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The Battle Drum: A Novel (The Ending Fire Trilogy)
Murder. Secrets. Sacrifice: Three women seek the truth of the empire's past. And the truth they find will have the power to ignite a war, in the sequel to The Final Strife, the continuation of a visionary fantasy trilogy inspired by the myths of Africa and Arabia.
Anoor is the first blue-blooded ruler of the Wardens' Empire. But when she is accused of a murder she didn't commit, her reign is thrown into turmoil. She must solve the mystery and clear her name without the support of her beloved, Sylah.
Sylah braves new lands to find a solution for the hurricane that threatens to destroy her home. But in finding answers, she must make a decision: Should she sacrifice her old life in order to raise up her sword once more?
Hassa's web of secrets grows ever thicker as she finds herself on the trail of crimes in the city. Her search uncovers the extent of the atrocities of the empire's past and present. Now she must guard both her heart and her land.
The three women find their answers, but not the answers they wanted. The drumbeat of change thrums throughout the world.
And it sings a song of war.
Ready we will be, when the Ending Fire comes,
When the Child of Fire brings the Battle Drum,
The Battle Drum,
The Battle Drum.
Ready we will be, for war will come.
Book Two of The Ending Fire Trilogy
Anoor is the first blue-blooded ruler of the Wardens' Empire. But when she is accused of a murder she didn't commit, her reign is thrown into turmoil. She must solve the mystery and clear her name without the support of her beloved, Sylah.
Sylah braves new lands to find a solution for the hurricane that threatens to destroy her home. But in finding answers, she must make a decision: Should she sacrifice her old life in order to raise up her sword once more?
Hassa's web of secrets grows ever thicker as she finds herself on the trail of crimes in the city. Her search uncovers the extent of the atrocities of the empire's past and present. Now she must guard both her heart and her land.
The three women find their answers, but not the answers they wanted. The drumbeat of change thrums throughout the world.
And it sings a song of war.
Ready we will be, when the Ending Fire comes,
When the Child of Fire brings the Battle Drum,
The Battle Drum,
The Battle Drum.
Ready we will be, for war will come.
Book Two of The Ending Fire Trilogy
Editorial Reviews
Praise for The Final Strife
"Saara el-Arifi deftly facets every layer of her debut. Epic in scope, its world building as intricate as filigree, The Final Strife sings of rebellion, love, and the courage it takes to stand up to tyranny, following three women whose journeys will keep you gripped to the last."-Samantha Shannon, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Priory of the Orange Tree
"With a heroine with bite, a supporting cast of flawed but deeply human characters, and world building that is raw, unforgiving, and richly textured, The Final Strife is the real deal: epic fantasy turned on its head in the most compelling way imaginable."-Kalynn Bayron, bestselling author of Cinderella Is Dead and This Poison Heart
"The undercurrents of friendship, betrayal, and sapphic love, and the twists and turns of the competitive trials and political intrigue, come together to kick off a magnetic and appealing new series."-Booklist
"El-Arifi tells a tale that is as fierce as its characters, plunging you into a sandy, stratified world until you can feel the grit between your teeth. Heart-wrenching and heart-pounding, The Final Strife is an unmissable debut."-Andrea Stewart, author of The Bone Shard Daughter
"El-Arifi is a game-changing new voice in epic fantasy, and The Final Strife is a triumph of a book, full of rage, charm, and a cast of misfits you can't help but root for. There are no Chosen Ones here-only bad choices and blood."-Tasha Suri, author of The Jasmine Throne
"Epic, gripping, and searing, The Final Strife weaves a fascinating tale of destiny, magic, and love set in a richly imagined yet brutally divided world. Its unexpected, gritty heroine is one you cannot help but root for, and the story will stay with you long after the last page."-Sue Lynn Tan, author of
"Saara el-Arifi deftly facets every layer of her debut. Epic in scope, its world building as intricate as filigree, The Final Strife sings of rebellion, love, and the courage it takes to stand up to tyranny, following three women whose journeys will keep you gripped to the last."-Samantha Shannon, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Priory of the Orange Tree
"With a heroine with bite, a supporting cast of flawed but deeply human characters, and world building that is raw, unforgiving, and richly textured, The Final Strife is the real deal: epic fantasy turned on its head in the most compelling way imaginable."-Kalynn Bayron, bestselling author of Cinderella Is Dead and This Poison Heart
"The undercurrents of friendship, betrayal, and sapphic love, and the twists and turns of the competitive trials and political intrigue, come together to kick off a magnetic and appealing new series."-Booklist
"El-Arifi tells a tale that is as fierce as its characters, plunging you into a sandy, stratified world until you can feel the grit between your teeth. Heart-wrenching and heart-pounding, The Final Strife is an unmissable debut."-Andrea Stewart, author of The Bone Shard Daughter
"El-Arifi is a game-changing new voice in epic fantasy, and The Final Strife is a triumph of a book, full of rage, charm, and a cast of misfits you can't help but root for. There are no Chosen Ones here-only bad choices and blood."-Tasha Suri, author of The Jasmine Throne
"Epic, gripping, and searing, The Final Strife weaves a fascinating tale of destiny, magic, and love set in a richly imagined yet brutally divided world. Its unexpected, gritty heroine is one you cannot help but root for, and the story will stay with you long after the last page."-Sue Lynn Tan, author of
Readers Top Reviews
RF
The Battle Drum by Saara El-Arifi is a great science fiction and fantasy novel that is the second book in the amazing trilogy: Ending Fire. I really enjoyed last year’s novel that was the first book in this trilogy, The Final Strife, so I was obviously excited to pick up where it left off for the follow up. This second book did not disappoint. Excellent, strong, resilient, intelligent, imperfect yet relatable main female characters continued to draw me in. Action, suspense, drama, unveilings, mysteries, and emotions and passion are all present. Sylah, Hassa, and Anoor are all excellent characters that are vividly drawn and are all going through many trials and tribulations within themselves, each other, and all around them. In this second book, we get to delve more into the depths of the original characters through alternative POVs, and the author also adds a few new characters as well. It will be interesting to see how these new additions will add to the richness and the complexity of the narrative. The internal and external struggles continue to be present and develop along with the intricate and addictive plot. I love how the author continues to draw this alternative world and the characters, culture, customs, and history within it. It feels as if there is a universe steeped in history, yet feels futuristic at the same time. I really like how things are picking up speed and am really looking forward to the final book to see how it all turns out. 5/5 stars
Short Excerpt Teaser
chapter one
Sylah
The Marion Sea is so named by the natives of the Drylands after the Eastern Star, "Marion." Those who follow the star will find themselves at the shores of the mainland in three weeks. Celestial navigation appears to be the main form of wayfaring for the clear-bloods in the west who have made it to the continent. It is why we have struggled to map their land as precisely as I would have liked.
-Head Cartographer of the Zwina Academy, year 238 B.W.
The world bled blue. Sylah wasn't sure why she hadn't realized that before-the earth was a Duster.
Her toes clung to the sand, clenching and releasing the particles of dirt. Something swirled among the waves. She recognized the movement of it, the dips and twirls of the current. The laugh of a splash that she knew, she knew. Her feet left the ground, leading her toward the laughter.
Has she found me? Here at the edge of the world?
The Marion Sea curved across the horizon like an endless smile as it beckoned her closer. She waded in until her pantaloons were sodden to the waist and looked for the woman she loved between the eddies of the water.
Something sparkled beneath her, and as she bent to grab it the current became more urgent. The waves that had once been frothy as lace dissipated into a foam like fresh spittle. The sea picked and pulled at her clothes, and the smile on the horizon became a gaping wound bleeding into the oncoming sunset.
"Sylah, what the f*** are you doing?" Jond was shrieking like an eru in heat. She could hear the worried pitter-patter of his sandals at the edge of the shore twenty handspans away.
Her mouth twisted into a scowl at the sound of her friend's voice. Former friend. Friends don't try to kill each other.
Sylah didn't indicate she'd heard him. She lifted up the shell she had found and watched the water trickle away. The water was not blue after all but colorless. Transparent.
"Of course, you're a Ghosting," she mused to the ocean. It seemed to tug back at her in confirmation.
The land she stood on belonged to the Ghostings: every grain of sand, every droplet of water. It was their world that the founding wardens had invaded. To silence the truth the Embers had taken the Ghostings' tongues and hands. For more than four hundred years the wardens told the lie that the Ghostings were serving a penance for a rebellion. A rebellion that never happened. All they were trying to do was defend their own home.
Stolen.
Sylah had also had her life stolen. She had thought it was Anoor who had taken it, living the life Sylah should have had. But no, that was a lie too. Anoor was exactly where she should be.
A Duster as a disciple and they don't even know it. The bitterness of her thoughts faded as the sweetness of Anoor's face filled her mind.
Oh, how she missed her.
She looked at the piece of shell in her hand. The conch was pearlescent green, vibrant, happy-looking like the opulent dresses Anoor wore. Each shade of dress had a name, like "emerald" or "aquamarine." Fancier names than "puke" and "mold" like Sylah had suggested.
A swift wave struck Sylah hard, and she found herself struggling to regain balance. The shell in her hand came loose, and for a panicked moment she lost it. Lost her, all over again.
"No, no, no."
Her inkwell flashed silver under the water as she tried in vain to part the waves. It was embossed with a sprawling cascade of poison ivy. A reminder of the Warden of Crime who had procured it for her. Though Sylah couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't a true reflection of her nature; she had poisoned every relationship she'd ever had.
A glimmer of turquoise.
Sylah lunged for the shell, pulling it from the clutches of the ocean. She clasped it against her chest.
"Maiden's tits," she hissed.
In her eagerness she had squeezed the shell too tightly and the edge had sliced a fine line through her palm. The salt water prickled as it sated itself on her red blood.
Just like Anoor, the shell has bite.
Smiling wryly, Sylah reached for the sword that hung from her waist. It was sheathed in a scabbard that still smelled of Anoor. Sandalwood. As she withdrew it, the sunset illuminated the embossed gold of the hilt.
-Yellow arterial blood sprayed like warm honey.-
She winced at the memory. Not because of Loot's severed head that she held in her mind's eye, but because of the impossibility of it. Loot had been the leader of the Sandstorm, but no one Sylah had ever met had yellow blood.
Sylah looked up to the sky.
"Lies upon lies upon lies," she whispered in anguish to the God the Abosom priests said lived behind ...
Sylah
The Marion Sea is so named by the natives of the Drylands after the Eastern Star, "Marion." Those who follow the star will find themselves at the shores of the mainland in three weeks. Celestial navigation appears to be the main form of wayfaring for the clear-bloods in the west who have made it to the continent. It is why we have struggled to map their land as precisely as I would have liked.
-Head Cartographer of the Zwina Academy, year 238 B.W.
The world bled blue. Sylah wasn't sure why she hadn't realized that before-the earth was a Duster.
Her toes clung to the sand, clenching and releasing the particles of dirt. Something swirled among the waves. She recognized the movement of it, the dips and twirls of the current. The laugh of a splash that she knew, she knew. Her feet left the ground, leading her toward the laughter.
Has she found me? Here at the edge of the world?
The Marion Sea curved across the horizon like an endless smile as it beckoned her closer. She waded in until her pantaloons were sodden to the waist and looked for the woman she loved between the eddies of the water.
Something sparkled beneath her, and as she bent to grab it the current became more urgent. The waves that had once been frothy as lace dissipated into a foam like fresh spittle. The sea picked and pulled at her clothes, and the smile on the horizon became a gaping wound bleeding into the oncoming sunset.
"Sylah, what the f*** are you doing?" Jond was shrieking like an eru in heat. She could hear the worried pitter-patter of his sandals at the edge of the shore twenty handspans away.
Her mouth twisted into a scowl at the sound of her friend's voice. Former friend. Friends don't try to kill each other.
Sylah didn't indicate she'd heard him. She lifted up the shell she had found and watched the water trickle away. The water was not blue after all but colorless. Transparent.
"Of course, you're a Ghosting," she mused to the ocean. It seemed to tug back at her in confirmation.
The land she stood on belonged to the Ghostings: every grain of sand, every droplet of water. It was their world that the founding wardens had invaded. To silence the truth the Embers had taken the Ghostings' tongues and hands. For more than four hundred years the wardens told the lie that the Ghostings were serving a penance for a rebellion. A rebellion that never happened. All they were trying to do was defend their own home.
Stolen.
Sylah had also had her life stolen. She had thought it was Anoor who had taken it, living the life Sylah should have had. But no, that was a lie too. Anoor was exactly where she should be.
A Duster as a disciple and they don't even know it. The bitterness of her thoughts faded as the sweetness of Anoor's face filled her mind.
Oh, how she missed her.
She looked at the piece of shell in her hand. The conch was pearlescent green, vibrant, happy-looking like the opulent dresses Anoor wore. Each shade of dress had a name, like "emerald" or "aquamarine." Fancier names than "puke" and "mold" like Sylah had suggested.
A swift wave struck Sylah hard, and she found herself struggling to regain balance. The shell in her hand came loose, and for a panicked moment she lost it. Lost her, all over again.
"No, no, no."
Her inkwell flashed silver under the water as she tried in vain to part the waves. It was embossed with a sprawling cascade of poison ivy. A reminder of the Warden of Crime who had procured it for her. Though Sylah couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't a true reflection of her nature; she had poisoned every relationship she'd ever had.
A glimmer of turquoise.
Sylah lunged for the shell, pulling it from the clutches of the ocean. She clasped it against her chest.
"Maiden's tits," she hissed.
In her eagerness she had squeezed the shell too tightly and the edge had sliced a fine line through her palm. The salt water prickled as it sated itself on her red blood.
Just like Anoor, the shell has bite.
Smiling wryly, Sylah reached for the sword that hung from her waist. It was sheathed in a scabbard that still smelled of Anoor. Sandalwood. As she withdrew it, the sunset illuminated the embossed gold of the hilt.
-Yellow arterial blood sprayed like warm honey.-
She winced at the memory. Not because of Loot's severed head that she held in her mind's eye, but because of the impossibility of it. Loot had been the leader of the Sandstorm, but no one Sylah had ever met had yellow blood.
Sylah looked up to the sky.
"Lies upon lies upon lies," she whispered in anguish to the God the Abosom priests said lived behind ...
