1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Simonelli Rev 2

Name: Danielle Simonelli

Genre: Young Adult fantasy

Title: The Blood of Runes

PITCH:

When Pippa was thirteen, a supernatural storm swallowed her Viking father and whisked him away. Three years later, Pippa relies on her older brother, Jamie, to keep her safe. In true Viking fashion, she gambles and takes unnecessary risks, but she’s only trying to cope with the loss of her father. When the cloud returns and snatches Jamie, Pippa is heartbroken and vows to save him.

A young sorceress, Margret, reveals the cloud is a Night Mare—a sinister horse when on land and a menacing storm in the sky. Margret can track Jamie using ancient blood magic and offers her help. Pippa learns the sorceress is lying about her true identity, but using Margret’s powers might be the only way to save her brother.

Pippa steals Viking longship and embarks with an unlikely crew. Some are her friends, others are strangers, and she suspects one hides a secret. While seeking answers in the Scottish Hebrides, Pippa unearths the cause for Jamie’s abduction: Kolruna, a Norse witch, blames Pippa’s family for the death of her lover and persecutes them in revenge.

Caught in a whirlwind of deception, Pippa must decide between relying on Margret’s obscure blood magic to face the Night Mare, or embrace the risk of finding Jamie alone, before the vengeful Kolruna hunts Pippa herself and she loses her brother forever.

FINAL VERSION:

Pippa rolled the dice and winked.

She slid a tafl pawn three spaces across the checkered board, eyeing the prize knife. Elaborate scrollwork snaked around its handle and a curious rune decorated its blade. Her older brother, Jamie, would love to add it to his collection. He always sought weapons with character.

A ruffian sat across from her and scratched the faded scars puckering his nose. He leaned over the game board and rolled the dice. Six marks. Sailors trying to earn some quick coin exchanged bets and told him to move this piece or that. Everyone shouted drunken suggestions at Pippa too, except for a stranger by the fire. He stood apart from the crowd, but watched the game…and her.

She ignored them all, because she already had a strategy to capture the King-piece and needed to focus. Her opponent moved a white pawn by six squares and muttered something in Norse. His sharp gaze met hers with a look that said “That’ll show you!”

She’d relish his moment of shock when he lost.

“Hmm, tricky move,” Pippa said. She bowed her head to hide an impish smile. Jamie had taught her how to master tafl, which her opponent foolishly agreed to play. He’d originally suggested a test of riddles, but the last time Pippa attempted a riddle contest she lost a silver bracelet.

She scanned the mead hall, making sure Jamie wasn't around, because she wanted to surprise him with the weapon. He also didn’t need to know she was gambling again.

Many young women played tafl—Pippa wasn’t an exception—but she did it often. Maybe too often. Her father would have been furious at her. Furious, but proud when she won the knife. Playing the game required close scrutiny to anticipate future moves, and during those brief, intense points of concentration, Pippa forgot her father’s crazy beard and warm smile. The memories disappeared.

At least for that moment.

She lifted a cup of frothy ale, and the faint scent of aged oak conjured images of summertime mischief with her brother, when they had snuck a taste of ale from the brewer’s barrels. She drank it with a single swallow and banged the emptied cup next to the game board. Everyone around her cheered. She reached for a nearby flagon and refilled her cup. Pippa could enjoy two drinks, maybe three, without muddling her senses.

She turned back to the board and rolled the dice. The ruffian was an idiot, but he needed to think he had a chance. Otherwise, he might end the game. She started to reach for a red pawn, hesitated, made a show of sighing and tugging on her bottom lip, and then reached for another. Pippa moved it seven squares, diagonally. Her heart thrummed, hoping he’d fallen for her act.

She tapped her foot to the warbled rhythm of a panpipe, thrilled with her imminent win. With the ruffian’s turn came a squall of suggestions from the crowd, yet the stranger by the fire remained aloof, fussing with voluminous robes until they lay just right. A heavy hood framed his face, but her eyes were riveted to him, shadows and light carving out the sharp planes of his jaw. He rubbed his chin with the tip of his thumb, flashing gold rings on his fingers. Their eyes locked, and she squirmed under his stare as his mouth twisted into a taunting grin.

The stranger was a diversion, and Pippa had to stay alert and pay attention to the game. Her fingers tightened on a red pawn.

The ruffian cracked his fat knuckles. “I need a break.” His voice sounded harsh, like the jagged edges of raw, unforged steel scraping against stone. A raider, no doubt. Fresh from a viking and just passing through, like everyone else in the buzzing mead hall. He clearly didn’t expect to lose to a sixteen-year-old girl.

She pretended to shift uncomfortably on the wooden bench. “Já, I could use time to think on my next move.”

He slapped his knee in agreement and retreated to the fire with his friends.

She would have won two turns ago, if he hadn’t bumbled into a lucky move. If she won the game, she’d claim his knife. If he won the game…

She shuddered, determined to avoid that possibility.

Pippa stole another wary glance at the hooded stranger.

With a flick of his wrist, the stranger beckoned the innkeeper to him. They spoke, huddled, heads bent. The innkeeper, a short man with a beard like a bird’s nest, cocked his head toward Pippa.

The stranger smiled at her and nodded. Pippa looked away, reaching for her ale and burning to know why she had roused his attention. She held the drink to her lips and watched him over the rim of her cup.

He hardly noticed the girl who served him a horn of mead, and then shooed her away with a careless swish of his hand. The stranger moved to a remote corner, away from the music and gaming and girls casting suggestive glances. With his back to the crowd and his eyes fixed on Pippa, he waved a lazy hand over the mouth of his horn, and a thin column of mead coiled up from the vessel.

She blinked. With a quick, twirling finger, the mead made a loop in the air and wove between his fingers before splashing back into the horn.

Pippa dropped her cup. Ale drenched her lap and trickled down her trousers. Disbelief must have shown on her face, because the stranger chuckled and tipped his horn to her. She wiped away the ale and fidgeted with her cloak, not understanding what she had witnessed. She had seen extraordinary, incredulous things, but nothing like twirling mead, and judging by the crowd’s indifference, she was the only one who had witnessed the stranger’s magic.

She worried her lip, thinking she shouldn’t have come alone. She may have enjoyed too much ale after all. Though, the room wasn’t tilting and the faces around her weren’t smeared in a blend of drunken color.

Ale soaked her shirt, too. Even if Jamie didn’t find her in the mead hall, he’d certainly smell it on her.

A rowdy lout scooted down the bench to sit beside her. He leaned close—too close—and draped an arm around her shoulders. The lout smelled like pickled fish, and she crinkled her nose when he slurred gibberish in her ear. Pippa might have shrugged him off if she wasn’t so stunned by the stranger’s magic.

A heavy hand landed on her back.

She turned to find Jamie looming over her, his face scrunched in an unpleasant grimace. He flung the lout’s arm off her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Jamie asked, sounding both relieved and frustrated. He didn't wait for a reply. “You’re leaving.”

He had no reason to be upset. “I'm fine,” Pippa said. “Besides, I have a present for you.”

“She's not going anywhere until the game’s finished,” the scarred ruffian said, emerging from the far corner. His eyes flicked from her to Jamie, who returned an unreadable, glassy stare.

“You.” Jamie pointed at Pippa and then the door. “Out.”

“If I win I get his knife.” She jutted her chin toward the game board, wanting him to see how close she was to victory. “And if I win in less than fifty moves, I get his fox fur as well.”

“What if you lose?”

Pippa’s cheeks warmed.