A royal minister in disfavor is ordered to complete a tyrannical queen’s prized project in Barsukov’s fantasy novel.

In an unspecified realm where medieval elements combine with a culture approaching (but not quite reaching) a “steampunk” level of development, Lord Shea Ashcroft is a royal minister who has defied an order by the all-powerful but rarely seen Queen Daelyn to use a gas weapon on protesters. Thus, Ashcroft is demoted to an assignment to ensure completion of Daelyn’s ruinously ambitious legacy project: a soaring tower in Owenbeg, a province bordering on the rival nation of Duma. Though ostensibly a defense against “skyrafts,” the massive edifice seems more an arrogant affirmation of royal power than anything else (its toll, in human and financial terms, triggered the protests in the first place). To keep the structure standing and growing, its chief engineer Brielle has had to resort to accepting aid from the “Drakiri”; these are members of a strange, secretive minority—equipped with advanced, incomprehensible technologies—whose origins are now obscure even to them. Among their most prized pieces of tech are “tulips,” oval devices that can counteract gravity. If not wielded properly, a tulip can cause a drastic implosion, destructively pulling everything in range inward. Brielle’s desperate deployment of tulips throughout the tower leads to catastrophic failures and losses of life—but are these accidents or acts of sabotage? Haunted by the death of his sister Lena in a childhood tulip incident, Ashcroft gets close to a Drakiri woman (coincidentally also called Lena) and learns that a Drakiri superstition predicts the advent of a frightful “Mimic Tower” that will materialize if the tulip-assisted tower of Daelyn continues to persist. Assassination attempts and intrigues at court seed a trail ultimately leading Ashcroft into Duma itself, where the Cold War–like animosity between the two kingdoms takes on literally cosmos-bending proportions.

Readers may be tempted to make analogies between the Drakiri and Jews or Romany people, or to compare the Drakiri devices to the nuclear power plant at Chernobyl, another apocalyptic power grimly unleashed in a Slavic setting. But these analogs only go so far as the narrative reaches a metaphysical denouement that goes outside the realm of conventional reality to explicate the tale’s vagueness regarding time, place, physics, and even the reason that Queen Daelyn’s capital remains nameless. Some of this material was originally released as an award-winning novella, Tower of Mud and Straw (2021). In this volume,Barsukov has added a follow-up, City of Spires, City of Seagulls, forming a whole that answers many of the original narrative’s questions, however cryptically. There are similarities to Stephen King’s epic Dark Tower series (though without anything near the marathon page count) as well as to Ursula K. Le Guin’s Lathe of Heaven (1971) and the work of sibling Russian masters Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Barsukov’s storyline becomes quite challenging to follow in the narrative’s latter half, in which plot threads diverge to follow Shea, Brielle, and (via rather conveniently recovered diary entries) the Drakiri Lena, but the payoff is worth the effort. The author’s prose is rarely less than lyrical and poetic (“The balcony windows brought in the smells of autumn’s brandy: smoke from the burning leaves, damp earth, the rotting perfume of forgotten things”). Highly recommended for fans of high fantasy and SF wishing to tread in especially exotic territory.

Mind-expanding fantasy and SF.

A man reckons with his past while overseeing the construction of a tower in this debut SF novel.

Shea Ashcroft disobeyed Queen Daelyn. He refused to gas protesters who ran amok in Red Hill. As punishment, she banished Shea to the border shared with the rival nation of Duma. Now, the former minister of internal affairs and ex-counselor to the queen must see to the completion of the Owenbeg Tower, an “anti-airship stronghold.” But Shea receives a chilly welcome from the duke at Owenbeg castle. The paranoid duke intends to censor Shea’s reports to the queen regarding details of the tower’s construction. Shea soon learns that instances of sabotage at the tower involve dangerous Drakiri technology. The humanoid Drakiri have been allowed to settle in Owenbeg, and their egg-shaped “tulips” provide anti-gravity assistance for raising the nearly 1,000-foot structure. But if not properly handled, the tulips implode, sucking in whatever surrounds them. Shea thinks often of his sister, Lena, whose death resulted from mishandled tulips. Doubly strange is that the duke’s counselor of arts is a striking Drakiri woman named Lena. She shares with Shea her people’s record of the Mimic Tower, which sprang into being as they tried to build another tower. Ultimately, the Mimic Tower destroyed many of the Drakiri, which is why none of Lena’s tribe labor on the Owenbeg Tower. As Shea falls for Lena, he becomes determined to ban tulips from the construction process. Yet Chief Engineer Brielle has a secret that makes such a move impossible.

Barsukov’s slim novel will remind readers of Robert Silverberg’s Tower of Glass (1970) and China Mieville’s work, which frequently includes a Cold War flavor of decrepit bureaucracies. While the Owenbeg castle appears lavish, “moths had taken a good bite out of the couches’ velvet.” The Owenbeg Tower, even unfinished, feels mythic, as in the passage “Entering it was entering a city...a world painted by a lover of chiaroscuro...shadows lay in pools of ink, and there were blinding patches of daylight.” The Drakiri seem slightly vampirelike, with their enhanced speed, strength, and elegance—though no blood drinking is ever mentioned. Barsukov sketches in characters slyly, as Shea assumes Lena is the duke’s lover, half revealing to readers his own desire. Echoes of Shea’s sister haunt him in the way this new woman “holds her head, the pride. The eyes.” When he survives an assassination attempt, Shea intuits that Patrick, the duke’s military counselor, is the culprit because of how the duke embarrasses the man publicly. The tower as an arms race metaphor succeeds gracefully. Drakiri technology is useful, as is nuclear power, but the drive to overshadow one’s enemies can lead to self-destruction. The author depicts the fantastic sparingly so that the instances pop against the narrative’s overall gloom. One character’s augmented hand, for example, “branched off in metal and purple veins,” and its “knotted ‘fingers’ rolled in the air as though strumming a chord.” One scene that reveals some truth about the Drakiri, their origin, and the reality of the Mimic Tower is pure surrealism.

This marvelous SF tale about dangerous technology offers sublime stretches that will warrant revisiting.