Showing posts with label YA Fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YA Fantasy. Show all posts
Friday, September 11, 2015
A Tale of Light and Shadow: Secrets of Neverak by Jacob Gowans
ABOUT THE BOOK
Henry Vestin always believed that, despite being a carpenter with no training in swordplay or survival, he could lead Isabelle and his friends to safety. He thought he could defy an emperor and protect Isabelle from harm. He was certain that love and friendship would help them survive.
He was wrong.
The second volume in the Tale of Light and Shadow series follows Henry and his friends after the disastrous battle at the Iron Pass. Horrors await the band of travelers in strange new lands. Crippled and broken, Henry must rely on his friends more than ever. New allies and foes find them at every turn, but which are friendly and which are deadly? Isabelle, now a slave in Neverak, finds herself surrounded by enemies, uncertain about the fate of her friends, and relying on only herself to survive. The Emperor moves forward with his plans of conquest, spurred on by the Seer’s dark prophecy, but he has not forgotten those who defied him.
Return to the world of Atolas, where swords and daggers extend life or end it, where feuds and friendships influence kingdoms and courtships, and where magic is feared by all but a few.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACOB GOWANS was raised in Papillion, Nebraska, graduated with a bachelor's degree in theater studies and then moved to Cleveland, Ohio, where he graduated from dental school at Case Western Reserve University. Jacob and his wife and three children live in Arizona where he works as a dentist for the Indian Health Services.
REVIEW
It can be hard to find adult fantasy that is clean enough for me to want to read it, but Jacob Gowans series A Tale of Light and Shadow fits the bill nicely. Not only are the characters great but the incredible challenges the characters face kept me turning the pages rapidly. I was slow to pick up this series because I suspected it would draw me in and never let go and I was right. Once I met Henry and Isabelle I couldn't help but cheer for them but everything was against them from the beginning, including Isabelle's father. Here is book two, the pair are separated. Henry struggles to recover from his injuries while longing to go after Isabelle who is now imprisoned in the Emperor of Neverack's palace being prepared to become one of his concubines. Isabelle struggles to deal with her circumstances and find a way to escape while having no idea what is happening to Henry or her friends. Not only is the plot one that moves along quickly but I loved the depth of the story as each of the characters faces difficult choices and struggles and because of it they grow. The complications that ensue as each of the major characters makes choices that directly or indirectly effect all of the others made me anxious to see what was going to happen to them. Even the secondary characters were of interest as I wondered about motivations and choices they made. A wonderful, thought-provoking new series from an author to watch.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
BLOG TOUR: Enchanted by Elaine Cantrell
ABOUT THE BOOK
Forced by his father into a marriage he didn’t want, Prince Alan soon finds that his bride isn’t the sweet, submissive creature he expected. Morgane has the heart of a dragon and beauty beyond compare, but she isn’t thrilled about the marriage either. When black treachery threatens the kingdom, Morgane and Alan embark on a perilous journey that has an excellent chance of ending in failure and death for them and all of their people.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elaine Cantrell was born and raised in South Carolina where she obtained a master’s degree in personnel services from Clemson University. She is a member of Alpha Delta Kappa, an international honorary society for women educators, Romance Writers of America, and EPIC authors. Her first novel, A New Leaf, was the 2003 winner of the Timeless Love Contest. When she’s not writing or teaching, she enjoys movies, quilting, reading, and collecting vintage Christmas ornaments.
Her latest book is the fantasy romance, The Enchanted.
Visit her website at www.elainecantrell.com.
REVIEW
I confess, I was a bit surprised at how much I liked this book. While not as detailed as I usually like, I fell in love with Alan and Morgane immediately. Both Alan and Morgane have been treated poorly by their fathers, who happen to be kings, leaving them with scars, both physical and emotional. A forced marriage leaves them uncertain about each other as well as the future. What are they to do? Especially when the kingdom is under attack from an enchanter. Can they find a way to save the kingdom and perhaps find some happiness along the way?
My favorite characters were Alan and Morgane of course, but I also really liked Alan's mother, who changes Alan's view of things along the way, while offering him the love and support that he has craved his whole life. Morgane has a spirited heart but after a lifetime of abuse at her father's hands she is ready to give up. I loved watching as Alan's kindness offers her hope for something better than she has ever had, but will it be enough? There were some characters that I seriously disliked as well. The author has done a fine job of creating characters that are easy to love or hate.
The story moves along very quickly. I found myself immersed in the story within the first few pages, wanting to know what would happen to the sensitive Alan who would much rather paint than fight and who has no desire to remarry, despite his father's wishes. Danger threatens just as Alan and Morgane start to reconcile themselves to their situation. A beautiful princess froma neighboring kingdom, who is obviously untrustworthy, a band of renegades led by her twin sister, and the return of enchantment to the kingdom provide additional challenges to Alan and Morgane. All in all a great adventure that I can heartily recommend.
Monday, June 24, 2013
BLOG TOUR: Swept Up by the Sea by Tracy & Laura Hickman
ABOUT THE BOOK
Determined to seek his fortune, Percival Taylor leaves behind his sleepy hometown and sets out to become a legendary pirate only no one at the roguish seaport of Blackshore will allow him anywhere near a ship! Percival must find other means to win the heart of the beautiful Tuppence Magrathia-Paddock, who has mistaken him for a pirate rogue out of one of her romantic tales. She is entirely willing to swoon into his arms if he can prove his buccaneer soul and she is willing to arrange her own kidnapping to prove it. Percival eventually finds himself captain of a broken-down ship, complete with a crew of pirates.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Swept Up by the Sea is a humorous, light romance revolving around the adventures of one Percival Taylor and Tuppence Magrathia-Paddock. Percival arrives in Blackshore determined to become a pirate and have gentlemanly adventures. However, despite his best efforts every pirate ship in port rejects him, yet he persists in sneaking on board. In his efforts to defend himself from the pirates he inadvertently rescues Tuppence. Tuppence is convinced that Percival is a 'rogue' and fantasizes about him. When Tuppence is kidnapped Percival sets out to rescue her in his own rather bumbling way. If you are looking for a serious romance with a great deal of depth this is probably not for you. But if like me you enjoy a light humorous fantasy where the hero/heroine are likeable but inept than I can heartily recommend this one.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
BLOG TOUR: The Huaca by Marcia Mickelson
ABOUT THE BOOK
Seventeen-year-old Ellie Cummings just wants to be a regular teenager, but after her mother’s mysterious murder, she isn’t sure if she’ll ever be normal again. Her mother’s death has left Ellie and her father worlds apart. And when her best friend abandons her, Ellie has no one else to turn to—except for the strange boy who says he can help.
Gabe de la Cruz seems to know way too much about everything,
and her instincts tell Ellie to stay far away. But when he claims that he can communicate with the dead through an ancient Incan artifact, Ellie can’t resist the temptation of seeing her mother again. In the hanan pacha—the Incan afterworld—Ellie’s mother sends a message to help Ellie understand what happened the night of the murder—a message that may be better kept a secret . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marcia was
born in Guatemala and moved to the U.S. when she was an infant. She and
her family moved around a bit while in elementary school and lived in
Louisiana, Texas, and New Jersey. She started writing her first
novel during her senior year of high school.
Marcia worked in Salt Lake running a foster care program for a non-profit organization, Centro de la Familia de Utah. She later moved to New Jersey and then back to Texas. It was while living in Texas that Marcia picked up the old manuscript, finished it, and has not stopped writing since.
Marcia has three novels, published by Cedar Fort. Star Shining Brightly was the first novel to be published. The second novel, Reasonable Doubt, was released in December 2007. The third novel, Pick Up Games, was published in May 2009. Marcia now lives in South Texas with her husband and three boys. Marcia's young adult novel, The Huaca, was released in May 2013.
REVIEW
Empathetic characters, check. Believable, intense plot, check. Fabulous writing, check. This is the kind of book that I especially enjoy reading. Mostly because I really like the main character and care about what happens to them. Ellie makes a great main character, she's smart, brave, and wants to be herself, even though she's not completely sure she knows who that is. Unlike her so-called friends, she's willing to give someone else a chance, like Gabe. Gabe, as a character, has depth. Unlike a lot of high school kids, Gabe has responded to the tragedies in his life with more maturity than most teenagers and that provides Ellie with the support she needs when she makes a horrific discovery.
There is much here about life, about friendship and how it changes over time, life without those we love, and discovering that those Ellie thinks she knows best, she may not know at all. I think what I like best about stories like this is that despite the supernatural aspects and the murder mystery, the story feels real. Ellie struggles with real issues, the loss of her mother, changing friendships, and then the curveball that Gabe throws at her, but she never gives up and that feels very real. I can highly recommend this one.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
FIRST WILD CARD TOUR: Martyr's Moon by J.E. Lowder
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book spotlight! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
WordCrafts Press (February 19, 2013)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
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The Martyr’s Moon rises. The blood of a storyteller is spilled. Hope vanishes.
List Price: $17.99
Paperback: 462 pages
Publisher: WordCrafts Press (February 19, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 061576150X
ISBN-13: 978-0615761503
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The War of Winds
The Cauldron hurled its fury at Claire in the form of a storm. Icy winds swept a flotilla of gray clouds eastward, and when the squall reached Claire, it attacked. Dark clouds meshed with white and churned like a raging river above the orange sands. Wisps of gray floated below the tempest as if to spy for any sign of counterattack, while dark daggers of mist cut into their enemy’s fluffy-white flanks. Billows of black swarmed upward and imprisoned ivory clouds or bowled over strands unable to flee.
The sky darkened and finger-like clouds dropped from the Cauldron’s gale. Spinning like tops, the gray blurs dropped to the desert where they wriggled like newborn serpents to be free of their eggs. They danced and jumped and kicked up clouds of orange dust as a taunt to the King of Claire.
Thunder exploded over the noisy winds, and lighting sliced open the blackness.
The silvery flash illuminated Romlin atop a jutting precipice. He braced himself against the warring winds and noted that there were two aromas that battled for him as well: sulfur and swill disoriented him, while a flowering meadow countered to revitalize his senses.
Romlin pulled out his map. The winds tore at it like panthers. He clutched it with both hands and found what he was looking for.
Claire.
“You tricked me,” he shouted to the battling winds. “I should have known better than to believe with my heart.”
With the map in hand, he struggled to where Elabea sat in his shield. He shoved it in her face.
“I watched the map disappear as we neared the border,” he lamented. “I hoped it was a trick of the Cauldron…but it’s not. This is all my fault.”
Elabea scanned the horizon as the winds whip-cracked her hair about her face, but she had also given up hope that Claire existed. She was even beginning to doubt the stories her rusk had told her. Overcome with emotions and loss, her head dropped. She sank back down in the shield, clutched the dead rusk, and rocked back and forth.
A familiar sound averted Romlin’s attention and he focused on the drone’s dark, sinister pitch. Like the raging winds, it was stronger and louder than anything he had experienced before. He felt as if a coat of iron had been draped over his shoulders. He strained under the weight but felt himself weakening.
Anxious for help, he searched the black clouds for any sign of Manno Vox - nothing. He battled against both the drone and the winds. He drew his sword. He knew that unless the book was open the sword would not glow, but he was desperate. He stared at the silvery blade, wishing and hoping with all his being that it would radiate light. But like his heart it remained cold, dark and lifeless.
Nevertheless, he raised it defiantly into the squall.
“So this is our reward?” he barked as he shook his weapon. “You lead us to this place and abandon us to the winds? We deny home and family only to end up alone…on a cliff? You promised so much. If you have the courage, then show yourself. Come face me in battle.”
“How ironic,” a whisper answered, surprisingly audible despite the storm’s raucous squall. “I recall a summer long ago when you were given another promise that never came to pass. Who spoke such deception?”
Memories of his childhood flashed and exploded in Romlin’s mind.
“Ah, yes, now I remember: your father.”
With that the whisper slithered back into the winds.
Romlin’s boyhood emotions swirled as tumultuous as the windstorm, and like the serpentine thunderheads kicking up clouds of sand, his anger stirred up his troubled thoughts. He glared at the orange desert and released his storm of rage toward the King of Claire.
“You are like my father: A liar!”
Cold winds lapped up his words like a ravenous dog.
“I was starting to believe in you,” he shouted. “I was beginning to listen, really listen to the stories Elabea told. But now…”
The words trailed off and died. Romlin walked to where the book sat and kicked it. Around and around it spun, stopping just short of the cliff’s edge. The cover rose and fell as if disembodied specters battled to turn the pages. Despite his anger, the flapping cover caught his attention. He set aside his fury long enough to study the book with the eyes of a seasoned hunter, and discovered a secret.
The winds are fighting over the book. But why?
The whisper returned.
“Are you not deserving of so much more? Kick the book off the cliff. End the pain.”
“If you are truly as powerful as your stories claim, then show yourself and fight me. I don’t care what happens to me anymore.”
“Such courage. Such resolve. You will be rewarded greatly.”
“Lies! You promised so much more.”
“I promised no such thing. You assumed and presumed.”
“Dare to show yourself.”
“To one such as you? You are indeed an image of irony, for you sound as if you are growing mad...just like that certain someone from your past.”
Romlin pictured his father in cottage Number 7 babbling about this and that, day after day, season after season. Next, he envisioned Mithe taunting him about the truth to his father’s madness brought about by the defeat at Min Brock.
His shame clouded over and his anger billowed like the storm that raged around him on the cliff. Like a thunderclap, his emotions exploded and he swung his blade through the air.
“Yes, I see it is true: You are your father’s son. Hopeless. Defeated. Dreamer. Fool.”
The drone’s weight intensified and the stench of rotting swill filled his nostrils. Anguish met him with every memory of his journey, at every turn of his heart. He recalled his bout with the gor that nearly cost both him and Elabea their lives. He remembered the doubt he felt trying to live up to the new name Manno Vox had given him. He thought of the disappearing map and how he hid the knowledge from Elabea.
Failure was a pit and shame swallowed him whole. As he crept toward the book, he focused on one thought alone: It is time to end the pain.
The whisper encouraged him, its tone like a lark in spring.
“I have not come to torment, but to offer hope. You have been deceived by a whisper that imitates my greatness. Would you care to learn more?”
Romlin nodded.
“Then seize the book and step to the edge.”
He picked it up and dangled his toes over the cliff.
“Good! I see you hunger for the truth and for freedom. Everyone desires such gifts but few are willing to pay the price to hunt for such treasure. You are a seeker, and so I honor your quest, offering you more than the deceiver ever could. I promise life. The deceiver, as you have discovered, only offers lies. Thus his title: the Only.”
Romlin studied the ground far below. Enormous boulders lay scattered at the cliff’s base. The thought of falling did not frighten him. It seemed as if the rocks were cheering him on, urging him to jump. He envisioned them as a serene river or a pile of down blankets, offering pleasure…peace…rest.
The drone intensified its weight on Romlin and his shame became unbearable. The whisper continued in soothing tones.
“Do you hear the rocks calling to you? Yes, I believe you do. Their voices confirm that I promise you life, freedom, hope, and joy. Jump.”
Romlin looked at Elabea. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, oblivious to his inner turmoil. Full of self-loathing, he concluded that she no longer needed him, that she would be better off if he were gone. After all, it was his decision to conceal the map from her. He was a part of the monstrous illusion in the war of whispers. His actions were the catalyst for the rusk’s death and Elabea’s anguish.
With the winds whistling about him, Romlin clutched the book to his chest and prepared to launch himself to the rocks below.
Warm winds exploded against him with such force that he was knocked away from the precipice.
“See?” the whisper pointed out. The deceiver desires for you to stay and suffer more. You are his puppet. You are merely a game piece he moves here and there in life. Be free. Fight the winds and jump. Claim your independence. Kill the shame and end the pain. Become the man your father never could be.”
Romlin battled back to the ledge as the winds of Ebon and Claire contended for his life. Exhausted, his grip on the book loosed and it dropped from his hand. The cover flew open and its pages flapped like the wings of a bird in desperate flight. Once again, his hunting instincts took over, and he examined the anomaly with patience and logic.
The whisper returned, urgent now.
“Ignore the deceiver’s book. Jump. End the pain. Live!”
Romlin’s despair waned as he observed the flapping book, and in a brilliant flash of clarity, he realized that the winds, whispers and scents all battled for him, just as they warred for the book.
But who is my ally and who is my enemy?
He cast a glance back at Elabea, but this time he saw her in a different light. She was his friend, perhaps even more. He was responsible for her. Despite his feelings of failure, to leave her now would be worse, infinitely worse. Quick vignettes of treasured times together flashed in his mind: climbing the oak; her wondrous laugh; watching her sleep; her eyes that made him feel weak.
Romlin backed away from the ledge and clinched his fists.
“I don’t know who or what you are,” he shouted to the whisper. “Nor do I know what’s real and true anymore. I may have failed. I may have been foolish to believe. But I will not abandon Elabea. Nothing matters anymore except getting her home. At least I can succeed in that.”
“So be it,” the whisper jeered. Its tone was no longer comforting and gentle, but menacing and dark, “I have other means at my disposal.”
Fresh noises entered the fray. Romlin instinctively spun around to face whatever neared.
The pursuing Ebonites emerged from the woods.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
FIRST WILD CARD TOUR: Tears of Min Brock by J.E. Lowder
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
WordCrafts Press (September 22, 2012)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Areall crept toward the parchment as if an evil spirit possessed it. “Its beauty is its deception,” she whispered. “Burn it, child. Destroy it or you will curse us. The Cauldron will know. The Cauldron will see. They will come.”Elabea calmly lifted the parchment from the coals, where it had refused to burn. “How can something so beautiful be evil?”
The Dark War is over. Betrayal, defeat and death forever accompany any mention of the battlefield known as Min Brock. The shining kingdom of Claire is no more. Any hint of rebellion is supressed by the constant drone that echoes throughout the land. The Oracles of the Council of Ebon, the dark lords who feed the perpetual flames of the Cauldron, forbid even mentioning the name of the Only, the King of Claire, on pain of death.
Yet in the night... a whisper comes to Elabea, a girl of 14 summers, who hears and dares to believe there might be more to life than the drone. Accompanied by her lifelong friend, Galadin, Elabea embarks on a dangerous journey to become one of the most powerful creatures in the land - a storyteller. Along the way she must learn to discern the true whisper of Claire from the counterfeit whisper of Ebon. One might lead her to restore light and life to a world ruled by darkness. The other leads to certain death.
The War of Whispers has begun.
List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 388 pages
Publisher: WordCrafts Press (September 22, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0615699766
ISBN-13: 978-0615699769
Product Dimensions: 8 x 5.2 x 0.9 inches
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The Moon King
Thud.
Elabea was startled awake.
“Who’s there?” she gasped as she pulled her covers close.
Although only fourteen summers of age, Elabea had seen her share of Ebonite night raids. Even so, she would never get used to warriors barging in while her family slept. Herded gruffly out into the night, they would be led to the communal fire with the other villagers. While Ebonite commanders took roll call, the warriors harassed them: spittle and curses flew; blades threatened children and women; kicks and punches landed on the men. Elabea quickly learned that the census was merely an excuse for Ebon to flex its military muscle.
She scanned her attic bedroom’s shadows for any sign of a warrior.
Nothing.
If not a raid, she wondered with a sigh of relief, perhaps it was my father downstairs.
Quinn often drank wildeberry wine well into the night, and in his inebriated state, sometimes hurled objects across the room followed by a string of curses.
Thud.
This time, Elabea recognized the sound as coming from outside. Gathering her courage, she peeked through a crack in her shuttered window.
Lances of silver-blue moonbeams crisscrossed Hetherlinn while the trees strained against the windstorm and hindered her vision. Suddenly, the trees parted, as if sensing her need for an unencumbered view.
Floating above the communal fire was a warrior and his mount that glowed like the moon. He turned and looked at her cottage, Number 17. Elabea gasped and jerked back into the safety of the shadows.
Did he see me?
Fearing the worst, she pulled her quilt close and sat perfectly still, hoping the ghost-warrior would soon be on his way. She tried not to worry, but worry she did.
He’s definitely not an Ebonite. So where’s he from?
She fretted, straining to hear any more sounds, wondering most of all.
Why is he here?
She jumped to the only logical conclusion her mind could comprehend, and that conclusion made her eyes bulge with fear.
He must be a monster from the Cauldron.
Flashbacks from her countless trips to the oak with her friend, Galadin, began to fill her with panic. The Oracles, she worried as she bit her lip. He’s come to punish us for climbing the oak.
As quickly as that notion lit her anxiety on fire, another took its place, and cooled her like water. We’ve played in the oak since we were five summers of age. Surely we would have been caught before now.
She relaxed her grip on the quilt, but remained fearful of the creature looming beyond her cottage. She tried to push his image out of her thoughts, but her will was not up to the task. The harder she strained, the more engraved his face became.
And what a face. Like dancing fire in a wintry sky.
Her curiosity, a trait that got her into trouble more often than not, joined her inner fray, and soon, her fears were overruled by a desire to take another peek.
She pushed away her blankets and found herself once more at the crack, staring out into the moonlight. The hovering warrior had not moved, but instead of fear the sight of him sent peace coursing through her veins.
His steed rose and boxed the air with his front appendages. Then, in a silvery flash, they were gone; disappeared into the deeper shades of the night. It was as if they had never existed at all.
Elabea stared, mesmerized by their flight.
She laid back down, but she knew that sleep was out of the question - not because she feared his return, but because her imagination simply could not leave him be. Throughout the night, she pondered every possibility as to his identity.
Being restricted to her village by the Oracles, she was limited to information from beyond its borders. He was not from any of the surrounding nations, she reasoned. She had already ruled out the possibility that he was Ebon, nor was he a creation of the Cauldron. She tested another theory, one that went against the teaching of the Oracles.
Could he be from Claire?
The idea stirred her fantasies to the wind. High within her imagination they swirled, like snow on a zephyr.
Exhaustion finally took its toll, but before she drifted off to sleep, she felt the need to bestow him with a title.
The Moon King, she murmured. He’s the Moon King.
Morning came too soon, and Elabea stumbled out of bed. She tiptoed quickly across the cold planks and threw on her brown tunic. Woven from a thick cloth, it resembled a floppy bag more than a dress. It was the required outfit of Hetherlinn, as ordered by the Oracles, creating uniformity and squelching individualism. She often wondered if the other nations had to dress the same.
She pulled her wavy cinnamon-colored hair out from beneath her tunic and it fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were morsels of dark chocolate reflecting a fiery heart, and her smile - when she thought to smile - was inviting. A few freckles, sprinkled like nutmeg, adorned her creamy cheeks. Elabea was an attractive girl on the cusp of womanhood, but she did not consider herself pretty. Aside from an occasional compliment dropped by her mother, all she heard were insults. The residents of her tiny community seemed to hold a personal grudge against her, and many in Hetherlinn, especially the ancient widow, Mithe, castigated her on a daily basis. With nothing else to counter the poison, she accepted their demeaning comments as the truth.
Elabea slipped on warm wool stockings and boots, then strapped a thick leather belt around her waist. The belt, snug about her, accentuated her developing figure, and gave her the sensation of wearing something slightly more attractive than a sack.
She stepped to the square opening in her floor. The warmth from the kitchen fire below embraced her while the aroma of breakfast porridge made her stomach rumble. She descended the rickety ladder, the rungs creaking beneath her weight.
“Mother,” she asked as she dragged herself to the table near the fire. “Did you see anything... odd... last night?”
“No,” Areall answered. Her tone was as dull and flavorless as the porridge she scooped from the large black pot that hung over the fire. Like everything else in their cottage, the fireplace was simple and primitive, by order of the Oracles. Rough in places, with some cracks here and there, it was anything but elegant. Black soot covered the stones, rising up to the thatched roof.
“Last night, I saw something…or someone…riding out of Hetherlinn.”
“Probably just an Ebonite warrior on a night patrol,” Areall sighed as she plopped the bowl of gruel down in front of Elabea.
“I know what they look like, and he was definitely not one of them.” Elabea snatched up a wooden spoon. “He was larger than any man I’ve ever seen, and he glowed blue like the moon.” She dug into the creamy broth.
“You must have been dreaming.” Areall’s voice was overly tired for so early in the morning.
“I’m not a child,” Elabea snapped back. “I’ve seen fourteen summers and in another four, I’ll be permitted to marry…” In a more sullen tone she continued, “If anyone will have me.”
“Perhaps the moon was playing tricks on you,” Areall yawned, not the least bit interested in the conversation. She knew Elabea’s curiosity could be relentless, like a wolf in winter, desperate for a meal, and she was in no mood for it.
“At first, I was frightened, but soon…” Elabea’s thoughts drifted to the events of the previous night. She let the conversation fade for a moment, then with the spontaneity of youth she exclaimed, “Whatever he was, he was magnificent.”
Elabea twirled her spoon as her imagination began to work. “Is there a Moon King,” she asked.
“Moon King?” Areall chortled. “There hasn’t been a king other than Brairtok anywhere since the Dark War and…” Her rosy cheeks faded to white as if death had touched her flesh. In a serious tone, she abruptly added, “Let’s talk of different matters.”
“Could he have been something of old, something from the Dark War?”
Elabea’s spoon stopped twirling as she pondered the next question, one she was certain would get her into trouble for asking.
“Mother, could he be from Claire?”
Areall’s eyes widened. “Never mention that nation again. You know the Cauldron’s Oracles ban discussions of things that might be... or might have been.”
“I know,” Elabea persisted, her spoon spinning in her fingers. “But do you really think the Cauldron can hear inside our cottage?”
“Yes.”
“Then why hasn’t it seen me at the oak, or heard
Galadin and me talking about Claire... ”
Areall clasped her hand over Elabea’s mouth. “Hush, child.”
Elabea looked into her mother’s buggy eyes. She had seen that look before; more times than she could count. It came with every question she asked about the Cauldron, Ebon, the Dark War and the forgotten land known as Claire. It was the look of fear.
“The vapors from the Cauldron of Ebon travel far and hear much,” Areall whispered. “You must respect the Oracles, my daughter.”
Areall did not remove her hand until she was convinced Elabea would humble her tongue. Finally, she dropped her hand and returned to her chores, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Elabea stared at her mother. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“No,” she replied.
“Well, I am,” Elabea snipped, her curiosity piqued. “Nothing happens in Hetherlinn, or in all of Allsbruth for that matter.”
Areall spun around. Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing is good, Elabea. Nothing means no more war. Nothing is a blessing to life.”
Elabea thumped her spoon against the table with a petulant pout. “If this is life, then life stinks.”
Areall sighed and decided upon a different tactic. Pulling up a chair, she sat across from Elabea, hoping a calm discussion would end this battle of wills.
“Do you remember the stories of your youth,” Areall gently asked.
“Yes,” Elabea moaned, still beating out a rhythmic cadence with her spoon.
“Then you remember that the Dark War ended the tyranny of the King of Claire. Since that day, the Ebonites and the Cauldron have guarded and guided us. The Cauldron’s drone is a gracious reminder of all we’ve been blessed with.”
Elabea stopped the thump, thump, thump of her spoon and listened. She had become so accustomed to the drone’s perpetual presence that she no longer actually heard it, but she knew it was always there, just like the air that she breathed, as constant as day and night, winter and spring. Its tone conjured images in her mind of the wind howling through the hollow of a dead tree, low in pitch, monotonous. Ominous.
“That’s why,” Areall continued, “we must try our best to obey the Oracles of the Cauldron.”
“And what of their night raids?” Elabea huffed. “What have we done to deserve those?”
“It’s for our own protection. They simply need to tally us to make sure no one has... ”
“Listen to you,” Elabea interrupted. “Can’t you see that we’re prisoners in our own village?”
“Oh, Elabea,” her mother sighed. “I wish you could see life through my eyes.”
“And I wish you could see through mine.”
Silence.
“I suppose,” Areall conceded, “we’ve lost some liberties; but those are but inconveniences compared to the peace and prosperity we now have.”
“Peace and prosperity?” Elabea shot back. “The Oracles decree we can only travel five arrow shots from our village. The Oracles determine what we can and can’t talk about. The Oracles forbid you to teach us how to read. The Oracles demand... ”
“Enough,” Areall interrupted, her voice almost a whisper. “Such curiosity leads to a rebellious heart, and a rebellious heart leads too... ”
Elabea rolled her eyes and began banging her spoon against the bowl again. Areall gently laid her hand on top of her daughter’s to stop the incessant drumming, then, with a patronizing smile, returned to her chores.
The conversation was over.
After a moment of silence, Areall asked, “Would you like to continue learning how to knit?”
Elabea let out a dramatic sigh. “You know I hate to knit. And why aren’t you willing to discuss this? Why do you pretend all is well? Do you really enjoy the night raids... and wearing this?”
Elabea yanked at her tunic.
Areall smiled, but it hung broken and crooked on her attractive face, beaten down by war and the oppressiveness of the Oracles.
Quinn, Elabea’s father, picked that moment to stumble out of his bedroom. Bumping his forehead against the low threshold, he mumbled something that sounded like a curse, rubbed his sore head and staggered toward the fireplace. There, he fell into a wooden chair to begin another day, sitting and staring into the glowing embers that held no answers to his misery. Like all the days before, Quinn would slip further into despair, an occasional grunt about Min Brock the only thing that shattered his silence.
“Father,” Elabea announced, “I’m going to the meadow.”
Like the other children of Hetherlinn, Elabea was banned by her parents from visiting the meadow and climbing the ancient oak that grew in its midst. Despite their commands, threats and subsequent punishments, Elabea continued to visit what she called, her meadow. Overcome with their own personal pains, Quinn and Areall resigned themselves to defeat, and Quinn waved a rubbery arm while Areall huffed disapprovingly.
Elabea threw open the door and the cold breeze took her breath away. She pulled her shawl closer. A rustling sound near her ear made her turn to inspect. There, embedded in the doorpost’s rough planking was an arrow. And not just an arrow. The shaft was clear, glistening like dew, while the fletchings were unique colors: the cock feather was yellow while the hen feathers were orange.
Wrapped about the arrow’s shaft and secured with a leather strip was a parchment that twitched with the breeze.
The thud I heard last night must have come from this arrow.
This isn’t an Ebonite arrow, she noted. Their shafts are wooden and the feathers black and white. More proof that the Moon King isn’t from Ebon.
Before her thoughts could fade, his mystical face flashed in her imagination. I didn’t see him shoot this, but who else could have done so?
The rustling paper stirred her curiosity.
If I take it, I risk violating the Oracles, but this wouldn’t be the first time. Elabea glanced furtively back at her parents. Besides, I’ve been going to the oak for most of my life. Nothing has ever happened, even when Galadin and I dared to ask to hear a whisper.
Stepping outside, Elabea closed the door behind her, then stretched her fingers toward the shimmering shaft. Flesh touched parchment and tingles raced up her arm. Startled, she jerked her hand away.
The Cauldron’s never known about us at the oak. How will it know now? What harm could come?
She stretched out her hand again, and this time yanked the arrow free.
Nothing happened.
She untied the leather and unrolled the parchment. Even as a simple girl from Allsbruth, she knew that the paper’s thickness and weight were proof it was an expensive quality. Exquisite black etchings were on one side, except for six characters that were gold.
I wish I could read. she bemoaned.
Drawn to the golden letters, she ran her finger across the marks. Suddenly, a whisper pierced the winds.
“Elabea.”
She shuddered and withdrew her finger.
“Galadin?” she demanded, looking this way and that for her best friend, who was noted for playing practical jokes. Only the wind answered.
Armed with the proof she previously lacked, Elabea went back inside.
“I told you I saw something last night,” Elabea crowed, holding both the parchment and arrow high.
Areall’s eyes widened as if seeing a poisonous snake about to strike. She sprang toward her daughter and snatched the offending items from Elabea’s hands.
“What have you done?” Areall scolded as she raced to the door. “What have you done.”
She heaved the arrow outside and slammed the door shut. “Your curiosity will bring death to us.” She darted to the fireplace.
Startled by her mother’s erratic behavior, Elabea stammered, “What are you doing?”
“This is a curse,” Areall shouted, crumpling the parchment into a ball. “It violates the teachings of the Oracles.” She tossed it into the flames. “I must destroy it before…”
She let her sentence fade, as if satisfied that the fire would quell any uprising their daughter had instigated, then returned to her chores as if nothing had happened.
Quinn lifted his throbbing head and glared at the women. “Why must you two be so loud?” he thundered.
Elabea remembered a time many summers ago when his eyes sparkled with life, but that was before he went off to fight in the Dark War. Now they were opaque and lifeless. Quinn’s eyes drifted to the parchment in the fire. Even in his hungover state he recognized it.
His eyes became icy. “Where did you get that?”
Backing away, Elabea answered truthfully, “It was attached to an arrow that was stuck in our door. Why? What is it?”
“It is from the land of lies,” he slurred.
“Claire,” Elabea whispered. She realized that despite the flames, the parchment was not burning.
“Don’t say the word,” Areall yelled, her placid expression replaced by churning rapids. Turning her fury on Quinn, she shouted, “Your night of drink is making you talk too much.”
“I’ll talk when and how I like,” he yelled back.
While they argued, Elabea saw her chance. Darting to the fireplace, she grabbed a small stick on the hearth and plunged it into the coals.
“Stop,” Quinn roared as he struggled to rise from his chair. “Leave it.” Becoming dizzy, he slumped back down.
“Amazing,” Elabea muttered as she dragged the parchment onto the cool hearth. “It’s not burnt and is even free of soot. It’s so…beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” Areall snorted. She crept toward the parchment as if an evil spirit possessed it. “Its beauty is its deception,” she whispered. “Burn it, child. Destroy it or you will curse us. The Cauldron will know and see. They will come.”
Elabea calmly lifted the parchment from the hearth. “They’ve never come before. Besides, how can something so beautiful be evil?”
Without another word, Elabea raced out the door.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
BLOG TOUR and GIVEAWAY: Red Madrassa by Terah Edun
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Red Madrassa by Terah Edun
A magical accident threw them together. But when Fate holds all the cards, it can be impossible to tell the difference between pure chance and Destiny...
The Madrassa, a magical school for mage practitioners, is the stuff of legend. With selective entrance exams and quotas for only the most advanced of mage children, it's almost impossible to attend.
When Allorna, a guardian trainee for the royal family, ends up on the doorstep of the citadel on the eve of the final day of a recruitment ceremony, she decides it must be fate.
She was sure she knew the path her life would take before she enrolled. But sometimes life has a way of throwing in magical curveballs and strange friends, just to see if you’ll trip up.
Oh, and one of those friends is a mage accused of murder, another is a slightly psychotic dragon, the third a healer facing an existential crisis, and the last is a female storm-caller with more hidden secrets than a thief lord.
Do they all belong at the new school they call home?
Terah Edun is a young adult fantasy writer born and raised in the Atlanta metropolitan area, who transplanted to the Northeast region for college, and now lives in South Sudan. She writes the stories that she always loved to read as a young girl.
She prefers tales of adventure, magic, fellowship and courtship – in other words high fantasy. But she’s not adverse to the occasional contemporary fantasy coming her way. Sometimes you’ll see cloaks, daggers, independent and strong girls, independent and strong guys, sweet and soft spoken girls, sweet and soft spoken guys, markets, cute guys, sparkly magic and irritatingly know-it-all boys. The book she’s currently working on is SWORN TO RAISE, the first in the Courtlight series.
Outside of writing, she’s a international development professional with a penchant for Starbucks.
REVIEW
Red Madrassa presents the reader with a fairly straightforward fantasy. The reader is introduced to several main characters, of whom Allorna seems to be the predominant. When Allorna and her friend, Sidomo rescue Maride from prison they set off a chain of events as unexpected as it is impulsive. Along the way they meet up with Sitara and Vedaris. I enjoyed meeting the different characters and their various races and backgrounds. Vedaris especially added a snarky feel to the story. I would have appreciated more detail about the world and the characters, I like lots of details in my fantasies, especially when they take place in a different world. The plot centers around Allorna's efforts to help Maride clear his name of the crime of which he has been accused, but when the teenagers end up at Red Madrassa, a school where children learn to harness and use their various powers. The book has plenty of magic with some interesting plot developments. I look forward to reading the coming sequel.
Tour Giveaway
$25 Amazon Gift Card & Red Madrassa Ebook
5 Ebooks of Red Madrassa
Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader, Not A Writer http://iamareader.com and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.
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