A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (snow like ashes series TXT) 📗

the efficacy of Greek fire, any interested readers can find a reconstruction of the Byzantines’ secret weapon (by historian Richard Windley) on YouTube – both in its syphon form and as a primitive kind of hand grenade. Although the exact methodology and formulation of the substance that created Greek fire is a secret lost to history, the reconstruction represents something pretty similar, and demonstrates without any doubt how effective technology very like it could be.

Despite his successful defence of Constantinople, Leo the Isaurian’s reputation was indeed trashed in the years that followed. He may have saved the empire in its most critical hour, but he was to become known ever after as the original iconoclast. Like many emperors before and after him, he found himself embroiled in matters theological, to the scorn of the religious authorities that followed. He took issue with the apparent idolatrous worship of icons and, believing any form of idolatry literally put the survival of the empire in jeopardy – being a flagrant provocation to the judgement of God – Leo took steps to prevent it. He presided over an orgy of destruction of the multitude of icons that adorned nearly every wall in the city and beyond. It is my view (and the view of one or two other historians I’ve read) that he did this in good faith as an act of expedience to protect the empire. But posterity did not see his acts of destruction with much sympathy. The violently divisive question of iconoclasm was eventually settled a century later in favour of the iconodules – those who favoured the reverence of icons – who would for ever afterwards cast Leo in a rather villainous light, his achievement of saving the empire conveniently forgotten. History is written by the victors; but also, often as not, by the priests.

A final word on Azazel.

Only one reader, to my knowledge, has recognized that the Watcher, aka the Witch King, aka Azazel, is a figure who harks back even beyond the murky depths of Norse mythology into a still more ancient text: the Book of Enoch.

This is an old Jewish text ascribed to Enoch, the great-grandfather of Noah. Whether truly that old, the oldest section within it is called the Book of the Watchers. It is a more detailed telling of the story of the fallen angels cast down to Earth from heaven, which appears in brief in the sixth chapter of the book of Genesis. Although the Book of Enoch is not part of the Old Testament canon, it does appear to be quoted by both Jesus and Paul in the New Testament.

Within it, Azazel is described as one of the fallen angels rebelling before the time of the Flood. According to Enoch, he ‘taught men in the art of warfare, of making swords and knives, shields, and coats of mail, and taught women the art of deception by ornamenting the body, dyeing the hair, and painting the face and the eyebrows, and also revealed to the people the secrets of witchcraft, leading them into various wickedness and impurity’ until, at Yahweh’s command, the archangel Raphael is sent to Earth to bind him hand and foot and chain him underground in utter darkness to await his final judgement with the other demons.

As far as ancient demonic influence goes, Azazel is second to none.

With regard to the deliverance of demonic possession (or oppression), the testimony of how this transpires is remarkably consistent – whether in the Gospel of Luke or numerous medieval texts or memoirs you can find in any Christian bookshop today, or indeed speaking with individuals who have experience of this phenomenon up to the current time in many different cultures, including our own. I have tried to stay true to the common manifestations, both objective and subjective. I suppose in the face of so much testimonial evidence one could still hold to the view that such things are not real. But alas, my faith is not that strong.

In the end, this is a book not about demonic bondage but about freedom. I suppose the question now arises: having gained one’s freedom, what should one do with it?

The answer, perhaps, lies further down the Wanderer’s road.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Unlike A Sacred Storm, which began life as half a book that was reformed into one, A Burning Sea grew and grew until it had become as long as two books which, at last, I have now reduced to one. You will not be surprised to hear that neither method is a particularly efficient way of writing a novel. Still, one is learning. . .

The odd moment of wishing to throw the whole thing on the fire aside, it is with profound satisfaction that I can finally release A Burning Sea into the wild. And not a little relief. Several people deserve my thanks for this:

First, my (now former) editor at Corvus Atlantic, Sara O’Keeffe. This novel is dedicated to you because it is no exaggeration to say that without your input it would (and probably should) have died a horrible death at the manuscript stage. They say an editor can only get out of an author what is already there. Sara, you have had to mine the depths of my reserves in order to bring to light the story I wanted to tell. I shall miss your passion for Erlan’s adventures, as well as your calm words of wisdom. Happily our friendship will sail on unchecked.

The other pillar on which this book stands is my beloved wife, Natasha. A small writer’s tip in passing: should you ever wish to write an epic novel, best to delay either procreation or relocation. Ideally both. We have managed to forge our way through a very intense eighteen months. I would not have been able to get through them without your love and support – not to mention your little gems of advice for this novel. I love and trust you more than ever.

As always, I would like to