Beneath The Twisted Trees - Bradley P. Beaulieu

Beneath the Twisted Trees is the fourth in Bradley P. Beaulieu’s The Song of the Shattered Sands series. It’s filled with the intricate world-building, the emotional depth, the detailed characterisation we’ve come to expect; all of that wrapped up in a plot which has a constant roiling boil of tension, punctuated by explosive revelation, the narrative ground shifting underneath the reader’s feet. It is, in short, rather good. If you’re here after the first three books, and want to know if you should carry on – then here’s the unequivocal yes. There’s a lot going on here (it’s a rather thick book), but a strong, rewarding story is being told as a result.

So here we are, anyway with a city surrounded by a desert. The city is its own welter of political concerns, but the desert is no longer quiescent. And of course, there are third party actors. Those looking in from outside, seeing something they can exploit, a rival they can bring down, a threat that can be neutralised.  

So lets talk about the desert. It’s at the hart of the text, an environment which surrounds and swallows characters whole. This is a space filled with baking sands, and with the occasional life-giving oasis. Fleets sail across it, with tough wheels to drive the sane and trim sails to take advantage of the win. Sailing the dunes is not for the faint hearted, but here we have the potential, crackling like lightning between the grains of sand. The silence, the life, the soaring birds of the desert are all there, an ecosystem which exists as a force much like the ocean, washing people upon it. As they struggle between themselves, the sands are always there, waiting to seize upon anything abandoned.

In the centre of this unrelenting seeming-emptiness sits Sharakai. Less a city on a hill than a city between the dunes. It has high walls, and pits for fighters, and markets, and kings, so many kings, and a resistance willing to fight and die for change. The city is ruled by the king,s, a rapidly diminishing number of immortal oligarchs. Their slow removal due to infighting and enem action, and their struggles with their children, desperate to rise to the power they see as their birthright, are brutal, vicious, and entirely believable. When rulers carry divinity and the gift of immortality, still one may rise up to claim what one things they are due. The city is a heartbeat, fast and brutal and bloody, unforgiving and certain. Until it skips a beat. Then, things may struggle out of control.

In this liminal space, between the Kigns and the desert, we find Ceda, once again. The kings are monsters, that’s undeniable. They use their immortality to suppress history, to hide atrocities behind what may be nominally considered lesser atrocities. But they keep the city safe, swathed in sorcery and ruthlessness. Though they do not accept internal opposition, still less are they willing to accept external power. But that’s changing here, in these pages. As Kings are eliminated, the populace fees their hand less on their shoulders. But external forces are poised to fill the vacuum, fleets from across the sea and beyond. The text does a good job of showing us Malasani, Qaimiri, as distinct cultures, with their own goals and loyalties, and with rulers whose decisions will make or break them. We spend more of our time amongst these powers in this book than we had previously, and by the end, they each feel like a living, complex culture with its own needs and mores.

As ever, Sharakai is alive, and the desert, perhaps more than previously, is alive; now those who step upon the sands in trepidation take their turn.

This hols true of the characters as well. Ceda remains the star, here. Her feral energy pours off the page, even when she’s lost in thought. She has to take a lot of decisions very quickly, and though some of them are difficult, still the text crackles with the choices she makes. Ceda, not to put a point on it, kicks arse She’s not afraid to get into a fight – indeed, quite the reverse. At the same time, she’s embracing the mysticism of her life, of the powers she’s having to embrace on her own course for revenge and for truth. And even more, she’s coming to terms with being a leader, not just a fighter. With having to make the hard choices which get people killed. While the kings will stand and make the argument that each sacrifice is necessary, Ceda’s evolution is in parallel. She’s not willing to sacrifice friends on the altar of power – or at least, not yet. The truth will out.

And in her search she’s supported by a fantastic interweaving of parallel tales. There are the blood mages on the run, desperate to avoid notice, but trying to break free nonetheless. And the aide to the Qaimiri queen, a man desperate to rescue his monarch from herself, and willing to take horrendous risks with body and soul to do so. And the pair of a man and a desert djinn, a warped love story whose truth has yet to be entirely realised, but lies mapped in desolation. And the fellow seeking to turn back the tide of Malasani, an old friend of Ceda’s whose compassion may be his greatest weakness.

They all live and breathe between the leaves of the book, and they each drive the plot in their own way. Fundamentally though, the people feel like people. The entities – desert ghosts, deities, immortal kings – are strange and real and terrible, but still you can eel something of their needs. Ceda is the heart, but every one else is a key to the text as well.

I won’t go too far with the plot, but if you’ve come this far, through the rich, detailed world and the convincing, heartfelt characters, you won’t be surprised by the emotional investment. The story pulls no punches here, building up and creatively detonating tension, and making you care about each of the maladjusted characters. There’s parts that are a slow boil conspiracy, parts that are a fast-paced adventure, and segments which are a sweeping, epic scene of combat. Each has emotional integrity, and will grab you until its work is done.

Its an absolute stormer of a text, given a pitch perfect fusion of characterisation, universe and plot; as such I would say that you should pick it up.