Join the authors at #MFRWHooks here
Join the authors at #MFRWHooks herehttp://mfrwbookhooks.blogspot.com for some great excerpts. Mine is found at eclecticwriter.blogspot.com from Seppal TBR in December
In Seppal, the prophecy has been heard and the Three and Three are awaited.
Ranal’s dead mam once told him one day he would learn why he had been born. He has found two companions, boys like himself who have no home and become seaweed gatherers like he has been. His two friends are developing strange skill. He can see no change in himself but he desires a sword. Then they will be three, Seer, Healer and Warrior
Amera returns to the clan after spending the summer with the king windsteed stallion and six yearlings. What she finds is the slaughtered herd and also the clan. Only one person remains barely alive and tells her Bethera, her cousin and almost sister has been taken by the priestesses and their guards. Not knowing what to do, Amera follows the king stallion to a sheltered glen and a huge cave complex. When the stallion calls her, she follows him to the priestesses’ keep and manages to rescue her cousin and another young girl. During the next few years, her friends develop talents and are becoming the Seer and the Healer. Amera wants to become the warrior but she can’t imagine how she can gain a sword.
The land suddenly grew familiar. That gnarled okala tree marked the start of the clan’s windsteed pasture. An eagerness for home burst free. Months had passed since she’d last been with people. Strangely, she hadn’t missed the noise and chatter of the clan but memories flashed in her thoughts. She had been the chosen one this year to ride with the king stallion. Pride filled her thoughts.
The emptiness of the huge grassy expanse troubled her. Where was the rest of the herd? There had been twenty-four mares, nearly a dozen foals, ten older colts and fillies. She had expected to be surrounded and greeted by the herd.
Moments later. She stumbled over the reason for her uneasy feelings. She nearly fell atop a mare sprawled on the ground. The animal’s throat had been slashed and the body bore dozens of whip marks. The king stallion bugled a mournful cry.
“No.” Amara’s shouted denial rose to blend with the windsteed’s cry. Tears gushed from her eyes.
The six yearlings clustered around her. She stroked each one in an attempt to offer comfort she didn’t feel. “Why?” Her voice rose in denial.
With slow steps, keeping on hand on the king stallion’s side, they walked toward the home camp. The evidence of the slaughter became total. Once or twice she saw bodies of men who had been stomped until they were unrecognizable. Who had done this?
Tears streamed from her eyes making the world seem misty. She feared what she would find when she reached the camp. Suddenly she didn’t want to see. She halted. The king stallion strode at her side and urged her forward. She leaned against his firm body until the spate of tears ceased.
She drew a deep breath and kept her eyes half-closed. She prayed to find someone who still lived. The yurts had been overturned and smashed. The burden beasts had been slaughtered. Several had been butchered. Clouds of flies rose in clouds as she named the dead.
She bent and touched the hand of one of the fallen. No more than two days had passed since the slaughter. There was no way she could bury the bodies. The needed grave would be larger than a thirteen-year-old girl could dig.
Among the dead she discovered strangers. Their
black uniforms told her who had sent them. The priestesses of the Mistress of
the Dark Moon
Among the dead she discovered strangers. Their black uniforms told her who had sent them. The priestesses of the Mistress of the Dark Moon