1st 5 Pages Workshop - McDonley Rev 1

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

Chapter 1

Perched high in a meta tree, A’dya could see all forest life as it passed below. Stomach growling, she sat motionless. She felt as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

Probably because she hadn’t.

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

Thank Faith!

As quietly as she could, she slid down the rope she’d secured to her branch hours earlier. Once her boots met the ground she crouched, checking that the animal hadn’t heard her. She let out a breath when she saw it chewing on a strip of bark, body and ears relaxed.

Swallowing, A’dya could feel the quick thump thump thumping of blood in her veins.

Just follow the plan, she thought, 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, twin to the one Dilla, her carer, carried at home.

Just remember your training, she told herself. She stepped out from her cover.

The bacura saw her.

Its body tensed, deciding whether to fight or flee. Muscles rippling in agitation, the bacura pawed the ground, its mud-caked hooves leaving ridges in the dirt.

Lowering its head, the bacura aimed its long curved 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, successfully severing its tendon. Blood mixed with mud and tangled gray fur as the creature bellowed in pain and surprise. Unable to support its weight, it collapsed where it stood, a cloud of dust puffing into the air around it. Seizing the moment, A’dya pounced again, opening its throat and silencing its rage.

Resting on the animal’s side, she forced herself to take long deep breaths. Iron. The air smelled of iron, a constant companion to a fresh kill. She wanted to vomit.

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

She thought she’d have conquer 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 violet eyes, leaving a smear of blood on her cheek.

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

Hours before the sun peeked over the horizon the next morning the serenade of the lulabird nudged A’dya into consciousness. Without opening her eyes, she smiled at their song. Due to a combination of ghostly white plumage and a dozen old wives’ tales, lulabirds were whispered to be the spirits of lost souls.

            Rising had never been such a joy as today. The chores she performed every day for a year seemed fresh, even enjoyable. While packing her rucksack she whistled. While dousing and burying the fire she sang.

Dilla wouldn’t have recognized her in her good humor.

Still sore from five days of hiking, she stretched, readying for the final two hours before she reached the sacred pool.

Arriving exactly at sunrise, she had plenty of time to prepare before her ceremony.
            Certain rituals needed to be performed before her birth parents and Vleck joined her. A’dya wanted to begin as early as was permitted. 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 Fehwah 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.

Smiling, 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 the light ebbed, so did her feeling of pleasure. Instead, her heartbeat thumped an indignant beat. Over and over it said, “Forgotten. Forgotten. Forgotten.”

            With stubbornness, she waited for the last light of the sun to disappear before admitting no one was coming. Squeezing her eyes shut, she struck her fist on the ground in anger.

Feeling the chill of night brush her spine, A’dya growled. It was time to seek shelter from the night creatures.

            Rising to collect her possessions, she grumbled, I am certain I have come on the right day. I did not miscount; I marked the passage of time fervently.

            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.

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

            As the distance between her and the village shrank self-consciousness coerced her to move more silently, as if creeping up on sleeping prey.

            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. Where was the sound of Carers calling after younglings? Where were the Elders singing at the Calling Place Temple, or the bleating of cocu goats. Now the only noise that touched her ears was her own breathing, the howl of the lonely catip wolf somewhere high on the mountain, and the shy chirp of the nightbug.

            Growing anxious, she reached the forest edge that framed her village. Stomach twisting in apprehension, A’dya pulled back the branches and peered into the opening.

            She may have screamed.