The Dia Chronicles
Book One
Tammy Farrell
Genre: Historical Fantasy
ISBN-13: 978-1492766582
ISBN-10: 1492766585
Number of pages: 375
Word Count: 90,000
Cover Artist: Nathalia Suellen
Book Description:
The world has long forgotten them, but their descendants live on, not wholly mortal or god, but something in between…
At the dawn of the sixth century, in the aftermath of her mother’s brutal execution, Mara Black is forced to flee the only life she has ever known.
Mara can tell she’s different, but isn't sure why. After she encounters two mysterious strangers, she discovers her secret is but a drop in an ocean of many. She is a Dia, a descendant of ancient gods, and her mother sacrificed herself to protect Mara from their past.
Summoned by an uncle she didn't know existed, Mara thinks she’s found the family she’s always wanted, and Corbin, a love she never thought possible. But not everything is as it seems. Her uncle has other motives for protecting her, and her mentor, Malcolm, becomes so jealous, he’ll do anything to get what he wants.
When tragedy strikes, and the true darkness among them comes to light, Mara discovers that sometimes love can give you everything, and obsession can take it all away. With her powers gone, and destiny calling, she has to look deep within to find the courage to save herself. Mara, along with Corbin and her newfound family, must fight to get back what was taken, or die trying.
Excerpt:
The drums echoed off the walls as Corbin and Malcolm made their way through the back gates of Moorthrop. The guards and villagers were gathered near the green, leaving no one to challenge their entry, or seize their swords.
“We’re too late,” Corbin said through clenched teeth.
“I can see that,” Malcolm responded. “How was I supposed to know we wouldn’t make it in time?”
Corbin bit his tongue. Now was not the time to argue with Malcolm. They had a job to do. As they weaved through the rows of huts, an old woman called out to them. She sat near the door of her hovel, her body hunched with age, and a half-woven basket in her lap. “Here for the execution?” she asked.
Malcolm laughed at the woman with a sneer and continued on. Corbin stopped and looked at her with a tilt of his head; the knuckles of her hands were swollen, and appeared painfully stiff. “Will there be an execution today?” he asked.
She nodded and pointed to the square. “I never saw in all my life such evil as this. Killin’ folks fer nothin'.” She gave a disapproving shake of her head and began to fumble with the basket.
Corbin walked up to her and dropped a coin in her lap. When she glanced down at it, he took hold of both her hands. She gasped as the blue light from his fingertips covered her skin, but in less than a moment he stepped back, and the light vanished. Blinking in amazement, she examined her hands, her fingers spread out like wings, healed from the stiffness that crippled them. She moved her fingers up and down, and then met Corbin’s gaze and asked, “What magic is this?”
Corbin smiled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Before the old woman could respond, he continued towards the green.
He met up with Malcolm as he approached the edge of the crowd. Malcolm used his energy to move the onlookers aside. The crowd of people wouldn’t know why they moved or even look at the two men moving past them. The power of the veil was a gift to their kind, to protect them from discerning mortal eyes. Most mortals wouldn’t have noticed Corbin much anyway. He looked almost human. But anyone could see that Malcolm, with his white hair and fierce gray eyes, was different, unnatural.
The man in the long black robe bellowed out to the crowd. “By order of King Gerren of the realm of Dumnonia, we are not to tolerate evil among us.” He pointed his finger at the accused woman on the platform. Corbin used his keen sight to examine her. She looked wretched, defeated, and certainly not one of their kind. Could Rowan have been mistaken?
Corbin turned to Malcolm. “Are they charging her with witchcraft?”
Malcolm nodded with a smirk. “It appears that way. Fools. They waste their time looking for witches. They have no idea what walks amongst them.”
Tammy Farrell grew up in Orangeville, Ontario Canada where she discovered her love of writing, and all things related to Edgar Allan Poe. She now lives with her husband and four fur babies in Greenville, South Carolina, where she teaches pre-GED English and attempts to learn French when she isn’t busy writing.
www.TammyFarrell.com
@Tamzwrite
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