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Monthly Archives: September 2013
- by Tara Maya
17. The Unfinished Song
…you, so at least you’ll match.”
“Mmmrrff,” said Dindi, while her mother wiped the cloth over her mouth. “My mother loved dancing too,” Mama said. An old hurt quivered in her words. “She loved it more than me. Shortly after I was born, she abandoned me to dance with the fae. They caught her in a faery circle and she danced herself to death. Her sister had to raise me in her place. That’s why your great aunt worries so over you.”
She lifted Dindi’s chin and inspected her face for any trace of blueberry. Apparently she found none.
“I understand you love to dance. I do, Dindi. You cannot know how well I understand.” She stroked Dindi’s cheek. ”But I would never choose dancing over you.”
“Why can’t I have both?”
Mama was silent a moment. “My mother used to sing me a song. The night before she left me forever, when I was still just a tiny child, she told me it was part of an ancient tama, and if only she could dance that tama, to the end, she would never have to leave me. She didn’t know how the song ended, so she hadn’t performed the tama correctly during Initiation, but she never gave up trying. She thought the fae could help her learn it…. I was too young to understand that she was really saying goodbye. The unfinished the song began like this:
Came a faery cross some kits
Suckling at their mother’s tits,
Suckling at their mother’s tits,
Pawing, kneading with their mits;
‘neath these tiny, mewling bits
Ma, content to laze Hid in a row of maize.
Cat and kittens were all a-purr.
Their mama licked and cleaned their fur.
Their mama licked and cleaned their fur.
Cat met the faery’s eyes, demure,
And yet with pride ablaze.
Strange the mood that crept on her,
She watched them in amaze.
To her came her darkest sister,
Put her arms about her, kissed her
Drew her to her in the middle
Of the twisted ways,
Whispered in her ear this riddle:
‘Chose the Windwheel or the Maize!’”
Chills whispered down Dindi’s spine. A reverberating hum of the song echoed in the room for a few seconds after Mama finished signing.
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| “Raise Ravens” by Bedova Ekaterina |
Mama expelled a heavy breath. “Over the years, I have asked everyone I know about that song. No one knows it. A long time ago, a Green Woods tribeswoman, fleeing the Whistlers who ruled the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold in those days, told me that perhaps the Zavaedi with the Singing Bow would know the tune. But the Green Woods tribesfolk have retreated to the Hidden Forest.” She shrugged. “Perhaps all our worries are wasted. I truly hope you will be chosen to become a Tavaedi. And if not….”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” said Dindi. Her jaw hurt, so hard did she clench it. “I think I’m more like Gramma Maba than like you.”
Mama touched her cheek. “Eat,” she said. “Eat, already.”
* * *
* * *
That night, Dindi was kidnapped.
* * *
You never forget the night they come for you….
TO BE CONTINUED
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About the Artist
Bedova Ekaterina has a gallery on deviatART and some beautiful work worth purusing.
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| “Part of Nature” by Bedova Ekaterina |
- by Tara Maya
16. After the Farmers Left
…take my leave now, however, as I must also visit Full Basket clandhold before the sun sets.”
Is there anything else I could do to convince Abiono not to invite me to become a Tavaedi? Dindi despaired while the rest of the clan fussed over Abiono’s departure. My life is a colossal joke that’s funny to everyone but me. Uncle Lobo was still chortling.
Once the guest was gone, taking the excitement with him, a general exodus out of the kitchen followed. One by one the others finished, burped and left, until only Dindi and her mother remained. The kitchen was very hollow and empty without three dozen bodies filling it with life. The smell of farmers’ sweat lingered, mixed with spicy food aromas and smoke from the burning dung.
Dindi sniffled.
“Lady of Mercy,” said Mama under her breath. Muttering to her- self, she went to the oven, where she placed a dollop of bean mash from a storage pot onto a piece of flat bread. She laid cheese on top, and folded over the three corners of the bread. She placed it on the pottery bread shovel and pushed it into the oven, which was kept stoked all day. When she decided that the pisha was crisped to her satisfaction, she pressed it into Dindi’s hands. “Eat, eat.”
Dindi pushed it away. She hid her blue face against her drawn up knees.
“You behave a like a child,” Mama said. She lifted Dindi’s chin. “But you’re twice seven years, now, sweetling, and past your moon-blood. If you lay with a man, he could make you a mother.”
“I know I’m a burden to everyone around me. I try to do what’s right, but everything I weave gets tangled.”
“There is still a chance you will be chosen.” “Great Aunt Sullana obviously doesn’t think so.” “What does she know?” “Maybe something I don’t,” said Dindi. She lifted her head just enough to peer at her mother through tear dewed eyelashes. “You weren’t chosen.”
Mama stilled. “No. I wasn’t.”
“But you could have been the best dancer of your generation. Everyone thought so. Then, one day, instead of choosing you to dance magic, they told you could never dance, ever.”
“It…wasn’t as bad as all that,” Mama said. “By then, I had your father. Soon I was trying hard to have a child. Sometimes you have to let a dream die.”
“I just want to dance.”
“Oh, Dindi.” Mama put down the pisha. “If you won’t eat, at least let me clean you up.”
She went to the shelves in the corner. There she fiddled with various jars, until she returned with noxious, sharp smelling goo on a rabbit skin cloth.
“Come here, my little blueberry face,” she said, taking Dindi by the chin. Mama wiped the ick on Dindi’s cheeks and scrubbed. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Stop wiggling.”
“Are you washing me or flaying me?”
“If you prefer, we can just rub blue soap over the rest of…
Author’s Note
For some reason, my mother really likes this scene.
About the Artist
Julia, today’s artist, does the most amazing pencil portraits on commission. I mean, they are wow. And her prices are extremely reasonable. You should check out her site!
(I earn no commission from recommending her, by the way. I just think her work rocks.)
Here’s what she says:
TO BE CONTINUED
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The pencil portraits that I make are not sketches but very detailed portraits made in 20-30 hours.
The advantage of the graphite pencils medium is the accuracy of details that can be obtained. It’s like a black and white painting. They are affordable, much more reasonably priced than oil paintings. That’s why they would be perfect as a special gift for the dear ones or, why not, for yourself!
All the drawings are made on professional paper, acid free, which will last in time (for many, many years).
See my commission gallery for more examples of portraits made on request.
Do you like my work? Would you like to have a pencil portrait of yourself or of your loved ones? Just fill in the form bellow and I’ll contact you as soon as possible (1 working day max) and talk about it.
Here is how it works:
- You send me a photo – Upload your photo in the form below or send it by email at anca@jullia.eu. Tell me the type and size you prefer. It can be a realistic drawing, or a fantasy one (maybe you being a princess? or looking like a gangster in 1920? or maybe in the 19th century with a Victorian look?)
- I’ll make the drawing and send a sample – I’ll prepare a draft composition to help show you how the portrait will look like (especially if it’s a fantasy drawing). During the drawing process I’ll send you more work in progress samples and ask for your feedback. If you will be satisfied with it, I will be happy too.
- Only if you like it, you pay and I deliver – You can pay by PayPal or credit card. After paying I’ll send you the drawing properly packed, by post office or express courier, as you wish. The delivery costs, through postal service, are included in the price. If you want the express courier, I’ll let you know what are the extra fees.
- by Tara Maya
Disciple, Part III by L. Blankenship
Today I’m excited to share an excerpt from L. Blankenship’s Disciple, Part III as part of her blog tour for its release. Disciple is a gritty fantasy romance that can be a bit gory, so might be best enjoyed by older readers.
(Even though the city is preparing for a siege, Kate and Sir Anders manage to find time to eat dinner together and the community potluck.)
We ate in silence for a stretch, working through potatoes, roasted spring onions, and pastries filled with egg and cheese. The Order’s kitchen offered only herbal teas, now, as they’d run out of small beer.
Our arms brushed, now and then, and we traded a snippet of smile back and forth. Easy and simple, two friends sharing a meal. It left me warm.
Anders broke the quiet as his trencher neared bare. “The Guard in my squad have been asking, since it’s more than odd now — why I’ve no token on my helm.” He paused, risked a glance at me. “I said I didn’t need one, I was only tending the stable. Not riding escort.”
He left it there. “But now you are,” I said. He’d never worn a lady’s token, so I wasn’t sure why he brought it up now.
“It needn’t be anything special — any kerchief would do.”
He wanted —? My token. His wife, and a lady. Neither title would jump to my mind easily, still. I breathed a chuckle without meaning to. “One of mine? I never wear a kerchief.”
I still wrapped my braid in a bun, most days, but sometimes I gathered it up in the crespine that Frida had given me. The close weight of it on my neck, and the band across my head, still felt odd.
“If it’s a physician’s favor, a bandage would be fitting,” he said, and smiled with a twist. “Should I need one, it would be quite convenient.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that. But our supply of bandages was already walking out of the hospital on wounded men, and rarely returning. “Surely you could buy me a kerchief that would do.”
Anders’ smile dropped away. My heart dropped with it. He shifted back, then turned to what was left on his trencher. I barely caught his mutter, even so close to him. “If you don’t wish me luck, then best to do without.”
“Why wouldn’t I —” I’d stepped in something, that was clear. “Of course I wish you luck. Not that you need it, but if you think my wishes will help…” That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, though. He didn’t look up until I touched his arm. Such blue eyes, and so quick to retreat from me. “Mother gave me a wimple, but it draws so much attention to wear one outside Engl Street. It’s a nice, light green and it’ll look fine on your helm.”
He pressed his mouth in a line, then asked, “Have you worn it?”
I’d hardly unfolded it. “Must I have?”
“It’s meant to —” Anders put up a hand to fend it all off. “Pay it no mind.” He got up from the bench, taking his cup of tea as he went.
“Anders —” An edge of pleading wormed into my voice. I wanted a chance to mend my mis-step.
But he wouldn’t look back.
Disciple, Part III back cover
Kate fought for her place as a healer in the war’s front lines. Serving her homeland has been her goal since her magical gifts earned her a coveted apprenticeship with the kingdom’s greatest healer. She believes she’s prepared.
But nothing’s simple when defending a besieged capital city — or her heart.
She loves the prince, who means to protect her even though his duties as a knight keep him on the battlements, fighting the enemy’s monstrous army.
Kate’s husband is the one who checks on her, lingers over dinner, and slowly but surely charms her. She’s all too aware that her beloved prince threatened to kill him if he touches her.
As the enemy thunders against the city walls, the kingdom needs more from Kate than just her healing magic. All disciples must put aside their tangled feelings and stand in the homeland’s defense.
Kate believed she’s ready for a war. She isn’t.
On sale now! See the list of retailers
- by Tara Maya
15. More Problems With Blueberries
“…withouteither, thanks much. What would I want with babies and a husband? They just give you a lot of cooking and cleaning to do. I’d rather dance.”
“Well, you can’t dance without magic,” said Jensi.
“I hope you’re not as stupid as Mad Maba,” said Tibi. “Someone told me that she wanted to be a Tavaedi so badly that when they told her she wasn’t worthy, she–”
“Kemla told you that,” said Jensi. “What if she did?” Across the room, Hadi and the other boys were apparently having a similar conversation, and reached a similar conclusion, for he sud- denly burst out very loudly, his mouth still half full, “Is that why Zavaedi Abiono is here? Is it time for the Initiation?”
This overly loud question silenced the room, and Hadi turned bright red.
All the adults in the room found someplace else to look, except Great Aunt Sullana who withered Hadi where he sat with a hard stare.
“Not my place to ask,” he mumbled. “My apologies, Zavaedi.”
Zavaedi Abiono nodded. He glanced again at Dindi, coughed again, and toyed with his pisha thoughtfully without taking a single bite. A small furry creature, Puddlepaws, noticed the undefended lunch and lowered himself into a crouch to sneak up on the pisha.
That kitten loved cheese.
“So, Zavaedi Abiono,” said Great Aunt Sullana, affecting a tone of innocent interest that fooled no one, “If an individual were not invited to join the Tavaedis, the best thing for her to do would be to marry a nice young man, give him her fields to plow, bear him children, all in all, settle down to a quiet, responsible life?”
“Er, yes, I suppose.”
“You have two nephews on the verge of manhood, don’t you? Tamio is too handsome for the likes of Dindi, but sturdy Yodigo will make a fine farmer one day.”
“Well…”
“For mercy’s sake, let the man eat, Sullana,” Uncle Lubo said. “Here, Zavaedi, would you like some blueberry juice? Dindi made it this morning.”
“Why, thank you…”
Dindi looked up in horror. But before she could compose a proper warning, Abiono lifted the jug to his mouth.
She covered her face with her hands, but she could still see the disaster unfolding on the other side of her fingers as Abiono sipped from the jug of soap juice. His face scrunched up and his mouth opened into a rictus of gastronomic distress. He spit out a spray of sudsy liquid.
Great Aunt Sullana cleared her throat to warn him that not even a Zavaedi would be permitted to behave rudely while dining.
“Urghrem,” Abiono said, manfully wiping his chin. “Quite delicious, I thank you. Er, Dindi made that, you say?” He glanced at Dindi before he set down the jug and reached for his pisha, now wrapped in kitten. He pried Puddlepaws off his food, which prompted the kitten to tackle his finger. “I thank you so much for the wonderful meal, Dame Sullana. I fear I must…
TO BE CONTINUED
Download the complete book for FREE or buy it on Amazon as an ebook
- by Tara Maya
Upcoming Changes to the Blog
There’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. In fact, I’ve tried it twice before. I failed both times.
That’s right, I’m talking about switching to a WordPress blog.
I’ll be honest: I LOVE blogger. I find WordPress a lot harder to use. It doesn’t have all my blogger friends in my dashboard, or easy access to Google statistics (yes, I know there are still ways to hook it up, but it’s more work)…but… the sad fact for Blogger-lovers like me is that WordPress is really where all the love from developers goes.
So if I want to take my blogging to the next level, which I DO, I may have to move.
Nothing’s solidified yet, but I thought I’d warn you.
If I do go through with the switch, there will be some other changes as well. I’m going to try to put more audio and video on my blog. (Right now I can only do audio, but I’m hoping to figure out video soon.) Nothing huge, just simple stuff. But it should be fun.
I have a video series planned for November, when I will re-post my How-To book “30 Day Novel,” but with video emphasis. The vids won’t be able to cover everything that’s in the book, but should help re-enforce the point.
I want to keep hosting guest authors with cool books. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been finding a lot of terrific novels to read.
Finally, I’m also going to juice up the goodies for Tara’s Tribe, exclusively for thes fan who on my newsletter list, and who help me out by sharing stuff on social media. There are some scenes that I’ve written for Mask which aren’t going to make it into the book. I’ll turn that into a short story that I will share ONLY with my list.
I’m really grateful to have the help of my assistant, Katie, in all this, so that I can make my blog a better place and still have time to write.
- 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…