So. It's been a little while hasn't it, dear blog reader? And perhaps it seems to return (maybe?) from my writing sojourn with a post about someone else's book. But I don't think it's lame at all, because this book is one I've been watching gestating many months now, growing at the fingertips of a dear, dear friend. Let me introduce a fairytale -- no, fairy epic: Portals of Water and Wine by R.L. Haas. I have had the opportunity to beta reader this story, and it is just yummy, stuffed with myth, adventure, war, love, allegory, and a helluva lot of beauty. Absolutely fantastic for an author's debut! Portals will release December 1, and today, it is available for preorder on Amazon, and is just $0.99 for Kindle. Eeee!!!
Want to know more? Read on for an exclusive synopsis and the dish on its kick-ass author, not to mention how to get in on the Portals online release party . . .
The war had waged for nineteen years. Alonthiel had been overrun with
the Fledgling Armies, the children of Ash and Iron. They were the sons
and daughters born once to Alonthiel, now so twisted and dark that their
former Fae heritage was barely a drop flowing through their veins.
There had been a treaty, but it had been broken…somehow…no one could
even remember the reason anymore. They had come in the night, with
their feathered manes and glowing eyes the color of boiling blood and
their fingernails set with iron. They had no need for swords, save the
ones that grew from the ends of their hands. They were a deadly force,
led into battle by their captain Flail, the son of the Fledgling King.
The sounds of children laughing had been replaced with widow’s wailing.
The smashing and splashing of men’s glasses and bar-house celebrations
had turned into the sound of metal on metal, metal on flesh.
The music was gone.
King Aboras had been crowned for only six days, a rushed ceremony without much pomp or fanfare. He was the fourth King since the war had begun. There was no separation of monarch from common man in the eye of the sword. He crouched in his tent, eyes fixed on the maps splayed on the table in front of him, but there was no focus or direction there.
He knew that this would be the last night. His armies were exhausted, running on little sleep and handfuls of food they gathered from the nearby woods. The supplies were sapped, and their powers were dwindling down to sparks. This was the end.
And so, in the darkness of the night with only the stars to provide light, Aboras gathered his people together, every last one that still lived. They circled around their king, loyal to the end. He could not lie to them. He told them of the losses, of the depletion of stores and the draining of magic. The end was coming; they should gather their families and run to the mountains, over the river that the Fledglings could not, would not, cross.
No one moved. Not one child tried to run, not one husband left his family. They all stood. None would leave their king.
Photo credit: Cover design by Megan Mahen of Megan Mahen Illustrations. Author photo by Jennifer Upton of Photography by Jennifer Upton.