10 Days Left of FATED TO DIE

Another day, another chapter! If you're new to the site, I'm doing 12 Days of Giving of my latest novel, FATED TO DIE. Please refer to the past two posts for previous chapters. 

Hope the holidays are keeping you merry! 

Pinterest page for story https://www.pinterest.com/taragallina/fated-to-die/

CHAPTER THREE

The fog doesn't squash me. Eventually, I feel the ground under my feet, and my own weight on my legs. Was I traveling and does this mean I've arrived?

Time has passed, though I don't know how much. Minutes? An hour? It feels longer, but I've too much fear in me to know for sure.

I haven't moved, afraid of what will happen if I do. Now that I'm on my feet, perhaps I should. Before I do, I listen for sounds of another person or my whereabouts. The woods?

Nothing. Now I'm becoming irritated. What kind of big, bad death-bearer greets her Messenger—slave—like this?

Out of curiosity, I raise my hand. It penetrates the mist as easily as if I were walking through fog. Even though I have no idea which direction I'm facing or how far I was dragged from the bridge, I step forward.

Nothing happens.

Hmph. I do it again and am about to run when something squeezes my arm. The touch is solid, nothing like the chilling embrace of fog before. To my surprise, a male’s black-sleeved arm stretches through the mist, his gloved hand clutching me tight.

"Excuse me, sir?" I try to jerk my arm free. "You're hurting me."

The person hidden within the mist doesn't release me or even soften his grip.

"Hello?" I turn toward him, lessening the strain on my arm. "Can you not hear me, or do you want to hurt me?" For a moment, I consider he might be helping me—freeing me from the fog.

When he doesn't respond, I take measures into my own hands and try to pry his fingers from my arm. When that doesn't work, I flatten my hand and chop at his wrist to break his hold.

The arm yanks back into the fog, and a groan sounds—a human groan that's too deep to be female.

Confusion drowns my fear. Who did I just hurt, and if the person is human, should I run or confront them? It may be a brave soul from the village here to help.

Before I can make up my mind, the person's arm reappears through the mist, hooks my waist, and tugs me to him.

My head snaps back, and my body crushes against a tall, hard figure barely visible in the haze.

"Who-Who are you?" I ask, slight of breath. His build and height are similar to Tristin's and other boys in the village. Does that mean he's around their age—my age? I peer up at him, trying to study his face through the mist with no luck.

His head tilts down as if he's doing the same to me. A moment later, he releases his hold and jumps back as if I burned him—or perhaps, he realized his inappropriate handling of me.

The fog hugs his body like a protective barrier, obscuring everything about him from my view except for his darker clothing where the fog has a muddier tint. He lifts his hand and points to my skirt.

The sheer material is wrinkled, and the hem is snagged, folded up by my knee. Quickly, I smooth it down so that it hangs nicely over the satin underlay. Long curls hang over my shoulders. At some point, I must have lost my braid. I sweep my hair back and straighten, trying not to appear afraid.

Again, I ask, "Who are you?"

Silent, he holds out his hand for me to take.

I step back.

His head tilts at a sharp angle the way Father's does when the twins disobey him. He snaps his hand out again. His message clear—take it or else.

Still, I don't. I can't. "Who are you?" My voice cracks a little.

His chest expands with what appears to be a deep breath. "Why do you purposefully defy the rules?"

Oh, my. I didn't expect his voice to be so eloquent given his tall, ominous presence. It's young sounding too, not haggard like Father's, confirming my suspicion about his age.

"Now you choose to be quiet?" he remarks.

I open my mouth to answer, but another question comes out. "Is that always around you?" I gesture to the fog and reach for the cloud around his arm. My fingers pass through moist haze, and I touch his sleeve.

He jerks his arm away. "Are you not afraid?"

I shiver and draw back my hand. "Yes. I am. I suppose. I'm trembling a little. But I'm curious too. I didn't expect you. I expected her."

"My mother doesn't greet Messengers. I’m in charge until she summons for them."

"She has a son?" I gasp. "How?"

He tilts his head in that sharp way again.

"I mean no disrespect, I'm just confused. No one speaks of your existence or of the Washer Woman having a son. I didn't know it was possible." Is it, or is this a form of trickery by the curse? We know so little about what happens to Messengers since no maiden has ever returned home to tell their tale.

He inhales another chest-expanding breath. "Shall I remind you of the rules?"

"You're angry with me." I take another step back.

"And you are out of chances. Understand the next rule you break will have a consequence beyond my control."

I try my hardest to recall the rules Mother told me when I was thirteen. At the time, the fear of the Washer Woman overwhelmed my brain, leaving little room for the rules. Mother and I rarely spoke of the curse after that day, and then she died….

"Um … I might need a refresher course—if you don't mind," I say. Razor sharp pain shoots up my spine as if I've been hit with an ax blade. My knees buckle, and I crumble to the ground.

"I warned you," the boy says, moving closer to me.

The burner sensation grows stronger, like hot needles digging into my skin. My muscles clench and my back arches with the pain. I force myself into a ball, hoping to ease the burn in my spine and murmur, "Help. Please. Help me."

"Try to breathe through the pain. It should be gone in a moment."

I work to slow my breathing. The burning starts to fade. When it's gone, my body goes limp with a relieved exhale. Sweat coats my skin and my muscles twitch with fatigue, as if I'd carried buckets of water from the river to the barn all day.

"You monster," I mutter when I'm strong enough to speak. "What kind of gentlemen leaves a maiden to writhe in pain without helping her?"

He offers his mist-covered hand to me.

"Now you want to help me?" I swat him away. "Forget it. I'll help myself."

Rolling onto my side, I slowly push up to my feet, one hand going to my back for support. I shoot him a hate-filled glare. "Did you do that to me?"

"You did it to yourself. You broke a rule." His tone is calm, void of emotion. 

Anger must charge my brain because a memory of the rules Mother stated breaks through. Once the Washer Woman sets the rules, you dare not break them or risk becoming her slave until the next Summer Solstice.

"Only the Washer Woman can set the rules," I state. "Since I haven't seen her yet, I haven't broken any."

"I don't know what you think this is, but it is no game. The rules were set by the curse. You abide by those rules or suffer the consequences. If one is broken to me the consequence is pain. If one is broken to my mother the consequence is far worse."

Only one girl has ever survived after being enslaved under the river. She was found in the woods on the following Summer Solstice. Slime covered her green-tinted skin, and a white film coated her eyes. She kept whimpering the same thing, "Dark, lonely, free of sins."

The village apothecary said she wouldn't survive very long. Still, the Council was determined to get answers from her. Though weak, she was able to say she'd broke the rule of looking at the Washer Woman. She said the woman appeared beautiful at first, with a slender build and long dark hair, but up close, black fish scales covered her skin. She had serpents for hair, eyes as silver as lightning, and her mouth was a black hole, ready to devour the souls of those Fated to Die. She made no mention of the Washer Woman's son.

The reality of what I am to face hits me so hard my legs shudder and grow weak. I need to be strong and survive for my family. One step at a time if necessary until I make it home to them.

Perhaps all the mockery and exclusion from the villagers was so I can face this and come out on the other side alive.   

I push back my shoulders and lift my chin. "Lead the way."

At first, he doesn't respond, and I sense he might be shocked by my change of behavior. "Much better." He nods and then gestures to his left. The fog parts, revealing dark woods. An orange glow lingers around the trees. The sun has set? I've been in this fog for longer than I imagined.

With cautious steps, I exit the haze. A path appears in the woods.

"Follow it to the end," the boy says, standing close behind me.

I do as I’m told, surveying the area as I go for anything familiar. The ground turns mushy. Mud swallows my satin slippers and the coats the hem of the white dress. Moisture thickens the air and dampens my skin. 

 The orange glow fades from the woods, turning everything to night. Silver illuminates the path as if the moon is showing me the way. When I glance up to see if it is, the woods are lost in a sea of black. No stars twinkle above and no moon. It doesn't make sense, especially since the ground still shimmers with silver light.

The path grows longer with each step as a new portion brightens the darkness ahead. I scan the area for the lights of the village, hoping to get a sense of how far we are in the woods. Nothing appears.  

The boy stays close behind me, his steps so quiet I peek over my shoulder to see if he's still there. He is, of course.

"Are you always covered in fog?" I ask, tired of the silence, tired of walking, tired period.

"No."

"Why are you covered in it now then?"

"When we are out, I am cloaked. When we are in, you are."

My steps falter. "What do you mean I'm cloaked? Not like you, I hope. My skin will shrivel and prune in all that mist."

"Keep walking."

I shuffle onward and try not to stutter when I ask, "You said 'when we are in' I'm cloaked. Where is in? The river?"

"You will soon find out."

I stop and stare up at his hazy face. "Is that part negotiable?"

His shoulders hitch and he makes a small throaty sound. I can't tell if he's in pain or laughing at me.

He straightens as if collecting himself. "You should not be speaking. Rules are rules."

"Can you at least tell me how they work? How many questions can I ask before—"

"—you're writhing in fiery pain again? Keep talking and you will find out for yourself."

I step back with a sharp gasp. "You are a cruel monster."

He stiffens. Even the mist stops swirling. "I am no monster. I am the Keeper of the Messenger. Nothing more, nothing less. I speak in truths and warnings, and I warn you again—too many questions will result in pain."

"Help me then," I plead.

He hesitates like he's considering it. The mist resumes its dance around him. I take it as a good sign, until he says, "Only speak when spoken to."

Argh! "Why are you so difficult?"

"Me?" He sounds aghast. The mist freezes and his posture turns stiff again.  "You are the difficult one. Now walk." He points down the trail.

Shaking with anger, I stand there for a moment before turning and stomping off.

I keep a fast pace down the trail, my jaw locked tight to keep from going off. The darkness lightens enough for me to see woods ahead and what looks like a cottage. It's nestled between two huge tree trunks, as if they're holding it together. The thatched roof slants at an odd angle. A crooked wooden door marks the entrance. As with the path, silver light showers the cottage like shimmering mist. As we draw closer, the wooden boards on the exterior show wear and tear in holes large enough for a small varmint to fit through.  

I cross my arms around myself. "What is this?" 

"Your home."

My throat tightens. "I can't live in that." It's not even stable. The roof could cave in and crush me. The holes in the framing are hazards too, easy access for hungry animals and poisonous snakes.

"Were you expecting a palace?" His tone is mocking. "You are a slave Messenger for the Washer Woman. From this day forth, you will only get what you deserve."

Deserve? "What does that mean?"

"You will suffer greatly unless you learn to comply. I cannot make this clearer than I have already."

It's not in my nature to comply. It never has. Even now, questions fill my head and my lips twitch with the need to ask them. I shouldn't be here. I don't know how this happened.

"Go on." He gestures to the cottage door. "See your new home and let more of this reality sink in. Perhaps that will help you learn to keep quiet by the time you see her."

I swallow and harden myself against the fear and anxiety plowing through me like a storm. If ever there is a time I need to use my ability to appear indifferent and strong, it's now.

The inside of the cabin is as decrepit as the outside. Grit chafes under my slippers as I cross the wood floors to stand in the middle of the tiny room. A crumbling stone fireplace covers one wall, a torn chair and footstool nearby. Beside it, a round table holds a gold-embossed book. For a moment, it appears to glimmer.

Across from the fireplace is a small table with two chairs. Is he to dine with me?

"Where do I cook? Sleep?"

"Save your questions. I will tell you everything you need to know." The mist around him seems thinner, like it's fading.

"Will I get to see you now?" Do I want to see his true form? What if he is frightening like his mother?

"Silence," he hisses, his voice louder in the enclosed space.

I cringe, even as my breathing grows hot and fast. "You don't have to be rude."

"With you it seems I must be many things, a babysitter above all."

My bottom lip drops. "I do not need a babysitter."

The pain hits me at once. I arch, feeling as if my back has broken, and collapse onto the floor. I land hard with a smack, but it is nothing compared to the burn slicing through my spine. Tears leak from my eyes with each whimper and moan.

"Make it stop. Please, make it stop." I don't know if I'm saying or thinking the words.

A cold hand touches my forehead. The pain moves up my body toward my head like it's being drawn there. Stars dance behind my eyes as throbbing fills my brain. Then it's gone.

Weakened, I lie on the floor and wait to regain my strength. I can't do more than blink my eyes half open.

Each time I do, it looks like the boy and the mist are vibrating. Did he just moan in pain?

A few moments later, a hand slides behind my shoulders, helping me to sit up and then to my feet.

"Thank you," I utter and sway with a dizzy spell.  

He steadies me. "Weakening yourself before meeting my mother will not help you. You need to be strong to face her, and, above all things, remember the rules."

My lips twitch with the need to ask questions, to know more. But how am I to get answers when I can't speak?

Argh! I stomp, releasing an ounce of frustration.

He glances at my foot. "It appears making no sound is impossible for you."

I fold my arms and mash my teeth together.

"Most Messengers are too afraid to react at all," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But you are not the average Messenger, are you?" Bending, he brings his face closer to mine. "The girl with two different colored eyes will ultimately be her demise."

It's as if he's murmuring the words to himself.

With his face so close, I strain to see his features through the mist. Everything is a blur, except for his eyes that flash with silver light.

I flinch away, frightened. Those aren't the eyes of a human.

"Finally, she's afraid." He straightens slowly, his posture stiff. The mist stops swirling.

"Why are you angry?" It's out before I can't stop it. "I would think you'd be happy I'm finally afraid."

His shoulders, chest, and entire upper body puff out with a loud breath. "The time for learning is over. Now the real work begins. Pay attention to the rules, I will not say them again. Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question. Do not try to run away or leave this home unless I am with you. Do not dare look at my mother tomorrow when you meet her at dusk. Do not ask her questions, ever. Do not speak to anyone when you deliver the clothing of those Fated to Die. Do not try to contact your family or friends in any way. And when my mist fades, do not dare look at my face."

So he is a monster under that mist. My heart hammers. I don't know I've backed away from him until I bump into the small table with chairs. Furniture clangs and scrapes the wood floors.  I straighten the pieces back to the way they were, the word sorry on the tip of my tongue.

"That's enough for today. For now, you must rest." He waves toward the back wall of the cottage. "You will find all you need in there." A door appears.

I gasp and stumble into the table again. The same clanging and scraping sounds. I don't straighten the furniture, my gaze stuck on the new door in the room. "Where did that come from?"

Instead of answering, he turns to leave.

"Wait!" I stumble after him.

He stops at the front door and gestures to a strange plant on a shelf I hadn't noticed when we came in. Fat yellowish-green leaves are striped with red veins that appear to be flowing. I’m not sure if it’s beautiful or creepy.

"Anything you do will get back to me." He pets the top leaves of the plant like you would a beloved animal. To me, he says, "Obey the rules, and you will be rewarded."

"Like being set free?" It just comes out. I slap a hand over my mouth and tense, praying pain doesn't slice through me.

The boy makes a disapproving sound and turns away from me. "Sleep."

12 Days of FATED TO DIE (Day 2)

As promised, I am continuing the 12 days of giving on my blog. Today, I will post chapter 2! Pinterest page for this novel https://www.pinterest.com/taragallina/fated-to-die/

See yesterday's post for book premise and chapter 1.

Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

FATED TO DIE

CHAPTER TWO

I've only just fallen asleep—at least that's what it feels like—when the door to my bedroom flies open. Quick feet patter across the floor. I squint in their direction. 

Wearing matching sage dresses, a large bow peeking out from the back of each, my sisters don't slow down when they approach the bed. "Did you see it, Praya?" Carys asks, her blonde curls bouncing over her shoulder as she hops onto the mattress. "Did you see the sun flash brighter?" 

"Of course, she did." Calyssa jumps on the other side of the bed, the two of them caging me in. "Everyone saw it. It was like the sun burst in the sky." She turns her wide gaze to the window.  

Like always, they sit across from the eye color of mine that matches theirs. Calyssa is on my left, her sapphire eyes matching the shade of that iris, while Carys sits on my right, her shamrock eyes identical to the color of that eye. 

"The sun flashed already?" I push pale tendrils from my face. They must be mistaken. That only occurs when the sun is the highest in the sky to mark the Summer Solstice. 

"That's what we just said." Calyssa rolls her eyes. "Why do you think we're in here? We waited for you to come out. You never did, so Father told us to wake you up."

"What time is it?" I try not to look too worried as I rub the sleep from my eyes. 

"It's an hour before the ceremony," Carys says and Calyssa adds, "If you don't hurry you're going to be late."

I wrench my head off the pillow. 

The twins giggle and point to my hair. "That's what happens when you take a bath at night," Calyssa says.

"We heard you." Carys's mouth twists with embarrassment. 

"Do you have to be clean?" Calyssa follows me as I climb out of the bed and stumble to the mirror. 

My hair looks like a stack of bleached hay. "Oh, my." I grab a brush from the vanity and try taming the long strands. The soft curls that usually form at the end of my hair are frizzy and wild like I was out riding my horse all day.  

"Is that why you took a bath last night?" Calyssa stops by my side.

"What are you talking about?" I give up on combing my hair and tie it back in a braid with a few loose strands hanging around my face. It will have to do.

"Father told us." Carys stands by the foot of the bed, her cheeks bright pink.

"Told you what?" I head to the bathroom leaving the door open as I wash my face with cold water. I can't believe I slept so late. 

When I enter the bedroom, Calyssa and Carys are standing by the large armoire, the white dress I'm to wear for the ceremony hanging on one of the open doors. 

"The tale," Carys answers.

"Which one?" I ask. Father tells so many, some of them made up, and some from books. It'd be impossible for me to know which one she means. 

Calyssa pinches the sheer overlay of the full skirt, lifting it as she asks, "The most important one, about the curse and the Choosing Ceremony. He said not to worry and that you won't be chosen. Does that mean you are not a virgin?"

I stop mid-step, halfway across the room. "He told you...." My throat closes before I can finish the sentence. Two nights ago, Father was supposed to tell them the tale about the Washer Woman, but when he walked in on them playing dolls in their pink and yellow room, ruffles and bows everywhere, he couldn't do it. 

Despite that I'd been eleven when I learned the tale, the appropriate age according to the Council, he wasn’t ready to steal their innocence. Recalling how Mother shared the same fears when it came to telling me the truth about the curse, I didn't push him. Apparently, he got over it last night and told the girls anyway.

"How do you become not a virgin?" Calyssa presses.

This is not a conversation I have time for. "I'll explain it to you later. For now, I need to get ready." I take the dress from the armoire.

"We could help you." Carys tilts her head with the sweetest smile on her face.

I touch her cheek. "Thank you, but I need this time for myself."

"Are you scared?" Calyssa steps in front of me when I turn to walk away. "Father says you have nothing to be afraid of."

"I know!" I snap and am hit with a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm mad at myself for sleeping in and so thankful to you both for waking me up. Now be good girls and tell Father I'll be ready to leave shortly." I tap the tips of their noses.

Carys beams but Calyssa has an uncertain look on her face.

"Go on." I shoo them out.

With a pout, Calyssa does as instructed, Carys at her side. Their dresses bell with their steps as they leave the room. 

I exhale a sigh of relief and close the door so I can change. The material of the dress is light and wispy with pink flowers around the bust, the puffed short sleeves, and the high waist. Mother had sewn on each by hand. Would she have approved of me being with Tristin last night? Mother wasn't one for following the rules, but could she have agreed to something that could punish the entire family if caught?

I take Mother's brooch from the drawer, grateful to still have it. For luck, I kiss the jeweled wings and slip it into a hidden pocket on the dress.

Father is waiting for me at the front door. He peers up as I walk down the curving staircase. "Beautiful, just like your mother." Pride lights up his blue eyes and I’m struck with more shame.

"Thank you." I manage a smile and take his elbow, praying he doesn't notice the slight tremble in my hand. 

His brows lower. "Don't look so nervous, dear one. Everything has worked out as planned. If our secret weren't safe, the Council guards would have come for us by now. All is well." He kisses my cheek. "Now let's get this over with so we can return home and carry on with our lives."

I nod, but my muscles remain clenched. Please let Father be right. I send a prayer to the Blessed Ones as we step outside. The full moon sits low on the horizon, a silver globe against the purple twilight sky.

Father and I take the carriage into town. We only have one left. Like the manor, it's worn and in need of repair, but business hasn't been the same since Mother died. The whispers in town say Father has lost his touch with the sheep. They no longer produce the best milk and wool. Their heads are often down as if their moods are tied to Father's—who has more sad days than happy. 

Outside the window, a field of long grass and wild flowers sway in the breeze. Lush woods wrap the land in rich shades of green. The ivory town and castle stand out like a pearl in a sea of green, with Mount Loras in the background, thick trees cascading down its tall sides. The river flows from the top of the mountain to the village, hugging it like a moat before it curves back into the woods. The Washer Woman resides in there, risen from the depths, waiting to choose her Messenger.

A chill whispers over my skin. The carriage stops near the entry of town. With shaky steps, I climb out and cross the bridge with Father. He pats my hand on the crook of his arm, oblivious to my deceit and the fate that could await us. I should have mated with Tristin, then I'd be calm like him.

White cottages sit shoulder to shoulder along cobblestone streets. They lead to the fountain in the town square. No one is out sweeping front door steps or watering potted plants. They stay behind locked doors and shutters, hoping the curse won't reach them.

The grand fountain looms ahead. Four tiers of white stone with Queen Alys standing at the top. Her cold expression earned her the nickname Stone Beauty, which has been passed down to me for how I ignore the snide remarks of villagers in town.

Muffled chatter mixes with the sound of trickling water. Father and I join ten or so virgin maidens gathered around the large stone base. Each girl looks as white as her dress. Some clasp their fingers in front of them, others cling to their parents' arms.

The bell tolls from the castle tower, the haunting sound marking the setting of the sun. Sweat beads above my lip, and I tremble. One of these girls will be torn from their family tonight. 

"Go on then." Father nods toward the podium where Mr. Winthrop, the head Councilman, stands.

"I need to join the other fathers and appear to be as terrified as they look." He kisses my cheek. "Relax, dear one. It will all be over soon." 

I almost grab his hand when he backs away. He probably thinks I'm acting nervous so no one suspects my betrayal, which makes me feel even worse. I should have told him that I didn't mate with Tristin, instead of leaving him in the dark.

Maybe it will be fine. Maybe my unpopularity with the villagers will extend to the curse.

I force my feet to move. With each step, fear presses on me, stealing my breath. I approach the girls flocked together like sheep in a pen. They stand in the center of the street. The cobblestone path leads to the bridge at the end of town where it crosses the river to the woods.

            "Take your places," Mr. Winthrop calls out from the wooden platform.

No one is allowed past this point, except for us. 

"Today we witness the offering to the Washer Woman. One maiden pure and brave will sacrifice herself for the good of the village. Our prayers and blessings go with her. May she obey the demands placed upon her and earn her freedom on the seventh day. Our strength lies in our ability to submit to the curse, and to the rules laid out by the Council to keep us safe." He lifts his arms and face to the sky. "Blessed Ones, here our plea for a small reaping this week. Bring peace to our hearts as we stand beside loved ones who are Fated to Die, unable to help them. Shower us with your love and understanding so that we can move forward come the seventh day and reclaim our lives as we see fit."

He lowers his head and peers down at us with sad eyes. "You may begin your journey."

Reluctantly, I migrate down the street along with the other virgin maidens. Silence fills the air as if everyone has gone home.

I look through the girls straggling behind me to the crowd. My gaze locks with my father's as he stands amidst weeping parents. He smiles and gives a reassuring nod. Before I can respond, I crash into the girl in front of me. 

I swing back around. "Sorry. So sorry." 

"My shoe." The red-haired girl stares at her satin slipper on the cobblestone street.

"Here." I scoop it from the ground and place it down in front of her so she can easily slide in her foot.

"Th-Th-Thank you," she says through several quivers.

"Are you all right?" I ask, noting the green tint to her skin. I've only seen her a few times. Like me and the other girls here, we are still virgins because we're considered unfit to marry in some way. Tulia has a large scar down the side of her face from a burn when she was a child.

"I can't stop sh-sh-shaking," she stutters, "and I feel like I might throw up."

"How about I walk with you?" I loop our arms as we continue down the street. The cottages have all been turned into shops along this stretch. No one wants to live on the "Cursed Road," as villagers call it.

During the day, these stores are bustling with families. My favorite shop comes into view. Mrs. Potterfield's bakery. The twins love her pastries. The raspberry buns are their favorite, but I prefer the butterscotch pudding. I should have gotten them a few. The treats would have been a sweet distraction for them, especially since they know what is happening.

We reach the last of the cottage shops and stop at the foot of the bridge. Tulia shakes beside me, or maybe I'm the one trembling with fear.

Thick fog rolls from the woods to cover half of the bridge. The temperature drops and goosebumps raise my skin. Is it a sign? I don't know. I don't know what's going on. Dread unfurls inside me like a snake sensing danger. My senses heighten. Every sniffle, whisper, and whimper pierce my ears. The fog rises like a wall, blocking the trees.

Nighttime falls in an instant. Tulia gasps and glances over her shoulder. "Look," she whispers.

A hedge of fog moves in from the rear as if the two vapor masses intend to squash us. We huddle closer, shaking against each other as we wait.

"Look," a girl calls out.

I follow her finger, pointing at the wall of mist by the woods. Gold sparks appear like star bursts in the gray haze. They twirl and dance, drawing together to form a name—the name.

I focus on my white skirt, as if not looking will ensure the name won't be mine.

"You can let go of me. I’m not afraid anymore." Tulia wiggles her arm out from mine.

I'd forgotten we were linked. "You're not?" I look up.

She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, her features soft with relief. "The first letter is not a T."

My gaze drifts to the girls around me. Some of them appear to be as relieved as Tulia. 

"You should look at the name," she says.

"Why?"

Her lips press together with a sad smile. "It starts with a P."

My mind races to think of names starting with that letter. A few girls in the village come to mind. Penelope. Petra. Prism. Those three happen to be newly married, but there are more girls whose names start with a P. I am sure.

Collective sighs pour from the girls, cutting the tension in the air. They're hugging each other. Why? Is it done?

I turn to Tulia. She's no longer at my side. Instead, she's backing away from me along with the other maidens, sorrow etched on her freckled face. "Sorry," she mouths.

My stomach drops to my feet. It's not me. It can't be. Slowly, I turn to read the golden name before it fades into the mist.

Praya.

Dread fills my veins. "No," I cry in a whisper.

"Come ... to ... me ... Messenger." The voice slithers through the air like a chill, seeking me out. From the fog, a bony hand forms with long pointed nails.

It reaches out to me. I stumble back and trip. The mist winds around me and draws me across the bridge.

"No!" I cry out, struggling to get away. I reach out for the girls—for Tulia. "Help me!"

They watch in horror from a safe distance.

My father bursts through the huddled girls. "Praya," he shouts.

A few men grab him and hold him back.

The look on his face, I'll never forget. It's not fear or worry dragging his features down. It's hurt and heartache because he knows I betrayed him. He knows I didn't go through it last night. I gave him false hope and, in my selfish act, have ruined the family forever.

A sob breaks from me and my knees buckle. I don't collapse. The fog won't let me. Like a dense cloud, it surrounds me on all sides, squeezing my body and blocking my sight.

Any tighter and it will crush me. Maybe it should.

Maybe I deserve it for betraying my father and sisters.

12 Days of FATED TO DIE. HO,HO,HO!

It's the holidays and in the spirit of giving, I’m going to post 12 days of one of my stories on the blog. Unfortunately, the idea came to me only this morning instead of 12 days before Christmas.  So ... this will be the gift that keeps on giving, a shortened version of the Jelly of the Month Club.

The real question is which novel to choose. Hmm???? 

All of my stories have romance. Obviously. So that genre is a given. I’d love to post CLUB NEVERLAND but it’s in the middle of a revision. Again. Sighs.

I’d also love to post A KISS BEFORE LYING, a contemporary romance with light suspense. However, since my go-to genre seems to be magical realism and retellings (two unpopular genres in the ya world these days), I think I should post my latest novel FATED TO DIE. It’s on submission, but what the heck. The literary world slows way down for the holidays, so FATED TO DIE it is.

The book blurb is on my novels page, but I’ll repost it here so you have an idea about the novel. Keep in mind, I write young adult novels with older teens around the ages of 17 to 18. (Not younger teens or borderline middle grade novels). Although, this is one of my less “steamier” plot lines, which is ironic since the novel opens with a suggestive scene and has a theme regarding virgins weaved throughout the story. LOL. But you’ll have to read it to understand how tame it is--for me.  Those of you who know me and my writing style are laughing right now.

FATED TO DIE  is a  dark retelling of the Scottish Folktale, Bean Nighe--aka The Washer Woman.

When Praya is chosen by the curse on her village, she's thrust into the dark tales she grew up fearing. 

Each Summer Solstice the Washer Woman rises from the river and enslaves a Messenger, a virgin maiden of seventeen to deliver bloody clothes to those who are Fated to Die.

For seven days, villagers cower behind locked windows and doors, praying the Messenger won't come to their house, while the doomed maiden and her family pray for her safe release. Although it is said a Messenger can earn her freedom on the seventh day, no maiden has ever survived to returned home.

If Praya is to see her family again, she must be the first to break free. She never set out to break the curse, or to fall for her Keeper—a mysterious boy she didn't know existed. Tasked to care for the Messengers, Dacian is tied to the curse in ways Praya never imagined.

Now, she must destroy the darkness on the village, without sacrificing the boy she's grown to love, before her time runs out and she joins the unending list of maidens claimed by the curse.

Check out settings and characters on my Pinterest page for FATED TO DIE. https://www.pinterest.com/taragallina/fated-to-die/

The first chapter is posted below. Enjoy!

FATED TO DIE

Each Summer Solstice she will rise, 

From the depths of the river where she lies.

For seven days and seven nights, 

She washes bloody clothes to her delight.

One virgin maiden she will choose, 

To bear the curse and deliver the news.

Poor souls of Isca you know not your doom,

Until the Messenger girl is in your view.

A garment of death in her hand,

When you realize it's yours, you've moments to stand.

Make haste with goodbyes for you cannot deny,

That you are the next who is Fated to Die.

CHAPTER ONE 

Hay pokes me in the back for the third time. I wince and reach underneath me to pull the sharp piece free. It sticks to my blouse. With Tristin's weight on me, half of his body covering the right side of mine, it's hard to get a good grip.

I wriggle and slip my hand further between the thin blanket and my back until I wrench the hay from my shirt and toss it aside. Phew.

Tristin huffs and rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He shoves his curly brown hair from his eyes. "Let me guess. Another piece of hay?"

"Yes," I hiss.  "Why is that so hard to believe? We're in a barn. There is hay everywhere. Would you rather I lie here and suffer in pain?"

"I would rather you relax and enjoy yourself." The vein in his neck bulges more, a thick rope stretching from under his jaw to the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt.

I gesture to his clenched fist where it rests on the side of his thigh. "Relax like you?"

He throws back his head and groans at the ceiling. "I didn't expect this to be so difficult."

"Yes, well … I didn't either." I release a breath and, with it, some of my frustration.

It's not his fault I'm here any more than it is mine. We have my father to thank. Had I known he'd resort to this to save me from the curse, I might have tried to be eligible for marriage. Not that it would have mattered. The village considered me tainted the moment I opened my two different colored eyes.

The wind howls outside, rattling the barn door. The horses stir in their stalls. Daisy, my favorite and best friend, neighs softly, reminding me she's here should I need her. She's the reason I chose the stables to meet with Tristin. In addition to the barn being on our land, and far from the watchful eyes of the Council.  

Tristin leans close, the heat of his body making me want to scurry away. "Let me kiss you on the lips and not just your neck. It's the least you can do for me, given what I’m doing for you. No one else would dare touch the girl with deviant eyes for fear the rumor might be true."

"The rumor is a lie. You can't be kissed by darkness."

"Then how else do you explain their abnormality? I've never known anyone to have them, but then I've never known anyone to have skin and hair as pale as snow." He touches a long strand, sliding his fingers to the end, seeming mesmerized.

"Maybe I've been kissed by the Blessed Ones," I say, recalling Mother's words to me the day I came home in tears. I was five and desperate for a friend, but the kids in the village would rather mock me for my appearance than invite me to play with them. My coloring comes from my Mother, though she wasn't quite as pale and her eyes—one green and one blue—were lighter, making their difference less noticeable.

Tristin cocks a brow. "If you were kissed by the Blessed Ones, you wouldn't be in this situation. They'd never let someone that precious endure the fate of the curse. Yet, here you are, on the floor of your father's barn, giving me your virtue to save yourself."

My fingers curl into fists. "I told you, I'm not here to save myself. I’m here for my family."

Losing Mother five years ago as one of the Fated to Die nearly killed Father. Losing me would finish him off. He needs me. My twin sisters need me. Who will raise them if I’m gone?

Tristin snickers. "Right. You expect me to believe if the barrier were to lift tomorrow, you wouldn't be one of the first girls to flee?"

That will never happen. The mystical barrier formed nearly a century ago at the beginning of the curse, trapping us in the village while keeping others out.  Even if, by some miracle, it faltered leaving a chance for escape, I wouldn't go. "Not without my family."

Tristin clamps my shoulder to pin me down.  "Then we better get started. Come now, Praya. Drop the 'Stone Beauty' act and submit to me."

I shove away his hand. "Bringing up the nickname you and your friends use to tease me won't earn you any points." All it does is remind me why I avoid people like him.

His lips twist with a cruel smile. "I'm not here to earn points with you. I'm here as a favor to your father."

"You're here because he's paying you."

"Trust me, the few gold coins he has to offer are an insult."

My blood heats and my breathing turns to shallow. As an Elite, the coins might be insignificant to his family, but to mine, they are essential. I hold up my palm. "Give them back then."

He plucks a piece of hay from his pants. "Nice try, but I don't think so. You can't swindle me out of what I’m owed. I'm not stupid."

"You're here." I wave a hand. "Mating before the age of eighteen or before marriage is considered treason in the eyes of the Council. If caught, all involved are punished." Doesn't sound smart to me.

His lips smash together. "I am well aware of the rules."

"Then why agree to this? Why risk your own safety to help me?"

A wicked gleam flashes in his hazel eyes. "It's not because you're irresistible. I can have any maiden in the village. Everyone wants me to claim them as my bride, and I shall choose one, once I've secured my future. If I’m to maintain my Elite lifestyle after I'm wed, I need to prove myself to my father. A sheep farm would be a profitable addition to the family businesses. Your father has the best land, even if it is on the outskirts of town. His sheep seem plentiful with their milk and wool. I wager if I do this favor for him, he will be open to my purchase proposal. And who knows…" He trails his finger down my arm. "If tonight goes well, I might take you on as my mistress. Every married Elite has one, and you'll owe me for saving your life."

Air rushes from my lungs like a punch to the gut. I scurry out from under him and shuffle away in a backwards crawl. "I will never be your mistress! And my father will never sell you our land. I'll make sure of it."

His nostrils flare, and his face turns dark red.

Daisy neighs and kicks in her stall.

Tristin glances from me to my flustered horse. As if she senses his gaze, she kicks the wall again. The wood panels rattle and hay from the rafter above sprinkles down.

"You'll regret this," Tristin snarls. He snatches his vest and coat from a hook on one of the stalls.

"Wait." I jump up, not bothering to shake out my long skirt.

He pauses, and his eyes narrow to dark slits. "If you want me to stay, you'll have to get on your knees and beg."

Slimy pig. I raise my hand. "I'll take the bag Father gave you in payment."

He laughs and pats his jacket pocket where it bulges. "Consider it a parting gift for wasting my time."

I back up several steps until I'm in front of Daisy's stall. She bucks her head and puffs her breath as if ready to charge. Good girl.

I grab the latch. "Then you won't mind if I let my horse see you out."

"Evil witch!" He throws the bag at my feet. "Before I sleep tonight, I will pray a thousand times over that you are chosen as Messenger tomorrow. Then you'll wish you had submitted to me."

Fear shudders under my skin, and I force words of warning through my clattering teeth.  "Remember, should you tell anyone about this arrangement, you will be punished along with us."

No one will suffer as much as my father, but we will be forced to work in the castle, serving the Council and their families.

Tristin's chest pumps with his faster breathing, his gaze filled with rage. "The last thing I would do is degrade myself by sharing my moment of weakness. You are nothing more than a pebble in my boot, one I've expelled. I will forget you the moment I walk out of this barn, and after your nightmare week with the Hag in the woods, you'll be forgotten by everyone. Just another lost maiden whose name no one cares to remember."

I seize Daisy's brush from the stool and hurl it at him.

He jerks to the side a second before taking the hit to the face.

"Get out!" I shout.

Daisy rams the stall door, urging me to set her free, but Tristin is halfway across the barn. He disappears into the night without glancing back.

For moments, I stand there, shaking and trying to calm my nerves. I hate him. I hate the curse. And most of all, I hate myself for agreeing to do this.

No one knows who will be chosen tomorrow. Perhaps, my unpopularity with the villagers will be the same with the curse. I've never been selected for anything in my life. Why would that change now?

I pick up the bag from the ground and make sure all our coins are there. A shiny object catches my eye. I remove it from the bag and gasp.

Mother's butterfly brooch! It was her favorite for the colored gemstones in the silver wings, blue and green like her eyes. Like my eyes. How could Father trade something so important to us—to me?

I cup the brooch to my heart, my emotions getting the best of me. Silent tears slide down my cheeks. I miss her. I miss the way she hummed when she tended to the gardens. I miss the way Father lit up when she smiled at him, and the way they gazed at each other when they danced together by the pianoforte.

So much has changed. If I am chosen tomorrow, life will change again for me and for my family. Tristin was right about one thing. Once a maiden is claimed as Messenger, she never returns home. Her name is forgotten, and she becomes one of a century of maidens sacrificed to the curse.

If only the claims that a Messenger can earn her freedom on the seventh day were true. 

Daisy nuzzles my cheek in a soothing way. "Thank you for having my back." I rub her long neck.

"Do you want a treat? You certainly earned one." I feed her a carrot from the bucket I keep by her stall.

The door to the barn slams shut with a loud bang. I squeal and stiffen. My thoughts go to the worst place. It's the Council. Tristin told on us, and they're here to lock Father in the castle dungeons until his death.

Legs shaking, I creep toward the barn door. The wood creaks as it rocks with the wind. I push it open a little and peer outside. Crickets stir in the nearby woods. The leaves rustle in the trees. The grounds are too dark to see anyone walking around, not unless they carried a light. 

I quiet my worked-up breathing and listen for footsteps. Other than nature, nothing stirs. 

Can I trust my senses? Do I have a choice? Tomorrow will end in one of three ways.

The Council arrests us all.

I am chosen as Messenger.

I return home, spared by the curse, and life remains the same.

Please let the last be my fate.

Ok. Enough. Yes do this and happy holidays to you and yours!!!

October Young Adult Books

Check out B&N's article on the latest ya books for October.

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/teen/27-anticipated-october-ya/

AFTER THE GAME, The Field Party series by author Abbi Glines.

AFTER THE GAME, The Field Party series by author Abbi Glines.  

 The first novel I read by Abbi Glines was THE VINCENT BOYS. I fell in love and read the next in the series, THE VINCENT BROTHERS. Afterward, I read some of her Sea Breeze series and then the Rosemary Beach series. Some of her novels I liked better than the others, particularly ones I could relate to on more personal levels. Abbi has a talent for writing characters facing loss and/or serious struggles. 

The Field Party series is a fun read that pulls you into the Alabama country life of high school teens. It reminds me of the FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS TV series but is better. Of course, I always think books are better.  AFTER THE GAME tells Brady's story. It's an enemy turns lover plot line that, to me, paints the girl as the stronger character. Brady sees Riley as a role model. So many novels portray the male as the stronger character. It's nice to see the opposite. The novel touches on rape though it doesn't spotlight the event. Abbi focuses on the emotional strength and courage to see the good—her daughter—that came from the sexual assault.  I love the respect Brady grows to have for Riley because of how she handles herself. I also like how Brady's perceived "perfect life" turns out to be anything but perfect.

Abbi never holds back when she writes her characters. They cuss, have hormonal urges, drink, and act the way many teens do. Too many times I see author intrusion (when an author puts his or her beliefs toward such behaviors into the novel, thereby robbing the characters of their true selves.) For example, the author has a character/s raised in the worst part of town but because the author doesn't swear or drink, the character/s don't either. Most teens cuss. Most adults do too. Unless the author is writing the character as a Christian or someone who refuses to behave like the people in the area he or she was raised, it is ridiculous not to give the character the words or reactions true to their upbringing and surroundings.

I get that older or parental authors want to set a certain example for their children and young adult readers. I’m a mother of two boys. However, if that is the case, I believe the author should write Christian novels or, at the very least, write characters that fit their same mindset. Readers are smart. They know when something feels off. They are aware of characters and/or a situation that seems unrealistic. Abbi keeps her characters real, and I love and admire her for it!!

As an Abbi Glines fan, I not only recommend this novel and series but all her books. This is from her young adult collection. If you're uneasy with steamier romance, her older series (Sea Breeze, and Rosemary beach) probably aren't for you. 

Happy reading!!!!!  It's never a bad time to pick up a book!