Tara Maya
Author Archives: Tara Maya
Shark River
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Dindi is kidnapped to be the bride of a shark... To escape she must untangle a terrible curse caused by a love and magic gone wrong.
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This stand-alone novella is set in Faearth, the world of The Unfinished Song. Available here ONLY.
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The Unfinished Song - This Young Adult Epic Fantasy series has sold over 70,000 copies and has 1,072 Five Star Ratings on Goodreads.
Tara Maya
September 14, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
14. The Problem With Blueberries
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
(Start at the Beginning of the Novel)
(Start at the Beginning of the Novel)
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| “Handprint” by par-rish |
Dindi
“Oh, Dindi,” sighed her mother.
Uncle Lubo slapped his thigh and bellowed with laugher. In minutes, the whole clan joined him.
“For mercy’s sake, girl,” said Great Aunt Sullana. “Did you smear your face with blueberries?”
Dindi’s hands flew to her face. It did feel sticky…. Horrified, she glanced back at the pile of soap lumps she had left by the cistern’s lip. The lumps were blue.
Blue soap. Blueberry soap. The fae had mixed the blueberries, not the soaproot, with the ashes and lard. Oh, mercy. Her whole face must be stained with the indelible juice.
“Because you don’t know her well, you may think Dindi’s just a little strange,” Papa said to Zavaedi Abiono. “Once you get to know her better, you’ll realize that’s not true. She’s extremely strange.”
Uncle Lubo’s renewed peals of laugher reverberated around the smoky kitchen.
“Enough,” said Great Aunt Sullana. It was a decree. The guffaws of the uncles subsided to an echo of snickers and snorts from the younger cousins. “Where have you been, Dindi? Hadi says you ran off without him despite my express wishes.”
Dindi shot Hadi the wounded look of one betrayed. He shoved a pisha into his mouth and shrugged.
“Seven and seven times and seven times more,” said Great Aunt in a voice wheezing with age, “I have warned you and warned you about going off on your own. Didn’t I just say that strangers have been spotted in the woods? What if some outtribesman had seen you alone and made off with you!”
“Well,” said Papa, “You’ve been wondering how we’d get Dindi married off.”
“I said I wanted her married off, not carried off. Elli, can’t you put a leash on this man’s tongue?”
“If I had married a goat, I could leash him,” Mama said. “Instead you had to marry a boar.” Papa just laughed. Great Aunt Sullana turned to Zavaedi Abiono. “You see what I
have to put up with, Zavaedi.”
Zavaedi Abiono glanced at Dindi, at her sticky blue face. He emitted a non-committal cough.
She wanted to die.
“I gave up on taking that wild child in hand long ago,” went on Great Aunt Sullana. “If her mother won’t do it, I can’t. And her mother won’t. Will you, Elli?”
“She’s still just a child, Aunt Sullana,” Mama said. “Not for much longer,” said Great Aunt Sullana. The adults’ conversation moved on, finally and thankfully, but beside Dindi, Jensi and Tibi began whispering. “Dindi, before you arrived, Abiono was asking what year you were born,” said Tibi. “He asked about Hadi and Jensi too. Do you think there’s going to be an Initiation?
“Of course that’s what it means, you squirrel brain,” said Jensi impatiently. “It’s finally here. Finally. You’re lucky, Dindi. It came early for you. It came late for me. Just think, Dindi, a year from now, we can start to pick a husband! And after that, you know what comes next. Babies!”
“Ugh,” said Dindi. “I can do…
September 14, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
The Last Oracle by Delia J. Colvin
Can love defy death itself?
The Last Oracle is the final book in The Sibylline Trilogy, weaving Greek mythology with a modern tale of eternal love.
As Alex and Valeria’s wedding draws near, their secret plans are discovered, and now no one is safe!
To triumph over the dark forces that threaten their existence, they must risk returning to the Underworld. Hidden in a secret chamber along the river Styx is the first oracle, Myrdd, whose jumbled mind holds the key to their survival. But Myrdd’s solution forces Alex and Valeria to confront death, for a chance to change their fate!
Buy The Last Oracle on Amazon.
September 14, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Coming soon
This will soon be my new blog. Meanwhile, find me at http://taramayastales.blogspot.com.
September 13, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
13. The Important Guest
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Shining Porcelain” by Lisalein |
Dindi
…laughter and cheers from her family. She’d never stopped dancing; they’d stopped cheering. By the time she was five, the same aunties who had praised her grace and dedication complained of her clumsiness and laziness. Little girls should keep the platform white washed, and cover it with fresh reed mats, not dance there.
The members of the clan had seated themselves in a rough rectangle around the edge of the platform, smallest children on laps.
Hands passed back and forth the communal bowls of food. The clay bowls and platters held flat triangular bread, bean mash, goat cheese melted to a gooey sauce and bowls of crushed chili peppers and lemon juice to be added for flavor. Family members used their hands to make pishas by wrapping the beans and cheese in the bread. The warriors sat nearest the door, the maidens nearest the ovens. Great Aunt Sullana and Mama and the other aunts sat against the wall, the matriarchs an isle of dignified manners amidst the chaos. Only matriarchs knew the secret of eating pishas full of melted cheese without getting sticky fingers.
Zavaedi Abiono, the leader of the Tavaedi troop, sat in the place of honor, between the warriors and the aunties. He nodded to Dindi. Her heart drummed faster.
“Why, here’s Lost Swan Clan’s very own lost cygnet!” cried Papa. He was a big, wry man with a spreading belly. Papa and Uncle Lubo led the others in cheers and whistles. Dindi blushed.
“There you are at last, girl,” said Great Aunt Sullana. “Your hair looks as though beavers had abandoned a dam there. Your face is smudged. Did you spend the morning rolling in dust? Never mind, Zavaedi Abiono is doing us the great honor of a visit. Comb your hair and wash your face before you join us. This is a kitchen, not a den of bears.”
Flustered, Dindi took her basket of soap to where deep clay pots had been sunk as a cistern in the earth. This was the darkest corner of the kitchen, smelling of dirt hardened with aurochs dung and the memory of pools in ancient caverns. A single Blue nixie floated on his back in the depths of one of the jugs. He winked up at Dindi. Puddlepaws extended a tiny paw to reach him and almost fell in the water.
She took out a lump of soap, splashed water on her face and rubbed up a quick lather. The soap did not lather well, but rather than struggle with it, she rinsed her face again, dragged her fingers through her wild hair and hurried to the platform where everyone else sat.
She shoved herself between her female cousins, Jensi and Tibi. Dindi peeked curiously at Aunt Sullana, at Zavaedi Abiono, at Mama, at Papa, hoping for a clue to the real reason behind their visitor’s purpose.
They stared back at her in amazement.
“Yes, I can see why you were asking about Dindi,” Papa said to Zavaedi Abiono.
TO BE CONTINUED
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September 13, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Minutes Before Sunset by Shannon A. Thompson
She was undoubtedly a shade, but I didn’t know her.
Eric Welborn isn’t completely human, but he isn’t the only shade in the small Midwest town of Hayworth. With one year left before his eighteenth birthday, Eric is destined to win a long-raging war for his kind. But then she happens. In the middle of the night, Eric meets a nameless shade, and she’s powerful—too powerful—and his beliefs are altered. The Dark has lied to him, and he’s determined to figure out exactly what lies were told, even if the secrets protect his survival.
…
He had gotten so close to me—and I couldn’t move—I couldn’t get away.
Jessica Taylor moves to Hayworth, and her only goal is to find more information on her deceased biological family. Her adoptive parents agree to help on one condition: perfect grades. And Jessica is distraught when she’s assigned as Eric’s class partner. He won’t help, let alone talk to her, but she’s determined to change him—even if it means revealing everything he’s strived to hide.
Minutes Before Sunset is available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, Diesel, Sony, and Apple.
Excerpt
Eric
“Camille.” I grumbled as I moved through the lifeless forest, leaves crumbling under the pressure of my feet. I hated it when she played stupid games. It was cold, really cold, and I was wandering through the woods trying to find my guard. Despite being twenty-one, Camille hadn’t changed from the day she was assigned to me. She loved annoying me.
It didn’t matter that she was my guard. We were supposed to be together whenever possible, but, after twelve years, Camille was annoyed with responsibility. If she were assigned to an average shade, she’d be free during daylight, the only time we were allowed to be human, but she wasn’t. She was assigned to the first descendant. I gained my powers at my naming. I was thirteen, and four years passed quickly, even though everything had changed.
My father remarried to a naïve woman. The Dark was our life, yet she didn’t even know what the Dark was. Mindy was oblivious that she’d married a practical king, and she never would. The Dark was a secret for a reason. We protected the humans from evil, because they aren’t capable at determining evil for themselves.
The Light was evil, and it always had been. Forget archetypes. They’re completely wrong, and they always will be.
In our history, the Light and Dark accepted one another, but it wasn’t until the elders deciding separating our energies was the smart thing to do. Idiots. We turned on one another, and the power was taken away, only to return when the true descendants were born. Thousands of years later, that was exactly what was happening, and, lucky me, I was one of them.
Our prophecy was in the making, and the only thing the Light had to do to gain power was prevent the rest from happening. Seemed simple enough until everyone realized only the descendants held the power. In turn, only the descendants could fight the battle, and killing one of them would define who won.
No worries. No pressure at all. I shook my head as I stomped through the only forest in our small Midwest town. I only had to save my kind or die myself. At least I was aware.
I was raised with three simple rules:
1. Fight defensively and offensively.
2. Under no circumstances is it safe to reveal your identity. (Unless it’s Urte, Pierce, Camille, or anyone else the elders deemed an exception.)
3. Win.
The last rule is my favorite, because of the dishonesty. Win didn’t mean win. It meant murder. It meant I had to kill the second descendant, the power of the Light, and I had no choice. I would get blood on my hands.
I brushed my hand along the shivering trees as my gaze darted around the darkening forest. I rarely had time to leave our underground shelter and use my powers, and I didn’t feel like wasting my night chasing Camille around in the dark.I threw my senses out around me. The forest reeked of evergreen and pine. I could feel every prickly leaf and see every shadow. From stump to stump, I searched the darkness for Camille’s body heat. No one could avoid my radar.
Bingo. I grinned as I locked onto a girl by the river. I sprinted through the thicket, pushing pastscraping branches and leafless oak trees. As I neared the forest’s opening, my body sunk into the shadows, and my skin tingled as it morphed into the chilly air. It was the greatest feeling—other than flying, of course—and I relished in the moment. The blackness of night flowed with me as I floated along the trees, the leaves, or snow. I was enveloped in silk.
I only solidified when I reached the forest’s edge. Just as I thought, a girl stood on the river’s guardrail, but she wasn’t Camille.
She didn’t have Camille’s white hair or mischievous dark eyes. In fact, this girl didn’t even look Camille’s age. She was my age, and she had the dark hair, pale eyes, and the pale skin complexion that our sect had.
She was undoubtedly a shade, but I didn’t know her.
My fingers gripped my jacket as I moved backwards, trying to conceal myself in the darkness, but the girl spun around and stared at me. She was perfectly still when her purple eyes met mine. She didn’t budge. Instead, she pointed at me, and the dark magnetically trailed her fingertips.
“Who—” She stepped off of the railing, and her eyes widened. “Who are you?”
I put my hands in front of me and stepped out of the forest. This must be one of Camille’s illusion jokes.“Who are you?” she asked, backing up against the river’s guardrail.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I flew through the shadows and reappeared in front of her. My body heat escaped me, and she froze, completely petrified by my closeness. I laid my hand on her cheek, expecting her to disappear like any of Camille’s illusions, but she didn’t. She was real, and we were centimeters apart, teetering over the edge of the river.
She didn’t move. I had the ability to hypnotize any shade, but I hadn’t used any power. She was shaking—shivering—beneath my touch, and her heartbeat thundered her energy through my veins.
How odd. She was powerful, yet fear suffocated every bit of her being.
“Shoman!”
A shout split the air, and I sensed a body rushing through the forest. Camille was coming for me. “Where are you?”
Reflexively, I released the girl and turned to the forest, waiting for Camille to appear. Over here, I said, sending her a telepathic message. Immediately, she appeared in a beam of light.
Her dark eyes were ablaze as she picked sticks and dried leaves from her glittering hair. “What the hell, Shoman? At least tell me where you are going if you want to be alone.”
“I was with—” I closed my mouth as I waved my hand towards the nameless girl, but the ground where she once stood was empty. Nothing. No marks or anything signifying her leave. She was gone.Impossible. No shade had ever been able to stay off my radar, yet I hadn’t felt her leave. It was as if she had never been there.
“With who?” Camille asked, trudging up to me.
“Shh,” I held up my hand and threw my senses out.
Camille tensed, and her black eyes darted around. “What are you looking for?”
“Be quiet,” I said, spinning in tight circles. My senses were useless. Nothing was there. Not even a bat or a plane. I was being blocked.
I grabbed my guard’s boney shoulders. “Camille, who else was out here tonight?”
“No one. Everyone is at the Naming,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you haven’t forgotten, you’re supposed to be there.”
“I don’t care,” I said, ignoring the ceremony of the last harvest. It was hard to forget. A thick layer of frost coated the dying grass, and I knew that the first layer had fallen yesterday morning. As the first descendant, I always went, but my father hadn’t in years, and I was beginning to forget the point.
Camille touched my arm. “Is something wrong, Shoman?” she asked, widening her eyes. “Was someone here?”
“No,” I lied, patting her palm. “Let’s go,” I said as I dissolved into a shadow.
September 12, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
12. The Judgment
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Stoning VII” by arturobandini |
Kavio
…reasons why, others simply placed the stone according to their choice.
Unfortunately, his mother’s plea moved many people to pity him. When all the rocks had piled up, the orange mat held the most stones.
Exile.
Kavio swallowed hard to conceal his reaction. You have murdered me all the same.
Father pounded the rain stick.
“Kavio, you have been found guilty of the most heinous of crimes—hexcraft. Though you remain a member of the secret societies that initiated you and are therefore spared death, nonetheless you are forbidden to enter the Labyrinth, to take with you anything from the Labyrinth, or to study with any dancing society of the Labyrinth. Do you understand and acknowledge your punishment?”
“I understand it all too well,” Kavio said through gritted teeth. “But I will never acknowledge it as just.”
“So be it,” Father said tonelessly. “Bring the pot of ashes.”
Two warriors hefted a ceramic pot from where it had rested in the shadow of the tall platform. They forced Kavio to lean back while still on his knees. They smeared him with a paste and rubbed in the gray-black powder. His bare chest and clean shaven face disappeared under a scum of grey crud. Humiliation itched, but like poison ivy, he knew it would be worse if he scratched it. He forced himself still as stone while the warriors slapped on more mud.
“You must wear mud and ash for the rest of your days,” the Maze Zavaedi concluded. His voice broke. “I am ashamed to call you my son.”
Kavio struggled to his feet. The warriors escorting him sur- rounded him with a hedge of spears. Did they fear him, even now?
“You never could just trust me, could you, Father?” Kavio asked.
Father’s jaw jutted forward. A muscle moved in his neck. Otherwise, he might have been rock.
“Escort my son out of the Labyrinth.”
Dindi
Dindi and Hadi climbed down a ladder to the kitchen in the main house. Puddlepaws was not invited but the kitten scrambled down the ladder after them. Smoke dimmed the whitewashed walls to grey and hazed the air with spicy fumes. She searched the room for an important guest. In the corner opposite the ladder were three beehive-shaped ovens, each with its own adjacent ash pit. Mixed with lard and soaproot, the ashes would be used to wash clothes in the stream—which reminded Dindi of the chores she should not have let the fae do for her. Nearby were quern stones for milling corn.
Beyond the querns was a deep, cool pit for storing jugs of milk and water. The two walls extending from the cooking corner were lined with shelves above and jars below. The shelves were crammed with spices, cheeses, dried fruit and tools knapped of chert. The rest of the chamber was given over to a broad clay platform at knee height, which served as an eating-place. As a tot, she’d danced there, pretending to be a Tavaedi, earning…
Author’s Note
The art is from arturobandini on deviantART.
TO BE CONTINUED
Download the complete book for FREE or buy it on Amazon as an ebook
September 12, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Witch Magic (The Cindy Chronicles #1) by RaShelle Workman
From a seemingly insignificant word comes the most magical of fairytales.
Life sucks.
Possessing magic sucks.
What doesn’t suck? Fashion, Cindy’s boyfriend Gabe, and her best friend, Snow White.
Cindy (Cinderella…shhh, don’t tell) was born a witch. It’s part of who she is. But there’s more to her than that. She loves deeply. And has a big heart. She’d do anything for those she cares about, including risk her own life to save theirs.
When her fairy godmother demands she leave Salem, Massachusetts and return to the land she was born to rule, she has two options. Tell her fairy godmother no, and seal a death sentence on complete strangers. Or, leave all she’s ever known behind, including the love of her life, for an unknown land she’s fated to save.
So, yeah, life sucks.
But Cindy is determined to change that.
Download Witch Land from Amazon.
Excerpt
If the world was created with a bang, then magic began with a whisper.
The utterance of one word.
Bloomous.
That single declaration, articulated softly, started it all.
It’s the reason I’m bound to a stake, fire licking at the tips of my shoes.
Know this. I didn’t ask to be a witch. Up until three years ago I had no idea witches really existed. Turns out they do, and I am one. And that’s not even the weirdest part of my story.
It all began with my best friend, Snow White. A Hunter bit her a few years ago. She was transformed into a revenant and finally became a vampire—the Vampire. Those events changed the course of not only her life, but mine as well.
Before her fateful night and consequentially mine, my life consisted of hanging out, working at a local Italian restaurant, shopping, boys, and more shopping.
No more though. Not since I went to Mizu to save Snow’s mother, Ariel, and had a vision… or a dream… or whatever you want to call it. In the dream, my “Fairy Godmother” told me about Polonias, a land I knew nothing about.
Now I’m in said land, framed by the vile sorceress Mizrabel for crimes I didn’t commit. Bound by enchanted chords and condemned to a fate there’s no escaping.
“Cinderella, by issue of King Loyalor, supreme ruler over the land of Polonias, you are hereby sentenced to burn at the stake until such time as you are dead.” The bulky guard reads from an unrolled parchment, his beefy fingers gripping it steadily. He glances at me. And through the billowing smoke, I hold his gaze. He clears his throat. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Only one word pops into my head. “Merde.” A curse word in French. One of my favorites. Truthfully the one I remember most often.
The man rolls his eyes along with the parchment and steps off the podium into the noisy crowd.
Some of the people are crying. Okay, one person is crying: my Fairy Godmother. Beside her, dabbing her bright lavender eyes with a hanky is my friend Violet. She’s a talking cat, specifically a talking spotted leopard. Yeah, I know. Bizarre. But it’s a fact.
Next to her are two oversized brown bunnies with white ears. Each stands two-and-a-half feet tall. They also talk and spend some of their time as one five-foot-tall woodland fairy thanks to a spell gone wrong. At the moment they’re holding each other, bawling enthusiastically.
Seeing them here, knowing they care, lifts my spirits. A little.
The one person I wish was here isn’t and it breaks my heart. His name is Leo. He’s the king’s son. I’ll admit I have feelings for him, but never to his too-perfect face.
Everyone else, including the fairies, the water sprites, and the gnomes, is screaming obscenities and throwing rotten fruit. At me. A tomato smacks me in the forehead and its juices leak into my eyes.
Not my finest hour.
At least I look gorgeous. Or I did, before the dumb guard lit the wood piled around my feet on fire with that stinking magical word. Bloomous.
My Fairy Godmother, Quilla Templeton, created a strapless blue gown. The bodice fits perfect, and the gauzy skirts float around me like cotton candy. I magicked my favorite shoes, Manolo Blahniks, to Polonias so I could wear them with the dress. They match perfectly. I look perfect. Magnificent, in fact. Ready to go to a ball fit for a princess.
At least I did. Leo was supposed to ask me something. I think I know what. Or I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.
I never made it. And I haven’t seen Leo since yesterday.
“Ugh,” I groan, searching beyond the upset crowd to the land beyond. Smoke washes out the landscape, but not enough to hide the colorful loveliness.
I’m a little afraid. I’m not ready to die. But I don’t see a way out of my situation.
Closing my eyes, I steady myself. If this is how it must end, then I’ll go gracefully. Frightened butterflies dance in my belly. Memories—some recent and some from long ago—careen across my mind. And I wonder if I could’ve done anything differently, something to prevent my demise. But as with any horrific event, my predicament is the culmination of many choices, each one pressing me forward to this fateful moment.
September 11, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Not Yet Forgotten
Red sand blew over the wasteland. It gummed up my rebreather, and coated my faceplate. My one-suit, once shiny white, had faded to dingy taupe under the ceaseless coatings of dust. I stumbled along, already exhausted after three hours on the morning shift of the dig, discouraged because I’d found nothing.
Then I tripped over it: A rock, barely above level, with a distinct right angle. An Arnellian artifact.
Most of the ruins on Arnellios V were buried under the dust. Millions of years of dust, solidified into sand, into mud, and finally into solid rock. My job was to unearth the buried secrets, to unlock the technology that had vanished with the Arnellians themselves half a million years ago.
I called in the excavators. The robots used laser to patiently and delicately dislodge the artifact from the surrounding rock. I took a water break at the base camp tent. I monitored progress on my faceplate, but I knew an artifact of this size—it would probably be 2.3 kilometers square, like others we’d found—would take half a day for the robots to excavate. The little bit I’d tripped over was literally just the tip of the artifact.
I should have felt elated at the find, but instead, I sank deeper into my malaise. It’s depressing to tramp through the ruins of a dead civilization day after day. The hope is that their technology will one day be of use to humans, but since we have no way to crack their language, the chances of that are slim. Our computer translators are excellent, but the fact is, without a basis for comparison—a known language, or a live speaker—it’s pretty much impossible to crack a dead script.
Bruno G. found me. I was lost in my own gloomy thoughts and didn’t notice him before he clapped me on the back with a huge whoop.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he cried gleefully.
“Huh? What? Oh, the rock. Yeah, another one.”
“It has writing!”
“Most do.”
“Look at your screen!” he ordered. He could barely contain his grin.
I peeked again, but still didn’t see anything special. The Arnellians used a distinct blocky script, and the stone was covered with it. There was also a curly script beneath it….
I felt my stomach drop.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, “Is that Gyrlish?”
“It sure is!” Bruno whooped again. “We’ve found it! We’ve found our Rosetta Stone! The translation computers are chugging away now, comparing the two alphabets. We’ll have a full translation program for Arnellian by the end of the day!”
“I can’t believe it.”
My depression evaporated. I whooped along with Bruno. The rest of the team heard the news and gathered at the base camp tent. We took out the good stuff, that we’d be saving for the end of the dig, and poured it out until we were all tipsy. We sang old camp songs and told dirty jokes.
The first translations started coming in from the computers by the end of the evening shift, just as Bruno had predicted. He handed me a print out on a plastisheet. We didn’t normally print, but it was tradition for the first formal translation of a new alien language.
“The honor belongs to you,” Bruno said. “It’s the translation of the stone you found. What does it say?”
The whole crew of thirty-one archeologists fell silent as I looked down at the plastisheet. It was already slightly pinkish from dust.
“It says…” I began.
My throat choked up. Not just because of the importance of the moment, but because of the words.
“It says: In eternal memorial of those who gave their lives for us. You are not yet forgotten.”
September 11, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
11. The Witness
“Zumo?” Auntie Ugly asked her son.
More slowly than his mother, Zumo picked a stone. He threw it on the black mat. He had to walk by where Kavio knelt on the adobe floor to reach his seat again. Just as he passed, Kavio looked up and met his eyes.
“Is that what you really think I deserve, cousin?” Kavio asked in such a low voice that only Zumo heard him. “For what crime? The lies you told here or because I know the truth about you?”
Zumo flushed, whether with guilt or anger, it was impossible to tell.
“No one will listen to anything you have to say now, Kavio,” Zumo replied, also too quietly for anyone else to hear. “They’ll know you’re just clawing at worms to try to save your own hide.”
He stomped back to his seat, where he replaced his mask.
Auntie Ugly had sentenced the son of her rival to death; all eyes now fell upon Father to see if he would defend his son.
Father’s heavy shoulder blanket seemed to weigh him down as he walked to the jar to pick up a stone. He stood there a long while, turning the rock round and round in his hands.
“I would like to speak,” he said finally, looking straight at Kavio, “on behalf of the accusers.”
Surprise stirred the onlookers. Kavio just smiled grimly. He wasn’t surprised at all. He’d known from the day his father had called for the trial that Father would put political need above family sentiment. Sure enough, Father gave a pretty little speech, distancing himself from his son. He locked his jaw when he finished and clutched his fist around his stone. “I too must cast my stone with justice, even if it means the death of my own son, my only child.”
He threw his rock on the black mat. He met Kavio’s eyes without flinching, but when Mother gasped, Father would not look at her.
Mother stood up next and pleaded on Kavio’s behalf. Even she would not declare him innocent. Instead, she simply begged for mercy—exile instead of death. Mother picked a stone out of the jar and placed it on the orange mat between the white and the black.
Kavio felt his face burn with shame. He wouldn’t beg for his life himself, and he didn’t want her to crawl for him either. Besides, death would be easier than exile. He didn’t think he could bear the humiliation of wearing ash. Exile meant fleeing his home like a vole from a prairie fire. Exile meant scorn would meet him wherever he went. Exile meant he would not have the opportunity to finish unraveling the puzzle he had discovered in the heart of the Labyrinth, the only magic he still cared about.
Far, far better to die.
One by one the rest of the Zavaedis came to cast their stones for either exoneration, exile, or death. Some spoke to the assembly of their…
TO BE CONTINUED
Download the complete book for FREE or buy it on Amazon as an ebook
Author’s Comments
Thank you, evilrandomguyblah, for the art. The artist says of this is a, “conceptual piece of Arthur as a savage, from one of the prologues to Le Morte.”
September 11, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Broken Aro by Jen Wylie
Open your eyes to darkness. What do you see? Does the darkness frighten you? Now imagine the darkness being the cargo hold of a slave ship. Your city has fallen. Your family is most likely dead. You don’t know anyone around you, and some of them aren’t even human. Giving up would be so easy to do, but not for Arowyn Mason. Not after being raised in a military family with seven brothers. Every great story should begin with a plan. Aro’s was to escape and to survive.
Escape comes, but at a price. As they reach the shore, Aro and the other survivors learn that freedom doesn’t mean safety. The slavers want their property back and will do anything to get it. The party uses every ounce of their brute strength, a hearty helping of cunning, and even ancient magics to keep themselves alive. Sickness, danger, and even love surprise them at every turn. Dealing with danger becomes their way of life, but none of them ever considered that nothing can be quite as dangerous as a prophecy. Running turns into another race altogether as her world falls to pieces again and again.
Broken Aro is the first novel in The Broken Ones series. You can download it on Amazon or purchase it in paperback from Amazon, Barnes and Noble and CreateSpace.
Excerpt
Her eyes opened to darkness.
She wasn’t surprised. When bad things happened and you finally opened your eyes it was always dark wasn’t it? Because otherwise when you woke up you wouldn’t be scared, not right away, not until you remembered. Yet in darkness nothing else could be seen but the memories of what had happened, it didn’t matter if you opened your eyes or kept them squeezed closed.
What happened…
She closed her eyes again, not against the memories, but the sudden tears and choking sobs. Still, she tried to notremember, but her head hurt. All of her hurt, but her head hurt the worst. She’d been hit by something, very hard. She had no trouble remembering the pain. She remembered falling to the ground, her brothers screaming her name over the insane loudness of the fighting and everything fading to nothing as darkness claimed her.
She sucked in a deep breath. The fighting. Yes, the city had been attacked. The walls had been breached. There had been fighting in the streets. She had been fighting. Her brothers had been trying to get her out. They had been so close. Had they?
She shifted and froze, terror creeping up her throat and choking her at the same time until nothing but a strangled gurgle came out.
They had not.
She knew because she felt the cold metal shackles around each wrist, felt the weight of the chain between them. The same fetters bound her ankles. Dirty straw prickled her cheek and the other smells of her surroundings overcame her. They overwhelmed her and made her gag. The rank scents of piss, shit and vomit almost covered the stale reek of sweat and the tang of salt.
Salt.
She’d thought her head had just been spinning, but no, everything moved, lurching and swaying. She was at sea.
At sea in chains meant only one thing. The rumors had been true. The Gelanians had allied with the Franuan Slavers. Beneath the combined attack, Kingsport had fallen and the Frans had taken their cut, citizens to sell as slaves. She was a slave.
Well that sucks.
The idea terrified her, and left her cold and shaking. Squeezing her eyes closed, she fought to push away the horrifying images suddenly assaulting her. Breathing slowly helped a little. The shaking stopped and finally she could breathe again.
She opened her eyes, straining them against the darkness. Had night fallen? Could that be why it was so dark?Her eyes slowly adjusted until she could make out vague shapes; the bars of the cell in the ships hold and darker shapes of people sitting before her in the small cell.
She concentrated, squinting her eyes and counting. Six others shared the cell. Her brothers? “Paul?” The creak of the ship and the murmurs, curses, and sobs of the other captives in the hold almost drowned out her small voice.
“Boy’s awake,” one of the shapes said. Definitely not one of her brothers.
She stiffened. They’d called her boy. Even after all she’d been through, it was quite a blow to her self-esteem. She frowned in confusion for a moment, until she remembered. Her brothers had dressed her in their old clothes, old bits of armor that sort of fit. They’d even hacked off her long hair…
She cursed them under her breath again for that. Then she almost smiled, remembering Sammy’s face when he’d done it. Her brothers were such morons. They always had been. Yet they’d been stuck with raising her, and what did they know of girls? Her mother had died when she was four, and losing her hadn’t been easy on any of them.
Father had been a regiment Commander and away a lot. They’d all managed to take care of her somehow, the younger of her brothers watching over her until eventually they’d all joined the army. But she’d been twelve by the time the youngest of them had enlisted. She’d been able to take care of the house while they served their time on the border. They didn’t worry about her much. The army wives had helped, keeping an eye on her for them.
However, father had died two years ago at Demet’s Pass. It had been hard, losing him. Harder than when mother had died because she hadn’t been old enough then to know what it meant. Not seeing him at the head of their big old table, with his gentle smile, had been tough on all of them. It still was. It had been harder this past spring when her brothers had all ridden out again. Because death had become something real, she knew they might not come back.
She was fifteen now. Not really a child anymore. So she had faked a smile and waved goodbye to them all when really fear had made her want to scream instead. They had all come home, but with an enemy army at their heels. They’d been afraid then, afraid for her. They knew things she didn’t, things like what would happen to a young girl if the city fell. However, she wasn’t a woman yet, not in appearance at any rate. Tall and gangly with no figure whatsoever. No wonder she could pass for a boy.
“Boy.”
The man who had spoken before broke her thoughts. She must have been hit in the head hard for her mind to wander back into the past. She managed to croak an incoherent sound indicating she’d heard him.
“You alive over there?”
“Yes,” she lied and waited. No one else spoke. No one came rushing to her side. Panic quickened her breath as fear sped her heart. Her brothers weren’t here. If they had been they’d have harassed everyone to find out where she was. At least… they weren’t on this boat. Unfortunately, the slavers had a whole fleet. They must be on another boat. She had to believe that. She closed her eyes tightly again. Yes, they’d been placed on another boat.
Because if they weren’t then they were all dead.