"I loved this story! Ms. Hay's writes with such accuracy, every detail placed to perfection. Nothing is a coincidence. The plot, setting, scenes, characters, and every word chosen are so well developed. Casey Hays is one of my knew favorite YA writers![...]
I loved how the story was developed, and I so did not see the plot twists coming. I loved the ending and anxiously await the next book where Kate will become even more of an admirable heroine." - Goodreads, Angie Taylor
Breeder
The first book, Breeder, is set in a war-torn world where the main character, Kate, has been raised to believe the Village is the only place left on earth after the Fall. Her people, predominantly made up of women, worship the Moirai, the Three Sisters Fate, and believe the stars hold their destiny. The Archer, Kate’s ruling constellation, has destined her to become a breeder, but she fights this calling, even when she’s dragged to the Pit and thrown into a locked cave with her mate, Ian. Trapped and afraid, he is confused about why he’s there, and he only wants to go home.Their relationship develops into more than friendship, and Kate’s longing to find something better, to make her own choices, and to defy Fate grows stronger.
The Archer
The Archer takes readers on a journey away from the Village and toward Eden, Ian’s supposed home. By then, Kate has learned that Ian is different, even dangerous, and he is full of secrets that test her trust in him and his friends. Their journey takes them into one dangerous situation after another with no other villages in sight, and Kate begins to question whether she should have believed Ian at all. But her desire to find something to believe in that is greater than the Archer presses down her fear, even when that desire could mean her death.
"Casey Hays, you have done it again!This is way better than any post apocalyptic book i have read.This has been an epic journey till now. More questions than ever.[...]
If you are looking for an post apocalyptic journey be sure to check this book out. It has one of the strongest lead female and since it's a very serious book i let go of my need to have sass in my leading lady." - Goodreads, Sneha
Master, the final book, opens in the middle of a siege. An army from the north has revived technology in ways the world believed impossible, and threatens to destroy everything in their path. Their target? Eden. They believe Eden holds the key to saving the world and returning it to pre-war status. Many will die along the way. Misery and heartache will fall over the land and the people. But so with hope and faith… and love. Especially love. And Ian comes to the conclustion that what Kate has been searching for her entire life is what he needs, too.About the Author
Casey Hays graduated from Eastern New Mexico University with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and Spanish. She spent eleven years of her career teaching high school before attempting to write her first novel.The Cadence, a YA supernatural romance, debuted in 2012. She is the author of the Christian Dystopian series, Arrow’s Flight, as well as a featured author in the Apocalyptic Anthology, Prep for Doom, a collection of short stories that culminate into one theme. She currently resides in Clovis, NM with her husband and daughter.
“Be on your guard against men; they will hand you over to the local councils and flog you in their synagogues.” Matthew 10:17
The cave is small, very small and damp. And dark . . . . And it has successfully swallowed me up.
The floor is made of dirt, and only a small amount of the fading light seeps in. A mat, much larger than mine, is carelessly tossed against the farthest wall, covered with thin blankets. A hole in the ground serves as the toilet. This is all. No comforts whatsoever.
And the smell! I swallow hard to keep from gagging. It’s fresh and raw, wet and sour, and it seems magnified by the impeding darkness. It’s worse, so much worse than I’ve imagined . . . so much worse than Mia described. My shock turns slightly to anger.
How could Mona send me here, to this putrid place? How could she expect anyone to perform a duty surrounded by such filthiness and with males who are covered in this same foulness?
I raise the collar of my shirt up over my nose to ward off the stench.\
When he suddenly and painfully moans, all these other thoughts vanish. He moves; I scramble to my feet and back toward the opposite wall, watching him closely.
He lies in a dirty heap, but he lugs himself up, clutches his stomach, and leans his head against the stone surface. I stiffen and press closer to the wall.
I can’t see him clearly. I wish I could—this man I’ve been prepped for all these years and who will define who I am from this day forth. What is he like? The momentary sighting of him outside the cave walls was not satisfying enough, and a strong urge to have a closer look is all I can consider for a moment. Perhaps it will ease my tension to look at him. Will I be repulsed? Fascinated? Disappointed?
He spots me through heavy lids. At first, I can tell he’s disoriented, as if he’s waking from a dream. He shakes his head to clear it and focuses on me.
“Who are you?” he asks.
His voice is hoarse, but it bounces off the shadows of the cave loudly. I stare at him, not speaking. I have never been so frightened. I tremble, palms pressed against the cold surface, wishing I could disappear into the wall altogether.
“I asked you a question,” he snarls, pressing a hand against his head. A one inch gash, like a red smile, graces his brow. “Who are you? Can’t you speak?”
I’m taken aback by his question. It angers me a little.
“Of course I can speak!” I snap my words at him like a lash, trying to sound as tough as I can, but inside I don’t feel tough at all. I shrink closer to the wall as my eyes hone in on him like a hawk, wary of his movements.
“What’s your name, then?”
“Kate. My name is Kate.”
“Kate? Well, Kate, why are you here? Are you a spy?”
“What?” I crane my neck to get a closer look at this male. It’s so hard to see him in the dark shadows that permeate the entire cave, but his questioning must have some validity. Either that, or he’s testing me. I want to see his face. I don’t recall Madam Belle covering this kind of introduction in our lessons. “Why would you think that?”
“After what I’ve been through, the real question is ‘Why wouldn’t I?’” He moves, using the wall behind him for leverage to hoist himself up. I shift my position, clench my fists, ready to defend myself if necessary.
“Man, that broad was solid as a rock.” He pushes past me as I squeeze away from him, and he topples onto the mat. Stretching to his full length, he groans. “I guess I won’t be getting out today, then.” Once settled, he leans up on one elbow painfully gritting his teeth. “So Kate,” he wheezes. “May I call you Kate?”
I squint. “It . . . is my name.”
He laughs, and it is the fragile sound of something broken. “Right. So. What’s your story, Kate?”
“My story?”
“Yeah, you know. If you’re not a spy, what are you in for?”
“In for?” What a strange question.
“Yeah, why are you here? How long you staying? What’d you do to end up in this place? Where’s your family? You know, the usual.”
I study him curiously. I know very little about how the stock should behave, but he seems . . . unusual. I paid enough attention in my lessons to know that Madam Belle did not teach us how to hold a conversation with a mate. In fact, I’d never heard of conversing at all. And the words, the phrases he uses? I have never heard anyone speak in such a way, and I struggle with what I should say before I settle on something safe.
“They sent me to you,” I finally say. “I’ve been assigned.”
The man lifts his head and stares at me. Only now I see in the fading light that he isn’t a man at all. He’s a boy, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. This does not, however, calm my anxiety about being paired with him. It doesn’t matter at all.
“Assigned to me? Well. Wasn’t that nice? They’ve given me a girl. What a hospitable gesture. And just look at her, all clean and shiny. Just for me.” He suddenly raises his voice and yells as loud as he can. “YOU PEOPLE SURE KNOW HOW TO MAKE A GUY FEEL WELCOME! THANKS A LOT!” He levels his eyes at my shocked face. “There. That’ll teach ’em.”
His words reverberate off the walls, echoing back at us in vibrating rounds, and I’m stunned. He laughs a quiet, sad laugh that in no way matches his recent outburst. What kind of a mate is this? He speaks in riddles and behaves so strangely. Mia did not tell me the stock have their own language or that they are so rude when they first meet you. And I am here for three days! I feel a million tiny needles of regret pierce me all at once.
Why didn’t I just do what I was told? Why did I have to speak up? Look where it’s landed me?
I shift uneasily and hopelessly stare at the floor while this male busies himself with tearing the end of his shirt loose to press against his bloody forehead. He seems to have forgotten me. He’s so distracted, so uninterested . . .
I check myself as this thought permeates me.
He’s uninterested!
I raise my eyes, and my heart leaps with an inkling of hope. Can it be?
In my complete lack of desire to ever be mated, I have to admit, I paid as little attention as possible to a great deal of the lessons. But I assumed the stock were trained—just as I was—for this moment. But—
What if I’m wrong, and he knows nothing?
I’m exhilarated beyond description for a moment, and I can think of only one thing. Safe. I’msafe! If he knows nothing about the breeding—if I could be so fortunate—I would thank the Archer until the end of my days. If only he never has to know, and we never have to—
My excitement is suddenly disrupted by a more reasonable and very chilling possibility. Perhaps Madam Belle’s lessons were thorough for a reason. The prospect crashes in on me like a thousand falling stones, and I don’t want to believe it. But what else could it be except that . . . I’m supposed to teach him! I feel my gorge rising, and I take several deep breaths, my hand finding my throat.
I can’t do it. I won’t!
I wouldn’t even know where begin. The uncomfortable gestures and ease of words Madam Belle forged upon us made my insides leaden. And as revolted as I was just by hearing them, by seeing the things I would one day be expected to perform with a male—I couldn’t. I just couldn’t vocalize, let alone educate anyone on how to take part. No. I can’t.
After a moment, the boy slides over and pats the mat beside him, and I freeze. An invitation? Maybe he’s not as uninformed as I thought. I don’t know how to respond, so I simply stand here gaping at him in sheer panic. And when all the options running through my mind fail, I do the only thing I can do. I sit down in the dirt.
He watches me for a moment.
“I’m Ian,” he finally says.
I nod stiffly, but I don’t answer. I don’t care to know his name. I just want to get out of here. I want my hogan and my blankets, and I want to see the sun come bursting through my window tomorrow morning. I choke back a sob that threatens to climb out of my throat.
My distrusting eyes don’t stray too far from him. He is a hulking shadow with barely perceivable features, intimidating and mysterious. And yet, he makes no move to threaten me, and I find myself admitting he doesn’t appear to resemble the monsters from my nightmares. This, however, does little to ease my fears
About the author:
I've always been a writer. In fact, my mom still keeps a copy of the first book I every wrote when I was in third grade: "The Boy Who Liked Spankings." It was written on yellow, legal paper, folded in two and held together with rubber band knots. I'd even illustrated it with fingernail polish paintings. Two arguments could be drawn from its title: it was either my first social message, or . . . the story was influenced by some sort of trouble I'd found myself in earlier that day. Based on my upbringing, and the fact that I was pretty ornery, I can assure you the latter is probably the correct assumption.
EXCERPT
Breeder: Arrow's Flight #1
Chapter 4
“Be on your guard against men; they will hand you over to the local councils and flog you in their synagogues.” Matthew 10:17
The cave is small, very small and damp. And dark . . . . And it has successfully swallowed me up.
The floor is made of dirt, and only a small amount of the fading light seeps in. A mat, much larger than mine, is carelessly tossed against the farthest wall, covered with thin blankets. A hole in the ground serves as the toilet. This is all. No comforts whatsoever.
 |
| Three sisters of Fate, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. |
How could Mona send me here, to this putrid place? How could she expect anyone to perform a duty surrounded by such filthiness and with males who are covered in this same foulness?
I raise the collar of my shirt up over my nose to ward off the stench.\
When he suddenly and painfully moans, all these other thoughts vanish. He moves; I scramble to my feet and back toward the opposite wall, watching him closely.
He lies in a dirty heap, but he lugs himself up, clutches his stomach, and leans his head against the stone surface. I stiffen and press closer to the wall.
I can’t see him clearly. I wish I could—this man I’ve been prepped for all these years and who will define who I am from this day forth. What is he like? The momentary sighting of him outside the cave walls was not satisfying enough, and a strong urge to have a closer look is all I can consider for a moment. Perhaps it will ease my tension to look at him. Will I be repulsed? Fascinated? Disappointed?
He spots me through heavy lids. At first, I can tell he’s disoriented, as if he’s waking from a dream. He shakes his head to clear it and focuses on me.
“Who are you?” he asks.
His voice is hoarse, but it bounces off the shadows of the cave loudly. I stare at him, not speaking. I have never been so frightened. I tremble, palms pressed against the cold surface, wishing I could disappear into the wall altogether.
“I asked you a question,” he snarls, pressing a hand against his head. A one inch gash, like a red smile, graces his brow. “Who are you? Can’t you speak?”
I’m taken aback by his question. It angers me a little.
“Of course I can speak!” I snap my words at him like a lash, trying to sound as tough as I can, but inside I don’t feel tough at all. I shrink closer to the wall as my eyes hone in on him like a hawk, wary of his movements.
“What’s your name, then?”
“Kate. My name is Kate.”
“Kate? Well, Kate, why are you here? Are you a spy?”
“What?” I crane my neck to get a closer look at this male. It’s so hard to see him in the dark shadows that permeate the entire cave, but his questioning must have some validity. Either that, or he’s testing me. I want to see his face. I don’t recall Madam Belle covering this kind of introduction in our lessons. “Why would you think that?”
“After what I’ve been through, the real question is ‘Why wouldn’t I?’” He moves, using the wall behind him for leverage to hoist himself up. I shift my position, clench my fists, ready to defend myself if necessary.
“Man, that broad was solid as a rock.” He pushes past me as I squeeze away from him, and he topples onto the mat. Stretching to his full length, he groans. “I guess I won’t be getting out today, then.” Once settled, he leans up on one elbow painfully gritting his teeth. “So Kate,” he wheezes. “May I call you Kate?”
I squint. “It . . . is my name.”
He laughs, and it is the fragile sound of something broken. “Right. So. What’s your story, Kate?”
“My story?”
“Yeah, you know. If you’re not a spy, what are you in for?”
“In for?” What a strange question.
“Yeah, why are you here? How long you staying? What’d you do to end up in this place? Where’s your family? You know, the usual.”
I study him curiously. I know very little about how the stock should behave, but he seems . . . unusual. I paid enough attention in my lessons to know that Madam Belle did not teach us how to hold a conversation with a mate. In fact, I’d never heard of conversing at all. And the words, the phrases he uses? I have never heard anyone speak in such a way, and I struggle with what I should say before I settle on something safe.
“They sent me to you,” I finally say. “I’ve been assigned.”
The man lifts his head and stares at me. Only now I see in the fading light that he isn’t a man at all. He’s a boy, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. This does not, however, calm my anxiety about being paired with him. It doesn’t matter at all.
“Assigned to me? Well. Wasn’t that nice? They’ve given me a girl. What a hospitable gesture. And just look at her, all clean and shiny. Just for me.” He suddenly raises his voice and yells as loud as he can. “YOU PEOPLE SURE KNOW HOW TO MAKE A GUY FEEL WELCOME! THANKS A LOT!” He levels his eyes at my shocked face. “There. That’ll teach ’em.”
His words reverberate off the walls, echoing back at us in vibrating rounds, and I’m stunned. He laughs a quiet, sad laugh that in no way matches his recent outburst. What kind of a mate is this? He speaks in riddles and behaves so strangely. Mia did not tell me the stock have their own language or that they are so rude when they first meet you. And I am here for three days! I feel a million tiny needles of regret pierce me all at once.
Why didn’t I just do what I was told? Why did I have to speak up? Look where it’s landed me?
I shift uneasily and hopelessly stare at the floor while this male busies himself with tearing the end of his shirt loose to press against his bloody forehead. He seems to have forgotten me. He’s so distracted, so uninterested . . .
I check myself as this thought permeates me.
He’s uninterested!
I raise my eyes, and my heart leaps with an inkling of hope. Can it be?
In my complete lack of desire to ever be mated, I have to admit, I paid as little attention as possible to a great deal of the lessons. But I assumed the stock were trained—just as I was—for this moment. But—
What if I’m wrong, and he knows nothing?
I’m exhilarated beyond description for a moment, and I can think of only one thing. Safe. I’msafe! If he knows nothing about the breeding—if I could be so fortunate—I would thank the Archer until the end of my days. If only he never has to know, and we never have to—
My excitement is suddenly disrupted by a more reasonable and very chilling possibility. Perhaps Madam Belle’s lessons were thorough for a reason. The prospect crashes in on me like a thousand falling stones, and I don’t want to believe it. But what else could it be except that . . . I’m supposed to teach him! I feel my gorge rising, and I take several deep breaths, my hand finding my throat.
I can’t do it. I won’t!
I wouldn’t even know where begin. The uncomfortable gestures and ease of words Madam Belle forged upon us made my insides leaden. And as revolted as I was just by hearing them, by seeing the things I would one day be expected to perform with a male—I couldn’t. I just couldn’t vocalize, let alone educate anyone on how to take part. No. I can’t.
After a moment, the boy slides over and pats the mat beside him, and I freeze. An invitation? Maybe he’s not as uninformed as I thought. I don’t know how to respond, so I simply stand here gaping at him in sheer panic. And when all the options running through my mind fail, I do the only thing I can do. I sit down in the dirt.
He watches me for a moment.
“I’m Ian,” he finally says.
I nod stiffly, but I don’t answer. I don’t care to know his name. I just want to get out of here. I want my hogan and my blankets, and I want to see the sun come bursting through my window tomorrow morning. I choke back a sob that threatens to climb out of my throat.
My distrusting eyes don’t stray too far from him. He is a hulking shadow with barely perceivable features, intimidating and mysterious. And yet, he makes no move to threaten me, and I find myself admitting he doesn’t appear to resemble the monsters from my nightmares. This, however, does little to ease my fears
I've always been a writer. In fact, my mom still keeps a copy of the first book I every wrote when I was in third grade: "The Boy Who Liked Spankings." It was written on yellow, legal paper, folded in two and held together with rubber band knots. I'd even illustrated it with fingernail polish paintings. Two arguments could be drawn from its title: it was either my first social message, or . . . the story was influenced by some sort of trouble I'd found myself in earlier that day. Based on my upbringing, and the fact that I was pretty ornery, I can assure you the latter is probably the correct assumption.
I write constantly because my imagination never ceases to create some new world or some interesting person I want readers to meet. So much of my writing is thinking, being inside my own head, living with my characters. When I forget to do this first, my writing is a mess. But when I remember, magic happens. For this reason, it doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. Always, I am a writer.
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I would love to read these books :)
ReplyDeleteFate matches Kate with Ian.
ReplyDeleteKate is fine with pairing off with Ian?
But Kate wants to defy fate.
Okay, I know there is more to it than that, but it still struck me as funny.
Not that this would necessarily detract from the story, just struck me as funny.
Sounds like an interesting trilogy.
ReplyDeleteWould love to have this!!
ReplyDeleteWould love to have this!!
ReplyDeleteHi Casey, I am so looking forward to reading this series. Congratulations!!!!
ReplyDeletevery exciting, thanks for competition!
ReplyDeleteThey all Three sound totally awesome! I would love to add them to my library!They sound like a fantastic read!
ReplyDeleteThis sounds like a great series and I'm really looking forward to reading it.
ReplyDelete