– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘The Third Sun’ blogtour, organised by Booktamins.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Victoria lives in leafy Surrey, in the South East of England. She loves fairy tales, myths and legends, and grew up creating stories both in words and pictures. When she’s not writing you’ll find her exploring with her husband and their two dogs, searching for beautiful hidden places and secret picnic spots.
The sun is dying, the windows to Earth are closing. Time is running out.
After the death of her sister, eighteen-year-old Fia Aldridge knows one thing for certain: she doesn’t belong anywhere. But then she tumbles into the parallel world of Ohinyan—a world where angels and witches walk amongst mankind.
An ancient darkness is taking advantage of the dying sun, and Ohinyan needs Fia’s help. She soon learns that her arrival is not entirely by accident and that Alexander, leader of angels, is not the guardian she thought he was.
Torn between their feelings and their duties, together they must find a way to return Fia to London before the darkness consumes her and she is trapped in Ohinyan forever.
A richly woven tale drawing on ancient myths and legends, bursting with adventure, elemental magic, angels, witches, shapeshifters and slow burn romance. Fans of Brigid Kemmerer, Laini Taylor and Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials will devour The Third Sun: Daughter of the Phoenix Book One.
Trigger warning: Themes of grief, loss and anxiety. Mild fantasy violence. Fade to black Male/Female sex scene.
Fia was falling.
Mud, sky, mud, sky, mud, sky. Everything blurred into one continuous loop of brown and blue. Am I dead? Is this what dying looks like? But then she saw the angel’s wings, so she had to be. Sharp pains shot through her leg, her arm, her head, so quickly it became hard to define where the pain was coming from. Her breath was knocked out of her with the constant tumbling and the mud, sky, mud, sky, a flash of white feathers, and then a crack.
Fia hit her head, hard. Reaching out, she felt the warm, stickiness of blood. She looked up to see the sky once more but instead saw white feathers and a pair of crystal blue eyes looking down at her anxiously. The angel’s arms wrapped around her and lifted her. And then darkness.
It was warm. There was a sickly smell, mixed with damp moss and earth. It stung her nostrils, and her whole body seared with pain. Muffled sounds grew louder, faster, and then lulled. The white wings of the angel flashed somewhere nearby as she opened and closed her eyes, but the throbbing in her head was unbearable. She heard a piercing scream, her scream, and the voices turned to cries until she could see the blue eyes again. Silence. Fia fell in and out of consciousness, dreaming of the angel until the sickly smell woke her again.
This time the pain was worse. A drum was beating, or was it her heart? Fia opened her eyes to stinging smoke. The beat quickened.
“Altair, she’s awake again,” a deep voice said beside her, gentle and soothing. White feathers flickered at the edges of her vision.
Those eyes… the white feathers. Wings. I must be dead. The drum beat louder, drowning out the voices. An old man with a dark, weathered face leaned over her.
“Stay with her,” the old man said, his voice scratched with age, as she drifted in and out of a daze.
It was hard to tell if she was dreaming or awake, as the beat grew louder, closer.
Voices sang, “Ho-yah-wa-hay-ah!” The beating was so loud Fia could feel it in her chest. Her heart was racing, but she didn’t know why. All she remembered was being in the catacombs, and then she had reached out for the wall and… fallen. The sickly, sweet smell hit her in waves once more, filling her nostrils. But fallen through what? Her head spun.
“Ho-yah-wa-hay-ah!” followed the beating of the drum. It was so fast and so loud. She felt like she was still falling, but she was lying down, covered in blankets, and there was a flurry of movement all around.
“Fia…” another voice called to her, from somewhere far, far away. “Fia…”
She opened her mouth to speak, but fear stole the breath from her mouth. Her heart raced so fast she was certain it would burst through her chest.
Her eyes began to focus. She was in a tent, with a high ceiling swathed in reams of green and gold fabric. Through the smoke, she could make out more of the old man’s features: tall, tan, and leathery, with eyes as dark as an evergreen.
“Ho-yah-wa-hay-ah!” he sang again, throwing his arms above him, his great fur cloak swinging from enormous shoulders.
The echo of her name rang in her ears and left her hands trembling. On the ground before her were several men and women on their knees, rising and dropping to the old man’s song, pulsing their bodies to the same beat that had been drumming in Fia’s head. She couldn’t move, but all the panic began to melt away, her chest was no longer tight, and her head had ceased spinning. What just happened? Her eyes adjusted to the light as she took in every detail of the strange little tent and the people kneeling, sweat beading on their foreheads.
“Altair,” called the deep, gentle voice, “it’s done.”
The old man nodded and from the shadows beside him stepped… an angel. She wasn’t crazy, after all.
The Magic of Wor(l)ds