Hello lovelies. Today I have an excerpt from Transcendent: Tales of the Paranormal featuring stories by Lani Woodland, Rita Webb, Melonie Piper, Wendy Swore, Melanie Marks, Heather McCubbin, and Evan Joseph to share with y'all.
Not only will y'all get to read an excerpt for "Feather" by Rita Webb, but 50% of February's net sales for Transcendent will go to St Jude Children's Research Hospital to support the care and treatment of children with cancer (links to purchase are at the bottom of post).
Thanks to Rita Webb for the awesome excerpt.
Excerpt from “Feather”
By Rita J Webb
The morning air chills my bare
arms and legs. Stars smile down on me, though I frown back at them. Who wakes
before dawn to travel into the wilderness to find a crazy spirit guide? Idiots,
that’s who.
Dressed in shorts, tank top, and
hardy boots, I stand alone. Maybe I should have done this when I was thirteen
like everyone else—maybe I would have enjoyed it—but Grandma had been sick that
year. I refused to leave her.
With white braids and a crinkled
face, Dirty Face steps out of his teepee. I roll my eyes. Yeah, a teepee. He keeps it around for tourists. Like the rest of
us, he lives in manufactured housing with thin windows and doors and no insulation.
When I’m old enough, I’ll leave
this hole. I refuse to live in poverty for the rest of my life.
He carries a bowl of white
paint. Dipping his finger in the bowl, he chants a prayer then streaks my
forehead and cheeks. A weight settles over my shoulders, and fear clenches my
throat.
“Come.” Facing the forest, he trudges
forward.
I follow, my skin prickling as
if a pack of wolves lurk in the shadows, watching me. The deer path winds ahead
of me, leading me away from civilization and up into the mountains. Whatever is
expected of me on this journey is a hazy idea. Stories of native boys and girls
finding their spirit guides race through my mind, but they’re only stories of
people who have no bearing on who I am.
The sun tinges the sky a golden
red, and as it climbs high above me, the heat beating down on me reminds me that
this is July. Sweat burns my eyes, and my hair slips into my face every time I
lean forward. This must be why my ancestors wore their hair in braids and
wrapped headbands around their foreheads.
Dirty Face’s long strides carry
him around the bend, leaving me alone on the path. Stopping to rest on a rock,
I pull bands from my pack and braid my hair, laughing at myself. My grandmother
would be so pleased to see this.
A rustle of wings and a hawk
feather drifts down to me. Snatching it from the air, I look up into the trees,
but nothing’s there. So I tuck the feather into my hair.
“What are you doing?”
My stomach leaps into my throat,
and I jump up, stumbling backward, and fall on my butt in the middle of the
path. In the tree above me, a teenage boy perches on a branch. He’s dressed in
traditional deerskin breeches, a talon necklace around his neck, but rather
than moccasins, his feet are bare. He is shirtless, and lean muscles cord his
body.
His intense eyes capture my
attention. They’re like golden fathomless pools. I could get lost in them.
“Don’t your feet get hurt,
walking barefoot on the forest floor?” I ask.
“I rarely walk.” He drops down
in front of me. His face is so close that I take a step back and thump into a
tree. He leans toward me and sniffs. “You smell different. What are you?”
“I’m a girl.” I can’t take my
gaze from his.
“No, humans stink. You smell…”
He sniffs my hair and grins. “You smell good.”
“Is there a reason that you’re
invading my space? I have somewhere to be.” My voice cracks.
He tugs one of my braids and
winks at me. My pulse quickens, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes
study me with intensity, and he leans closer. Is he going to kiss me?
“I don’t know what’s up with
you, but I don’t like it.”
“You have a feather in your
hair. A hawk’s feather.”
My hand flies to the feather
tucked into my hair. “So?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs, but a
secretive smile spreads across his face.
I push past him and shoulder my
pack. Without looking back, I tromp away. The skin on my back pricks as he
laughs. I know he’s watching me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of
glancing behind me. I won’t.
“Be careful. There are hunters
in the forest,” he calls after me.
I peek over my shoulder, but
he’s not there.
Dirty Face waits around the
bend, leaning on a walking stick. Silent and steady, he stares out at the
trees, his breath deep. I inhale too, taking in the forest smells.
His gaze falls on me. “The road
you will travel will take you many places far from here. The reservation cannot
keep you safe forever. Pay attention; we must equip you for what comes next.”
A cold breath creeps up my
spine, and I shrug it off. Not the usual speech of understanding our past and
living in communion with the earth. Maybe he sampled too much booze, and it
rotted his brain.
“We need to keep moving. I must
take you up the mountain before night fall.” Dirty Face leads me up a steep
path. My legs burn until I think I will melt into a puddle of goo, but still we
climb, one painful step after another. My feet ache from hiking in worn-out
tennis shoes, and my blisters have blisters.
Stepping out on the ridge, I
gaze out on my home. Once upon a time, my people ran free through this
countryside. Now we cringe from the world, hoping we can remain true to our
heritage.
“Here you will meditate.” He
sits a few paces away and closes his eyes. The mumble of prayers drifts on the
air.
With a sigh, I drop my pack and
sit by the cliff’s edge. My eyes closed, I pretend to meditate. What am I even
supposed to do? Wait for a spirit guide to show up. If only I could at least do something…
I wonder what his name is—the
boy on the trail. I bet his lips are soft.
Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin, 1) by Robin. LaFevers, April 3, 2012. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
