren. “Holy fuck, bro,” Jimmy said. “What the—” It rushed back in at them, misjudged the structure of the stairway, and shuddered into the railing just above where they were turning to the last flight of steps. One of its razor-sharp claws sliced through the rusted iron and its long arm got tangled in the metalwork frame. This fucking thing flies like it just got its wings or something, Joey thought. Didn’t make him any less scared, though. Just an observation, he thought. An apology. Or a prayer. They jumped the last three stairs and bolted into the alley, running for their lives. That scream came back, followed them across the blacktop and onto Devon Avenue as they ran across the street without looking. Fuckfuckfuck, he swore under his breath as he ran. Cain’t no one else see this shit? It was quiet down here this late at night, sure, but there were usually at least a few college boys from Loyola wandering around, pissing in the alley, talking loud and being foolish. Tonight, though, nothing. They ran. His chest expanded. Shiiiit, he thought, feeling immortal. I’ll run my ass all the way to the Indian Center if I can. A roar of wings and the skittering of claws on hot top crashed behind them. “Fuck,” Jimmy said, tucked his head low, ran as fast as he could. His buddy was fast, but not as fast as he was. And isn’t that how it goes, the rule of getting away? There’s only one of those. It’s to be faster. Joey heard Jimmy go down, a muffled shriek and the loud snapping of bones announcing his exit from this mortal coil. He swallowed his grief for now, no time to dwell on the screams that would haunt him for the rest of his days. He’d figure out how to deal with them if he made it out of this alive, just like most other survivors do. And right now, that was his only goal, to become a survivor. Run. * * * Foster Avenue came and went as he sped across, head down. Trucking down the alley on the other side of the street, he knew there were some snaky gangways behind the buildings that looked out on Winthrop. There was no way he could beat this thing in a footrace. It kept pace behind him, and he knew it knew it could take him any time it wanted. So, yup, fucking with him. Well, then. Time to fuck back. Just ahead, he knew there was an ancient wino who lived in a cardboard refrigerator box at the mouth of the gangway behind a big old courtyard building with a low entryway and a short set of steps. Yup. There he was, taking in the night air, unfortunately about to have his last hand-rolled smoke in his cluttered front yard, piss bottles and takeout containers, a balled-up gray moving blanket, talking to himself, a half brick of Richards leaning against his Maytag condominium. Joey could think about that later. He pulled one of the tall boys from his pocket and heaved it at him. “Here you go, old man! Next one’s on me, too,” he said, and cut sharp left down the gangway. Wino Joe caught the can and nodded his head. Like he’d hoped, the thing screeched to a halt, new and easier prey presenting itself. Behind him, Joey heard screams from the old wino that abruptly ended. That gave him more than enough time to cut up a flight of gray back stairs and into a hallway headed for the heart of this collection of dumpy apartments. Steam radiators clanked and groaned, but there were enough of them that it was hot and humid as fuck as he picked his way through the guts of the old building. The damp carpet smelled like cigarettes and old onions. Hints of piss and chili powder popped in as he made his way down a long hallway and then up another flight of stairs. Stopping after the landing, he saw he could go straight or hang a right. The old building was confusing once you got deeper inside, and his sense of direction was fucked. He looked up, saw another flight of stairs, passed on that. Looked down and— Fuck. A clawed hand gripped the railing below. The amber light from a cheap sconce reflected on the glistening bald head of the thing making its way up the stairs, longlong black wings trailing on the runner. It knew, looked up at Joey, its face erupting in that scream he’d heard earlier. Run. He did. Down the hallway to his right and out onto the back porch, screeches blistered his ears. He grabbed a trash can, tried to shove it under the doorknob. It was too short, and he said fuck it, ran down the stairs. Jumped the last few and made right for the street instead of the alley. The dinky trash can burst on the railing as the thing screeched again, flew over the banister, and churned his way. Run. Flying down the block, he moved onto the grass across the front lawns of courtyard buildings and three- and six-flats. Almost a block down, another gangway looked good, especially dark and low. He ran for it with all he had. Right before the first set of back stairs, there was a shallow alcove that led into the boiler room. Joey pressed in against it, made himself as small as he could, cut his eyes to the ground and held his breath, resisted scratching the dried blood from the torn scalp the creature had given him back in the alley. It rushed by him five seconds later, claws scurrying, breath wheezing, a low-key screech rasping from its drooly mouth. A string of the thing’s spit landed on the ground in front of him as it ran by, sizzling on the concrete. He counted to eight, let out his breath, slow and low. Ticking off a few more seconds, he dared a peek down the gangway. It was ten feet away, standing in the opening for the stairs, waiting for him. Its mouth yawned wide in what he imagined would be a laugh for this thing, its charnel-house breath fogging across his face. Yup. It was definitely fucking with him. He smiled back, playing along, and took off back down the gangway. It had to stuff itself into that low and narrow space to get through it, and that bought him precious seconds. Popping out the other side and jumping up onto the lawn, he hooked it right to cut down the alley, picking up his rhythm from earlier, never missing a beat. Run. The word flashed across his mind, screamed in his ears. And he obeyed. Legs pumping and burning, he dodged left into the alley that ran along Broadway, the thing pacing his steps, synching its breathing to his own. He could feel his eyes bugging, knowing it was three steps behind him. Please make it four, then five, six if he was lucky. Remember, good people, he was that. Luck, though, like liquor, can run out. It did. Right before Lawrence Avenue. There was a light on in the fire escape window on the second floor of the six-flat at the mouth of the alley, but it was probably the one over the stove in the kitchen. Anyway, no one would come to that window to watch him die. Joey had turned out to be the fastest of his buddies, but the Mothman had endurance beyond his world and genetically manipulated rage. Plus, wings. Getting tired of chasing this smallish human, the formerly human creature unfolded them, gathered the murky air around him and pushed. That was all it took. One little Indian went down with the force of his massive wings. He’d appreciated the chase, though. It’d made his night more interesting than usual, but he had other places to be, other things to do, he knew. He’d end this worthy human’s life with some mercy at least, a shadow of memory forcing some empathy into his mind. On occasion he’d remember who he was before the government’s experiments turned him into what he was now, brought to life to hunt down the last of the Indians and anyone associated with them. Ironically, the Americans who made him had based him on an Indian legend, twisting the Animikii, the Thunderbird, into something guaranteed to scare the shit out of them, maybe even make them obey in advance or give in prematurely. Then added scalpings, murder, and mayhem to make their point. Their final solution, Relocation in the ’50s and ’60s, hadn’t worked, had backfired, actually, the power of the American Indian Movement rising from the rubble of the cities they’d talked them into moving to. All of their programs of destruction over the years had failed. This was their Hail Mary. He didn’t possess the ability to work out just what this strange feeling, this empathy, was; his ability to feel remorse and sadness was supposed to have been engineered out of him. But the military scientists’ own lack of humanity and sense of community had fucked it up. Their disrespect of those two things had even allowed him to escape, eventually. And though he’d lost the ability to name those concepts, they still ebbed and flowed inside of him. The scientists’ cold calculations hadn’t considered that possibility. His accumulated grief would’ve killed a lesser being, but he knew that somewhere in the time before they’d forced him into the lab that he’d been human, a good person. A dad, a brother, a friend, like the parents and siblings and buddies this small human probably had—or was about to have had. Could he let this one go, run free? Drool leaked down onto the human’s chest, slow-burned through his T-shirt. Sorry about that, he tried to project with what was left of his original face. The rage would be taking over again soon, but he worked hard in the moment to be something he’d been made not to be. The Mothman blinked softly. Joey looked up into the creature’s fluttering eyes. Was that empathy? he asked himself. What the fuck? Its weight was unbearable. He could barely breathe, and felt his ribs creaking, starting to snap. Just kill me already, he sent out, didn’t figure trying to talk to this thing was possible. Mothman thought, Does it want me to kill it? Is that what it’s thinking? “Do it already. Now,” Joey said out loud with what would be his last breath. If you walked by the alley east of Broadway on the north side of Lawrence on that early spring night, creeping into the awakening morning, you’d be hard pressed to describe what you saw. An enormous, winged creature sitting on the chest of a young Native gangbanger, one massive set of claws on his throat, the others raised in a killing blow, their eyes searching each other as if they were communicating, death and action paused as if waiting for a camera to start recording. It was something you could never tell anyone else. Well, maybe in a bar late at night when everyone would be too drunk to remember—though not your family, that was for sure. But like most vignettes in the city, there was no one to see anything, no one to capture a moment that was a blip in the life of a metropolis that writhed and churned through the years, its minutes recorded for all to see somewhere, to be sure, but ones that few if any bothered to review. The creature understood, though, loud and clear. The government’s escaped creation leaned in, tried to smile, drew a single razor-sharp claw all the way across the human’s exposed neck. It caught the carotid and the jugular, so things got messy and multicolored. All the apologies and regrets Joey planned to give to his boys bunched up in his throat right before it got laid open and his briefest pang of survivor’s guilt spilled out into the alley. It dried there on the cold blacktop for everyone heading to the El for their morning trip to work downtown to judge, and maybe think about, but probably not. At least tomorrow’s page 10 would have a new Mothman story to help them pass the ride. Excerpted from Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II, copyright © 2026 by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. (eds.). “Neon Moon” copyright © 2026 by Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II</i>, edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. appeared first on Reactor.

Books Front Lines and Frontiers Space Pirates and Action-Packed Pulp: Starwolf by Edmond Hamilton A thrilling space opera trilogy that offers fun twists on old clichés… By Alan Brown | Published on August 4, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books, Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers, scientists and engineers, explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles, chases, clashes, and the stuff of excitement. It is summer, and for me, time to pull some fun adventure fiction of the shelf and read it while floating on a raft in my swimming pool. And what could be more fun than an omnibus edition of a trilogy about a space pirate written by one of the pioneers of space opera, an author nicknamed “The World Wrecker”? And even better, every book in the trilogy has elements that subvert some of the old clichés of the genre and brought something fresh to the proceedings. The Starwolf omnibus, published in paperback by Ace Books in 1982, collects three short novels that had been published separately (also by Ace): The Weapon from Beyond (1967), The Closed Worlds (1968) and World of the Starwolves (also from 1968). While the design of the title and cover type are attractive, the paperback features an uncredited cover painting that looked like it owed more to the Battlestar Galactica TV show than the book it appears upon, which made me wonder how much the art director or artist paid attention to the story itself? About the Author Edmond Hamilton (1904-1977) was a science fiction author whose career started before the term “science fiction” had entered popular parlance, and a prolific pulp writer whose specialty was space opera. He created the magazine character Captain Future, and wrote comic books for DC. I’ve touched on Hamilton’s work a few times in this column. The first was when I compared his first Captain Future book with a reboot by Allen Steele. The second was a collection of his wife Leigh Brackett’s work that he edited; the third was when I reviewed his classic space opera novel The Star Kings, the fourth was his short novel A Yank at Valhalla, and the most recent was the novel City at World’s End. You can find more biographical information in those reviews. Like many authors whose careers started in the early 20th century, you can find a number of Hamilton’s stories at Project Gutenberg. Writers Versus Entropy When I was in high school, we used to get into passionate discussions about music, and some of my friends had a theory that a musician or group generally had one or two good albums in them, and they either presented that good material right away, or broke it up into a number of albums over their career, each with a few good numbers on them. At some point, as a science fiction reader, I began to wonder if the same principle applied to authors. There are many authors who produce a few good books early on, but for whatever reason, their later work does not live up to that original promise. Sometimes they try to recycle their ideas, either by producing similar works, or by producing a series of sequels. Sometimes they stick to styles that have become stale, or try unconvincingly to keep up with new trends. One exception to this pattern is Edmond Hamilton, and I am convinced that his improvement over time owes a lot to his wife, the incomparable Leigh Brackett (you can find links to all my reviews of her work here). Before their marriage, his fiction sometimes read like he was pumping it out to earn a paycheck, with indifferent quality. But over the years, he began to produce stories that were better plotted and more tightly written. And the Starwolf trilogy is a good example of this improved writing. It’s still space opera in the classic style, but the writing is better quality, the plots are more convincing, the action fast-paced, and the characters compelling. Hamilton might have been nearing the end of his long career, but he was going out with a bang. The Weapon from Beyond Morgan Chane begins the book facing what appears to be certain death. The human son of a missionary couple who died on the heavy gravity world of Varnan, he had been raised as a member of that planet’s raiders, the Starwolves. Faced with treachery from someone he thought a friend, he’d killed him in self-defense, and is now on the run. He detects a ship that might rescue him, and destroys his own craft to hide his connection to the Starwolves—something that would mark him for death in most societies. He is picked up by a group of Mercs, mercenaries from Earth who work for whoever is willing to hire them. Their leader, John Dilullo, immediately sees through Chane’s subterfuge. But the old and seasoned Dilullo also sees Chane could be a good addition to his group, so he keeps his secret. Their first mission is to work for the Kharali, whose foes, the Vhol, seem to have discovered an alien superweapon in a far corner of space. Chane, having gotten into trouble during shore leave on Kharal and thrown in prison, is able to help a Vhol escape in order to lead the Mercs to the weapon. And here, Hamilton does something interesting, which takes this story from being a routine adventure tale and makes it something special. When the Mercs find the artifact, it is not a weapon, but a wrecked exploration vessel full of treasures from a plethora of worlds. The Vohl in charge of the expedition is not a warrior, but a frustrated scientist who had been trying to convince his superiors that there is no weapon here at all. The crew of the ship are still alive in suspended animation, and an automated distress signal has been going out. An alien rescue vessel arrives, and the humans are reduced to helpless bystanders by a forcefield that renders their devices and weapons inoperable, watching as the crew is recovered and the treasures gathered. Finally, the aliens destroy the wrecked ship, something Dilullo has the presence of mind to film. He takes that evidence back to the Kharali to show that the threat has been destroyed, and they pay the Mercs for their services. Instead of a clichéd battle, the book ends with a scene that fills the reader with a sense of wonder, as the humans are confronted by aliens who are so far beyond them, they are ignored as irrelevant. The Closed Worlds The Mercs return to Earth, with Chane now a member of their team, although Dilullo’s stocky second-in-command, Bollard, still has his doubts about him. Chane, however, rescues Dilullo from murderous thieves, and the two begin forming a strong bond. They take a job from a wealthy businessman, James Ashton, whose brother Randall has disappeared on the mysterious “Closed Worlds.” Before they leave, Chane travels to Wales, birthplace of his parents, and finds camaraderie in the local pub. As they travel to the closed world of Arkuu, there is a humorous passage where the cautious master of the vessel the Mercs hired clashes with the bold spaceman hired to pilot the craft, one of the many spots where Hamilton spends some time fleshing out characters that in other space opera tales might have been left as cardboard cutouts. On Arkuu, government representatives stonewall the Mercs, and then drive them off the planet with an attack. But at the same time, they had seen a flashing light signaling “Ashton,” so they sneak back. Chane is attacked by a beautiful blonde woman, Vreya, and knocks her unconscious. They find the prisoner who had signaled them—it is not Ashton, but another member of his party. They awaken Vreya, and find that Ashton had been seeking out a mysterious device known as the Free-Faring. They go to look for the device in nearby ruined cities, and after encountering fierce humanoids known as the Nanes, Chane begins to bond with Vreya. One of her roles in the story is to be a love interest, but I like the fact that, instead of relegating her to being threatened or kidnapped, and then rescued, Hamilton has made her a strong character with plenty of agency. The Mercs are then attacked by fanatics who want all traces of the Free-Faring, and any who seek it, destroyed. They must fight their way past the fanatics and more of the Nanes until they find what they are looking for. Like in the previous book, the story eventually takes a turn toward a big science fictional idea. It turns out the Free-Faring is a device that allows people’s spirits to travel, nearly instantaneously, between the stars. But in doing so, it also causes them to ignore their bodily needs, and many have died after falling prey to its seductive powers. Whole cities of people have been lost, and it is no surprise the fanatics want to destroy it. The Mercs find Randall Ashton still alive but emaciated after spending too much time in the thrall of the device. Only the strong-willed Chane and Vreya can use the machine and break free of it. The fanatics attack again, and are defeated, but the Mercs’ flying craft is destroyed, and they must fight their way back to civilization through hordes of Nanes, with Randall Ashton in tow. When they leave, Chane says goodbye to Vreya, who has plans to use the Free-Faring for the benefit of her people. He says he might return, but she teases him by saying she won’t wait for him. It is another successful mission, and the Mercs head back to Earth. World of the Starwolves Dilullo, who is feeling his age, has decided to take his pay from their last few jobs, retire to his hometown, and build a house. But when Chane goes to see him, he finds Dilullo sitting in a vacant lot, unwilling to start construction. As it turns out, Chane has other ideas for the future. The precious set of jewels called the Singing Suns have been stolen from Achernar by the Starwolves, who then sold them to a variety of buyers. Achernar is offering a massive reward for their return, a reward Chane wants badly, but the old Merc team won’t accept Chane as their leader, and he needs Dilullo to come back. Dilullo, tempted by the idea of one last job with a huge reward, agrees. To get access to the planets they need to visit, the Mercs decide to pose as asteroid miners. Amid the dangerous Argo Spur, they find rocks that include massive carved statues with ugly tentacled faces. Dilullo thinks they are memorials of the dead, and tells the team to stay away from them. Chane, who does not believe in supernatural forces, starts to dig at one, only to be confronted by a telepathic voice. Fortunately, the other Mercs have collected enough ore, and Dilullo calls Chane back before he can awaken some sleeping threat. They go to the planet Mruun, and find a man who they interrogate with an illegal device. He tells them the Singing Suns have been sold to a variety of buyers, including a delegation from the planet Qajar, a world unknown to Chane and Dilullo. The team travels to Rith, but runs afoul of the dictator, Eron, and they are all imprisoned. They find that the jewels have all been resold to the planet Qajar, a planet that is full of all sorts of treasures, but also a planet so heavily defended, it would take a battle fleet to get there. One of the Qajar defenses is a network called the Lethal Worlds; entire planets filled with explosives that can be detonated to destroy any attackers. Chane feels guilty for involving Dilullo in a job that has gone horribly wrong, and he hatches a desperate plan. Despite the death sentence that had been placed on him when he fled their world, he will return to the Starwolves and convince them to plunder Qajar, asking only for the Singing Stars as his cut of the booty. The audacity of this plan is breathtaking. Chane is risking almost certain death from the clan of the Starwolf he killed, and is willing to entice an entire planet into battle, simply to help his friend. What follows is a long interlude that brings Chane back to Varnan, where he gets an audience with the Starwolf leadership Council that results in any feud duels being postponed until he can present his case. He finds an old mentor, Berkt, who takes his side, and others who sympathize with his cause. And he spends some happy moments with a female Starwolf, Graal, who had been his friend in his youth. Interestingly enough, the Starwolves are described as being very cat-like, which raises the question of why Hamilton called them “Starwolves,” but I guess the name had a better ring to it than “Starcats.” The council agrees to Chane’s plan, and they head out with a fleet to attack Qajar. I won’t go into more details, but the book gallops into a giant battle that involves exploding worlds, waves of missiles, and clashing fleets of warships. And of course, Chane goes on his personal mission to claim the Singing Stars so he can free his friends from captivity. It is a thrilling end to a fun series of novels, and it left me wishing that there could have been more books to follow up the trilogy. Final Thoughts The Starwolf trilogy is well written and entertaining, with lots of action and adventure, and also some interesting science fiction concepts that made for some clever twists and turns. I was sad to reach the end of the last book, as I would have been happy to read further adventures featuring Chane, Dilullo and the Merc crew. If you’re familiar with the three books of the Starwolf trilogy, I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts, or for that matter, your thoughts on other pulp adventure books in general. And if you can think of other authors who got better as their careers went along, I’d like to hear about them.[end-mark] The post Space Pirates and Action-Packed Pulp: <i>Starwolf</i> by Edmond Hamilton appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts The Wheel of Time Reading The Wheel of Time: Perrin Dreams, Graendal Plans, and Gawyn Isn’t Ready in Towers of Midnight (Part 5) Moridin makes an appearance in this section of Towers of Midnight… By Sylas K Barrett | Published on August 4, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share Welcome back to Reading The Wheel of Time! This week is an exciting one: The Blight is showing up in new places, Galad runs into Perrin’s forces, Gawyn and Egwene deal with murder in the Tower, and Graendal gets a chance for glory. It’s chapters four and five of Towers of Midnight. Let’s go! The Maidens bring Perrin, along with some of the Wise Ones, Aes Sedai, Faile, Berelain, and a group of Two Rivers men, to see a meadow by the road that has been completely taken over by the Blight. The plants are spotted with decay; the smell of rotting bodies is overwhelming. At the center they find a strange, empty village. Masuri tells them that the village is not native to the area. Perrin orders all the channelers to burn the village and the entire area of Blight, promising to stay an extra day in camp if necessary. No one argues. In the Wolf Dream, Perrin is called by a pack of wolves, urging him to hunt with them. He finds Hopper there, watching him, and the two engage in their usual debate. When Hopper reminds him that the Last Hunt comes and that he should come learn, Perrin realizes that this is an opportunity for the teaching he has been asking Hopper for. He agrees to come, but is determined not to lose himself. Hopper replies that he cannot lose Young Bull, since Young Bull is him. He accuses Perrin of repeating the same empty words over and over. Perrin begins to run with Hopper but then stumbles into a clearing and discovers lumps of metal in the grass, like the ones he was working on in his dream. A hole appears to open in the sky, and Perrin sees visions of Mat fighting versions of himself, unaware of a shadowy figure creeping up behind him. The next vision is of wolves chasing sheep into the woods where a terrible beast awaits. Perrin feels that he is among the wolves, but also that some of the wolves are wrong. A third darkness, to the side. Faile, Grady, Elyas, Gaul… all walked toward a cliff, followed by thousands of others. Hopper encourages him again to run, and finally Perrin begins to move through the Dream the way he has before, shifting from one location to the next in great leaps. He joins the pack and they run together, and eventually Perrin gives in and runs on all fours as a wolf.  Young Bull discovers a stag and chases it down until he catches its neck in his teeth and wrestles it to the ground. He prepares for the kill, but suddenly Hopper stops him. The stag escapes, and Young Bull tries to follow, but again Hopper knocks him back, telling him that the hunt is over. If the stag dies here, it dies forever. Perrin comes back to himself, a human again, with the pack all around him. He asks if every lesson in the Wolf Dream will be like this. Hopper answers that it will. Perrin realizes that he has been avoiding this problem for too long. He cannot know how to deal with the wolf, or banish it, until he understands it. In the Whitecloak camp, Galad debates with the Lord Captains about his plan to ally with the Aes Sedai. Lord Harnesh insists that the “witches” are evil. Galad responds that this may be, but the Last Battle is coming; even if the Aes Sedai are evil, their evil is insignificant compared to the Dark One. The Children are less than twenty thousand strong, and the nations of the world revile the Children of the Light.  He talks about lessons he learned from Morgase, and how they must have the respect of the nations’ rulers, not their frustration or hatred. The Children could achieve much more success if they had support and welcome in the various nations. Just then Byar, who Galad sent to watch the road, returns to report that they have captured a group of travelers, possibly merchants. When Galad inspects the captured “merchants,” the leader gives his name as Basil Gil, from Andor. He claims to have purchased all the supplies and equipment to try to sell to the armies he has heard are gathering in the area.  Galad is impressed with Gil’s subterfuge, but given the lack of merchant’s guards and the number of cooks, washerwomen, and farriers with him, he suspects that this actually a group of camp followers for an army. It isn’t long before the truth comes out. One of the people in Gil’s group admits that there is a large army nearby, one that has skirmished with Aiel. They also admit the name of the army’s leader. Byar spat to the side. “Have you ever heard of a man called Perrin Goldeneyes?”“No. Should I have?”“Yes,” Bornhald said. “He killed my father.” In the White Tower, Gawyn and Sleete go to investigate the murder of an Aes Sedai—the fourth that has occurred in the White Tower since reunification. Egwene has blamed Black Ajah coming in via Gateways and urges that no Aes Sedai be alone, but Gawyn isn’t sure he believes that this is Black Ajah. After he and Sleete find evidence that the door to the murdered sister’s room has been forced and Gawyn finds no sign of damage from a Gateway, he finds himself struggling not to snap at Chubain, who seems to have a strong dislike for Gawyn. Gawyn hasn’t been able to figure out why, but he tries not to lose his temper, instead attempting to approach the problem the way his mother would. He realizes that from Chubain’s perspective, it looks like Gawyn is trying to take his job as High Captain of the Tower Guard. He takes Chubain aside and diplomatically thanks him for allowing Gawyn to inspect the room. He explains that he is trying to win Egwene’s favor so that she will make him her Warder. Chubain is surprised, but he softens towards Gawyn immediately and the two discuss the murders. Sleete finds a thread of black silk, and all three agree that this does not really seem like the work of the Black Ajah. Gawyn goes to the Amyrlin’s study and convinces Egwene to speak with him. He asks her why she always shows him the Amyrlin, and never lets him see Egwene. She replies that he still doesn’t respect her position or view her as a true Aes Sedai. Gawyn controls himself with an effort and moves on to the subject of the assassinations. He points out that none of the women who were murdered had Warders, and suggests that, as the Last Battle is approaching, all of the Aes Sedai should be required to have a Warder. Egwene tells him that he doesn’t understand what he is asking, and that the bond between Warder and Aes Sedai is intensely personal and intimate—not something that should be forced on people. “Warders keep sisters alive, and every Aes Sedai is going to be of vital importance soon. There will be legions upon legions of Trollocs. Every sister on the field will be more valuable than a hundred soldiers, and every sister Healing will be able to save dozens of lives. The Aes Sedai are assets that belong to humanity. You cannot afford to let them go about unprotected.” Egwene, admitting that he is making some very good points, agrees to consider proposing something to the Hall. Gawyn insists that an Aes Sedai choosing not to bond a Warder is selfish, both because of the value of an Aes Sedai and also because bonding makes a man a better soldier. He also asks Egwene if anyone has considered that the murderers might not be Black Ajah, but the work of a Gray Man or some other Darkfriend. Egwene admits that she knows through her Dreaming that Mesaana is in the White Tower. She has shared this with the Aes Sedai who are investigating the murders, but does not want to tell the rest of the Tower, for fear of rekindling the distrust and division between the Ajahs. Egwene asks Gawyn to stop standing guard at her door at night. He protests, but she points out that there is little he could do to stop one of the Forsaken. She also admits that she has laid very careful wards, and hopes that if Mesaana does come to attack Egwene, Egwene may be able to surprise her. She asks Gawyn to prove that he trusts her. He forces himself to nod, bow, and leave. Once he has gone, Egwene sits back, thinking about how emotional Gawyn makes her feel. One of the reasons she doesn’t want him standing guard outside her door is that his presence threatens to overwhelm her resolve, and she might give in to her desire to be in his arms.  On a deserted island in the Aryth Ocean, Graendal is hiding out in a cave with a few servants and supplies and furnishings that she has kept there in case of emergency. She hates it, but knows that this is the last place anyone would think to look for her. She isn’t surprised when she is summoned before Moridin, and arrives prepared with a lie to escape punishment. She claims to have purposefully lured “Lews Therin” to her hideout to goad him into murdering all those innocents, knowing that it would cause him anguish, even possibly destroy him, to realize what he had done to so many innocent people. She claims that Aran’gar failed to flee when Graendal told her to, and points out that a great risk sometimes comes with some loss. Moridin appears to be listening to something Graendal can’t hear. After a moment he declares that she is not going to be punished but neither is she going to be rewarded. Graendal needs a victory, so she offers up one of her plans: her intention to kill Perrin Aybara. She tells Moridin that she has already laid a trap for him. Moridin seems intrigued, but he points out that Perrin has access to gateways and will escape her. He brings her to another room, one that is full of artifacts from the Age of Legends, and gives her a dreamspike to use against Perrin. Graendal is excited, but Moridin warns that he has the key to this dreamspike, and that it is a loan only. He also will loan her “the man with two souls,” but she must remember that both items belong to him. He also shows her a Dark prophecy that says that Perrin will die at the hands of the Shadow. Then he makes a gateway using the True Power and sends her back to her cave with the promise of rich rewards for success, and great punishment for failure. If there is one theme that stands out in these two chapters, it is the theme of identity. From Galad’s interrogations of the Children of the Light’s approach to interacting with the rulers of the nations, to Perrin’s ongoing struggle against the wolf side of himself, to Gawyn’s quest to become Egwene’s Warder, to the careful way Graendal constructs her own outward identity in order to protect and advance herself, everyone is dealing either with a threat to the notion of how they think of themselves (or how others think of them) or trying to define themselves in a new way. For some, it’s both. And then there’s whatever is going on with Moridin. He seems to have leveled up roughly at the same time/in the same way as Rand has. Graendal feels some kind of physical, or perhaps metaphysical effect in his presence, which causes her to sweat and also to feel cold. He also appears to be in direct communication with the Dark One. Graendal witnesses him appear to receive some kind of order, and although she has never heard of anyone being able to hear the Dark One outside of Shayol Ghul, she does believe this is what is happening. Ishamael/Moridin’s particular connection to the Dark One, and his constant use of the “True Power,” has been shown to transform his body in a supernatural way. It would make sense that there might be other, less visible effects, and as the Pattern weakens, it seems plausible that someone who is so heavily connected to the power that comes from the Dark One might be able to be in direct communication with him. Narratively, this keeps Rand and Moridin on a level field when it comes to their powers and roles in respect to their opposite sides. Rand now has an ability to heal the Pattern around him, while Moridin’s use of the True Power tears and injures it. Rand seems to have gained a little touch of omnipotence about certain things, given his ability to know that his presence keeps the Dark One’s touch at bay and that the fruit he caused to grow will remain safe from his touch even after Rand leaves. The things he understands and the way he speaks, like a holy person, suggests an increased connection to the Light. Not that I think he is in communication with the Creator, but there is a little something in him that makes him seem like more than just a human with greater than ordinary ta’veren and channeling powers. Moridin is speaking directly with the Dark One, or at least is spoken to, and has an air of something more than an ordinary Darkfriend, or even another member of the Chosen. There is also an air of melancholy around Moridin that I don’t quite understand. Despite his power and the hint of madness about him, he is very reserved and very simple in his presentation. We constantly see him inhabiting this empty dark space with little to no furniture and the big hearth with its fire, his clothing is simple, and he never seems to show much emotion, even when threatening the other Forsaken. You would think the Nae’blis might gloat a little bit or show off his status to the other Chosen, but Moridin does not. He brings it up when he needs to insure compliance or threaten the others with punishment, but other than when he’s giving orders and making promises, he doesn’t seem to be doing much. Granted, just because we haven’t seen what he’s up to when no one else is around doesn’t mean he’s just sitting and staring into the fire, but that is what he was doing in the dream Rand accidentally visited. Unless Moridin is up to a lot of things that we aren’t seeing, he seems mostly to be stuck in an administrative role, doling out assignments and punishments to the other Chosen. This makes sense for the position of Nae’blis but it also makes his life incredibly boring, I should think. Now, as Rand is starting to come into his full power and to make big moves on the board, I’m wondering what that means for the Nae’blis, who is in many ways a counterpart to the Light’s champion. Graendal even feels at one moment that Moridin’s voice sounds a little bit like the Dark One’s. I was actually kind of impressed by Graendal’s manipulation of her situation. She suggests that Rand only found her hiding place because she laid a trap for him and that the only unplanned part of the encounter was Aran’gar’s death, which she claims was an accident that occurred because Aran’gar didn’t listen to Graendal’s sensible advice. It fits the events very well, and the lie she crafted is so convincing that Moridin is visibly startled by its revelation. And I don’t think it’s easy to startle Moridin. The way Graendal uses her (accurate) reputation as someone who loves fine things and could never stand to be somewhere isolated and dank, like the cave on the empty island, also speaks to this week’s theme of identity. Graendal has always been one of the more boring members of the Forsaken for me, but I did find her rather interesting this week. That being said, for all her impressive recovery from her near death experience and secret murder of Aran’gar, it’s clear that Graendal is on very thin ice. If she fails to kill Perrin, I think her punishment is going to be very intense indeed. The revelation of the secret Dark prophecies is interesting, too. As Moridin points out, any prophecy can be interpreted in a variety of ways, making it very difficult to accurately read what they predict. We aren’t shown the prophecy that Moridin (and Graendal) are so certain of, but I myself am skeptical that Perrin’s death is inevitable as they believe. No idea what a dreamspike is, but Graendal says that it has many different uses, so there are probably some things that it does beyond the obvious suggestion that you can use it to come in and harm someone who is navigating Tel’aran’rhiod. The term spike suggests a weapon-like function, but right before Moridin give Graendal the dreamspike he specifically mentions that Perrin will be able to escape Graendal using gateways without it. It’s possible that the dreamspike is a more powerful version of that one ter’angreal that traps people in Tel’aran’rhiod, like that one time it happened to Faile back in… whatever book that was. Maybe Graendal will pull Perrin’s entire party into the Dream somehow. Or maybe, in addition to having Tel’aran’rhiod powers, the dreamspike also does things in the waking world like, oh I don’t know, prevent the creation of gateways somehow. The man with two souls is probably Slayer, who I almost forgot about. There’s so many players and so much happening, it is getting increasingly hard to keep track. But we know that being has some kind of weird dual-identity thing going on and that he can move in the World of Dreams and hunt wolves, so it makes sense that Moridin would bring him on board for this particular task. But to get back to chapter four for a moment, I must say that everything that happens in that chapter makes me tremendously happy. The logistical and philosophical questions Galad asks about what it means to be the Children of the Light are long overdue. I also really appreciated Galad’s approach to understanding what the Children are, and what they could be, and how he addresses both the ideal of the Children of the Light as well as the practical realities of the job they are trying to do and what is necessary to do it. I did find it interesting that Galad’s perspective on the Aes Sedai is tainted enough that he considers that they might be evil after all. This is based on what happened to Elayne and how both Galad and Gawyn believed that their sister was being used by the White Tower in immoral ways. I’m not surprised that he disdains and distrusts the Aes Sedai now—after all, that is what led him to the Whitecloaks in the first place—but the world “evil” carries a heavy connotation, even with the lowercase e. I think this shows that there is a level of emotion in Galad around what happened when he was in the White Tower that is not just based on cold logic, or even the idea of “doing what is right.” The best part of Galad’s stance on the Children of the Light and their place in the world is when he points out that many of the Children, especial the Questioners, see Darkfriends in anyone who is even a little bit different, a little bit flawed, or a little bit against the methods and attitude of the Children of the Light. “You speak like a Questioner,” Galad said. “Suspecting everyone who opposes us of being a Darkfriend. Many of them are influenced by the Shadow, but I doubt that it is conscious. That is where the Hand of the Light went wrong. The Questioners often could not tell the difference between a hardened Darkfriend, a person who was being influenced by Darkfriends, and a person who simply disagreed with the Children.” Galad’s point that there is a difference between someone who is being influenced by Darkfriends and someone who is actually a Darkfriend is so important for the Whitecloaks to hear and take onboard. We as readers know that there are Darkfriends in every group of the world, including the Aes Sedai, and including the Children of the Light. The Shadow is working everywhere, trying to tempt others to join it, sure, but also to misguide and mislead, to confuse the Light and turn its forces against each other. By not considering a difference between someone who is a true Darkfriend and someone who has been manipulated by the Dark, the Whitecloaks may torture and execute the very people who most need protection and salvation from those who fight for the Light. They also run the risk of not noticing when they themselves are being manipulated by the Dark; indeed, most of the Whitecloaks we have met are so zealous that they are incapable of the kind of self-reflection needed to understand that even the most loyal soldier of the Light could be tricked or led astray by the right lie. Of course, the Whitecloaks are also suspicious of anyone who is different or who they don’t understand, which is both why they initially went after Perrin and his yellow eyes and why they hate the Aes Sedai and call them “witches.” True, there are other reasons for their disdain for the Aes Sedai. The Whitecloaks believe that the One Power is the purview of the Creator and consider its use by channelers to be some kind of abomination or sacrilege. This belief no doubt stems from the Breaking of the World: Both male and female channelers were called Aes Sedai during the Age of Legends, and your average non-channeler in this Age doesn’t know much about the difference between male and female channeling, or even understand that the One Power is divided into halves. Even if they understand the basic difference between saidin and saidar, and know that only men were tainted during the attack on Shayol Ghul and the sealing of the Bore, it makes sense that the Whitecloaks believe that the Aes Sedai as a whole are responsible for the Breaking of the World, whether one considers their use of the One Power merely hubris or something more blasphemous. Of course there are many who believe that the Aes Sedai are not just witches meddling with powers they should not be touching, but actually consider them all to be in league with the Shadow. Galad puts paid to this notion without even addressing it directly in his point that the Children can’t differentiate between Darkfriends, those who are being manipulated by Darkfriends, and those who merely disagree with the Children. He also says outright that even if the Aes Sedai are evil, it is nothing compared to the Evil of the Dark One. He is capable of putting his views on the Aes Sedai aside to focus on the most important danger currently facing the world. Whatever else Galad believes about the Aes Sedai, he understands that they will fight against the Dark in the Last Battle, and that as long as Tarmon Gai’don looms, this is more important than any other moral or philosophical or governmental disagreement between the Children of Light and the Aes Sedai, or the Children and the rulers of the world. In this, he shows himself to be very much like Rand, willing to make the same compromises that Rand is willing to make with organizations he sees as evil, such as the Seanchan. And then I am reminded that Rand and Galad are half-brothers, and that they both have a quiet and steady nature that makes them feel reliable to those around them. Galad may be a little less flexible than Rand, and a little more self-confident, but the similarities are definitely there.   I’ll be absolutely fascinated to see how Gawyn handles Perrin if the Whitecloaks actually manage to confront his army. There is every chance that Graendal’s meddling will interfere with the Children meeting up with Perrin and his forces and that they will be kept apart by the sudden appearance of Trollocs to fight, or Perrin and everyone being sucked into Tel’aran’rhiod by the dreamspike, or any number of other occurrences. But if Galad does meet Perrin and has to make some kind of decision about him, I’m not sure how that will go. Galad always does the right thing, but he needs the proper information to know what the right thing is. Even if Galad is able to suss out that Byar is lying about the death of Bornhald Sr., there is still the question of the other Whitecloaks that Perrin killed in defense of Hopper, and the fact that he is able to communicate with wolves in the first place. An organization that sees using the One Power as humans meddling with the divine is not likely to overlook something as supernatural as Perrin’s connection to wolves. From their point of view, how could they see something so strange and “unnatural” as coming from anywhere other than the Dark One? Even the Aes Sedai don’t really know anything about what a wolf brother is—Elyas was held captive by the Red Ajah after his nature manifested itself, accused of being a channeler—or what to do with them. One can hardly expect the Whitecloaks to be wiser about the whole thing. Even if Galad were to accept that Perrin’s connection to wolves is not of the Dark, there still remains the fact that he killed a Whitecloak (possibly two, I can’t remember) plus however many the wolves killed when they came to rescue him from Bornhald’s forces. Like Perrin, we the readers consider the death of Hopper something worth avenging, but I can’t really see the Whitecloaks, even someone as even-handed as Galad, being willing to consider the life of a wolf as being of equal value to the life of a man. It’s hard to imagine a world in which, in the eyes of the Children, Perrin isn’t at least a murderer of the ordinary kind, if not an agent of the Shadow. When it comes to Perrin’s section of chapter four, I was so happy to have him finally realize that he can’t just ignore and suppress the wolf side of himself. He has finally realized that he has been using the bits of his powers that serve him while suppressing everything that he found inconvenient and frightening about his nature. At the end of his section he considers: You couldn’t make a thing until you understood its parts. He wouldn’t know how to deal with—or reject—the wolf inside him until he understood the wolf dream. I relate to Perrin a lot because I, too, am a muller. I often feel like if I could just look at a problem from every angle, understand everything about it, then everything will fall into place and make sense. There certainly is a place for analyzing and thinking things through, especially when making difficult decisions or when working with other people, but not everything can be broken down and understood rationally. And this is especially true for emotions. Hopper is often perplexed by Perrin’s emotions for this very reason. Perrin thinks he can analyze and understand why he behaved the way he did while Faile was captured and that he can logic his way out of engaging with the anger he experiences in battle or the wolf’s desire to hunt. However, emotions are meant to be felt, and Perrin doesn’t allow himself to feel them because he is afraid of what those feelings might make him do. Ironically, the more you repress your emotions, the more control they have over you in the end, and this is where Perrin has ended up. He’s so quick to judge himself, or fear his own nature, or ignore the emotions that make him not want to be the leader he has clearly already become, whether he likes it or not. As a result he behaves badly as a leader, loses control over himself in battle, and struggles to learn in the wolf dream even when Hopper is willing to teach him. Animals don’t work this way. They feel their emotions when they happen, and do not judge or analyze them. They live in the moment. The wolves accept what they are. Hopper points out to Perrin that it is impossible to lose himself because all he has to do is look down and see himself there. He also points out to Perrin that worry is not the same as fear. Perrin is not afraid of the wolf, not in the way he claims. But he looks backward at the fate of Noam and forward to all the things that Perrin himself could do wrong and is paralyzed by that worry. Yet at the same time, he continues to be a wolfbrother, even if he doesn’t engage with those traits, just as he continues to be a leader, even as he tries to get away from that fact. Perrin’s mental state during Faiel’s captivity probably wouldn’t have been better if he was more accepting of himself and the person he has become, but the way he behaves as a leader would improve a lot. Most of the mistakes he makes happen when he is trying to stop being a leader (we’ll see more of this next week), at which point he uses those mistakes as proof that he is bad at leadership. A wolf accepts things as they are. If the situation grieves them, then they grieve. If they are angered, then they are angry. Perrin does neither, and as much as learning to walk in the Dream is important, I think the lesson of self-acceptance is even more important. The Pattern made Perrin a wolfbrother. It also made him ta’veren, and a leader. He can’t change that anymore than he can make himself shorter. He is allowed to regret those things, to dislike the role he has been thrust into, but he is letting those emotions drive him to fights he cannot win, and to a stubborn sort of deliberate ignorance towards things he really needs to understand. Both for his own good, and that of those for whom he is responsible. We’ll see more of this struggle next week in chapter six. Perrin has also had some visions. I’m not sure what it means that he saw the iron lumps from his other dream in the field, but the vision of Mat is probably about the gholam that is still stalking him. The fighting himself might be a reference to all the different people’s memories that are in his head and how he is trying to hang onto his own identity. (There’s that theme again.) I’m not sure about the second vision, though perhaps the beast that waits in the trees is Slayer? The third vision seems straightforward enough; Perrin and his friends are walking into Graendal’s trap. I didn’t know that there are other animals in the Dreamworld whose souls live there when they die, like the wolves do. At first I assumed the stag got into the dream the same way an ordinary person does, by accident, but we have never been told that dying in Tel’aran’rhiod is a permanent death of the soul for a dreamer, just that it kills them in the waking world if they die in the dream. Hopper specifically tells Perrin that if the stag dies in the dream it dies “the last death,” which implies that its soul lives in Tel’aran’rhiod just like Hopper’s does. I would really love to learn more about this, as it is a big shake-up of what we know about Tel’aran’rhiod. I do kind of love that we have Bornhald Jr. possibly about to confront Perrin in chapter four and then in chapter five we also are reminded of Gawyn’s desire to kill Rand. Neither man is right about who is responsible for his respective parent’s death. We see in both of them a reminder about how people can be led by their emotions, especially grief, to make wrong and hasty judgments. Combine that with the lack of information due to the lack of long-distance communication and the confusion the Dark is working so hard to spread, and you can see how people come to some very wrong conclusions that seem to be based on facts. I have to wonder about Byar, come to think of it. Is he such a bad guy because he is a religious zealot? Or is it possible that he is a Darkfriend, and his actions have an even more sinister goal behind them? The thing with Perrin is a lot more complicated than the thing with Rand and Morgase. The only reason the latter situation seems complicated is because few people know that Rahvin was involved and because there is no obvious proof. Of course, once Morgase is discovered to be alive, the whole problem solves itself. In the meantime, however, we must wait and see if Gawyn is willing to trust Egwene’s judgement, not just in the fact that the Dragon Reborn needs to remain free in order to fight the Last Battle, but also in her certainty that Rand did not murder Morgase. It would make sense for him to believe her. Egwene has more knowledge and understanding of Rand and of what is going on in the world than Gawyn does. Gawyn’s entire vendetta is based solely on rumors, after all. He should know better than to assume they must be true, to the point that he is willing to kill a man over them. Like his brother, Gawyn also sees how invaluable the Aes Sedai are when it comes to the Last Battle. He doesn’t understand the full nature of the Warder bond and what it does, but he does understand that every Aes Sedai is worth more than a hundred soldiers in the field, and that every healer will be able to save many lives that would otherwise be lost. There is a personal emotional investment behind his argument—his desire to be bonded to Egwene—but it is still an entirely logical one, so much so that Egwene is considering how to put it before the Hall. In this section Gawyn shows that he can be logical and understands how to lead, at least when it comes to being a military general. He also shows restraint and people skills he learned from Morgase as he deals with Chubain. Gawyn’s instincts are always towards hasty emotional reactions, but he is able to restrain himself and think logically about why Chubain might be so hostile towards Gawyn. Once he deduces the true reason for Chubain’s attitude, he is able to talk to the man and correct the misapprehension. Not only does this ease Chubain’s hostility, it seems to make Gawyn an ally, as Chubain is immediately interested in Gawyn’s assessment of the murders. He also seems to be aware that Gawyn’s closeness with Egwene could be an asset to Chubain in his own line of duty. I have to admit, it’s really difficult to care at all about Egwene and Galad’s relationship issues. Because there was no build up to them falling in love, and it just sort of spontaneously occurred out of nowhere, it doesn’t feel like a deep and real connection. They read as two infatuated teenagers more than two people struggling to reconcile a deep emotional bond and the bonds of duty that might end up keeping them apart. When Egwene describes how his presence threatens to overwhelm her resolve, it just seems like she’s being a silly girl with a crush, not like she’s struggling between a genuine romantic relationship that she wants as Egwene and the difference she must require as the Amyrlin. Gawyn seems even sillier. Granted, he is a little bit of a dummy, and he still has a naiveté about him that I vaguely remember Elayne having as well, when we first met her. Which makes sense, as Gawyn is actually pretty sheltered. Yes, he was involved in the White Tower coup and learned some hard lessons there, but he hasn’t seen much of the world, and his lessons and training have all been targeted towards him becoming First Prince of the Sword, a very specific job with very specific requirements. He certainly also had some of the training in leadership and reading people that Morgase gave Elayne and Galad, but he would need more leadership training from Bryne to be a general than he would need to be a ruler. Elayne being destined for the throne and Galad as a high-ranking noble would certainly have ended up in some kind of governing position as well, but Gawyn was always intended to be the head general of Andor. A lot of the boringness of Gawyn and Egwene’s relationship can be blamed on the fact that Jordan never really writes the process of people falling in love. The closest we get to a full arc is Perrin and Faile (and to a lesser extent, Nynaeve and Lan). However, it’s also true that Gawyn as a character is just kind of lame. He is in love with a version of Egwene that doesn’t exist: an innocent young Accepted that needs his protection. True, that view is starting to change as he keeps witnessing who Egwene is, but when it comes right down to it, I have to ask myself who it was he fell in love with, and if that image is even a little bit the same person Egwene is now. It almost feels like he is in love with the same version Rand was in love with, but Rand was well aware even early on that the girl he loved in the Two Rivers stopped existing the moment they left home. Egwene was aware of this as well about Rand. But then, that is Egwene’s point. It isn’t simple obedience she is looking for from Gawyn. It’s a perspective and an understanding of who she is. Gawyn wants to see Egwene the woman, but that woman is someone who became Amyrlin, who sees herself as Aes Sedai, who learned self-discipline and identity from the Aiel, and who carries the weight of responsibility for the fate of the White Tower and the World. Until Gawyn can see all that, he is not only unfit to be her Warder, but also unfit to be her lover. Another thing I completely forgot about is that the Seanchan left assassins in the White Tower. It’s interesting to realize that Egwene is blinded to other possibilities because she knows that Mesaana is in the Tower, and that Gawyn is actually closer to the truth than she is. His idea that it might be a Gray Man committing the murders is really smart, and the ter’angreal the Bloodknife assassins are given do seem to work similarly to the powers of a Gray Man, though not quite as powerfully, perhaps. We’ll have a chapter from Morgase’s point of view next week, which I am very excited about. Her perspective on Perrin and his companions is very interesting and different from the POVs we have had so far. Morgase is also just a really cool character. We’ve been reminded of that this week when both Galad and Gawyn were thinking of her teachings and leaning on them. I was especially touched when Galad referred to and thought of Morgase as his mother, not his step-mother. We’ll also visit Lan for a bit before returning to the possible confrontation between Perrin and the Whitecloaks. Exciting stuff! I’ll see you all next week for chapters six and seven.[end-mark] The post Reading The Wheel of Time: Perrin Dreams, Graendal Plans, and Gawyn Isn’t Ready in <i>Towers of Midnight</i> (Part 5) appeared first on Reactor.

Books Backlist Bonanza Backlist Bonanza: 5 Underrated Books With Disabled Characters A selection of novels and stories that highlight people with different disabilities in strange new worlds By Alex Brown | Published on August 4, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share Jimothy, the Seattle raccoon with short spine syndrome, has taken over the internet recently. He is extremely adorable and I feel such joy whenever he crosses my social media feeds. And since everyone is now talking about disabilities, he also offers the perfect opportunity to talk about disability in speculative fiction. The five books in this list feature characters and/or are written by authors with physical, intellectual, or invisible disabilities. Accessing the Future edited by Kathryn Allan and Djibril al-Ayad (Futurefire.net Publishing, 2015) Kathryn Allen writes a lot about speculative fiction from the nonfiction essay angle. She is also the editor of the 2015 nonfiction book Disability in Science Fiction, which collected twelve essays digging into the state of representation at the time, and was a contributor to the must-read issue of Uncanny Magazine, “Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction.” Djibrial Al-Ayad is, of course, the general editor of one of my favorite speculative short fiction publishers, The Future Fire. Allan and al-Ayad frame this anthology from the perspective of accessibility, in that it thinks about accommodations or the lack thereof (or the outright rejection thereof) and what that means for a disabled person trying to live under those conditions. The stories highlight people with different disabilities in strange new worlds, and especially considers the intersectionality of other identities with disability. It’s an astonishing anthology. Space Unicorn Blues by T.J. Berry (Reason #1 — Angry Robot, 2018) Is it science fiction, fantasy, or science fantasy? All I know is that this book has unicorns in space. Well, technically, Gary is half-human and half-unicorn (and he’s asexual!). The other protagonist in this snarky novel is Captain Jenny Perata, a Māori lesbian who uses a wheelchair. Gary and Jenny were nemeses for a long time—due in no small part to her imprisoning him and using his horn for fuel against his will—but now they must work together to save the universe. Berry’s duology is hard to consolidate down to an elevator pitch. It’s weird, it’s funny, it’s sad, it’s quirky, it’s empowering, it’s challenging. Jenny is a riot of a character. She is tough and sharp-tongued. While her former bosses decided she was worthless once she lost the use of her legs, she has only become stronger. She isn’t ashamed of her disability, it’s just a part of who she is. Soul Jar edited by Annie Carl (Forest Avenue Press — 2023) Reading this cover copy, I was immediately intrigued: “imagining such wonders as a shapeshifter on a first date, skin that sprouts orchid buds, and a cereal-box demon. An insulin pump diverts an undead mob. An autistic teen sets out to discover the local cranberry bog’s sinister secret. A pizza delivery on Mars goes wrong.” I mean, come on, how cool does that sound? Carl, a bookstore owner and author, splits the thirty-one stories into four categories: Earth in Retrograde, Gone Astray, Wild Space, and Creature Feature. The author list is a who’s who of short fiction, as well as a few newbies; if you read contemporary short spec fic (and I do… a lot of it), you’ll recognize many of them. For readers looking for a variety of disabilities and perspectives set in a variety of speculative worlds, you can’t go wrong with this collection. The Maid and the Crocodile by Jordan Ifueko (Harry N. Abrams, 2025) This young adult fantasy novel is a standalone set in the same world as the Raybearer duology. In the magical city of Oluwan lives Small Sade, a young woman who is finally old enough to leave the orphanage where she grew up. She needs a job, but that proves difficult, what with her vitiligo and a painful foot condition that requires the use of a cane, the result of an injury as a child laborer. Those conditions are visible to everyone. What else she is, no one can see: she is a Curse-Eater, in that she can cleanse the spirit of what is essentially “dirty” energy. This puts her in the sights of the Crocodile God. He needs her power and she needs a way out. Small Sade’s disabilities are a part of who she is and how she navigates the world, but she isn’t defined solely by them. This book often gets comped to Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones, and yeah, it’s got those magical sorta cozy vibes but with deeper conversations about ableism, labor rights, and exploitation. These Bodies Ain’t Broken edited by Madeline Dyer (Page Street YA, 2025) Let’s keep this short story train going. This anthology is only the third traditionally published YA anthology focusing on disability; the other two are Own­ing It: Stories About Teens with Disabilities, from 2008, and Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens, from 2018. These Bodies Ain’t Broken is the only one to exclusively feature speculative fiction, specifically horror and dark fantasy. What’s neat about this anthology is that the authors overlap on some of the disability representation, so the reader gets to see it from different perspectives. The horror here isn’t in having the disability, per se, but in what it’s like to live in an abled-centric world as a disabled person. In these stories, disability is neither a problem to be fixed or overcome, nor a superpower. What does it mean to be “normal”? What makes a monster?[end-mark] The post Backlist Bonanza: 5 Underrated Books With Disabled Characters appeared first on Reactor.

Books cover reveals Revealing Play Role Play by In Churl Yo A novel about grief, gaming, and family — arriving November 2026 By Reactor | Published on August 4, 2026 Photo courtesy of In Churl Yo Comment 0 Share New Share Photo courtesy of In Churl Yo We’re thrilled to share the cover of Play Role Play by In Churl Yo—available November 10, 2026 from Castle Bridge Media. A grieving young woman returns home to Seattle, where her dead mother’s final wish forces her and her estranged father on a journey through their past, one that somehow pulls them deep into the role‑playing campaigns she once loved, blurring the line between memory, imagination, and something that feels dangerously like reality.Hattie fled Seattle after her mother’s death and has spent two years isolating herself in Texas. When she finally comes home, she finds a father who has been barely functioning without her mother and a final letter that sends them on three linked quests to revisit key places from their family history and “recover three memories and find what was lost.” As Hattie and her friends move through those locations, her long‑dormant love of tabletop role‑playing begins to manifest as full campaigns that appear to overtake reality, forcing her to face her grief, guilt, and complicated ties to her father. Cover art by Virginia Frances Sterrett, 1921 (Internet Archive / New York Public Library) In Churl Yo has served as an editorial director and an award-winning creative consultant to several magazines during his career. Amazing Stories called his debut novel Isonation “a fast-paced post-pandemic story where nothing turns out to be quite what it seems.” His follow-up novel, Austinites, offers readers a literary nostalgia-infused trip through 1990’s Austin, and Something Doesn’t Make It True, a poetry collection, is out now. His next novel, Play Role Play, an adult contemporary fantasy about grief, gaming, and family, arrives in November 2026. Born and raised in Texas, where he graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in Marketing, he made the move to cooler and greener climes out West with his wife and two children. The post Revealing <i>Play Role Play</i> by In Churl Yo appeared first on Reactor.