Showing posts with label sneak peek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sneak peek. Show all posts

Monday, April 23, 2018

NEW Legend of Oescienne - The Reckoning Snippet!

Howdy eager readers!  I know many of you have been waiting patiently for the release of the fifth and final book in the Legend of Oescienne series.  I have a date in mind, but I'm still keeping hush-hush about it until I get all my files back from my fabulous Beta Readers and my marvelous editor.  Once I get a chance to look at their suggestions, I might be able to lock in on that release date with more confidence.  Until then, I have another snippet for you!  Now, if you are signed up for my newsletter, then you should have received this sneak peek last week, but in case you missed it, here you go!  This is a scene featuring dialogue between our two main characters, Jaax and Jahrra, and I feel it sets the tone for a good portion of the book.  Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think!
- J.E. Johnson


The Legend of Oescienne
The Reckoning
Copyright (c) 2018 by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

Snippet from:
Chapter Five
Rest, Revelry, and Rumination

As the evening stretched on, and as the elves began weaving their tales, Jahrra found their camaraderie did nothing to take the edge off her own restlessness.  After only two stories were shared, she stood up and moved to stand casually near the edge of the great circle of light cast by the bonfire.  When the third storyteller reached the exciting part of his tale, she slipped deeper into the darkness and headed toward the river’s edge.  A large rock ledge stretched out from the tall bank of the Hrwyndess and hung over the rushing water some thirty feet below.  She stepped out onto the slab of stone and turned her face upward.  Closing her eyes, Jahrra breathed in the rich, cool air and let the light of the silvery moon bathe her face.  What she wouldn’t give to take all her racing thoughts and shove them into a box where they couldn’t escape, if only for a few minutes.

A soft rustle broke into Jahrra’s moment of solitude, but she did not jump.  Instinct, or maybe just years of experience, told her who approached.

“You are missing some very good stories,” Jaax drawled from behind her.

Jahrra turned and gave him a half smile, not putting much effort into it.  So much for avoiding her friends for the rest of the night.  The fire some fifty yards away had grown larger, she noticed, taller than the dragon cast in shadow standing so close by.  Ale and more food was being passed around as well, and where she had left Dervit, some of the younger Hrunahn warriors had moved in.  From what she could tell, it was the limbit who was weaving the tales at this point, not the elves.  The upward curve to the corner of her mouth was more genuine this time, though her moment of joy did not last.

Jahrra turned back to face the rushing river below, not in the mood to take part in the merriment.  “I’ve heard all of Dervit’s tall tales before,” she replied.

Jaax arched a brow, attention narrowing in on his ward.  “Even the one about the piglet stuck in the fence?”

If the Tanaan dragon had hoped to cheer her up with his light tone, he was mistaken.  Jahrra continued to stand there on the ledge of granite, arms crossed, the heel of one boot propped up against a small boulder.  He knew when to leave her alone, and when she needed someone’s quiet presence.  In this case, it was the latter, though Jaax wasn’t too keen on remaining silent and Jahrra would never admit she needed him.

“You seemed rather withdrawn during dinner.  Care to talk about it?”

Jahrra shook her head, the river below mimicking her current mood.  Now he wanted to talk?  Despite her obvious desire to be left alone, Jaax wasn’t about to give up so easily.

“Jahrra,” he pressed, tone harder than before, “talk to me.  In a matter of weeks we’ll be in Dhonoara, preparing for war.  If anything is bothering you, now is the time to broach the subject.”

All he got in return was a derisive snort.  As if she didn’t already know all of this.  When he drew breath to speak again, Jahrra turned to look at him, the barest hint of desperation and fear dominating her expression.  The dragon went utterly still, his eyes holding hers.  He would not look away, not until she spoke her mind.  She needed to say whatever it was that bothered her, but whatever it was needed to be removed the way a thorn must be drawn from the skin.

“I can’t celebrate with you and Ellyesce and Dervit.  I can’t sit by that fire and laugh and joke and tell stories with the elves of Hrunah.  I don’t know how any of you can.”

There, she’d said it.  It hadn’t been about Ellyesce’s secrets earlier, and it hadn’t been about Jaax’s continued insistence on keeping her in the dark.  Those had only been catalysts to her fear; excuses for her to purge her soul of the dark emotions lingering there.  Only, her argument with Jaax and Ellyesce hadn’t assuaged her restlessness.  Not at all.

Jaax lifted his head, all humor gone from his face.  When he spoke, his voice was pitched low, but a gentle patience suffused his words.  “You cannot celebrate because you are having a hard time envisioning a future that will bring happiness.”

Jahrra whipped her head back around, then bent to pick up a stone.  She drew her arm back and launched it into the turbulent water below.

“We are walking directly into war, Jaax.  Death is almost guaranteed, especially for us.”  She indicated herself and her dragon guardian with a wave of her hand.  “The Crimson King will know of me by now, and he’ll know you travel with me.  I’m guessing he’ll know who Ellyesce is as well and Dervit ...” she trailed off, took a shuddering breath, then pressed on, “Dervit has been incredibly lucky so far.  All of us have been.  I don’t know how much longer our luck can hold out.”

Jaax hummed low in his throat, but said nothing.

“I don’t mean to sound cynical, and I hate that I’m fixated on what could go wrong, but the closer we get to whatever destiny Ethoes has planned for me, the more it grates at my nerves.”

“Jahrra, you have every right to feel that way.  And even though your destiny seems to have been preordained, you still have a say in which choices you will make each day.”

Jahrra sighed, then fell into a crouch, arms wrapped around her knees.  She wanted so badly to cry, to purge herself of the fear, pain, and anxiety, but she fought against that weakness.  Her next words were so quiet, Jaax would have missed them over the rush of the river and the boisterous laughter of their elvin friends had he not possessed the sharper senses of a dragon.

“I don’t want to die,” she murmured.

Fear and fury and wrath wrapped their steely bands around Jaax’s heart at the tone in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Jahrra,” he vowed, moving closer to her.  “I won’t let you die.”

When he was near enough for Jahrra to reach out and touch his shoulder, Jaax settled down upon the ground, his clawed fingers curling around the edge of the steep riverbank.  The moonlight shone down through the gap in the trees, staining the world in shades of cool white and shadow.

“Can you make that same promise about yourself?” she finally asked.  “About Dervit and Ellyesce, too?”

Jaax shook his head ruefully.  “No, I cannot.  But I will promise to do everything in my power to defend you and our friends.  You have my word on that.”

She turned her head, blond hair slipping from her shoulder, the pale moonlight above turning her eyes to silver.

“And you have my word that I will do the same.”

As the revelry carried on behind them, Jaax and Jahrra sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts as the peace of the night wrapped around them, sealing their words together like an ancient vow neither time nor distance could ever break.


Friday, March 24, 2017

A Plague of Dragons is Almost Here!

Hello Readers!

We are now only one week away from the release of A Plague of Dragons!  I'm so excited to be part of this anthology project with my five other, immensely talented writing buddies (Michael K. Rose, Katie Salidas, David Jones, Alexia Purdy, and Jason LaVelle).  There will be plenty of online events and what not in the coming days and weeks, so be sure to keep a look out for those over on my Facebook page.  Also, in case you haven't heard already, five of us authors will be present at Phoenix Comicon this year with copies of A Plague of Dragons as well as all our other books, so I hope to see you there as well.

If you receive my newsletter, then you got an early, sneak peek at Chapter One of Flame and Form, and if you like my Facebook page, then you've seen the snippets I've been posting once a week.  Since the release date is just around the corner, I'm posting the first chapter right here (plus a little bit more from Chapter Two ;)), for you to enjoy as you await the main release.  Happy reading and don't forget!  You can still pre-order your copy today.

- Jenna


PRE-ORDER LINKS

Add A Plague of Dragons to your Goodreads reading list!

AND NOW, A SNEAK PEEK AT FLAME AND FORM - A NOVELLA OF THE OTHERWORLD ...

Chapter One

Brienne drained the last, bitter remnants from her tankard and set the empty vessel down before her.  The tavern was crowded with raucous locals, farmers by the most part, enjoying a drink to celebrate the final days of their harvest.  Late afternoon light worked its way through the two dirty windows facing the street.  A small fire in the hearth, a few lit candles scattered on scarred tables and a half dozen cracked, sooty lanterns hanging along the walls merely enhanced the shadows rather than driving them away.  The perfect setting for those trying to blend in.

Despite her relative certainty she would not be noticed, Brienne pulled the hood of her thick cloak farther down her face, not wanting to give away her gender.  She wasn’t particularly afraid of any of these men, and her skill with a blade, be it sword or knife, would surely protect her against those used to swinging a scythe or pushing a plow.  But she didn’t need the extra attention and could do with an evening of rest.  Besides, she hoped to rent a room in this very tavern tonight, for clouds carrying early snow swelled on the horizon, and she was tired of camping beneath trees whose leaves had all but fallen for the fast-approaching winter.

“Another ale for you, sir?” a serving maid asked.

Brie smiled beneath her hood, shaking her head in refusal.

The young woman gave a slight duck of her chin and took the empty cup away, sweeping up the coins Brienne had dropped on the counter.  Once the tavern worker disappeared back into the kitchen, Brienne stood.  She was tall, even for one of the Faelorehn, so it was easy for others to think her a man.  If she kept her hair and face hidden, at least.  An easy enough task.  The tavern keeper was wiping down the long counter, so Brie headed in that direction, wondering whether or not she should try to pitch her voice low and keep up the facade of being male.  She never got the opportunity, however.  Before she could even take one step, the front door banged open, and a young man came tumbling in, his trousers caked with mud up to his knees, his shirt and vest torn.  He took several gasping breaths as the patrons stared silently at this unexpected intrusion.

“Dr-Draghan!” he rasped, throwing his arm out behind him.

The sudden hush grew even more profound, just before the tavern burst into shouts and bodies scrambling to flood out into the street.  Brienne stayed exactly where she was, not moving an inch until the entire place had emptied.  Even then, she took a few moments to gather her bearings before joining the rest of the villagers out in the square.

Had the young man really said draghan?  What in the name of the gods and goddesses was a draghan doing in Eile?  From what she understood of such creatures, which she would admit was very little, was that they didn’t possess the mental capacity to figure out how to pass through a dolmarehn to sneak into her world.  Perhaps it was some other large beast the youth had mistaken for a draghan.  Or worse yet, one of the Morrigan’s dreaded faelah.

Not wanting her mind to go in that direction, Brienne cast another look at the open door and worried her lower lip between her teeth.  She should stay in the tavern, but curiosity was gnawing at her and not joining the rest of the crowd would seem suspicious.  Taking a deep breath, she headed toward the door and ducked out into the late afternoon light.  The townsfolk, many more than the number which had occupied the tavern, stood in a large crowd, their gazes fixed on the road leading south from the village.

“I see them now!” the same young man from before shouted.  “They’re coming over the rise!”

People jostled to get a better view, not taking care to avoid the mud puddles.  A large wagon, most likely meant to transport hay, creaked down the rutted road and came to a stop in the wide town center.  The villagers had moved just enough out of the way to let the driver and his team of draft horses pass, their eyes and attention fixed on the large creature tied down with chains in the back.

Brie caught her breath as gasps and small screams skittered about the crowd.  It was a draghan.  One of the legendary winged, fire-breathing reptiles from Firiehn.  Not for the first time in her life, Brienne’s extra height gave her an advantage.  She did not have to shove people aside or stand on her toes to see the monster, so she could study it from a safe distance.  The beast was black as soot, but sparked with undertones of bronze where the torchlight played against its scales.  About the size of the draft horses pulling the cart, Brienne was surprised the wheels hadn’t splintered beneath its weight.  A triangular head decked in a crown of dark horns rested against powerful forearms ending in claws of a similar color.  She couldn’t get a good look at its wings, for they were folded close to the monster’s body, held in place by the chains, its tail similarly curled and held close.  Instinct told her the creature was injured, perhaps badly.  Its eyes were shut, and its breathing was labored.  She would bet all the money she carried with her the chains were not even necessary to keep it in place.

The voices of the crowd started to rise again, but before the men could even begin their inevitable demand that the creature be destroyed, she knew where this situation was headed.  If they didn’t kill it outright, it would be sent to the Morrigan as tribute.  That’s how things were done in and along the fringes of the war goddess’ territory.  And this creature would keep her pacified for a very long time.  Pity crashed into Brienne’s heart like a blacksmith’s hammer striking hot iron.  She had been born into her servitude; had never known freedom but craved it with every fiber of her being.  This draghan, by its very nature, was a wild creature never meant to be enslaved.  If it became the property of the Morrigan, its spirit would be crushed.

One of the bystanders, a hunter or warrior from what Brienne could tell by his height and build, lifted a huge battle axe and roared above all the chatter, “Kill it before it regains its strength and flames us all!”

“No!  Let us release it and make sport of it!” another interjected.  “We managed to muzzle it with chains, and it is injured.  The beast will not make it far.  The man or woman to bring it down can have the head and hide!”

“Don’t be absurd!” one of the women cried.  “Bring it to the Morrigan!  If she discovers we had such a treasure and just wasted it, she will force us all into her army.  Or worse, extract our glamour and discard us like husks.”

That set the crowd into a chorus of nervous rumbling, everyone shouting their own chosen demise for the draghan, each suggestion worse than the one before.

Brienne had seen enough suffering, enough death.  She had been with the Morrigan long enough to know that people, and creatures, were not always what they seemed.  Villains might be draped in expensive silks with alabaster skin and music in their voices.  And those who wished to help you, or those simply wanting to protect the ones they loved, might appear on the outside as monsters.

She shot her gaze back toward the draghan and jumped in surprise to find its eyes had opened.  The one she could see was a molten gold color, bright with intelligence and what might have been rage.  But there was also a spark of fear there.  Brienne narrowed her own eyes, holding the draghan’s regard a bit longer, and let her glamour feather outward.  Her magic wasn’t as impressive as most in the Morrigan’s army, but she could sometimes filter out emotions.  Anger, resentment, pride ... and hopelessness.  It was that final bitter feeling, one she was so very familiar with, that snapped her into action.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” she muttered as she stepped forward, her right hand going for the pommel of the sword hanging at her side.

The mood of the crowd had shifted while she’d been considering the draghan.  Apparently, a decision had been made, and that decision involved delivering the beast to the Tuatha De Danann goddess who terrorized their lands.

“But who will take it to the Morrigan?  We are all busy with the harvest!” one man managed to shout over the general clamor.

“I cannot go, my children are sick!” a woman put in.

One by one, the villagers cried out with some excuse or another, age-old terror coloring their words.  They feared the goddess who watched over their territory, but they feared her wrath more.

Brie wrapped her fingers around the grip of her sword and drew it in a long, dramatic arc that was more for show than anything else.  The people closest to her shouted in surprise and jumped back, knocking into those standing beside them.

“I will take the creature!” she cried out above the noise.  “I will deliver this draghan to the Morrigan.”

The conversation ceased as every pair of eyes in the village square turned to study this cloaked stranger.  Brienne kept her hood up.  If she could manage getting away without leaving them with a face to remember, she would be grateful.

“Why should we believe you?” one of the men asked.  He had been the one to drive the wagon into town.  “How do we know you do not wish to take it into the next town to demand a bounty?”

Shouts of ascent skittered through the crowd.

For a small moment, Brienne hesitated.  What was she doing?  Did she really want to risk leaving these people with a memory they could easily report to any of the Morrigan’s henchmen should they come searching for her?  She loosened the iron grip she held on her sword, letting the tip sink further to the ground.  Before she sheathed the weapon she glanced at the draghan once more.  It was watching her, those ember-hued eyes wary and almost desperate.

Brie, you know more than anyone what it is to be enslaved.  Can you really go on living with yourself if you allow it to happen to another creature, when you had the chance to stop it?

Brienne squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.  She could convince them she meant what she said, that she’d bring this creature to the Morrigan.  It meant they would remember her if her enemies came questioning, but she would just have to take that risk.

“Here goes,” she hissed to herself, as she reached up and pulled back her hood.

The crowd gasped, several people in front of her taking a step back.

“You should believe me,” she said softly, her pale blue eyes surveying the crowd, “because I am bound in service to the goddess of war.”

The woman closest to the cart lifted a hand, as if to run it over the side of her face, then snatched it away.  Brienne fought the urge to do the same.  She was used to the stares and looks of pity.  The questions were always in the eyes of those who saw her ravaged face, though.  Had the scars come from a wild animal?  A horrific fire?  Had her husband or lover taken his anger out on her and burned her face with a torch?  No.  The truth wasn’t as noble as any of that.  She had refused a direct order from the Morrigan, and she had been thrown into the fire as punishment.  Somehow, she had rolled out with damage done to only one side of her body, a few of the faelah in the camp adding a few more ugly marks by raking their claws at her as she rolled to put the flames out.  That had been two years ago, but the agony still felt fresh.

“Dear gods . . .” one of the men murmured, pulling his young sons close and backing away.
“If this is not enough to convince you,” she added, gesturing to her damaged skin, “there is also this.”

She flung her cloak free of her left shoulder and reached up to pull her collar down, just enough to reveal the top of a disc-shaped tattoo staining the pale skin between her breast and collar bone.

More gasps from the crowd.

“Morrigan’s get!” an old woman hissed.

“Faeduihn!” another added.

Brienne shot her pale eyes in the direction of that accusation.  Her soul may have been stained because of her association with the goddess of wrath and ruin, but she knew the dark glamour had not infected her yet.  She didn’t correct them, however.  If she could get them to fear her, or at least believe her claims, the better her chances of escaping with the injured draghan.

“As you have said, my mistress desires creatures such as this.  I will take it off your hands, so that you might get back to your own work.”

After a long moment of near silence, and a few quietly exchanged words between them, the cart driver said, “Very well.  But we want this thing out of here tonight.”

Brienne fought the urge to release a heavy sigh.  Instead, she nodded once.

“I can leave right now.”

Chapter Two

Brienne drove the draft horses a mile or so south of town.  Her own horse, the one she had stolen from camp when she’d made her escape a week before, secured to the back of the cart.  When they came to a crossroads she turned them left, choosing a path that would eventually take them back into the northern mountains, but hopefully, clear of any curious villagers or spies of the Morrigan.  The sun had set, and they had maybe a half an hour before full dark settled in.  She didn’t like the idea of making camp so close to the village, but they really had no choice.

Movement to her right caught Brie’s attention.  A large white wolf with a ruddy tail and ears darted in and out of the scraggly wood before approaching them.  The horses, already on edge because of the cargo they carried, snorted and pulled at their harnesses.  Brienne only grinned.

Scout out a safe, secluded place to settle in for the night if you can, Mynne, she sent to her spirit guide.

The wolf cocked her head to the side, a habit she had picked up since losing both her eyes to the Morrigan’s soldiers.  It had been part of Brienne’s punishment, a wound which had hurt her more than the burns had.  In the end, Brie could harbor some gratitude, however.  At least they hadn’t killed Mynne.

I believe there is a meadow of sorts up ahead, the wolf sent back through their mind connection.  A place travelers often use for resting.  It is surrounded by thick trees and a few standing stones.  No one should bother us this night.

Within fifteen minutes, the team of horses had moved the hay cart clear of the road and into the shallow hollow of the small meadow.  Brienne pulled on the reins and pushed the brake lever forward before hopping down to survey the area.  It was wide, but mostly flat and protected by trees and stones on three sides.  So long as no one happened by them in the night, they should have nothing to fear.

Brienne glanced up at the sky, wondering if those clouds would shed freezing rain or snow.  Or perhaps nothing at all.

Best get this fire started then, if you wish for it to burn through the night, Mynne sent.

Brienne pursed her lips, then turned to eye the hay cart.  She had been avoiding checking on the draghan.  The beast had been so silent and motionless during their time spent on the road.  She feared it had either died or was readying itself for an attack.  Now that there was only one Faelorehn woman to challenge it, she wouldn’t be surprised if the creature sprang suddenly to life, spewing fire and swiping deadly claws.  The very thought sent shivers of bone-melting dread through Brienne.  Fire was a necessity of life, but ever since almost dying by it she had harbored some anxiety whenever it came time to kindle a flame, whether it be to light a candlewick or start a bonfire.  Nevertheless, she would accomplish this task just as she had every night since her escape.  After observing the draghan for several minutes, Brie concluded the creature was of no immediate threat.  In fact, the cold weather was probably affecting it more than anything else.

Brienne spent ten minutes gathering what firewood she could find, grumbling over the fact that most of it was soaked through from a recent rainstorm.  After several attempts with her flint and knife, she couldn’t get the damp leaves and twigs to catch, so she rummaged in her saddlebags for a section of old cloth, hoping it might work better as kindling.  The dry wool and linen caught, but the green wood stubbornly resisted the licking flames.

“Cursed spirits!” she hissed, balling her half-frozen fingers into fists.  “Mynne, I might need you to sleep close tonight and hope the clouds don’t drop ice upon us.”

The white wolf sniffed and inclined her head.  Of course.  It might be better not to have a fire anyway.

Brienne couldn’t argue with that.  If the Morrigan’s generals considered her valuable enough to track down, then a fire would only draw attention to their location.  She rocked back into a half crouch, one knee pressed into the damp earth, her elbow resting on the other, and peered back at the draghan.

“I am sorry we don’t have better cover, or a source of heat,” she said, regret tainting her words.

She only hoped the creature could withstand the chill.  Or maybe it would succumb.  That might actually be a sort of mercy.  She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the beast’s wounds, but she didn’t doubt their existence.  Perhaps even infection had settled in and that was why the draghan hadn’t moved.

As if in open defiance of those very thoughts, the monster decided at that moment to emerge from its delirium just long enough to crack open one eyelid.  The iris melted into molten scarlet rimmed with deep red and focused in on her, the full attention of the draghan sending a nervous twinge through Brie’s body.  The creature slowly lifted its head.

Brienne stepped back, afraid she had offended the beast in some manner.  Had it heard her internal musings?  Had she angered it?  She held up her palms as it narrowed both eyes in her direction.  The draghan drew in a deep breath and exhaled, a stream of heat and flame the color of a distant, pale blue star careened toward her.  Brienne gasped and leapt aside, old, instinctual fear pumping adrenaline through her blood.  The stream of fire slammed into her pathetic pile of wood with a hissing crackle of sound.  The draghan kept up the jet until the once damp pile of logs and branches danced with orange and yellow flames.

With an exhausted huff, the creature let its head drop back against the cart bed, the chains weighing it down clanking ominously.

Brienne blinked, shocked at what had just occurred, her chest rising and falling as she tried to subdue her panic.  She eyed the fire, the wood no longer smoking.

Mynne trotted up beside her, almost making her jump out of her skin.

Looks like you won’t freeze to death after all.

Brienne nodded out of habit, then returned her pale gaze to the draghan.  The beast was utterly still, its eyes closed in pain once more.  Only the tiny rise and fall of its flank told her the creature lived.  When it first lifted its head and spit fire in her direction, Brienne had thought the draghan meant to turn her to ash.  But that had not been the creature’s intent at all.  Now it lie still, the cold of the night even more oppressive now that she had the heat of the fire to warm her numb fingers.

“But I fear the draghan will,” she murmured, in response to Mynne’s comment.

That can’t be helped, Mynne offered.  You’ve done what you can for the monster.  Removing it from the clutches of the Morrigan was the best thing you could ever have done for it, even if it should now perish.

Her spirit guide was probably right, but guilt ate away at her anyway.  The draghan had clearly used up what little energy it had left to help her.  There had to be something else she could do.

Brienne glanced around the clearing, now barely able to make any colors out in the dark.  But she knew exactly where the fallen trees had been on her earlier hunt for firewood.  She went back to her horse, now secured to a tree far away from the draghan, and pulled out her small axe.

What are you doing? Mynne questioned, her head tilted to the side as she tried to listen to Brienne’s movements.

“I’m going to try to help,” was her response.

Two hours later, Brie had managed to build a moat of larger logs around the wagon.  The draft horses, still in their harnesses, had been secured to a massive oak near her own horse.  She checked her ring of firewood, adjusting it so that it would be as close to the cart as possible without the risk of setting it on fire.  She had taken some of the burning branches from the draghan’s fire and managed to get a few places smoldering.  By the time her own exhaustion knocked her off her feet, a ring of flames encircled the trapped beast.

“I’m sorry I cannot do more for you tonight,” she said to the creature, “but I hope the fire takes off some of the chill.  Tomorrow, I will see what I can do about the chains.  I simply do not have the energy or the strength now.”

And that was the truth.  Her fingers and toes were like icicles and spots swam before her eyes.

In response to her voice, the draghan opened one of its eyes again, a dark, slitted pupil rotating in her direction.

Brienne tried a smile, but her lips felt numb.

“Until the morning, then,” she promised, collapsing onto the sleeping roll she’d tucked beneath the wagon.

Despite her apprehension about being surrounded by flames, Brie settled down quickly, her exhaustion stronger than her unease.  Besides, the logs were already burning down to hot coals, and soon, they would simply radiate heat until going out completely in a few hours’ time.

Mynne joined her after giving the draghan a suspicious glare, curling up beside her familiar within the wall of smoldering coals.

Brienne welcomed the familiar warmth of her spirit guide, her only source of comfort in a world that had so far offered her only cruelty.

As she waited for sleep, she thought of the draghan again and how it watched her with those smoldering citrine eyes.  Of the way it had used its strange and potent flames to start a fire she could not.  The creature was a stranger in this world, and clearly, it had been treated badly.  As far as the draghan knew, she could be just as terrible as those who had chained it to a wagon to offer up as a sacrifice, yet, it had helped her just now.  Brienne set her jaw, thinking of the men and women under the Morrigan’s control who had used and abused her.

I won’t let that be your fate, she vowed.  If you survive this night, I will find a way to return you to your home.
* * *
THANK YOU FOR READING!
Flame and Form will be available on March 31st in the Plague of Dragons anthology.  Flame and Form is intended for a mature reading audience (age 18 and up) and is a complete novella at 33,000 words (for reference, novels are a length of 50,000 words or more).

Friday, December 11, 2015

FAEBORNE - First Chapter Teaser!

Hello Readers!  Only a few more weeks until the release of FAEBORNE, so I thought I'd give you a sneak peek at the first chapter of the latest Otherworld novel.  For those of you who don't follow me on Facebook, and if you haven't been receiving my special Faeborne Preview Chapters newsletter, then this will be entirely new for you.  If you'd like to read the first five chapters of this novel, you can still sign up to receive the newsletter (Chapters 1-5 are scheduled to go out on December 16th, a week prior to publication).  The link for that special newsletter can be found on the right side of this post, or you can click HERE.

A LITTLE BIT ABOUT FAEBORNE ...


If you missed my previous post with the cover reveal of Faeborne, here is a little bit of information regarding this latest Otherworld novel . . . Faeborne started out a few years ago as a short story idea during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and was set aside because I decided to focus on finishing Lorehnin at the time.  Since then, I've come back to Faeborne, realizing early on that there was far too much material for this tale to fit into a novella-length book.  By the time I finished the final draft, Faeborne became the longest Otherworld novel so far (135,000 words compared to the previous longest, Luathara, which ended up being around 125,000 words).  This story also takes place several years before Meghan and Cade's time and features an entirely new set of characters living in the northeastern part of Eile.  The Morrigan is once again stirring up trouble for the main characters, Brennon and Seren, but she remains a distant threat instead of an immediate one.  At the very end of the story, a familiar character from the other books makes a cameo appearance of sorts, but I don't name the character (I just leave hints, but those of you who have read the other Otherworld books should be able to figure it out rather easily ;)).  Faeborne contains many of the elements found in the rest of the Otherworld books, but this standalone novel is very much a story of love, family, second chances and redemption.  I hope you all will enjoy it as much as you have enjoyed the other Otherworld novels and once I'm done with the manuscript for my fourth Oescienne book, I'd like to check back in with Meghan, Cade, Devlin, Robyn and Enorah since they all have a continuing tale to tell ;).  Until then, happy reading!
- JEJ

FAEBORNE - A NOVEL OF THE OTHERWORLD


Chapter One
Hunt

The split second before Brennon released the arrow, he realized it would not meet its mark.  He had been hunting the doe all morning, following her tracks with stealth and staying downwind as he moved through the forest like a silent fog.  Well, as silent as the occasional twig underfoot and clump of brush tugging on his cloak would allow him.  To get to this point and foul up on something as simple as a bowshot from such a short distance was unforgiveable.  He and Rori had been without fresh meat for over a week now, and the both of them were craving venison stew and hoping for jerky to carry them past Samhain.

Biting back a curse as the fletching of the misdirected arrow brushed against his arm guard, Brenn could only hope this shot wounded the deer enough, so he could follow her and finish the job.  He hated it when the animals didn’t die right away, for the last thing he wanted was to cause more suffering than necessary, but there was no helping it now.

In the end, the arrow didn’t miss his target as terribly as he thought it would.  The arrowhead struck the doe high on the shoulder, forcing a scream from her pale throat, but not taking her down completely.  Instead, she bolted into the thick undergrowth as fast as her injury would allow her.
Brenn sighed.  He had promised Rori he would be home before dark, now, he wasn’t so sure.

You cannot just leave her to die, he grumbled to himself.  Might take her all night, long hours of agony, and then, the wolves will take advantage of your ill luck.

Already, the sun was beginning to dip toward the western horizon, the sky taking on the deeper colors of impending twilight.  If fortune was on his side, he’d find the deer right away and be home before the predators living in this forest scented the blood.  Pulling his cloak tighter, Brennon narrowed his eyes and began his new hunt, trying hard not to think of the Samhain feast day that was fast approaching.  How had the time slipped away from him?  One moment, their part of Eile was in the throes of summer, and in the next he and his nephew were busy bringing in the harvest: Apples and pears from their small orchard, barley, corn, turnips and other root vegetables from the fields.  Hay, oats and feed grains had been growing since early spring and stored in the barn as food and bedding supplies for the animals.  Although Brenn and Rori had plenty to eat and enough to see the animals through the cold months, this time of year brought with it a taint of darkness which never failed to taunt Brennon’s demons.

Pushing through the tangled, dark-thorned bramble patches that contributed to the wood’s name, Brenn quickly reined in his thoughts and sent them down a different path.  Instead, he turned his attention to his surroundings.  Occupying several dozen acres of Eile’s northern lands, Dorcha Forest was second in size only to the Weald far to the southwest.  Brenn couldn’t help but feel the corner of his mouth curve up in amusement, despite the impending dark and the still missing deer.  As large as Dorcha was, it didn’t hold a candle to the Weald, and as dangerous as it was to be stuck in this particular forest at night, finding yourself lost in Cernunnos’s grand wilderness was far more terrifying.  Or so he’d heard.  Regardless, Dorcha boasted a mix of evergreen and deciduous trees and was said to harbor many wild creatures both natural and unnatural.

Brenn shivered as the bitterness of disgust rose in his throat.  Being so close to the Morrigan’s realm, he wouldn’t be surprised if an entire legion of faelah lurked under the cover of these trees.  And of course, thinking of faelah only brought his mind back to the past he wanted to forget, a past filled with violence, hatred and loss.

The young Faelorehn man pulled his cloak more tightly about himself.  Six years was not a very long time in the lifespan of someone native to Eile, but when those years were spent in the employ of the Morrigan, his world’s most brutal and sadistic goddess, every day, every hour, felt like an eternity.  A month after turning sixteen, Brennon had been turned over to the war goddess’s scouts by his own neighbors.  He had a gift, one they feared and one he considered a curse, and it had earned him too many enemies, even at such a young age.  The farm where he and his nephew now lived had belonged to their family since Eile first came into existence, or so it seemed, and their flocks and fields were always plentiful.  The truth of the matter was the soil of Ardún, the land surrounding Roarke Manor, was imbued with ancient magic, magic that had made the harvests plentiful and his family wealthy.

Everyone in the village of Dundoire Hollow either envied the Roarkes, desired their friendship or outright hated them.  One family in particular embodied all three.  The Corcorain clan sought to be associated with the Roarkes and had tried to arrange a marriage between their children and Brennon and his sister.  Baird and Arlana Corcorain were as cold and unfeeling as their parents, interested only in the vices that plagued Faelorehn-kind.

A tremor of unease wracked Brenn, making him misstep and nearly twist his ankle on an exposed tree root.  Such feelings often visited whenever he found himself thinking about the Corcorain family, especially their daughter.  Even though she had been only fourteen at the time, Arlana was as shrewd and calculating as one of the Morrigan’s ravens.  With her red-blond hair and sparkling, changeable eyes, she had early assumed the title of town beauty.

Every male old enough to notice the opposite gender was easily led around by the nose, should Arlana wish it.  Every male, that is, except for Brenn himself.  At age fifteen going on sixteen, he had begun to take notice of the young women in the village as well, but he knew better than to fall for Arlana’s charms.  And he was far more interested in hunting and war sports to waste his time on the girls who preferred to keep their hands clean and free of calluses.  If he was ever to marry, it would be to someone like his sister, Meara.

Meara, two years older than Brenn and just as wild and stubborn, was unlike the other girls in town.  Although not considered as beautiful as Arlana, she was striking nonetheless with her dark hair and gray fae eyes.  And her Faelorehn blood promised her the legendary good looks which were endemic to their entire race.  Just as Arlana had her cap set on Brennon, her brother Baird had his lustful eye fixed upon Meara.  Baird was three years older than Meara, and like his sister, was popular with the families in town.

Despite Arlana’s beauty and Baird’s charms, they did not appeal to the Roarke siblings in the least.  Meara refused Baird’s advances, time and time again, and when a young horse trainer moved into Dundoire Hollow in search of a new start, Meara’s disinterest in marriage soon turned.  Unlike Baird, Donal was carefree, kind, gentle and his knowledge of horses only made him more appealing to Meara.  Within a year, they were married and expecting their first child.

Brennon came to a stop, a three-year-old sorrow stirring in his chest and threatening to take over.  He forcibly blinked back the memories and took stock of his surroundings.  He had one foot on the leaf-carpeted forest floor, another resting upon the gnarled root of a beech tree.  Ice seemed to have formed over his fingertips, despite the gloves, and although his breath didn’t mist the air in front of him, the cold had numbed his face and nose.  The evergreen undergrowth rustled with the sounds of animals seeking their nightly refuge, and in the distance, the first mournful cries of an owl signaled the encroaching dusk.

The light of the waning day had not dimmed to the point of pure darkness yet, but it seemed Brennon’s vision had gone in that direction anyway.  He had loved his sister more than anyone in the world, except for maybe his parents, and it had been because of him she had died.  A Faelorehn woman who should have lived for all eternity.  Her bright eyes and mischievous smile would never cheer him up again, and her laughter would never dance among the barley fields on a summer’s eve as they raced home from a day spent fishing along the stream.

The pain in his chest blossomed sharply and burst, but he fought against it.  Giving in to the grief right now would not help him or Rori, the one part of his sister he had left.  Setting his jaw, Brenn tightened his grip on his bow and focused his eyes forward, scouring the dense brush ahead for signs of the deer’s passage.  He would find it and bring it home, so he and Rori could have meat for the next week or so without having to make a trip into town.  He would take care of his nephew, see to it that he grew into a strong young man.  He would not fail his sister for a second time.

* * *

In the end, it didn’t take Brennon very long to track the doe.  She hadn’t gone far, maybe a half a mile or so deeper into the woods, and the evidence of her clumsy passage was more of a tell than the occasional splatter of blood on the dark leaves underfoot.

Must be a young one, Brennon thought with some regret.  But it was well into the autumn season, and unfortunately, many of the deer killed during this time of year were the younger, inexperienced ones.

The broken brush gave way to a small, secluded meadow, and Brenn paused in his forward progression.  The sky was a wash of slate and cobalt now, so there was still a little light for him to see by, but he knew at least part of the journey home would be made in darkness.  That all depended on how close he was to his quarry.  Brenn didn’t spot the deer right away, not with the poor light and tangled overgrowth of brambles and holly, but it was clear she had stumbled around in this small haven.  Drawing his knife so he’d be prepared to end her misery the moment he caught sight of her, Brennon moved past the last bit of thorn bushes and began casting his eyes around.  Movement to his right drew his attention to a small den of sorts, hollowed out from a tangle of ivy and blackberry vines.  The perfect place for a deer to hide, if it didn’t have a hunter on its tail.

“I’m sorry about this, girl,” he murmured as he made his way forward, his cloak snagging on thorns and sharp branches.

The doe was curled up in a tight ball, her long, graceful legs tucked beneath her, her head bent around and nestled against her body.  The arrow stuck out at an odd angle, a large dark patch of blood oozing from the wound.  She did not stir as Brennon approached with his knife.  Taking a deep breath, he reached in to end her suffering, but an odd movement stayed his hand.  The muscles beneath the doe’s soft, brown hide began to ripple and pulse, as if some foreign parasite undulated under her skin.  Horrified, Brennon snatched his arm away and took a few steps backward, watching in fascinated shock at the bizarre scene unfolding before him.

What strange glamour is at work here? he wondered.

The darkness that had settled in this small glen was deeper, richer than the night shades creeping up on the main forest, but even then, he missed nothing.  The spindly front legs of the deer shortened and filled out, the hind legs soon following suit.  The doe’s abdomen tapered in the middle and then flared out at the hips.  Her narrow head swelled and long, dark spirals of hair sprouted from the scalp.  The deer’s large ears grew smaller, disappearing beneath the tousle of hair on a now Faelorehn head.  Hooves morphed into hands and feet, complete with fingers and toes.  The entire transformation took less than thirty seconds, but it had felt like an eternity.

Brenn was certain he made some sound of shocked fascination as he quickly backed even farther away from this unnatural thing.  He would have turned and bolted if not for the tangle of roots that tripped up his feet, sending him crashing, unceremoniously, to the ground.  Cursing, he rolled over, ready to scramble away as fast as he could, but a soft mewling noise stopped him.  Instead of regaining his feet and running back the way he had come, he turned his head to look at the doe.  Or, at least, what had been a doe mere seconds ago.  Now, it was a woman.  A very young woman.  He narrowed his eyes, studying her cautiously, half expecting her to change forms again.  Her own eyes were clenched in pain, and she reached up one hand to finger the arrow protruding from her flesh.

“Don’t,” Brenn protested automatically, holding a hand out to her.

Too late.  Her fingers brushed the shaft of the arrow, and she cried out.  Her head rolled to the side, and her hand slipped away, streaking blood across her collar bone.  At first, Brenn thought she had died, but then, he saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest.  She had only lost consciousness.  Thank the gods.  Strange magic or not, he did not need another death weighing on his soul.

Now that the deer girl was motionless and asleep, Brenn lifted himself up off the ground and approached her guardedly.  He couldn’t tell much about her without any light, but he noted her slim figure and long, dark hair.  She didn’t look underfed, but she was not built like most Faelorehn women he knew.  For one, if she were to be standing next to him, her head might come level with his shoulders, if that.  And her skin tone was darker as well.  Not the pale shade found on most of those living in Dundoire Hollow and in the other parts of Eile he had visited when under the Morrigan’s control.

Eventually, Brennon shook his head and clenched his jaw.  He could stand out here all night, staring at this strange creature like the letches who hid in the reeds near the riverbank to watch the women in Dundoire Hollow bathe.  Or, he could draw on whatever shred of honor he still possessed and make up for the harm he had caused her.  As peculiar as she might be, it was his fault, after all, that she was lying naked on the ground with an arrow protruding from her shoulder.

Wondering if he was making a mistake, then dismissing his doubts just as quickly, he shrugged off his cloak and draped it around her body, careful of the arrow wound and cursing at the thorns and branches hindering his progress.  The girl didn’t even sigh in protest when he lifted her, but continued to breathe evenly, her eyes closed, her long, thick lashes curling away from her cheeks.  Brenn was compelled then to hold her closer to his body, maybe because he felt she needed the reassurance of his quiet promise to help her, or perhaps he did it for purely selfish reasons.  Maybe he needed to feel that she was, indeed, alive and that his mistake had not killed her.

“Whatever you are, and whatever curse you brought down upon yourself, I hope I do not curse you further by bringing you into my house,” he murmured, as he carried her light frame through the ever darkening woods, heading southeast and towards home.

Continue reading Brennon and Seren's story in Faeborne - A Novel of the Otherworld
Available DECEMBER 23RD
***PRE-ORDER YOUR DIGITAL COPY OF FAEBORNE TODAY!***




Thursday, December 25, 2014

First Chapter Sneak Peek of Caelihn, the Next Novel of the Otherworld!

Hello Dearest Readers!  It has been a very long time since I've posted anything new here on my site, so I am hoping to make amends by offering you the first chapter of Caelihn - A Novel of the Otherworld, as a Christmas gift.  This is the next chapter in Robyn's and Devlin's story, and although it is much less action-driven than the other Otherworld books, I hope you will enjoy it regardless.  Caelihn is meant to be a reprieve of sorts between Lorehnin and the next Robyn novel (Caelihn is not the sequel!  There will be more to come in the future!).  Also, I'm hoping that those of you who were disappointed that Meghan and Cade didn't make an appearance in Lorehnin will be pleased with this next, short novel installment.  The entire manuscript still needs to make a visit to my editor, which means it isn't quite ready yet, but I will be sure to let you know when it will be available.  For now, I hope this sneak peek will suffice.  Happy reading and Happy Holidays!
-J.E. Johnson




Chapter One
Transition

Focus, Robyn.  Focus. Breathe in, breathe out . . .

My eyes were pointed straight ahead, my heartbeat steady.  Without moving an inch or taking my attention from my target, I opened up my senses and scrutinized my surroundings.  Far above me, the sunlight trickled in between the newly unfurled beech tree leaves, warming my skin and hair.  I took another deep breath, gathering in the scent of clean earth, fresh spring rain, and flower petals ready to burst free of their confines.  The subtle sounds of birds and other forest creatures going about their daily chores only added to the magic of the Weald, and this mild bustle helped ease me into my trance.

Alright, it wasn’t really a trance.  Just an exercise Enorah had taught me to help find my glamour and encourage it to work with me: to take note of everything around me, then set it off to the side so I didn’t have to worry about any outside distractions.  I’d also discovered that it came in handy while zeroing in on a target some fifty yards away.
  
As I calmed my mind, the index finger of my right hand pressed gently against the trigger of the crossbow held up to my shoulder.  I narrowed my gaze, focusing completely on the farthest target away, and released one final breath slowly through my nose.  Just as I was about to increase the pressure on the trigger, something came to rest on my shoulder.  I started a little, but didn’t let the bolt fly free.  That was one of the earliest lessons Enorah and the other archers had taught me: fierce control.  Never release an arrow unless you had full control of every step leading up to the exact moment it left the bowstring behind.

The tension at being surprised, however, remained.  That is, until familiar fingers brushed against the side of my neck.  The tightness in my muscles drained away and I brought the crossbow down to rest against my thigh.  Even without turning around to see who it was, I recognized Devlin’s touch.  I smiled softly and leaned into him, temporarily forgetting my practice and instead relishing the smooth caress of his hands over my skin.  He bent and pressed his mouth to my neck, whispering endearments in the language of Eilé as he worked his way up to my ear.

“How are your exercises going this morning?”

Well, there went what tiny bit of concentration I’d been clinging onto for dear life.  I released a small sigh and turned my head so that I could look up into his eyes.  Then, grinning, I returned my focus to the target and took aim once again, pulling the trigger with confidence.  The small bolt flew through the air, slamming into the painted target mere inches from the bull’s eye.

“My aim is getting better,” I chirped, patting the bow, which I had christened Venom.

The crossbow had been a gift from Devlin, as well as Enorah.

“I have a feeling you’ll take well to this,” the tall Faelorehn woman had said upon presenting me with the bow several weeks ago.

She’d been right.  I was still struggling with knife and sword fighting, having only been in Eilé for a few months, but as soon as I picked up a crossbow and took aim, I knew I’d found my calling.  And at least this way I could contribute something to the Wildren of the Weald.
I turned and laced my fingers together at the small of Devlin’s back.  Pressing my cheek against his chest, I took long, deep breaths, listening to his heartbeat and finding comfort in his scent.

“Yes, this aspect of my training is going very well, but my glamour’s still being stubborn.”
“Much like its mistress?” he murmured against my hair.

I pulled away just enough to punch him lightly in the stomach.  Ow.  Certainly that hurt me more than him.  Devlin chuckled and pulled me back into a comfortable embrace.

“I don’t appreciate your teasing,” I grumbled.

“But it is so much fun to rile you up.”  He stepped away from me and gently took my face in his hands.  “You are so adorable when you’re irritated.”

Adorable?  Me?!  I glowered at him.  “How many times have I asked you not to use that word when describing me?”

Devlin shrugged.  “I can’t remember.  Would you prefer I use the term charming?  Or cute?  Or delectable?”

Ugh, could he get any sappier?  He must have noticed the look of abject horror on my face because in the next second, Devlin ducked his head and nipped me on the nose.

“I’ll try to use more masculine words next time.  How about robust, dashing, or gallant?”

And that just slapped the exasperation right out of me.  My shoulders started to shake with withheld laughter.  “Oh, that’s enough!  Someone will hear you and report back to Enorah or Rhyne!”

Enorah, the fearless leader of the Wildren, would more than likely tease the both of us to no end about our mutual infatuation, and at the worst possible times, too.  I could only imagine what would happen if she were to fling those very terms back at me in the middle of a sparring lesson just to throw me off my guard.  I could picture her now, standing on the sidelines, her eyes gleaming with mischief, as she described my ‘delectable’ use of the sword, or the ‘robust’ way I moved around my opponent.  Ugh.  Back in the mortal world, I had been the one to embarrass my friends without the slightest hint of shame.  Enorah had a talent of using my own medicine against me, and doing so with flying colors.  And Rhyne would be just as bad.

The sudden thought of Devlin’s little brother quickly brought my mirth to an end.  I had been nervous about meeting Rhyne, but he had been everything I’d expected him to be: a mischievous younger version of Devlin who not only ribbed his older brother every chance he got, but adored him above everyone else.  To him, Devlin was the father he never had, his only family in the world.  I had liked him immediately.

Although he had been very accepting of our relationship in the beginning, I had been getting a strange vibe from Rhyne of late, as if he was afraid I’d take his big brother away from him.  After all, I was the reason Devlin failed to capture the Daramorr, and the reason the two of them had lost their chance at having their own home.  Diarnan Castle was to be Devlin’s reward from the high queen Danua for capturing the Morrigan’s devotee, Mikael, but because of my interference, he had fallen short of his goal.

Biting my lip, I removed myself from Devlin’s embrace and stepped back.  Sometimes I worried about Rhyne.  I suspected that even though he was clearly happy for Devlin and me, something about seeing us together dampened a bit of his spark.  There was a subtle sadness to the looks he cast our way when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, but I didn’t dare bring it up.  I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate his brother’s girlfriend asking him about the emotions he clearly wanted to keep to himself.

I couldn’t let any of it bother me now, however, and I really needn’t worry about him or Enorah.  Both of them were gone from the Weald for the time being, anyway.  Ten days ago, Enorah had received a summons from Queen Danua, and Rhyne had offered to go with her.  I tried to tell myself it wasn’t because of me and Devlin, but I had a feeling that our relationship had something to do with it.

“Is your glamour at least showing itself to you?” Devlin asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I sighed heavily and gathered up Venom and my spare bolts.  Devlin walked with me to the target to retrieve the rest, and I shrugged.

“In all honesty?  I don’t know,” I admitted.  “Sometimes I’ll get these strange tingling sensations, in my fingers and toes.  But sometimes the prickling shows up in the most random places, like behind my knee or in the middle of my back.  I think it’s my glamour trying to work itself free, but then it disappears as quickly as it arrives.”

Devlin pursed his lips and nodded.  “Enorah told me that when Meghan first came to the Otherworld it was the same for her.”

I smiled at the mention of Meghan’s name.  Meghan was my best friend from back home, and about four years ago, she discovered she was Faelorehn and the daughter of Eilé’s high queen.  Now she was married to Cade MacRoich, a Faelorehn man who had been the hottest guy I’d ever seen (until I’d met Devlin, of course), and the two of them lived in a castle like a fairy prince and princess.  Except this fairy princess wielded her wealth of magic like a great battle axe and had obliterated the Morrigan in a battle worthy of any Celtic legend.

We reached the moldering hay bale and Devlin and I started plucking the bolts free of the straw.  They were fashioned of rowan, the most effective wood against the faelah, the reanimated nightmares the Morrigan liked to use as her minions.  Fortunately, the goddess was no longer around to create more, but that didn’t mean some hadn’t been left behind after her demise.

“So I should stop worrying about my absent magic, then?” I asked Devlin as we headed back toward the trail that would lead us to the small village of the Wildren.

He nodded and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half grin.  He reached out an arm and pulled me closer to his side.  I accepted his partial embrace and together we strolled along, soaking up the warmth of the late morning sun and breathing in the fresh, clean air of the Weald.  It was early April and the green of the forest was finally starting to emerge after winter’s long visit.  Small birds, chattering cheerfully and keeping busy with nest building, darted from one twig to another.  The many brooks and streams of the forest flowed free, the icy edges of their banks beginning to thaw.  And finally, the sun was beginning to cut through the constant chill that often lingered in the air.  Despite the overall joy and peace of the bright, sunny day, and being nestled close to Devlin, I could feel my frustration building up again.  My Lorehnin glamour was a mystery to all of us, and that fact alone had me on edge more often than not.

Once, I had managed to get my magic to crackle invisibly along my skin, but that was only when Devlin had fed some of his own glamour to me.  When I had made the decision to overturn my life and give up everything I’d worked for in the mortal world in exchange for a new beginning in the Otherworld, I was counting on my glamour being there for me in case any more Daramorr decided to carve me up like a pumpkin.

I shuddered as memories I would just as soon forget surfaced to my mind.  At the very beginning of the year, I had been kidnapped by a devotee to the Morrigan and brought to Eilé.  The Daramorr, Mikael, and his sister Moira had tried to kill me and steal my magic.  They had been very close to succeeding, but Devlin had arrived just in time to thwart them.  Too bad they managed to scurry off with a rather sizeable portion of my Lorehnin magic.  Now I was starting to wonder if they’d taken all of it and left nothing behind.

“Don’t fret,” Devlin told me, rubbing his hand up my side.  “Your magic just needs time to heal, and time to get used to being back in Eilé.”

Oh.  I must have been thinking out loud again.  Or he had grown far too good at reading my emotions.

Devlin took my hand and lifted it to his mouth to press a kiss there.  His unwavering support and affection was a balm to my tattered soul.  Not only had I discovered I was Lorehnin (someone of mortal and Faelorehn blood) in the worst possible way, but four months ago my foster parents had severed the last connection I’d had with them, making me an orphan once again.  Okay, technically I was an adult, but it still hurt to have the only parents I’d ever known declare they couldn’t accept me for who I was.  And this had happened before they knew I was Lorehnin.  All in all, it had been a very trying year and having Devlin, and now Enorah, Rhyne, and all the Wildren of the Weald, willing to welcome me into their home had been a blessing.

And tomorrow morning, I reminded myself, you will be leaving to go to the Amsihr Mountains where you may or may not find your blood relatives.

I was incredibly nervous about the prospect of tracking down my family, but Devlin had promised we would stop by Luathara Castle on the way and visit with Meghan and Cade.  I could not wait see Meghan again.  I had written her a letter about a month after moving to the Weald with Devlin, and her response had been such fun to read.  She’d stated enthusiastically that she didn’t believe me, and that she would murder me if I was playing a prank on her.  The rest of the letter was a long list of questions: how could I be half Faelorehn?  What was Devlin like?  Where was I living?  How did I like Eilé?  And, most importantly of all, she wanted to know why I hadn’t come to visit her yet.  The letter I’d sent out after that one assured her that Devlin and I would be making a trip to Luathara very soon.  And that day had finally come.

Shaking my head, I returned my thoughts to the conversation Devlin and I had been having earlier.

“I can feel my glamour, I just can’t picture it too well,” I admitted with a shrug.  “It’s almost as if the magic in me is trapped inside an egg.  I can detect it inside its shell, but I have no idea what it looks like.”

Devlin nodded and pursed his lips, his hands resting casually on his hips.  “Glamour can be like that, especially with someone who grew up in the mortal world.”

I narrowed my eyes and released a sharp breath through my nose.  If my glamour was as stubborn as I was, it might be a century before it graced us with its presence.  Or, a less optimistic part of me whispered into my mind, your suspicions could be right after all and Mikael and his horrid sister are now basking in the glow of magic that was once yours.

An image of the two of them, in all their resplendent Faelorehn beauty, dancing around in a cave as my electric violet magic rained down on them, flashed through my mind.  Fierce anger pierced my heart and I gritted my teeth.  The stupid scene lingered, so I used my skills of imagination to envision a giant scorpion emerging from the depths of the cave to slice them in half with its pincers.  As horrific as the image was, it made me feel a little bit better.

Devlin caught sight of my face and gave me one of his disarming smiles and said, “Don’t give up on it just yet.”

He reached out a hand and I accepted it, reveling in the feel of his warm, long fingers lacing with mine.  I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, the worry melting away under the warmth of the early spring sunlight.  We walked in silence the rest of the way back to the small village of the Wildren, neither one of us needing to talk as we let the natural beauty of Eilé occupy our senses.

Before long, the trail broke away from the crowded trees and blooming underbrush, and spilled out into a spacious meadow of sorts with a few large beech trees standing here and there like living watch towers.  The village of the Wildren itself was composed of several rustic cabins consisting of natural stone or logs topped with tightly-woven, thatched roofs.  Many of the roofs were dotted with green patches of sod or moss.  Some of the houses were single-storied units, a few others standing a bit taller, suggesting a lofted bedroom above the first floor.  They all sported chimneys, for the Otherworld grew very cold in the winter.  I hadn’t lived in the Weald for very long, but since arriving in mid-February, I had woken to find the ground dusted with snow at least three times.

Today, although still somewhat chilly with winter’s remnants, held a brightness to it that promised warmer days ahead.  Devlin and I made our way between the clusters of cabins, pausing every now and then to make space for those moving a lot quicker than us.  A variety of children, ranging in age from early toddler years to late teens, scurried about doing their daily chores or hurrying off to their mid-morning lessons.  I smiled, despite the nagging worry about my magic.  One thing I’d learned for certain in the past several weeks was that Enorah was a gift from the Celtic gods.  Not only did she take all these stray children in, no questions asked, but she insisted on giving each child that came into her care an education in both academics and defense.  The Otherworld was a dangerous place and she wanted to make sure they were prepared should they choose to leave the Weald when they reached adulthood.

Some of the youngest ones, not much older than five if that, sat around in a circle as an adult read to them from an ancient, leather-bound book.  In one open patch of land, the leaves had been swept clean and some more children, these ones a little older, were busily scratching numbers into the dirt as their teacher called out instructions.  Around the communal fire pit a great cauldron hung suspended over a pile of dry wood.  An older woman, probably Lorehnin like Devlin and me, was showing five teenagers how to properly prepare the midday meal, while two others worked diligently to get the fire lit.  Down by the creek, another group was casting lines into the rushing water in the hopes of catching a fish or two.  Beyond the edge of the village, where a large clearing stretched beyond the other side of the stream, several older children were trying their luck with archery.

I grimaced when I watched one misfire and receive a rope burn on his arm.  I knew how he felt.  The longbow and I were not on good terms.  I had received my fair share of rope burns, and being as short as I was, the longbow wasn’t the best weapon for me.  After my fifth attempt at the sport, Enorah had taken pity on me and given me the crossbow to try out.  It had been love at first sight, and anytime I wasn’t studying about the history and social structure of Eilé, or learning how to defend myself against the magical beasts and beings of the Otherworld, I was over at one of the archery ranges, practicing with Venom.

“Are you all packed for tomorrow?” I asked Devlin as we took a left and headed toward our own cabin, leaving the activity in the village center behind.

There were only a handful of cottages that weren’t clustered together with the others.  Enorah and a few of the other adults had their own, private lodges, and when Devlin had returned with me, she had been kind enough to gift us our own place.  Nestled against the small, rocky hillside that sat on the other side of a shallow creek, and spaced a comfortable distance from its neighbors, the cottage I shared with Devlin was a step up from my apartment in San Luis Obispo.  The floor plan was an open one, with the common room, kitchen, pantry, and a small bathroom downstairs.  The bathroom was tiny, but functioned almost the same as those in the mortal world did, so I couldn’t complain.  A lofted bedroom upstairs completed our cozy space, and the many windows let in plenty of outside light.  The furnishings were simple as well, and even though it wasn’t the best place for entertaining, I absolutely loved it.

“Yes, but I noticed you still haven’t packed.”

Devlin’s voice interrupted my thoughts once again, and I smiled with sweet wickedness up at him, fluttering my eyelashes demurely.  I was by no means a damsel in distress, but it was fun to play with Devlin.  To my slight dismay, however, he knew better than to fall for my attempts at innocent seduction.  Curse him.

“Are my charms not working on you?” I queried meekly when he studied me with an unaffected air.

“Not in the least,” he quipped, the brightness in his blue eyes suggesting otherwise.

I sighed dramatically and took several steps forward, moving closer to our cabin.  Over my shoulder I said, “I guess I’ll have to practice some more on Keirney and Donnel, then.   They seemed very eager to help me the last time.”

The smug look on Devlin’s face disappeared in a flash.  Without warning, he struck, his hand shooting out to grab me.  Fortunately, I had put enough distance between us to dart out of reach just in time.  Laughing, I bolted for the door to our cabin, throwing it open and sprinting inside before Devlin could stop me.

I placed Venom and the extra crossbow bolts in the corner as gently as possible, but that moment of pause gave Devlin enough time to catch up.  The air whooshed from my lungs in a startled gasp as he wrapped both arms around me, scooping me up against his chest.  I kicked my feet, not intending to hurt him but hoping to encourage him to put me down.  I squealed in horrified surprise as the two of us began falling backward.  Expecting Devlin to hit the floor, I shut my eyes and waited for the impact.  Instead, I felt him bounce against something soft.  I stilled when I realized he had collapsed into the love seat.  His grip, which had been as unyielding as a vice, melted slowly into a fierce embrace.  Both of us were breathing harder than we should have been, and soon Devlin’s hands were seeking out the skin beneath my shirt.  Oh no.  None of that.

I squirmed away and Devlin let me go.  I ended up sitting across his lap, my hands pressed against his chest.  I wasn’t trying to escape, not really, but I couldn’t have him taking advantage of my momentary weakness, either.  Not if I wanted to keep my wits about me.  I made myself comfortable, sinking further into his essence and pressing my cheek against his chest so that his chin rested on the top of my head.  There.  Hopefully sitting here for a while would cool both of us down.

“Now, are you satisfied?  Or do I have to have words with Keirney and Donnel?” he asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

I smiled, and even though he couldn’t see it, I was certain it rang clear in my voice.  “Oh, no.  You don’t have to worry about them.”

Tilting my head so that I could get a better look at him, I continued, “You do realize that Donnel is ten, and Keirney is eight, don’t you?”

Devlin’s eyes narrowed, but the humor remained.  “They may be young now, but in ten years or so it will be an entirely different story.”

I sat up and shoved a hand against Devlin’s shoulder.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snorted. 
 “They’re like my little adopted cousins.  And besides, I’ve got you. Why would I want anybody else?”

The look Devlin gave me made my heart melt.  Biting my bottom lip, I snuggled up against him once again.  Although I had always portrayed myself as being rough around the edges and wholly independent, it wasn’t entirely true.  My relationship with my foster parents had always been touch and go, and when my father had written to me in college to inform me that he and my mother no longer wanted anything to do with me, I had kind of let that fierce façade crumble a little.  I didn’t want to admit it, but part of me was still pretty emotionally disturbed from their rejection, and Devlin had been there to fill that hole.  I didn’t know what terrified me more: knowing that I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was, or wondering if maybe the reason I loved Devlin so much was because he had been there, in the right place at the right time, when I really needed a friend.

I gritted my teeth at that last thought.  What I felt for Devlin was genuine.  He was fierce and passionate in his own right, and even if my life hadn’t taken such a rocky turn; even if my foster parents had loved me as much as any parent should, I still would have fallen for him.  And I was strong, despite my weaknesses.  I had survived a botched sacrifice, and despite my fears and misgivings, I had embraced my feelings toward Devlin and had come to live in Eilé with him.  Every day that passed, I grew stronger and better at being a young Lorehnin woman in the Otherworld, despite my mortal world upbringing.  And I could have done it with or without Devlin by my side.  But it was oh-so-nice to have his love and support.

“Hey now,” Devlin murmured, shifting me on his lap so that he could look into my eyes.  “No dark thoughts.”

My smile was weaker this time, but I shook my head.  The fact that he could read me so well was proof we made a great team.  Time to snap out of my melancholy.

“Dark thoughts gone,” I promised, holding up my right hand.

“Good,” he said.  “We don’t want Meghan and Cade to think you hate it here.”

That made me laugh and reminded me that I still had to finish packing.  Groaning, I reluctantly pushed away from Devlin and headed toward the stairs to our bedroom.
Upstairs, several articles of clothing, both from home and from Eilé, lay strewn across the bed like discarded corn husks.  The wooden steps creaked and soon I felt Devlin’s presence behind me.  My arms were crossed loosely over my chest and I turned to glance back at him.

“I’m still not sure what to bring.  Will it be cold at Luathara?”

The nights in the Weald had been exceptionally chilly, and winter still hung in the air for most days, but I had no idea if Meghan’s castle would be the same.

“It shouldn’t be too different from the climate here in the Weald, but the mountains will most likely be snowcapped and cold,” he admitted as he stepped forward to help me pick out the appropriate attire.

The two of us were only bringing one pack each, since we planned on walking for most of the trip.  The idea was both thrilling and horrifying to me.  It felt like we were going on some grand adventure found only in the epic fantasy novels I’d read over the years.  Part of me couldn’t wait to discover the Otherworld in this way, but another part was extremely cautious.  I had seen what monstrosities Eilé could produce, and knowing that I’d be traipsing around in the land of faelah and evil wizards who employed the Morrigan’s dark magic made me want to curl up in a ball and hide under our bed for a week or two.

But I couldn’t let myself dwell on that.  The world I lived in now was dangerous, and although I was still very much a novice with regards to my crossbow and self-defense lessons, I’d picked up a lot of new skills since leaving my old life behind.  The visit with Meghan and Cade would be well worth the risk of a possible faelah encounter, and the anticipation of seeing my best friend again, in her new home in Eilé, was enough to burn away the last of my apprehension.

“Well in that case, I’ll pack a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts and a few sweatshirts.”

I gently shoved Devlin out of the way and started picking from my pile of clothes.  I was able to fit five T-shirts, two of them with long sleeves, three pairs of jeans and a pair of shorts, along with a set of pajamas, into the pack with my spare underwear and socks underneath.  On the very top I placed a heavy hooded sweatshirt, just barely getting the straps buckled to keep it all in place.

When I turned around I found Devlin grinning.

“Will you ever wear any of our clothing?” he wondered aloud.

I crossed my arms and wrinkled my nose at him.  “I do wear your clothing.  But my old clothes will take up less room in my bag.”

He only shook his head, his lips curving into that lopsided grin I loved so much, then stepped forward and pulled me into his arms again.  This time I tilted my head up to his, silently asking for his kiss.  He didn’t disappoint me and I responded back just as enthusiastically.

“We’ll never be ready to leave in the morning if you keep this up,” he murmured, his voice rough and low.  The very sound of it sent shivers down my spine.

“Oh, what’s the rush anyway?” I returned, kissing him again, this time much more thoroughly.

Somehow, Devlin was able to escape my attempts at seduction and slipped away to help the others with some chores he’d promised to attend to before our departure in the morning.
Once alone, I got back to the dismal task of filling all the pockets on my pack with the little things we’d need for our journey.  Just to please Devlin, I added a skirt, blouse, and the bodice Enorah had given me when I had first arrived in Eilé to the lot, squeezing it into the large pocket on the front of the pack.  After checking, and double-checking that I had everything I would need, I carefully folded the remaining clothes and returned them to the large chest on my side of the bed.

Downstairs, the cabin was empty and growing brighter as the sun crested the sky.  Since Devlin would be busy the rest of the day helping with patching roofs, mending fences, and other such chores, I decided to make use of the time by tidying the cabin and getting dinner started.  We would be gone for the gods knew how long, and I didn’t want to tempt any vermin into breaking in while we were away.

Once the kitchen and living room were free of crumbs and clutter, and the stew was bubbling on a pot suspended over the small fire place in the kitchen, I curled up in one of the stuffed chairs beside the window and picked up the book I had started reading a few days before.  The tome was a collection of children’s tales of Eilé, miraculously written in English, and despite their simple plots, I found myself enjoying them.  As my eyes traveled over the pages, reading about fantastical creatures, both evil and benign, I wondered how many of them were real and living in this magical world I had been introduced to.  Perhaps tomorrow, and the days to come, I’d get to see some of these dangerous and benevolent things.  To my delight, the thought left me smiling and eager to begin our journey.