I’m a little less than halfway done with Edenfall, so I figure it would be good to share a couple of excerpts with you. If all goes well, it should be out by September.
As a reminder, this is the sequel to my first novel, Genesis Earth, so you may see a couple of familiar characters in this excerpt, which is taken from the first chapter. I’ve already got plans for the third book, and will hopefully complete the trilogy by the end of the year.
Enjoy!
The boulder felt rough and
warm under Estee’s bare feet, the hot air dusty and dry. She
scrambled up its face, laughing as her little sister struggled to
keep up.
“Slow down!” Celeste
cried. She lost her footing and began to slip. “Help!”
Estee turned around and
dropped to her stomach. A warm breeze tousled her hair as sweat ran
down the side of her face. With the grainy sandstone hot against her
skin, she caught Celeste and pulled her up.
“You’re okay. Come on!”
Celeste’s face was pale,
but she recovered quickly. Together, they stood atop the massive
boulder, panting to catch their breath.
“Race you to the next
one!”
In an instant, Estee was
off, laughing at her sister’s cry of dismay. Thankfully, the next
boulder wasn’t so hard. She panted for breath as she scrambled up
it with Celeste following closely behind, her terror forgotten as she
struggled to keep up. In less than a minute, they had both conquered
the rock.
From the top, they had a
majestic view of the wide, golden-green savannah and the tabletop
mountains all along the horizon.
“It’s hot,” Celeste
complained.
“Here,” said Estee,
leading her to the northward facing side. “It’s not so bad over
here.”
They both laid down with
their backs against the slickrock. Estee closed her eyes and breathed
deeply, the sun warming her dust-caked skin and drying the beads of
sweat on her forehead. It was wonderful.
“Hey, look!”
She opened her eyes and
looked where Celeste was pointing, in the direction of the beanstalk.
A thin, familiar line rose from the ruins of the ancient ones into
the blue sky, disappearing high above the clouds. But the thing that
caught Estee’s attention was a point of light, shining like a star
where the beanstalk disappeared from view.
“What is it?” she
asked.
“I don’t know,” said
Celeste. “Look, it’s moving.”
Indeed it was. A light
breeze whistled around the boulders as the star drifted soundlessly
toward the south. Estee rose to her feet, shielding her eyes with her
hand as she traced its curious progress across the sky. Beside her,
Celeste stood up as well.
“Is it a falling star?”
Celeste asked.
Estee didn’t think so.
Falling stars only happened at night, and they usually flickered out
in the blink of an eye. Mama liked to study them. She always knew
when the best times were to look for them, and sometimes took Estee
out with her to see. Mama and Papa both knew a lot about stars,
because that was where they’d come from. But Estee had never seen
anything like this.
“Is it?” Celeste
repeated.
“I told you, I don’t
know.”
“Where is going?”
The star grew brighter as
it moved closer to the horizon, leaving a bright yellow streak. It
was falling to the east, past the village of the little people. Estee
thought it would pass out of view beyond the tabletop mountains, but
then it turned abruptly north. Falling stars never did that.
“Look!” said Celeste.
“It’s making a cloud!”
Sure enough, a thin whispy
cloud cut a line in the star’s wake. It reminded Estee of the smoke
from a candle. As the star dipped lower, it passed in front of the
tabletop mountains and alighted in the nearby foothills. A shiver of
excitement ran down Estee’s spine.
“Come on—let’s go!”
“No,” Celeste
protested. “It’s too far away.”
“Don’t you want to find
it, though?”
“The daylight is fading.
We’ll get in trouble.”
Estee groaned, but her
sister was right. Besides, Mama wanted them back before dark, and the
sun was already starting to get low.
“Race you home. Last one
back is a lazy sun-dragon!”
“Hey!” Celeste cried as
Estee scampered down the boulder. “Wait for me!”
The high grass tickled
Estee’s legs as she ran across the plains. Fine, red dust caked her
sweaty skin, but she ran until her lungs burned and her heart
pounded, simply for the joy of it. She startled a swarm of leaping
locusts grazing nearby, and shrieked in surprise as they leaped high
above her, rattling their wings as they sought somewhere more
peaceful to graze.
“Celeste! Where are you?”
“Back here!” her sister
called.
“Well hurry up!”
By the time they made it
back, the beanstalk was already beginning to shimmer in the light of
the setting sun. Smoke had started to rise from the adobe oven—that
meant Mama was cooking, which meant that they were late.
“Oh, dungheaps,” Estee
swore.
Celeste ran up beside her,
still out of breath. “What?” she asked—then, noticing the
smoke, “Oh.”
“Come on,” said Estee,
“let’s go to Papa’s workshop.” If they came in with Papa,
then maybe Mama would think they’d been with him the whole time.
Papa was always late.
They snuck as quietly as
they could out through the hedgerow gate, making a wide circle until
they reached Papa’s workshop about fifty yards away. The thatchwork
patches in the plasteel dome roof waved in the afternoon breeze.
Five of the little people
rose to their feet as Estee and Celeste rounded the corner. Two of
them rose swiftly to their feet, brandishing spears, but their leader
scolded them and they stepped aside.
“That’s right,” said
Estee, holding her palms outstretched. “It’s just us. No need to
fear.”
The leader was one of the
chiefs of the little people, his rich orange mane bearing jewelry
carved from bone. Estee squatted so as not to seem taller than him.
In just the last year, she’d grown so much that all but the
strongest hunters were shorter than her. She still hadn’t gotten
used to that.
The chief stepped forward
and put his hand on Estee’s chest in a gesture of peace. She did
the same, leaning forward so that they stood cheek to cheek. His
furry skin was hard and tough, his mane so long that it tickled her
arm. They both took a deep breath together, and the scent of sweat
and musk filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and let it seep
into her, until his heartbeat echoed hers.
Opening her eyes, she
stepped back to let Celeste greet the chief in like manner while the
others stood back. It wasn’t every day that they met the little
people like this, but it happened often enough that they both knew
what to do.
Satisfied, the little
people bowed and let them pass. Estee knocked once, then parted the
heavy rug door and stepped inside.
“Papa?” she called. The
workshop was brightly lit. Bottles of various chemicals sat on the
counter among baskets of dried leaves and flowers. Papa was on the
far side of the room, next to the operating table.
“Shh,” said Papa,
gesturing for them to stay quiet.
The two girls crept forward
to watch. One of the women of the little people sat on the operating
table, trembling with fear. She held an infant child on her chest,
limp and unconsious.
Papa rinsed off a bloody
pair of tweezers in the sink, then returned to the mother and child.
“There, there,” he whispered. “Just one more—got it!” From
the baby’s leg, he pulled out a black sliver as long as Estee’s
pinky finger and dropped it into a nearby bowl.
“Gauze,” he ordered
without looking up from his work. Estee rushed to assist him. After
carefully cleaning the wound, he applied an herbal dressing before
taking the offered gauze and wrapping it around the baby’s leg.
“That should help with the infection,” he muttered, then held up
one of the smelling salts to the baby’s nose until it began to
whimper and cry. The mother clutched her baby to her chest and jumped
off the table, rushing out the door to her waiting companions.
“What was that?” asked
Celeste.
“Just a splinter,” said
Papa. “But they didn’t come to me until the infection had already
set in.” He emptied the wash basin and scrubbed his hands with soap
and pumice.
“Why?” Estee asked.
“Because they were
afraid. They see us as gods, you know. Because we came from the sky.”
“We didn’t,” Celeste
said, pointing to Estee and herself.
“But you are our
children,” said Papa. “And in their eyes, that makes you gods
like us.”
“But why does that make
them afraid of us?” Estee asked.
Papa smiled. “Let’s go
see what your mama is cooking, shall we?”
“Yeah,” said Celeste.
“Let’s go!”
Estee groaned. She hated it
when he ended their conversations without giving her a clear answer.
Recently, it seemed he did that more and more often. It was
especially bad when she asked if Mama would have another baby. Hermes
had already seen his first winter.
They followed Papa outside,
squinting in the evening sun. Mama was waiting for them at the door
of the hut, arms folded across her chest.
“You were out late,”
she said, looking Estee in the eye.
“No we weren’t,”
Estee lied. “We were with Papa in the workshop.”
“Were you?”
She fidgeted under Mama’s
knowing glare. “No,” she admitted. “But we didn’t stay out
that long—and we didn’t go far.”
“Yeah,” said Celeste,
backing her up.
Papa gave Mama a kiss.
“Evening, dear. You look gorgeous.”
“And you look exhausted,”
she answered him back. Still, she smiled and ran her fingers through
his hair.
Estee rolled her eyes.
“Come on! Are we going to eat or what?”
“Hold on, you ravening
locust,” said Mama. “We’ll eat soon enough.”
