Bunny's Reviews: Far Removed Review Spotlight

Welcome to the digital book tour for Far Removed done in connection with Escapist Book Tours! This book mixes science fiction with dark fantasy! Intrigued? Keep reading and check out my review!

Far Removed is the first book in this Apidecca Duology, and this book is going to grab you from the beginning. First things first though. Check out this cover! It immediately grabs your attention, and piques your interest. Your curiosity simply niggles at you to figure out everything there is to know about this book. From the character with the mask, to the feather in their hand. What does it all mean?

Now, when you crack open this book you're greeted with an illustration of Knyadrea, a large moon. Cue curiosity central! Gotta know more, right? Keep going! The author gives you some information about this curious moon, and entices you to continue your journey into this book. The author even includes an orbital diagram!! Talk about attention to detail!!

After this, feel free to dive into the story because this is where the story begins. This story is going to alternate between two characters: Oklas and Prismer. You start off with Oklas. This first chapter quickly will capture your interest in this character. He immediately comes off as a touch agitated. He's anxious, but trying to hide it. With the help of his assistant, he's able to pull himself together, but you get the sense that something big is going on.

How do you know this? Well, the author drops a few hints that clue you in. There are hints of magic implied here and there by another character that Oklas is paying attention to. The author is gradually building the story up while keeping readers engaged in what is unfolding on the page.

Page by page CB Lansdell is going to tug you deeper into this story. Gently easing you into the storyline and making sure that you're nice and comfortable before coming at you with some of the more twisted elements.

This book is a page-turner and one that I enjoyed reading. The characters are unique and engaging. The elements that the author warns about in their "trigger warnings" do appear, but they aren't so egregious that they should make you want to put it down. They instead help to define the characters more, and bring light to the uniqueness of the storyline, and the world that the author is painting. It's truly interesting.

The "ending" will leave you wondering what is going to come next, so I for one am looking forward to the next installment of this duology.

Thank you to the author, CB Lansdell, and Escapist Book Tours for the opportunity to read and review this book. I look forward to what comes next.

Book Information:

Far Removed by C.B. Lansdell
Series: Apidecca Duology
Genre: Science Fiction/Dark Fantasy
Intended Age Group: Adult
Pages: 307
Published: September 5, 2023
Publisher: Coe Books (Self Published)

Content/Trigger Warnings:

Shown on Page (things clearly told to the reader):

Gore
Body horror
Prejudice based on class
Vomiting
Facial difference discrimination
Alcohol consumption (not excessive)

Alluded to (things only mentioned in passing or hinted at):

Ableism
Drug use
Depression

Book Blurb:

On the moon of Knyadrea, the sea yields intelligent life. For a species shaped by tides, change is the only constant.

Little can be hidden in the glare of a spotlight.

Charismatic and innovative, Oklas Sayve has risen to prominence in Apidecca, the moon's capital city. A politician and college director, he has the resources to effect the changes he envisions for the world. But the sovereigns he serves oppose him at every turn and his status cannot protect the low-strata students attending his college. After a young knyad is wrongly linked to insurgent activity, Oklas must find a way to smuggle her out of the city while hiding his involvement from the authorities.

A spark in the dank depths.

Below the grand Assembly Chambers, a knyad in a mask sculpts, grasping for scraps of beauty in her shrinking world. Years ago, Prismer made a costly mistake and now has only her job at the projection booth and a few special interests to fill her days. But it is not her sculptures that draw the attention of a powerful client, and she is soon met with a request to undertake a dangerous mission. Will she answer the call and risk losing the little she has left?

Mysteries surface. A supernatural substance is used in corrupt ways. As identities shift and predicaments are reshuffled, what alliances might be forged?

See Also:

Masked Protagonist + Young Ward • Koh the Face Stealer • Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Chapter 3 Since her scumbling, Prismer had not visited Dy Erla’s home in the Lepotra District. Even at work, she kept their interactions brief. But it was different in the cosmopolitan High Street. While uncommon, it was not scandalous for such different knyads to keep company. The top of the High Street was a short walk from the Assembly Chambers. Running northeast, it passed through a deep, shaded gorge. Gaps between the overhanging rocks lit the floor with patches of sunshine. An easterly wind whipped through the eolian caves, humming shrilly. Because of this, the exposed parts of the Traditional Quarter and Upper End were widely known as the Whistling Gallery. Regular commuters jostled up and down walkways to reach their homes. The warm phase had also drawn many visitors below ground that segeind. They marvelled at the stark sandstone forms carved by the elements. While the wind made walking outdoors uncomfortable, it also cooled the area and improved the air quality. Prismer saw no other maskads in the crowd – it was unsafe for them to linger in the Upper End. Walking with determination helped to throw off enforcers. Better to look like a worker running an errand than a beggar. She and Dy Erla travelled only a short distance down the High Street before veering southwest, towards the older buildings of the Traditional Quarter. After reaching a quieter path, they started up a stairway carved into the rock face. The stairway opened onto a series of sacred grottos where the ancients had carved ornate symbols into the walls, displaying their devotion to Adecai. Prismer looked between pillars at the city on her right to avoid the probing eyes of the enforcers they passed. The Whiteledge Division stationed enforcers outside Apidecca’s grander buildings and heritage sites. The division was named for the whitewashed sandstone-brick buildings in the area. In their powder-grey uniforms, the enforcers almost blended into the stairway wall. Their varying skin tones, and the umber and white trim on their sleeves, gave them away. Those conscripted into the enforcer ranks were powerfully built knyads. Prismer suppressed the urge to shrink against the pillars. Even maskads were allowed to visit places of spiritual significance. And she had no intention of vandalising the rock reliefs. She looked at the minister, who seemed to belong here, among the arcane. The arched bridge of Dy Erla’s nose lent her the profile of a classical statue. ‘I showed you this place sixteen years ago,’ remarked Dy Erla, hardly aware of the enforcers on her left. ‘Do you remember what we discussed?’ ‘No,’ replied Prismer, adjusting the strap of her mask to stop it from pulling on her headscarf. ‘I was new to the city. There was too much to take in.’ ‘You had started working at the General Assembly a revolution prior,’ said Dy Erla as they left the sentries and grottos behind. ‘You were considering returning to your clan after suffering a bout of homesickness.’ Prismer recalled that segment. ‘You asked me if I could be content in Inclatia, after what I’d seen here.’ ‘I did.’ Dy Erla sighed, looking back down at the steep path they had climbed. ‘I’m sorry. Given how things turned out, it seems I advised you wrongly.’ ‘I wanted a reason to stay,’ said Prismer with a shrug. Her choices and the consequences were hers alone. They walked in the shade, but the air was warm and sticky. Prismer’s breathing became laboured. She wasn’t used to being out in the heat; even with air filters, the mask smothered her. Dy Erla politely followed, matching her pace without comment. The tunnels Prismer and Dy Erla walked eventually opened at the surface. The stairways were built up in places where they had worn smooth. These routes were better maintained than others in the city. The tunnels beneath the Assembly Chambers had been out of use for centuries. Prismer took a turn to the right and came upon a spacious lookout. The sandy walls were striated with layers of rock in coral pink and orange. The cave wall split into a wide natural window, revealing a portion of the city beyond as it climbed to the surface. Tildransia vines grew from cracks in the outer wall. Their pronged blue leaves rustled in the breeze. Prismer pulled her journal from her sling bag as they came to a halt. ‘Is this still the Traditional Quarter?’ asked Dy Erla, searching for landmarks among the buildings below. ‘This is the area bordering Lepotra. I believe the closest of the old buildings is’ – Prismer squinted through the lenses of her mask – ‘there, see the turf roof?’ ‘The Mimadri Centre?’ said Dy Erla, surprised. From above, the gardens of the cultural centre looked like a bouquet. Black creepers with pale yellow flowers spilt over the sides of the building. ‘I seldom come this far up the path from the grottos. I'm impressed at how many of these obscure routes you’ve committed to memory.’ ‘I’m not the only one who knows about them,’ said Prismer, comparing her page of measurements with her scaled drawing of the ruins beneath the Chambers. ‘These paths tend to be quiet.’ She balanced the reed pen between her fingers, adding contoured strokes to suggest a path heading north. The lines began to blur. Her eye refused to focus on close detail today. She held the page at a distance to examine it. ‘You mentioned you were charting new tunnels when I last visited,’ recalled Dy Erla, marvelling at the black tracks on the paper. ‘Perhaps you’ve found your calling as a cartographer?’ ‘Don’t say that where the Assembly can hear,’ said Prismer, returning to her map. ‘It’s just a hobby.’ ‘You undervalue the knowledge and skills you’ve acquired. Remember the time you helped my guest home after curfew, using your hidden tunnels?’ ‘The delegate from Neem? She’s not making a habit of staying out late, is she?’ asked Prismer with a laugh beneath the rasp of her synth-speech. ‘No, thankfully.’ Dy Erla gave a rueful smile. ‘But that brings me to something I had hoped to discuss with you today. Would you mind deactivating your mitter?’ Prismer’s hand stilled above the page. Dy Erla pressed on. ‘What I am about to share is … it’s highly confidential and, quite honestly, more than I am comfortable asking of you.’ Prismer set the sketch pad and pen down on a ledge. Her mitter was dormant, but she detached the whole unit, including the thermoelectric charger, from her skin. ‘You never ask for anything, Dy,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap. ‘This is for someone else, isn’t it?’ Dy Erla lowered her voice just above a whisper. ‘A contact of mine has been providing the Ardedrian Front with resources. They are an opposition group to watch. Ae tells me key members are leaving Apidecca. They plan to regroup elsewhere and organise their efforts. However, it is not the leaders who require a guide, but a vulnerable recruit.’ Of Prismer’s many questions, the first one she could articulate was, ‘Vulnerable, how?’ ‘She is a juvenile from an unclassified clan and a student at the College of Innovation. She was identified as an agitator after evading arrest at a rally. The Ardedrians hope to evacuate her during the next dark phase.’ ‘If the Ardedrians are sending members offshore, why can’t they help?’ asked Prismer incredulously. ‘The evacuation routes they take to the sea are too physically challenging for her. I assume they travel along the cliffs. This knyad’s legs are malformed. She can walk with some support, but she won’t make the journey without special accommodations. An easier, hidden route to the sea is required.’ Prismer looked purposefully from the window to the whitewashed turrets beyond. They jutted from the sea of buildings like waves crashing against rocks. She stroked the front of her mask, her blunted claws tapping the cold suggestion of lips. Dy Erla laid a hand on Prismer’s shoulder. ‘I don’t expect an answer today. Take some time to think it over.’ ‘I wouldn’t call this an easy route,’ said Prismer abruptly, ‘but with some light scrambling, the juvenile should manage a descent through the caverns beneath the Razor Forest. We could afford to take it more slowly there.’ Dy Erla gaped at her. It was an outlandish expedition, requiring the sort of recklessness that used to fitfully take hold of Prismer in her youth. Her rational mind baulked at being any part of it. If anything could reignite her resolve, it was this. ‘I want to say “no”.’ Prismer met Dy Erla’s exacting gaze. ‘But if I choose not to help where I can, won’t that make me the empty husk people believe maskads to be?’ ‘Don’t say that,’ whispered Dy Erla, closing her eyes. ‘Your answer has no bearing on our friendship. It is not wrong of you to consider the risks.’ ‘But I now know about that juvenile. If something were to happen—’ ‘Should you take on the mission, I will think you as imprudent as the one who approached me with this request.’ Synth-speech stabilised the quaver in Prismer’s voice. ‘Then I suppose that makes me imprudent.’ ‘But right-hearted,’ said Dy Erla with a sigh. The muscles at the back of Prismer’s jaw tugged as if to smirk. ‘You mentioned that controversial school. Said the person who put you up to this is a colleague—’ ‘Don’t make me name him. I’ve already shared more than you need to know.’ ‘Is it your young friend who spoke at Apex Hall today?’ ‘You’re actually around the same age.’ ‘Minister Sayve is quite the overachiever, isn’t he?’ remarked Prismer under her breath. ‘Not bad-looking either.’ ‘He likes to be thought of as “dashing”.’ Prismer huffed. ‘I’d hold that against him if he weren’t so obscenely likeable.’ Dy Erla stared into the distance. ‘I’m trying and failing to keep him in line.’ ‘Don’t bother – he makes the meetings more interesting,’ said Prismer. Judging by the sly curve of Dy Erla’s mouth, Prismer suspected that her friend was not fully committed to curbing Sayve’s defiant streak. Dy Erla rested a hand on the sandy window ledge. ‘He wants to pay you for your assistance. Or for forgetting his request – should you refuse it.’ ‘You told him, of course, that I can’t accept his substants?’ ‘I explained your situation.’ The assembly closely monitored Prismer’s transactions. Maskads could not own property or investments. While she could accept gifts, a considerable deposit into her account would attract attention. Her sentence began with the consignment to life behind a mask, but there were many aspects of scumbling that people never saw. ‘I wouldn’t want to be paid for this sort of thing, anyway – it’s not right,’ said Prismer coolly. The hum of activity around the city below had quietened. It was well into the segeind with only an hour until curfew; the sun still baked the outer wall of the caves. Recalling some news of a recent altercation between enforcers and rioters, Prismer asked, ‘This student, she isn’t a radical, is she?’ ‘No,’ Dy Erla assured her. ‘Though Sayve’s students tend to be politically curious. He treats them all equally within the college, but he must prepare them for the world outside. For their own benefit, he must educate them about the realities of social stratification.’ Prismer could not comment on what Sayve ought to have done differently. She merely observed the world he and Dy Erla inhabited. She sat upright, then asked, ‘What else should I know?’ ‘The student is around seventeen years old and goes by the name Illanu. I have a means for you to contact her. Once you reach open water, the Ardedrians will see her the rest of the way.’ Dy Erla took Prismer by the wrist. ‘There may be enforcers patrolling the coast. Should you get caught, you could lose your job.’ Though she was still warm from the climb through the humid tunnels, a shiver prickled Prismer’s back. ‘Illanu could lose even more.’ Dy Erla’s stare pierced Prismer’s mask. ‘I would understand if you decide it’s too dangerous. We may yet find another way.’ Prismer snickered. Dy Erla reminded her of a mother prede, fussing over her chick one moment and coaxing her over a cliff edge the next. ‘It makes sense that Minister Sayve is involved in all this, but you … ?’ Prismer trailed off, tilting her head. ‘I felt the need to intervene this time,’ said Dy Erla. ‘It is dangerous when rulers come to fear the people they serve.’ She turned her back on the window ledge and headed into the shade. ‘I also realise that these are my convictions, yet you are taking all the risks.’ Prismer shrugged. ‘I have to defy the Assembly once in a while, so I know I still have it in me. But I won’t do this for every waif with a sad story,’ she said, slashing at the air demonstratively. ‘I’m no wellspring of the heart, more like a … stagnant puddle.’ The reproving look on Dy Erla’s face was held valiantly in place for a few seconds before she let out the full-bodied laugh Prismer longed to hear. A dull sound pulsated in Prismer’s ears – she too was laughing. They had both quietened when a shadow crossed Dy Erla’s features. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Prismer, looking over to her friend. ‘I hope you do not take my silence in session for standing in agreement with the Assembly on all matters.’ Dy Erla folded her robes over her arms and glanced at Prismer from the side. ‘I would understand, of course, if you did.’ Though their different strata generated distance between them, Dy Erla had always been kind to Prismer. She had taught her to temper her blunt observations – in a highly political work environment, Prismer could have done with that lesson sooner. She drew alongside the minister. ‘You helped me through the most difficult times, Dy. I know why you can’t openly defend me, and I don’t expect you to.’ ‘Practising self-restraint should not serve as a disguise for apathy,’ said Dy Erla, leaning heavily against the stony wall. Dusty sand clung to the hem of her robes. ‘Ghastly procedure, scumbling. And yet, it has been with us as long as resyn has been in use.’ Prismer hugged her arms against her body. Dy Erla had the vigour of a young knyad, but Prismer sometimes sensed in her a weariness. It was not set in the lines of her skin but deeper still, in the drumming of her great heart. The minister did not needlessly augment her body to keep up with changing trends, although she could afford cybernetics and resyncraft. Prismer respected her for that and much more. ‘You take on everyone’s troubles,’ she said, placing a hand on Dy Erla’s broad shoulder. ‘I can feel the weight of the moon, right here.’ Dy Erla smiled and crossed her arm over her chest to squeeze Prismer’s hand. ‘I have a communicator for you. It is one of Minister Sayve’s designs.’ She checked the passage behind the cave wall for passersby and offered Prismer something resembling a pebble. The metal object felt smooth and warm in Prismer’s palm. It was more solid than the bracelet-like mitters, but it still had the insubstantial quality of city technology. ‘Oklas calls them towayes,’ said Dy Erla, rolling her eyes. ‘Two-way communications?’ ventured Prismer, her fingers investigating the innocuous grey object. Something resembling a touchpad with unfamiliar orange symbols slid out from the side of the device. Prismer could not tell what she had done to prompt the action. Despite its initial sensitivity, the towaye failed to respond to the few operating gestures she tried on it. She missed the rustic technology of her home clan: the push-back of struck keys or the grinding twist of a dial. Prismer clicked her gills in frustration and held out the device. ‘Does the interface have to be so counterintuitive?’ she asked. ‘Oklas can be unnecessarily creative,’ said Dy Erla, taking the towaye, ‘but in this case, he has a good reason for it.’ She swiped along the top of the touchpad in a downturned crescent to open the device menu. ‘I believe the arrangements he wrote into these are derived from obsolete casting languages. This renders towayes incompatible with mainstream technologies, enhancing the security of Ardedrian communication channels.’ Prismer nodded. It made sense that the Ardedrians wouldn’t use mitters in plots against the Pentarchy. Not when Minister Cantuce’s department controlled their production. Prismer familiarised herself with the four unusual gestures used on the towaye in different combinations. Once she could operate the device without difficulty, she agreed to hold onto it. ‘The city’s communication towers don’t facilitate these signals,’ said Dy Erla. ‘Sayve has provided the Ardedrians with a private network.’ Prismer’s synth-speech crackled in surprise. ‘Not the satellite that Sayve spoke of today, surely?’ Dy Erla waved for her to quieten, and Prismer added in a lower tone, ‘He’s even bolder than I thought.’ ‘He is reckless, spurred on with each obstacle he overcomes. But I fear ... ’ – she shook her head – ‘ ... nevermind, the less we discuss it, the better.’ Prismer gave a hoarse laugh. ‘If he’s left the shallows, surely we have too?’ Dy Erla’s amber eyes creased at the corners as she considered Prismer. ‘There is so much more I want to tell you about things I have planned. Things that go beyond Apidecca’s politics.’ Prismer raised her chin inquiringly. ‘Later, perhaps. You have enough to contend with for now.’ Dy Erla reactivated her mitter, and shining numerals emanated from the device. ‘Best we both head home,’ said Prismer, realising she would have to hurry back ahead of curfew. The two continued up the tunnel, parting before the stairway that opened onto the Lepotra District at the surface.

Book Links:

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/farremoved/

Author Bio & Information:

Coe started dreaming up unreal landscapes and improbable creatures soon after she discovered picture books. She works as a freelance illustrator, but her writing and art are intrinsically entwined.

Unusual characters have been taking up residence in her mind for some years, and she recently decided to unleash them on a habitable moon. She has always been inspired by monster movies and books, old and new. She hopes she never feels equipped to answer the age-old question of “what makes us human?”

Author Website: https://cblansdell.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CBLansdell

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cblansdell/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cblansdellauthor

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