KRR Lockhaven

@krlockhaven.bsky.social

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Parent, spouse, firefighter, goofball, writer of fantasy including: The Conjuring of Zoth-Avarex, The Azure Archipelago, and Mrs. Covington’s🌴 Learning Japanese🇯🇵 Working on: FOOL

Kyrien’s ascendancy from a prisoner of war to the trusted “Fool and Advisor to the God-King” has been the stuff of storybooks. He owes his dramatic reversal of fortune to Vaerain, the God-King himself. Kyrien’s life in the capital city is blessed with fame, riches, and a beautiful young family. But when a group of unknown conspirators kidnaps his son, his charmed world collapses. The people holding his son have one demand, which they believe Kyrien is in a unique position to grant—they want to know where the king, the only person in the world who wields god-like magic, derives his powers. As Kyrien and his wife, Acali, begin to unravel this mystery under the watchful eyes of the king and his religious zealots, they learn that their blessed life has always come at a steep cost and that a revolution is brewing among the city’s poor and trampled. The deeper they dig, the more Kyrien questions his reverence for the man he once saw as a savior. Kyrien and Acali will stop at nothing to find answers and get their son back, even if it means tearing the kingdom apart
A confused looking dude in front of I’m donut?
Rollercoasters in foreground. Mt. Fuji in background.
An overwhelming feeling of dread permeated Acali's body, like a thousand insects squirming beneath her skin.
“People of the Nocai Region.” The booming voice came from everywhere and nowhere, rumbling in Kyrien’s head. If Wrath had ever spoken to mortals, this is what it must have sounded like. “I will offer you one chance to give up this misguided rebellion. Throw down your weapons and kneel to me, and you will be spared.” Kyrien and Lucia met eyes again. Hers were wide in disbelief. “How is he doing that?” someone shouted from the left. “It’s just a trick!” a voice from the front said. A cold fear gripped Kyrien’s chest. He was nearly overcome with the impulse to drop down and kneel in the dirt. The disembodied voice was not only unnerving but seemingly proof of the king’s divine power.
Acali nodded, unsure where to start with her questioning. As she considered, she noticed several drawings tacked to the wall over the tiny dining table. “Does Cali like to draw?” she asked. “Yes.” A wistful smile touched Casimi’s lips, pride blooming in her eyes. She carefully removed one of the drawings from the wall and handed it to Acali. “She loves drawing cats. Can you believe a girl her age can draw so well?” “This is really good. Your daughter is very talented.” Acali was mindful to use the word is instead of was, although she nearly used the latter. “The eyes are especially striking.”
After handing a bronze Daroc to each begging child who approached her near the gate, Acali broke away to check on the poster of the missing girl she’d seen at a crossroads. The muscles across her abdomen tightened when she saw that the girl was still missing. An additional sign had been posted, partially covering the first. The new sign read Any information appreciated. No questions asked! An overwhelming sadness washed over her. It took everything she had not to collapse onto the dirt road and sob. The idea of hope seemed naïve and pathetic as she fought back useless tears. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths—in slowly through her nose, then out through pursed lips. With the pure stubbornness of a mother’s resolve, she pushed the persistent, convincing voice of despair away. She would not let that counterproductive voice sway her from her path. She couldn’t afford weakness or wasted time with Pavi alive, well, and waiting out there somewhere. When she opened her eyes, she headed directly for the market, to the home of the missing girl.
About the Author K.R. Lockhaven lost an R from his name. If you find it, please return it to him. Besides that, he’s a fantasy author who lives in Washington State with his wife and two boys.
“They’ll be back. They’re like cockroaches.” A genuine smile bloomed on Kyrien’s face. “Remember the time they got trampled by a whole herd of sheep when we were all, what, five? Got stomped by a hundred hooves and still came out grinning.” “Yeah. That was really baaaad.” Lucia made this joke whenever the topic came up. Kyrien laughed despite himself every time. “It’ll take more than a God-King to kill them off.” “God-King.” Lucia scoffed and shook her head. “You don’t believe?”
“We requested the balance sheet for the realm’s expenditures in the last council meeting and have yet to receive it. I don’t expect you to give a shit, but I’m willing to offer you compensation for helping to expedite this mind-numbing process.” “That’s beyond a lowly Fool’s scope, ma’am.” “A lowly Fool.” Lady Bontial laughed. “Let’s not play too coy here. We all know you’re the right hand of the king. And with what you men do with your right hands, I’m not sure that’s the most enviable position.” She offered another smile, this one genuine and full of mirth. “That’s a horrifying image you paint, Lady Bontial. Your knack for humor never fails to impress.” Kyrien bowed his head. “However, I’m sorry to tell you that I have other pressing matters on my plate at the moment, and there isn’t much room for the excitement of expenditure sheets.”
Out ahead, an impressive puddle had formed in the middle of the old cobbled street. Children splashed and played in the murky water as if it were one of the pristine pools under the Tower of Mercy. One young girl sat submerged up to her shoulders. The smile on her face suggested she was living the best day of her life. Had Pavi been here, he would have loved to jump in with her. A sting of regret stopped him in his tracks. An image of Pavi and the hurt in his eyes burned itself into his memory. As he watched the children play, he wondered if he was doing his son a disservice by living apart from the city. Was it better to have a charming house on the beach with anything a kid could want, or to be in the thick of things like these kids, learning real-life lessons in the puddled streets? Kyrien didn’t have an answer.
After squeezing for the span of a breath, Kyrien let go and stepped back. He started to speak, to tell his son he loved him, but some Gods-damned fool impulse smothered the words before they could pass his lips. Instead, he gave a nod, flashed a forced smile, and turned to leave. The look of hurt still resided in Pavi’s eyes.
“Always strive not to take yourself too seriously. Self-importance is a joy-robbing maker of assholes. If you put others before yourself, you can quell the ego’s relentless push. Unfortunately, though, you’ll have no control over what those others do. Or what happens to them.” - A History of Fools Sorori Revi
Acali sidled up to Nezki and put an arm around her. She thought the housekeeper might burst into tears, but she didn’t. She continued to stare at the floor. “Do you remember when Pavi had that horrible fever when he was around two?” Acali asked. Nezki nodded. “I was panicked and helpless and unsure of what I should do.” Now Acali started to tear up, thinking about that anxious night. “I asked you what you thought then, and you knew exactly what to do. You brewed that tea out of willow bark. You brought his fever down. You may have saved his life.” “I don’t think his fever was that serious.” “It seemed pretty serious to me. But your calmness and your knowledge helped alleviate a young mother’s fears in a fraught moment. So yes, I do value what you think.” Acali gave Nezki’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Nezki squeezed back. They stood huddled together in silence, both of them wiping their eyes. A smile touched the corner of Nezki’s mouth, then faded.
For a moment, Kyrien considered hurrying back downstairs for another ale. The allure of drinking his anguish away was strong. Already, the warm lightness of alcohol promised to smooth away the unrelenting anxiety churning in his chest. But it wasn’t a real option. It would be nothing more than a distraction from the only thing that could possibly take the anxiety away: getting his family back.
“Uh…what’s that down there?” Kyrien made the puppet of Mercy, who was positioned to look as if she was floating with Wrath near two glowing moons, point down to a planet on the puppet stage. “Oh great.” The puppet Wrath crossed his arms. “It’s a world.” “A world! How wonderful!” Mercy’s silly dance made the kids in the audience giggle. “I want there to be people on it, and rainbows, and chocolate cake, and dragons, and capybaras, and unicorns, and beautiful sunsets, and—” “Only if they can promise not to be wicked,” Wrath interrupted. He turned to the audience, breaking the fourth wall with a subtle head shake and eliciting more giggles. The children knew what was coming next. “Oh, they won’t be wicked. This will be perfect!”
“Of course, we do. I think we could probably win on our own. But when we join forces with Darocca, the king has no chance. Even if King Vaerain is a god in human form, he’s only one guy. We’re not talking about the First Age, with magic and dragons and shit. We’re talking about one pompous, self-important king—who may or may not know a few spells—and his undersized army.” “The over-confident hare hangs skinned and bare.” “Fuck that.”
The sight was terror-inducing. Even at this range, about a hundred yards away, their face-contouring masks, fixed in permanent wrathful expressions, turned Acali’s stomach. They each carried their signature pitch-black spears in both hands, held tight against their armored chests. Anyone who grew up in the Shanties knew that if a regiment of Unsleeping marched into your neighborhood in formation like this, they were only there for one thing.
With a whistle on his lips, he opened his front door. The whistle died mid-melody. Wispy Nightflower smoke rolled out from the top of the door, the odor overpowering. He stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed out hard through his nose, trying to quell the anger and shame rising from his gut. When he stepped inside, he found his mother lying awkwardly on the bed. Her bare legs hung off, dangling just above the packed dirt floor. Her nightshirt had bunched up, exposing her gaunt midsection. A Nightflower dart smoldered in the blanket near her head. Kyrien tossed the dart to the dirt floor and patted out the embers it left behind. He lifted his half-naked mother into bed and covered her with the blanket. “Ma, can you hear me?” Her eyes were wide open, but she made no response. She stared at the corner of the room, her mouth hanging open. Kyrien used the edge of the blanket to wipe drool from her chin. This was a routine he was used to, but it seemed worse this time. She was paler and more lethargic than she’d ever been before. A flutter of panic took residence in his chest. “Are you real?” His mother’s voice was raspy, quiet.
Instead of trying the front door, which he’d seen Callis lock, Kyrien hurried around the corner to a small but beautifully landscaped strip between apartment buildings. There were two windows on this side of Callis’s apartment. The window on the ground floor was locked, but the window on the second story was cracked open. Lush green vines crawled up to the window as if the landscaping had been designed by burglars.
The Gmork. A scary ass wolf with sharp teeth
A promotional photo for the Japanese show The Hot Spot, featuring four characters in front of Mt. Fuji.
A before and after picture of some lame 47 year old guy who lost some weight.
Kyrien dove to the floor and scurried under the dining room table like a frightened mouse. The table’s silky white covering only hung about a third of the way to the floor, doing little to conceal his presence. The servant stopped at the table and placed something large in the middle with a thud. Feeling like the world’s stupidest idiot, Kyrien remained motionless on all fours as he contemplated his next move. He could attack the poor servant and knock him unconscious. Of course, that wasn’t as easy as stories and plays made it out to be. He’d been in several plays where a conk on the head with a frying pan was enough to put someone to sleep for the most convenient length of time, depending on the plot. He’d also been in a battle where he had to smash a man in the face with a melon-sized rock three times before he stopped fighting. That had been a bloody mess.
“He was different, wasn’t he?” Kyrien nodded, a light pressure building behind his eyes. “The most my da has ever given me is a grunt here and there. But yours was different. Your da would actually pay attention to you. He would, I don’t know, dream with you. He’d accept you as you were and not even be bothered by mistakes.” All of this was true, and he’d heard Lucia be effusive about his father before, but this rush of words was unexpected. “I used to watch him do things like build wooden swords for you,” Lucia continued, miming a sword fight, “and then play swords with you. I was so fucking jealous of that.” She threw her palms up. “Not in a bad way, though. I was happy for you—I really was. I just wanted that for myself. And I got it, in a way, with him. When I was at your place, I was like a daughter to him. He treated me like one of his own. I loved him for that. Hell, I barely even liked you. I would just come over to spend time with your father.” Kyrien tried to trip her, but she kicked his leg away and stuck out her tongue. “But seriously,” Lucia said as Kyrien limped down the road, “he was a good man and deserves to be celebrated.” “I won’t argue with that.”
The square was as lively as he’d guessed it would be on approach. Hundreds of people milled about and made merry, the wine already flowing. The statue dubbed A Tribute to the Builders dominated the middle of the square. Its depiction of a handful of dignified stone masons holding tools and gazing up at the Gods was stirring, although a young Daroccan boy was currently dangling precariously from one of their hammers. The monument, built centuries ago, commemorated the hundreds of workers who’d died in a tragic collapse during the final phase of the castle’s construction and, to a lesser extent, the people who’d died when the Great Library of Murai had burned to the ground on the same day. Somewhat hidden between the muscular builders was a frail man holding a small stack of books. A shrill rebuke rang out through the square when the young boy’s mother saw him hanging from the statue. Kyrien could feel her embarrassment in the way she ripped him down and reprimanded him while scanning the crowd in anticipation of being reprimanded herself. Normally, some asshole would have, at the very least, made a bigoted comment, but the mood in the square was apparently too mirthful for such things today.
Her unexpected show of affection was awkward for both of them. There was a time when such things were commonplace, but those times had been fading away, replaced by an unnamed tension. He leaned into her hand and closed his eyes like a pet cat wanting its chin scratched. “Be careful out there today.” Her thumb followed the scar under his jaw and down his neck until it disappeared under his shirt.
A group of about a hundred drunk or ignorant young men armed with clubs, daggers, and shitty swords, stood their ground less than a stone’s throw from Acali. They yelled words of encouragement to each other, speaking of honor and pride and overstating their martial abilities. Acali wanted to warn them, to tell them they couldn’t win, but they wouldn’t have heard her. She couldn’t afford to lose track of the tall man, her only tenuous link to Pavi, anyway. The clash between the Unsleeping and the unorganized force was heartbreakingly predictable. Without altering their shape, the Unsleeping forged ahead, cutting down anyone who stood in their way. Their movements seemed too fast and accurate for even the best-trained soldiers. Their economy of motion was chilling. It seemed more like they were swatting flies than killing armed men. In less than a minute, all who stood against them were dead or writhing on the ground. The lucky men at the periphery fled with the fear of the gods in their eyes. Not one of the Unsleeping seemed to have suffered a scratch.
“First, let me say how sorry I am. This is fucking awful, and I’d wish it away if Mercy would listen.” When Kyrien nodded, she continued. “Second, I don’t know anything for sure.” She rubbed a hand over her head several times. “But I do have a few ideas about what you might try next.” Kyrien sat up in his chair.
Fearing wasted time, he opened his eyes and sat up straighter. His face was now in line with the convex brass mirror he used to check his costume before a show. Jaw tightening again, he stared at his distorted image in the mirror. His chest swelled with discomfort, and his lips pressed together so hard they blanched. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?” he whispered to his reflection. His vision blurred as tears started to form. He began to shake his head, the muscles in his core tightening and releasing with his breath. “I fucking hate you.” He tore his eyes from the mirror and collapsed forward, tears wetting his sleeve. He sat in the otherwise silent room, curled forward and sobbing. The sounds he made would have been humiliating if anyone had been around or if he had the capacity to care. The tears were bitter on his lips.
A picture of a fire engine at night with red lights flashing
Acali’s face was emotionless. She stared at him without the slightest reaction, not even willing to offer a word of greeting. Nezki stood quickly, smashing her thigh against the edge of the table. After admonishing herself, she said, “Welcome home, Kyrien. I will go outside now.” “Thank you, Nezki.” He stopped before he reached the table, letting Nezki pass in front of him. “At least someone is glad to see me home safe.” He closed his eyes, disgusted at his lack of self-control. “I’m supposed to be grateful that you deigned to come home a full night and day since you left?” She had a point, but that didn’t stop Kyrien’s frustration from bubbling up further. “I—” “At the lowest point in my entire life, you abandoned me.” She stared at him with dead eyes, unblinking.
The trip back home was much more pleasant than the trip to Lucia’s. Kyrien noticed an entire field of early-blooming wildflowers that he’d somehow missed on the way there. He took in their colors and scent with a calmness he hadn’t felt an hour earlier. With his fears about Kam and Kal somewhat alleviated and his shame about receiving charity cooled, he felt much less tense. Being with Lucia damned near always made him feel better. With a whistle on his lips, he opened his front door. The whistle died mid-melody.
“Friends,” he called over the din. His voice was surprisingly loud and commanding. The crowd took at least a minute to calm and quiet down while he patiently waited. “We are all here today because we feel, in our hearts, a building and overwhelming sense of injustice in this city. The murder of Beni Maris in this very park by members of the City Watch was enough in itself. But the fact that none of those City Watchmen were held accountable for this broad-daylight, unjustified killing is too much to bear. Beni was a good man, a family man. He was ripped away from his wife and two beautiful daughters over a minor dispute about a business license. That proud woman and those two little girls were left with nothing.” He paused as the din began to build again. “With absolutely fucking nothing.” The crowd’s roar grew angrier. “We are here today because we will no longer quietly abide the abuse of our people.”
Of the nobles, the widowed Lady Bontial would be the obvious choice. She never bothered to hide her disdain for the king, and she had openly disagreed with him about countless issues over the years. She had at least one personal reason to hate King Vaerain, the same reason she had to hate Kyrien. Therein lay the problem, though. Lady Bontial was not a stupid woman. She would have to know that any plot against the king would point directly at her. It would be the boldest, stupidest move in the realm’s history. Why would she risk her position of unlimited wealth and luxury on a beggar’s chance to usurp a God-King?
This would be an easy book for me to go on too long about-I'd love to spend a few paragraphs on Zoth-Avarex alone. But it's best experienced rather than being told about. Most of the Independently published Humorous/Light Fantasy that I've come across hasn't worked for me-at least not as much as I wanted it to. Either on the humor front or the story front. But Lockhaven nailed it, I'm happy to say. I laughed-audibly and hard-a couple of times, I chuckled and grinned a lot. I thought the
“We requested the balance sheet for the realm’s expenditures in the last council meeting and have yet to receive it. I don’t expect you to give a shit, but I’m willing to offer you compensation for helping to expedite this mind-numbing process.” “That’s beyond a lowly Fool’s scope, ma’am.” “A lowly Fool.” Lady Bontial laughed. “Let’s not play too coy here. We all know you’re the right hand of the king. And with what you men do with your right hands, I’m not sure that’s the most enviable position.” She offered another smile, this one genuine and full of mirth. “That’s a horrifying image you paint, Lady Bontial. Your knack for humor never fails to impress.” Kyrien bowed his head. “However, I’m sorry to tell you that I have other pressing matters on my plate at the moment, and there isn’t much room for the excitement of expenditure sheets.” “I fear you may have missed the bit about compensation in my proposal.” “I have everything I could ever want, Lady Bontial. I’m afraid compensation is lost on me.” “For wealth, sure. But what about information?” A charge shot through Kyrien’s chest. Could she possibly know something about Pavi?
“They say it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. But to have half-loved and lost is worse than either. To have not squeezed every sweet drop from love is the fruit most bitter.” - Reflections Anonymous
Playing children lined the banks of the Kajai River on the far side of the market. For a cruel moment, Kyrien thought he saw Pavi dunking his head in the water. He stopped in the busy street, eyes wide and heart refusing its normal rhythm. When the boy shot back up, sending a perfect arc of water over his head, Kyrien realized his mistake. He clutched the river otter pendant on his chest and whispered a prayer to Mercy, blinking away the pressure building behind his eyes.
“I feel like I can trust no one,” the king said, snapping Kyrien from his reverie. “Do you have any idea what that’s like?” “No.” “To have my ability to trust you called into question is more heartbreaking for me than you know.” The grin was completely gone now. “I can trust you, right?” Kyrien felt as if the king was gazing directly into his soul. He knew. He had to know.
“People of the Nocai Region.” The booming voice came from everywhere and nowhere, rumbling in Kyrien’s head. If Wrath had ever spoken to mortals, this is what it must have sounded like. “I will offer you one chance to surrender and give up this misguided rebellion. Throw down your weapons and kneel to me, and you will be spared.”
The area between the market and the bay was home to some of Murai’s wealthiest business owners. Stairs climbed in both directions into multi-tiered, ostentatiously landscaped shopping areas. The smooth white buildings that weren’t topped with colorful ceramic shingles were covered in verdant vegetation. Several roofs were decorated with ferns and trees and converted into seating areas for trendy bars and restaurants. Every window ledge popped with vibrant displays of mostly pink flowers. On the street level, a miserable servant painted over dark blue graffiti on a bright white wall. It didn’t appear to be the work of Your Conscience but had a similar theme. The greedy will be crushed to dust under my feet. -Wrath
“I’m going to need you two at this Devastation Day masquerade ball coming up. You’ll be there, right?” The question felt more like a command. “I hope so.” Another lie. “I don’t know if I can handle an event like that without my right-hand man.” He was being manipulative—trying to ensure Kyrien attended without needing to order it. He would absolutely order it if Kyrien refused, though.
“Well, I wish he had more time.” He looked down and pulled another weed. “We haven’t been to see the otters in weeks. And he’s said no to Castles and Catapults four times in a row, now.” Acali sighed. “You know this time of year is busy for him with all the holidays.” She was getting tired of making the same excuses for Kyrien. The hurt in Pavi’s eyes was heartbreaking. “But I’m not too bad at Castles and Cat—” A sharp snap sounded from the east side of the house. Acali jumped up, her heart pounding, although she wasn’t sure why a snapping twig was so alarming. She had been trying to repel a vague fog of unease all day.
Acali stared out at the ocean, trying to pray to Ao. It had been a long time since she’d truly prayed, and the act brought on a wave of fresh guilt. Only now, when she was desperate, did she take the God of her parents to heart. She used to pray often, back when Pavi’s birth was imminent. She had bled and endured crippling abdominal pain for weeks, terrified she would lose the pregnancy. When Pavi was born whole and healthy, she praised Ao profusely. Her midwife advised her to avoid becoming pregnant again, worried Acali wouldn’t survive another childbirth. The news may have been heartbreaking to another woman, but Acali didn’t flinch. She was much too happy with her perfect son to fret about the future. She was happy, Kyrien was happy, and most importantly, baby Pavi was filled to the brim with laughter and joy. Ao, if they existed, had truly blessed her family. When had that gratitude ceased? She supposed it wasn’t a single moment, more of a slow ebbing away. Her faith these days was tenuous. Pavi’s capture had ripped the remaining gratitude from her heart, leaving debilitating fear and doubt in its place. It was out of fear that she prayed now. She hoped Ao was listening and, if so, that they’d understand.
“I would like you to use your power to shift the perception that my successor must be a male. I want the people to entertain the idea that Princess Sabi may someday be queen. As my only heir, she will undoubtedly inherit the power of the Gods from me. But if I want the transition to be free from conflict, I’ll need your help.” The king’s eyes had gone from blind fury to unprecedented vulnerability in a matter of minutes. “I have an idea about that,” Kyrien said. “You do?” The touch of hope in his voice was encouraging. “Yeah.” Kyrien let the idea develop in his mind for the span of a breath. “So, there could be this group of people from some faraway land who have dicks for noses.” A hint of a smile appeared on the corner of the king’s lips. “Maybe the ruling class of people have these dick-like noses, and the people with normal noses aren’t allowed to be royalty. “Anyway, I could get a lot of laughs showing them eating and stuff. They’d have to lift their dick noses to drink tea so they didn’t burn the tip, for example. “There could be a matter of succession they have to deal with, where someone argues that only a dick nose can rule. Someone asks why, and the dick nose says something about it always being this way. “The normal-nosed person could say, ‘But I’m smarter and better suited to lead,’ or something. And the dick nose could say, ‘Everyone knows we’re superior to you lot in every way, including intelligence,’ right before he burns his flaccid cock nose in his tea.” Kyrien shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s just the beginning of an idea.”
Rage churned in Kyrien’s gut. The king’s words were hitting far too close to home.
“The secret lies in the—” The witch’s mouth slammed shut, severing about half of her tongue. The sound of her screaming with her mouth clamped tight was unnerving. Blood oozed from the spaces between her teeth as she struggled to break free from the king’s unbreakable magic. The king stepped nonchalantly over the writhing witch, looking toward the cave. With a vague motion, the entire ceiling collapsed. In a moment, the cave was nothing more than a pile of rubble. “Well,” the king said to Kyrien, “how was that for a proper adventure? Not exactly what you thought you’d be doing when you awoke this morning, was it?”
Acali’s words came back in a flash. “For someone who is supposed to be funny, you take yourself far too seriously these days,” she had said. “You’re putting yourself first too much. You never used to do that.” Her words had enraged him at the time. The anger, of course, stemmed from just how true her statement had been. It was brutal honesty spoken for his benefit. At the time, it felt like a personal attack. Sorori had told him the same thing on more than one occasion as he rose to fame.