Description:
Three nations teeter on the brink of war, and caught in the middle, a brother and sister find themselves surrounded by dangers they never imagined.
Adopted by the Yurha, Toby still struggles to properly fit in. Hunting in the forest, he stumbles across a jeweled cuff that attaches to his wrist and won’t come off. Afraid at first, he is soon thrilled to discover the cuff carries powerful magic. But as he tries to control it, he realizes the cuff is still linked to its original owner - an owner who will go to cruel lengths to get his magic back.
Miles away, Toby’s twin sister Ora struggles with life in a strange city. She and family have fled Yois for Nietza, where Ora will not be arrested for possessing magic. However, Nietza is not the magical paradise Ora had imagined. Despite her new friends, she can’t feel safe in a country where women are little more than pawns.
Secrets, brutal murders and war edging ever closer drive both siblings from their safe places. Failure to stop those who pursue them will mean a fate worse than death.
GUEST POST
How Do You Keep Your Writing Different
What I’ve published so far can easily be described as fantasy. It has magic, and a definite past setting feel to it. However it also has trains, firearms and more a sense of 19th century than 12th. I’m told this confuses people. That used to worry me, but now it makes me happy.
Being different is what makes you stand out as a writer. I’ll be the first to acknowledge that Threads of Magic is by no means taking any great risks as a work of fantasy. Certainly nothing like some of my works in progress. But everything that exist in that world was created entirely for me.
I wanted to see a fantasy world set in the 19th century that wasn’t demonstrably steam punk, so I wrote it. I wanted to write a fantasy story using my style of werewolves, so I created them. What happened was that as I wrote, and built Toby’s world, I established rules. What I created eventually slammed up against those rules, and changed because of that. It became something better, richer and something I loved.
I always write what I love, and I always establish rules to keep each world well in check. And my favorite part of writing is finding that place where the story clashes with the rules, and figuring out how it all makes sense. That’s how I keep my writing different, and something that I love.
EXCERPT
Toby worked at the wrist cuff, but it
hardly budged. It had become something
like a piece of his arm.
Leaves shuddered
overhead. A pair of squirrels raced over
the branches, chittering. Toby sat alone
against the bole of a tree, a half mile or so from the settlement. No sign of an oversized hawk, but he had a
better idea than scanning the branches.
He’d ended up inside the hawk’s mind before. He thought he could do it again.
He stripped away his leggings and
loin cloth and laid them beside him.
Naked, he shivered, despite the unusual heat of the mid-autumn day. A thrill of fear coursed through him at the
other part of his plan. The memory of
pale fur sprouting across his arm stuck hard in Toby’s head. If it
means what I think it means, the thought drifted as Toby steadied his breathing. He pressed his back against the rough bark
and sank into the wrist cuff.
The wellspring of magic nearly
swallowed him. He tried to imitate what
Kyat had done, pushing his awareness away from the crystals, and into the
metal. A different power, with the taste
of metal, stung him.
Blackness swallowed him. He fought to stay aware. Everything shifted, spun, and someone else’s
mind swept over and around him. He
glimpsed scaled claws and dark feathers.
The hawk.
He watched through the creature’s
eyes, and felt what it felt. Spasms
wracked its body. One claw flattened, flexed, the scales melting away to reveal
a misshapen foot. Toby cried out at the
pain of even that small success. Then
the foot twitched and turned back into a claw, and with a strangled cry, the
hawk took flight.
Toby was thrown back into his
body. He knew the hawk hid somewhere at
the north-eastern edge of the pack’s territory, where the hills began to give
way to mountains. He’d also learned
something else; the feel of a type of magic he’d never experienced before. He sent his mind back into the wrist
cuff.
He pushed away the bits of his
magic, and other magics he couldn’t name.
In the midst of those, the cuff held a bundle of power that curled and
writhed. Shifting magic.
To wear fur and run on all
fours. To howl and tumble with his
brothers. To run with the pack during
full moon hunts, and take down a deer with his teeth. To be a wolf, like his family. To be truly one of them.
Toby willed every ounce of those
thoughts into the magic and spread it through his body.
A cramp struck his lower belly and
doubled him over, then dropped him to his knees. His chest tightened and, for a moment, panic
seized him, and he wanted to shove the magic away.
He breathed slowly while spasms
wracked his body. The bones in his legs
cracked first, shifting, and forcing him to stand awkwardly on his hands and
feet. Then his arms and back twisted. His face crunched, stretched. His shoulders popped. Fur grew, like tiny pins bursting out of his
skin. The whine of an animal spilled
from his throat.
About the author:
S. M. Pace lives with her husband in the wilds of Virginia, along with a pond full of fish, a turtle and too many squirrels. When she's not writing, she's wrangling a dozen pre-schoolers, learning a new recipe or reading.
2 comments:
I like the way you twisted "Beauty and the Beast". The original story has been told so many times that no one is surprised by the ending. I would love to read your book because I can bet that their is no one who can bet on how it ends.
As far as love goes, you said it, is love enough or is something just enough? Ha!
Thank you so much for featuring Wings on your blog.
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