In August, Skull Island eXpeditions will release the first book in brand-new science fiction/fantasy series from author Miles Holmes (“The Way of Caine,” “Cold Steel”). Tales of the Invisible Hand marks the first time Skull Island has released a book that stands independent of Privateer Press’ existing worlds, one that offers a fantastic alternate-history Earth setting that readers of the Iron Kingdoms fiction will find enthralling. The following excerpt introduces readers to Max Braun, a historian of the future, and his theories about what preceded the history of our world, going back to a time before what we have always believed was the birth of man . . .

Tales of The InvIsIble hand

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Riddle of the AntYou can’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve been. So it goes, right?But here’s the gag: we don’t know. We probably never have, and we probably never will. As a species, we’re chronic amnesiacs. Near as we can tell, Homo sapiens like us have walked the Earth for over two hundred millennia. Just try for a moment to wrap your head around that much time. Then consider that the entire sum of human history barely accounts for one percent of that time. Knowing this, could man have a greater mystery to solve than the riddle of man himself? In the pages of this journal, I offer my own journey into this frontier. Though my research has long been discounted by my peers, the artifacts it has uncovered remain and with them, my conclusions—chiefly, that modern man has profoundly underestimated pre-historic man. Not so long ago, even I would have laughed at such hyperbole. My story begins twelve years ago in the former Republic of Iraq. It was there I led my first archaeological expedition, deep into the wastelands of that failed state. Three days from the gates of Amman to the dry lake of Hammar we traveled, avoiding hostile tribesmen and sand-swallowed ruins until at last we set foot in the very cradle of human civilization, the oldest city known to man. Eridu. Having published collegial papers on the origins of the Tower of Babel a year earlier, I was delighted to receive a sizable bursary from a wealthy if reclusive patron only a few months later. Yet as is often cautioned, one must be careful what one wishes for. So it was with me. Though I had come looking for a mere tower, it was instead the surreal I found. Within the first week alone, I had little doubt that Sumerian civilization had been founded over the ruins of another. Incredibly, these precursors appeared to possess knowledge rivaling our own. The tower itself we found readily enough; the sheer scale of the thing could not long escape notice by our sophisticated instruments. And though it was reduced to no more than a ruined foundation twenty meters beneath the surface, the structure hinted at fantasy from the very start. Just as in the biblical account, it could have supported a truly massive tower, the equal of any modern skyscraper. Further, the foundation’s architecture featured precise lines and a unique honeycomb, one at odds with anything built around it. While it was resistant to all but thermo-luminescent dating, even this method led us to an impossible conclusion: that the tower had been raised some seventy thousand years ago. How? For what purpose? We faced too many questions, and we had only just begun. As we delved deeper, we uncovered a series of sub-chambers. It was there we found the artifacts. Foremost among them, we identified a curious archive of cuneiform tablets. Immediate study of the tablets suggested a dramatic end to the tower amidst fire and chaos, in a time long before the rise of Sumer. Yet the tablets proved to be no more than a ruse, soon crumbling to reveal plates of rare and precious metals marked with an unknown language and pictographs. Additional study of these plates would later reveal so much more, as I will detail in the chapters to come.Yet for all that we gleaned in Eridu, I confess it is the pistol that haunts me to this day.

Discovered within a case of similar composition to the plates, the weapon was an unmistakable marvel of craftsmanship and design to behold. It yet defies both dating and the ravages of time, leaving only one’s imagination to reflect upon its true nature. That a structure might have been raised some seventy thousand years ago alone demands we re-consider the middle Palaeolithic age. Yet to hold in my hand a functioning revolver of potential comparable antiquity leaves me in breathless wonder as to the missing pages of humanity’s story.Who were these people to wield guns in an age of stone knives and spears? By what means did they roam the Earth, and how did their journey end?—Professor Max Braun, “Revelations of Eridu,” 2069 Journey now, back to an age of adventure and intrigue to meet a civilization swallowed by the gulf of time. We begin with the young scout Zekh var Zaehn, flying his first away mission for the nomadic Thae-ano Flotilla and already in deep trouble for insubordination. His only passenger and superior officer, the grim-faced Neanderthal inquisitor Gavross Gaur, charts a path to the frontier of this savage and ancient world, charged to find answers for a sudden spate of tribal unrest and set things right. Yet as the pair is about to discover, some stones are better left unturned…

lhott by dAwn“Air marshal, air marshal, identify Thae-ano craft four-two-five-five. Please respond.” Zekh keyed his headset, indifferent to the silence. With a shrug, he released the key and gripped the yoke with both hands, his keen eyes scanning the horizon.The dawn sky was a perfect blue gradient, broken rarely by low-hanging stratus clouds. Drifting high above one such bank, Zekh raised throttle then put his airship into a dive. Within the cockpit, the projection sphere cast radiant glyphs in the air about his face, tracking his every move. Tumbling left, he banked steeply to catch the wisps of the cloud. Immediately there was a howl of discontent from below. With a glint of mischief in his eye, he leveled off, resuming a more gradual descent. Even this early, it was a glorious day, and Zekh could not help but glow along with the rising sun. Once more the Qinta was aloft, and he was where he most wished to be: nestled in the age-worn nook of her cockpit. He savored every feeling here, from the throb of the engines that shook him raw to the rush in his belly with each loop or dive. The rattling old airship was a Korvanite commission, three centuries old and far from the fastest in the Flotilla. Her rivets had been replaced many times over, and her silver skin had been patched in countless places. Her engines predated her commission, salvaged from an even older relic. Despite drawing on first-generation power cores, they also predictably stalled at full throttle. The Qinta creaked with even the most casual of maneuvers as though she might suddenly shatter into pieces. Zekh didn’t care. For all her flaws, she was a thing of beauty. She was his.

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Regardless of what she’d been called over the centuries of her service, she was his to name, as far as Zekh was concerned, and he had exercised his rite of title by choosing the moniker of the terrifying demon-fish from the lore of his lost village: the Qinta-Kaa. He’d even gone so far as to paint her nose with the jaws and eyes of the fearsome beast. Leveling off directly under the bank, Zekh let the tail rudders rake the cloud above. It seemed to him as though they were daggers slicing the underside of a grain sack, and with a dumb grin he pictured the contents spilling as he went. From the ladder beneath his feet came a stumbling noise and an awkward smack of head to bulkhead, followed immediately by a sharp curse. “Explain this rough passage, scout!” the Sh’Col demanded, making his way up the tiny ladder into the two-seater cockpit. Zekh chuckled softly to watch this oversized Makai try to squeeze into the narrow adjacent seat.“Apologies Sh’Col, just avoiding a little rough air,” he lied with all the deadpan he could muster. Yet in short order, his repressed grin fought itself loose. “Pshtak!” the Sh’Col swore. “You are reckless. You seem to forget your flight status is probationary. I warned your Kivra you were not ready, and you demonstrate it for me time and again.” His baleful eyes bored into Zekh with an intensity that caused the scout to shrink in his seat. Still, he met the glare with his best impression of innocence. The Sh’Col rolled his eyes. “Oh, and did you think last night’s weapons discharge had gone unnoticed?” Zekh swallowed, his face flushed. “Yes, it was noticed. If you find our protocols so chafing, you need not worry, boy. After my report is tendered, you will not be asked to abide by them again.” The middle-aged Makai plucked his beard until at last his glare drifted out beyond the windscreen. After a moment of silence, he turned to regard Zekh again. “And just what is it you always appear to be so pleased about? Do we not have problems enough for you?” Zekh shrugged. “I. . . Well, I can fly, Sh’Col. Where I come from, that makes men and the gods just about the same. You Makai ascended a long time ago. Maybe you’re just used to it by now.” “So, what of it?”“So, the world is a hard place. People die all the time, often for no good reason. I guess it just seems to me there’s no threat can’t be made small with enough altitude, and here’s me with an airship of my very own. What more could I ask?”The Sh’Col snorted. “A ridiculous philosophy. I certainly hope we have parted ways by the time reality comes calling to set you straight.”“Sh’Col, please.” The young scout paused to adjust his wireframe headset. It was time to deflect the conversation.

Her stubby silver-and-black-striped fuselage was just over a dozen yards long, framed by tandem ellipsoid wings. Spanning twenty yards aft and fifteen ahead, each wing mounted a transverse tilt rotor engine for variable vector thrust. The aft wings also sported matching tail rudders, each five yards tall. Atop the back of her fuselage sat Zekh’s bubble-like cockpit, appointed with threadbare bucket seats and an inglorious press-metal dash. As with any airship considered a scout of the Flotilla, the Qinta had been retrofitted with a projection sphere at her dash and a sensitive detection array along her belly. And at her nose jutted quad Sparkler guns and even a long first-generation lance. Built by the Thae-ano of old, the high-powered beam weapon was a rare treasure for a scout. And once it had been fitted for war six decades ago, no one had seen fit to remove it since. Thus was his Qinta equipped to fight if the situation demanded it, however unlikely that might be.

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And fast. He remembered that his passenger had said nothing of his solitary excursion since arriving back at camp. “You disappear for two days and come back to say the Hetakz are preparing for war. So, what are we doing about it?”“May I presume you read the mission brief prior to departure?” the Sh’Col snorted. Zekh looked past a series of coolant readings in mid-air, reviewing the brief in his head, then cleared his throat. “Investigate reports of tribal instability in the region,” he recited, “Gomeer and Hetakz ranges.” He turned to the Sh’Col with an arched eyebrow. “That’s what mine said. Now, from one end of Hrrta to the other, you can take your pick of primitives. At any given time, half of them don’t get along. So, what exactly is the trouble with these two?” The Sh’Col’s brow furrowed. “Very well,” he said, looking beyond the riveted panes of the cockpit and out into the open sky. “The problem is the Hetakz have been offered the Hand of Ascension.” Zekh whistled. “What? Why didn’t you say so? When did this happen?”“Three years ago. They nearly have our language already. We had planned to begin the next phase early next season, but now...” “What’s wrong?”The Sh’Col shook his head. “Unless we can resolve the situation, they will be forsaken.”Lining up a new heading from the myriad glowing projections before him, Zekh tried to reconcile the Sh’Col’s revelations. “The Sh’Col order keeps tabs on many tribes. This sort of thing does happen, right?” Zekh scanned the horizon to studiously ignore the stern glare his comment had drawn. “Do you truly know so little our ways, boy? The Hand of Ascension is the most sacred rite of our hosts. Once begun, it is an undertaking and investment both, and it is not easily discarded.”“I get it.”“Convince me.” the Sh’Col scoffed. Zekh sighed. With a deep breath, he resolved to offer the first and most fundamental of the catechisms. He held a free hand out, his fingers closed into a fist. “The hand that guides brings one more to the greater good. The hand has five fingers.” He put his pinky finger up. “The first finger grants the word of Thae-ano. By speech and the written word can their education begin, and with it their first step on the path to the greater good.” He glanced at the Sh’Col to find him still watching expectantly. With a shrug, he put up his next finger. “The second finger grants the numbers of Thae-ano. By mathematics and measurement might their world be better observed.” Zekh took a breath, extending his middle finger, his attention turned to the horizon. “The third finger grants the industry of Thae-ano. By our wisdom might they recognize their resources and how best to cultivate them. Instilled are the principles of agriculture, craft, and manufacture that they may find their

way to prosperity. Should these three fingers be grasped in peace, the fourth finger”—Zekh now raised his index finger—“grants the rule of Thae-ano. By the tenets of our constitution will they adopt the stability of a just and elected council that their freedom and prosperity be long-lived.”“And the last?”Zekh extended his thumb, his hand now fully opened. “The thumb grants the science of Thae-ano. By the principles of our science might they navigate their future. Whatever path it may take, when the hand has been embraced, we are all drawn to the greater good.” Knowing he had omitted or even maligned some words of the verse, Zekh winced at his stern companion, expecting reproach. “Very well,” the Sh’Col conceded. “Never forget we are, all of us, indebted by this rite. All eight nations of the League were raised in this manner at one time or another.”Zekh nodded, though the Sh’Col’s final words chafed. “And some few have been lost along the way, too. As it was with my people.” he spoke softly as the Qinta began to bank. He looked ahead to find the faint shadow of mountains across the horizon line.

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Zekh edged the Qinta into a descent, noting a swirl of air pressure glyphs materializing over the amber vector as his airship continued to the distant mountains. He had heard most of the Sh’Col’s explanation before from the scholars. Yet it never sat entirely right with him, and here was an actual Sh’Col to question. “And nothing more?”The Sh’Col blinked at him. “A valid question. I have descended the hold of Ursis and peered inside the vault they keep there. I have seen the ancient tomes lined row after row. Memorials of heroes lost and battles won. An armory of Gol suits. Plasma lances and other wizardry that I cannot begin to guess the purpose of. Often have I wondered at the unspoken history that brought a vast and ageless people to just a few thousand survivors. Even the history they are willing to speak of presents a troubling pattern.”“What do you mean?”“If the Hand of Ascension has been observed for three thousand years, why do we find ourselves a League of only eight nations?” Zekh grimaced. The discussion was fast slipping into the surreal. “What are you saying?”“I only ask a question.” Gaur shrugged. “For now, the task of keeping one more tribe on the path is before us. If it be in my power, it shall be done.”The Sh’Col’s face broke into a mirthless smile. It was the first time Zekh had seen such from the Sh’Col, and he was immediately convinced Gaur’s smile was worse than his scowl, given the feral teeth he exposed. “You’ve never spoken with Makai before, have you?” The Sh’Col chuckled.Zekh shook his head. “Never ask Makai questions you do not wish to hear the answers to.” “I’ll remember that, Sh’Col.” Zekh refocused on his projection sphere. The amber vector of his trajectory was paired with a steadily descending glyph. “We should make the capital of Lhott in twenty-two minutes.” The Sh’Col’s attention was drawn to beyond the Qinta’s windscreen, and he took in the view with a deeply drawn breath. “My grandfather was the Sh’Col who brokered the ascension of Lhott. Did you know that?” Zekh shook his head. “I suppose that explains why you are here.”“Indeed. I am obliged to matters that attend his legacy.”At that moment, Zekh noted a hazard glyph dancing just above his nose. His eyes darted ahead for an explanation only to find the mountains looming ever closer. The Sh’Col didn’t seem to notice; he grunted, his face twisted to a frown. Stealing a sidelong glance, Zekh saw him grasp for an unseen object tucked into the collar of his tunic. “You know, you still haven’t told me what you saw down there,” Zekh noted, scanning the horizon.

The Makai cast a narrowing glance Zekh’s way. “Perhaps I’ve overlooked the reason your Kivra chose you after all.” He pursed his lips, on the edge of saying something.“What?”“You understand the situation. The League is a patchwork of civilization spread wide over a barbaric frontier. Savages vastly outnumber us. Most of them will kill for nothing more than the shoes on a man’s feet. And in the entire last century, only three tribes showed the non-violent potential for contact, including your own.”Zekh blinked at the Sh’Col, momentarily at a loss for words.“Yours might have grown to join the League as a full nation one day. The Hetakz yet may. And we have the chance to help them now. Do you understand?” “I suppose. But to what end? If my lessons are right, they’ve been at this for, what? Three thousand years? What difference does a tribe like mine or the Hetakz make, really?” Zekh shrugged. “Whatever is meant by the greater good, has it not more or less been achieved?” The Sh’Col shook his head. “The greater good is the restoration of men as it was at the height of the Thae-ano Empire. The greater good is a world of science and hope, not savagery and fear. Nothing less.”

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The Sh’Col grunted again, nodding this time. “Your brief tells the bulk of it. Indeed, I saw mounting aggression between the Hetakz and Gomeer tribes. All over an apparent trade dispute.”“A trade dispute?” Zekh frowned. For the most part, tribesmen and ascended kept to their separate selves. “Whatever would they have to trade?”“Food for livestock, primarily. Gomi beasts are prized throughout Lhott, and the Hetakz keep vast herds of them. In truth, it was the stability of this peaceful exchange that first brought the Hetakz to our attention.”“So, what happened?” “While gathering their winter stores, the Hetakz claim the caravans from Lhott simply stopped arriving.”“Why would Lhott do that?” “The Hetakz claim Lhott was lured into new bargains with the Gomeer, who also tend Gomi herds. So, I sought out the Gomeer chieftains to investigate the truth of these claims. But the Gomeer denied any involvement, and I found no reason to doubt them. Thus must we seek an answer in Lhott itself.”Zekh balked at oddity of the situation. He was not and could never be as studied as a Sh’Col, but he was not ignorant of Lhott. Among the most distant and more guarded nations of the League, Lhott was known to be honorable enough—it would never have been chosen for ascension otherwise. The Sh’Col watched with a knowing grimace as Zekh worked through the situation. “Now,” Gaur said at last, “you see something of the life of a Sh’Col.”Movement at the periphery of his left windowpane cut short Zekh’s reply. He jerked his head around and dipped his wings for a better look at the surface of the land below. “Oh, that’s not good,” he muttered. Far beneath them, a hundred Gomeer tribesmen were on the move. Each rode beasts as the Sh’Col had earlier, and the dust cloud they stirred up made them easy to spot from above. Their barbed spears were drawn, and they moved with a menacing precision southeast.“What is it?” the Sh’Col snapped, trying to see over Zekh’s shoulder. The young scout brought the Qinta around to give his passenger a better look, pointing as he did.“That’s a war party,” Zekh said.“Just as I feared.” The Sh’Col simmered for only an instant before he erupted, pounding his fist on the dash.“Wait. Can’t we do something?” Zekh looked across at the hunched, furious Makai.

“They will not listen. It has gone too far.” The Sh’Col scowled, tracking the fast-moving riders below. “If we are swift, we might broker an arrangement for Lhott to airlift the goods promised to the Hetakz. But of course, the Gomeer are committed now. This complicates things greatly.”“Is it possible Lhott wanted this to happen?” The Sh’Col regarded Zekh with narrowed eyes. “Why would you ask such a question?”“It’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Zekh pressed.Gaur pulled his beard. “Yes. Yes, it is. They are also well aware of the status of the Hetakz. If they are undermining our efforts, there will be consequences.”Zekh’s attention, still drawn over the side of his canopy, snapped forward as a ping sounded in his ear. Looking once more at his vector, he saw it now glowed green, a hexagonal glyph bulging midway. “That’s it,” he said. “We’ve just crossed the first marker into Lhott.”

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