Tara Maya
Author Archives: Tara Maya
Tara Maya
- by Tara Maya
18. The Kidnapping
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Kidnapped” by Luke M., PhotoAlterations |
Dindi
…Shuffling in the dark, followed by silence. You wake up with your heart already racing. Intrusive smells, chalk paste and feathers. Sweat. Beer. Heavy male breathing.
Their aim is to terrify you, disorient you, and they succeed. Grotesque heads loom over you, claw-like hands grasp you, yank you to the hay-strewn dirt in the goat pen under the loft. More hands smother your scream.
Their aim is to strip you of dignity, of comfort, and they do this literally. Horrible things, uglier and taller than men, surround you. They shove you from one to another, casual but brutal, tear off your clothes, smack your bare flesh, gag you and snag your wrists behind your back with scratchy twine. Beside you, your clan sister Jensi suffers the same abuse. Tibi cowers in a corner of the goat pen, but the kidnappers ignore her.
They herd you into the courtyard. Whitewashed adobe reflects the moonlight like bone. Night leechs color from the intricate designs painted on the houses, so the buildings look strangled by black nooses.
Firelight winks on a dozen naked captives, all in a line, a snake winding around the houses, preyed on by monsters. For a moment, you think the monsters are fae, some hideous sort, trolls or harpies, but fae do not carry torches or cast shadows. Fae glow with their own light. The kidnappers must be men in masks and mantas. As the enemy Tavaedi warriors shuffle and cavort, deformed shadows spring up to dance beneath and between them.
Their aim is to crush you, to grind you down like corn meal. They steal your senses one by one. You’ve already been gagged so tightly you find it hard to breath. Now they blindfold you. Have you ever had black cloth wrapped so tightly you can’t see a torch held right next to your face? No, you’ve only played at it, in children’s games. Real blindness, forced blindness, petrifies you. They shove a hol- lowed tree drum over your head, then pound it, assaulting your ears. Your hearing and balance, gone. A heavy basket, a mountain of stones, is forced onto your back. Your knees buckle under you, you want to collapse and cry, but you can’t afford weakness. A switch against your thighs drives you forward.
You hate the switch, the ropes, their rough hands, yet, in your helplessness, you crave even the touch of these things to guide you, assure you the rest of the world is there, that you aren’t lost alone blind and deaf in the dark.
Their aim is to keep you so exhausted, so helpless, you can’t think beyond surviving the next step, and the next after that. They never let you rest, they hit and curse and threaten you. They force-march you down a narrow trail through bushes and trees that slap you. Occasionally, you trip, slip, bump against another captive tied in the line, and this brief rub of flesh on flesh reassures you that you aren’t alone…
TO BE CONTINUED
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Author’s Comments
I was kidnapped once. I was a cheerleader, and it was part of the hazing for the Senior boys from the band to kidnap the Frosh girls from the dance squad. I in no way objected to this kidnapping (I was really looking forward to it, in fact) but there was one girl whose parents opted out on her behalf because she had actually been kidnapped as a child, and they didn’t want her to have any traumatic flashbacks.
- by Tara Maya
Aberrant by Ruth Silver
In the future dystopian society of Cabal, the government instills equality for all and offers its citizens the perfect system. There is food, shelter and jobs for everyone. The one requirement is to follow the rules without question, including the government’s match in marriage and “The Day of the Chosen”, a lottery that randomly selects families to conceive children as natural means hasn’t existed in generations. Following her eighteenth birthday, Olivia Parker accepts her requirement to marry her childhood best friend, Joshua Warren, and is eager to start her work assignment and new life when it all comes abruptly to an end as she’s arrested and thrown in prison. The only crime committed, her existence. Olivia is unlike the rest of the world born not from “The Day of the Chosen.” The truth haunts the government and puts her life in grave danger as one simple fact would destroy the perfect system.
With Joshua’s help, Olivia breaks free of prison and is forced on the run. Together they set out to find the promised rebel town in search of a new home and new life together. Their situation seems less than promising as they reach the town of Haven. New rules and customs must be adhered to in order to stay. Leaving would mean most certain death in the large expanse of the Gravelands. Time is running out as the government mounts an attack to destroy Olivia and bury her secret with her. Thrown into a world unlike their own, they must quickly adapt to survive.
Aberrant is available for download on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Excerpt
Joshua came into my room, ignoring all rules as he helped push the dresser further from the wall, knocking it to the floor allowing me more than enough room to grab the journal and go. I tossed it inside the pack and Joshua put the map inside before we stepped out of my bedroom. I glanced down the hall, not sure what I expected to see. To the right the dormitory had been hit, and a roar of smoke and fire filled the confined space. Jacqueline was gone. Hand-in-hand we ran in the opposite direction toward the staircase.
My eyes burned. Coughing, I refused to let go of his hand as we stepped outside. Drones weren’t the only things attacking Haven. Tanks rolled into town. A few soldiers jumped off, taking over the perimeter, guns drawn. I paused, gripping Joshua’s hand as we were shrouded in smoke. Just a few feet away, a soldier lifted his weapon and unleashed fury on a group of innocent people. I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from crying out when a child no older than three hit the cement. His eyes remained open as blood seeped from his head. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. It took only a moment to realize he’d died instantly. All I could do was stand there in shock.
“We have to move,” I heard Joshua’s voice, but it didn’t register. The smoke swirled around us and gunfire erupted in every direction. He grabbed my arm. “Olivia, I need you to focus.” I nodded once, trying my best to clear the cobwebs from my mind. I couldn’t, though. I wanted to run out to the child and protect him, but it was too late. I was too late. They were here because of me, innocent blood on my hands. I felt the heat radiating from the dormitory and my eyes flashed back. “I need you here with me, Olive.”
“I am,” I insisted, knowing if I didn’t focus we’d both be dead. I spotted more soldiers – their standard issue uniform and the Cabal crest on their jacket sleeve told me all I needed to know. The government had come looking for us. “Which way?” I couldn’t see the exit. With the smoke enveloping us and the fear coursing through my veins, I forgot the direction we’d come from.
Find more from Ruth on her website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and Google+.
- 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.
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- 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
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