Another surprise! Yesterday Yawatta over at yawattahosby awarded me the Lucky 7 award. Thank you, dear, and I wish you continuing good luck with your NaNoWriMo challenge.
The award gives writers an excuse to post bits of whatever they’re working on for everyone to read. It can be a finished or in-progress work, prose or poetry, of any length, form or style. The rules are simple:
- Go to page 77 of your manuscript
- Go to line 7 (if you don’t have 77 pages, presumably, or for a poem)
- Copy the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs into your post
- Give the award to 7 other writers
So first, the awards.
- Shannon at Isle of Books
- The Bride at The Bitchy Bride
- Matt at Wanton Creation
- Stephen and Robert at Two Gallants
- Rhea at Thirty Threadbare Mercies
- Jennifer at Inkless
- Tsena at Succumbing
And now, my bit. This is an excerpt from my work-in-progress young adult fantasy novel. There’s no title yet because I’m absolute shit at titles. The novel is about a country governed by a human royal court and four witch clans who guide the military, the farming, academia, and a fourth that protects the country’s dead on their journey to the afterlife. The country is headed for civil war as major disasters strike the four regions and many members of the royal court begin to work up a fervor against the leaders of the witch clans, who they claim have too much power. On top of all that, ancient magic is waking up from a long binding, and it’s not happy about being contained.
Excerpt from Untitled
He was immediately bombarded by light, sound, and nearly had his head taken off by a flying mug. Unintentionally releasing a terrified squeak, Liron ducked and made his way to the farthest and most removed corner. Once he had his back safely to the wall, he looked out on the raucous tavern floor with some misgivings about the intelligence of his notion to come inside; but, he supposed it was better than standing like a fool outside, so he slumped down and tried to make himself scarce.
“You’ve never been here before.”
Liron jumped and looked around for the source of the voice, and did a slight double take at the girl who had appeared next to him. Not only had he not noticed her approach him, he found it difficult to believe that she belonged to the voice. It had been low, resigned. She was a small thing, perhaps a year or two younger than him. His eyes went to her face, and he was surprised to find her eyes and the bridge of her nose covered by a thick black band. At first he was unnerved—how had she known he was there?—but the feeling did not last long. His mother had once studied the condition of blindness, and he knew that sometimes the loss of sight resulted in the development of other skills.
“You’re quite right,” he replied, simply, not really sure what else to say.
“How did you come to be here?” she asked. “In the city, I mean. Obviously you walked to the tavern.”
Liron shut his mouth, which had been about to reply with “I walked.” He coughed and started again, trying to ignore the small smile on the girl’s lips.
“I’m…visiting,” he said. The girl chuckled.
“The Maravilla sisters have taught you something already,” she said. Liron’s mouth fell open and he narrowed his eyes in bewilderment; though the girl surely couldn’t see his expression, she smiled like she could. She held out her hand to him and he took it mechanically, letting her pull him to his feet. He registered, barely, that she was very short, the top of her head hardly reaching his shoulders.
She led him through the tavern, neatly avoiding brawls, dancing, spilled ale and toppled furniture, something Liron was sure he wouldn’t have been able to manage on his own. He followed her upstairs and into a simple room furnished only with a bed, a small table, and an old and well-used chair.
“You can sleep here tonight. I’ve already spoken to Roden,” she told him. Liron nodded, not bothering to ask who Roden was.
“Thank you,” he managed to get out as she left, closing the door behind her. He went over to the bed in a sort of daze, the events of the day catching up with him. He had hardly lain down and begun to wonder how on earth he was going to absorb all the information that had been thrown at him when the door opened again and he sat up, ignoring the dizziness that set in.
The frail red-headed girl was back, accompanied by a young raven-haired woman even shorter than her, an old, balding man whose eyes reminded Liron of a rat, and a tall man with sandy-blonde hair and a suspicious expression. The black-haired woman smiled.
“Ah, you’re from the North, but you weren’t born there,” she said. “I was, believe it or not. My family always called me the “black sheep.” Weird, it is, to have black hair in those parts.”