Hello there everyone! I am super excited to be a part of the Fortune Teller Blog Hop, where each of the author participants has written a special piece just for the event! In my case, I chose to write a short scene with a "fortune teller" that predates
Lunula, but fortells elements from all three (yes three! Got that third one churning around in brainstrom phase) books in the Irador series. I figured that way I don't give away anything from the second book (coming shortly, I promise!), and I can give you an idea of what to expect from the third. If you can catch it.
Once again, here is the list of blog participants so you can visit them and see what they have done. This is a great way to get a feel for the author's writing style, and maybe find a new read in the process.
Kayla Curry (Host)
Alyssa Auch
S. M. Boyce
N.R. Wick
Steve Vernon
A. F. Stewart
Linda Taylor
Tami Von Zalez
Quanie Miller
Ellen Harger
Deborah Nam-Krane
Erin Cawood
Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba
Wendy Ely
Laure Reminick
Jen McConnel
Without further ado, here is the new
Lunula scene:
In The Hands of Fate
It seemed impossible, but there it stood before me. A bent
and twisted tree, grown completely horizontally so its branches and leaves hung
like the fingers of an outstretched arm. And in the middle of town square, too,
its base bursting from the thick gray stone like the granite had been nothing
but a layer of parchment between the tree and its sideways grasp at life.
Bent to
the side as it was, it barely reached the waist of the small, brown-haired girl
who stood behind it. Her golden eyes commanded my gaze, unflinching. “Do you
wish to know?”
I
adjusted my pack on my sore shoulder, trying to ignore the fire in my feet and
legs from three days of relentless travel on foot. Reaching my next assignment
in Lord Rhys’ province had been fraught with disaster. And here I stood
puzzling over a bizarre piece of fauna. “What, about the tree?” I asked.
She
shook her head, and from the pocket of her dirty gray smock, she pulled a
handful of amber stones. “Your fate.”
A sour
taste filled my mouth. With hooded eyes, I mumbled. “I already know that one.
Thanks, though.”
Before
I could move on, she stretched her hand out, pleading. “Your essence flows from
your every breath.” Her eyes, the color of the stones in her dingy palm,
widened further. “It calls to the blood of the earth beneath us.”
I
didn’t bother to disguise my derisive expression. “Really?”
“Please,”
she gestured to the trunk before her, and I noticed for the first time that a
valley of some sort had grown into it. The dip, like a naturally formed bowl in
the body of this strange plant, had also been marked with carved letters. “I
can read it.”
I was
the only witch in one hundred years. Only one other possessed the magical gifts
of the Fates, and he was hopefully many hundred leagues from this place. So I
folded my arms, raising a brow patronizingly. “Are you the witch, then?”
She
gave me a knowing smile. “No. But the magic of the Fates, it runs through every
living thing. In some things stronger than others.”
I
barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “So you will tell my future with
your tree.”
“Hold
the stones,” she encouraged, offering them to me again.
There
were seven of them; the number of Fates. I let her deposit them onto my palm,
and I curled my pale fingers around them. They felt cold against my warm skin, which
was heated from the scalding, summer sun above. When the stones had seeped some
of the warmth from my body, the girl gestured for me to drop them in the basin.
When I
did so, they clattered into the trunk, settling quickly. Despite my reservations,
I leaned forward to peer at the result. They looked like rocks in a tree.
The
girl bent close to the stones, jutting her pink, lower lip out. “You have
greatness on your shoulders.”
I
snorted.
Ignoring
my impudence, she continued. “You have weighted your stones, your fate, on
love. It will be the greatest triumph of your kind,” her amber eyes lifted. “It
will beget a glorious future.” When I said nothing, she continued, “And I see
death. A most certain, but noble death.”
“We all
die,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.
“But
not in the warlock’s hands,” she replied, straightening.
I
stared at her for a few moments, and then flipped her a copper coin. “Very
entertaining, thank you.”
She
caught the coin, but her eyes, those golden orbs like the unblinking, searching
gaze of a night owl followed my retreat. “It is your children we will thank.
They will usher forth a new and prosperous way of life.”
With
one last, perplexed scowl I left her standing with her tree in the courtyard. I
did not want her words to affect me, but they pierced my mind with every step I
took. In the warlock’s hands. My
worst of fears had been preyed on by an urchin with a log. Shaking my head, I
tried to set it from me. It was only an act. Just a trick.
Besides, I thought with a smirk. No matter what she might have guessed of me,
there would never be love in my fate. The smirk faded. Not ever.
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