1st 5 Pages March Workshop - McDonley Rev 2

Name: Laura McDonley
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Title: A Whisper in a Windstorm

Pitch:

A'dya, a 16 year old no-nonsense warrior from the isolated village of Madoria, returns home after surviving her year of seclusion, a coming of age trial for all Madorians. Instead of the expected coming of age ceremony and marriage to her selected mate, A’dya discovers the inhabitants of her village missing. Without any clues as to what happened, A’dya must venture into the unknown, or risk never seeing them again.

On her journey, A’dya meets an annoying idiot fop who introduces himself as Pepik, the hero foretold in legend. A cultural misunderstanding, a deadly escape, and several epic swordfights reveal Pepik and A’dya’s goals may not be so different. As the truth of the situations become clear, A’dya must decide if she is as willing as Pepik to pay the cost.

Complete at 70,000 words, this young adult high fantasy novel is perfect for readers who loved the writing style of Helen Scheuerer’s “Heart of Mist,” the magic of Kristin Cashore’s “Graceling,” and the world building of Sarah J. Mass’s, “Throne of Glass.” A Whisper in a Windstorm is a standalone debut novel with series potential.

Chapter 1

Perched high in a meta tree, A’dya surveyed all forest life passing below. Stomach growling, she sat motionless. She hadn’t eaten in three days. It was beginning to take its toll on her.

A young bacura stepped out from behind a cluster of spine bushes. She licked her lips.

Thank Faith!

Quietly she slid down the rope she’d secured to her branch hours earlier. As soon as her boots met the ground she crouched, checking that her prey hadn’t spotted her. Chewing on a strip of bark, its body and ears remained relaxed. She let out a breath.

Blood pulsed through her veins, thumping in her ears.

Just follow the plan.  

She swallowed, biting her lip.

Same as always.

Crawling on her belly, A’dya moved as close as she dared before rising to her feet behind a tree trunk. She unsheathed her dagger and drew a deep breath.

Just remember your training.

She stepped out from her cover.

Muscle’s rippling, its body tensed. Its head swung in her direction, its wide eyes meeting hers. After a moment’s hesitation, it pawed the ground, its mud-caked hooves leaving ridges in the dirt.

Lowering its head, the bacura aimed its horns, huffed, then charged.

“One,” she counted, forcing herself to take a calming breath, “Two. Three.” She dove toward the right flank in a forward tumble.

In the matter of seconds her dagger slashed the bacura’s foreleg, severing its tendon.  Blood mixed with mud and tangled gray fur as the creature bellowed in pain and surprise. Landing behind it, she rushed again toward the beast. In a heartbeat, A’dya broke its back knee, kicking it from behind. Unable to support its weight, it collapsed where it stood, a cloud of dust puffing into the air around it. Pouncing a final time, A’dya opened its throat and silenced its rage.

She rested on the animal’s side, forcing herself to take long deep breaths. Iron. The air smelled of iron, a constant companion to a fresh kill.

Her hands shook.

A’dya began to skin the beast and prepare it for cooking. She’d have to find a place to bury the remains later.

After all this time, she’d expected to have conquered her nerves by now. Especially since her year of seclusion ended tomorrow, her sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow she would join her birth parents at the sacred pool and receive their blessing during her coming of age ceremony. Afterward, she would meet her betrothed, Vleck, and the two would become life mates.

Together, they would reenter Madoria. She would be Fewah, an equal member of the village, mate of Vleck.

Shaking her head to disperse her thoughts, she pushed a strand of messy white hair out of her eyes, leaving a smear of blood on her cheek.

Memories of home warmed her heart. Tonight she would sleep well in the nearby caverns.

She arrived at sunrise; plenty of time to prepare before her ceremony.
            Certain rituals needed to be performed before her birth parents and Vleck joined her. The waters of the pool felt therapeutic, as if the whole years’ worth of dirt and grime washed away.

            A’dya took care to wash her face, hands, and feet as was required. Her pale skin and violet eyes, obscured only by the rippling of the water, stared back at her. She drew in a breath. With a mixture of shock and wonder she realized how much her image had changed over the year.

Her features had become more defined, and her already petite body leaner. Her skin, which before had been pure of imperfections, was now etched with dozens of scars, each earned through sheer determination to live. Each represented a test she had endured and conquered. She pictured herself in the future highlighting each line with a different color paint, as many of the female Fewah did during village celebrations and holy days.

            After redressing, she prostrated herself on the ground by the Young Tree to wait. The custom was to use this time for prayers and thanksgiving, but she had grown skeptical of the power of the forest spirits. She had become doubtful of their very existence, but, even alone, she was not certain enough to voice the idea out loud. It was not long into her seclusion before she had given up prayer all together. Instead, she meditated.

She visualized entering the village an anointed Fewah and joining the ranks of those that had tested before her. The younglings would look at her in awe and admiration. She would epitomize what every youngling dreamt of becoming.

            The sun crowned the sky and descended. As light ebbed, so did her feeling of pleasure. Instead, her heartbeat thumped an indignant beat. Over and over it said, “Forgotten. Forgotten. Forgotten.”

            A’dya waited for the last light of the sun to disappear before admitting no one was coming. She squeezed her eyes shut, striking her fist on the ground.

A dry sob escaped her.  

            Not another night!  

A chill brushed her spine. It was time to seek shelter from the night creatures.

I am certain I have come on the right day. I did not miscount; I marked the passage of time fervently.

Glaring at her rucksack, she half-contemplated roosting in the meta tree for the night, just for spite. Without too much thought, she dismissed the idea. To desecrate the tree would mean irreversible expulsion from Madoria.

            Kicking rocks from her path, she wound around tree trunks and stomped through the bramble towards the caverns she frequented in her youth. She could find her way blindfolded if she needed to, and even had once on a dare.

Though she was forbidden to visit the village while still on seclusion, she took what she knew to be a route that would give her a glimpse of home. With mixed feelings of guilt and self-righteousness, she dared anyone to find her at fault for taking one look. She’d done her time.

            As she grew closer, self-consciousness compelled her to move more silently.

            The closer she crept the more aware she became of the lack of sound.
            Yes, it was late, but not yet late enough for the village to be abed. In fact, this time of night should have an abundance of sound.

            What if something happened to the village?

            She moved faster.

Where is the sound of Carers calling after their younglings? Or the Elders singing at the Calling Place Temple?  

Even the bleating of cocu goats was absent.

 Now the only noise that met her ears was her own breathing, the howl of the catip wolf somewhere high on the mountain, and the chirp of the nightbug.

            She reached the forest edge that framed her village. Shivering, all the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her stomach twisted in apprehension.

 Pulling back the branches, she peered through.

             She may have screamed.