This time with the Reluctant Prophet, as per usual I ain't read it, I swear I really mean to and the only reason I read Shadow is because I read it way before it came out so I new it was going to be awesome and bought it. I do plan at some point to read all of them and when I eventually get my finger out and publish (One is coming, first draft will be done in a few weeks, one is in it's infancy and I still can't read Burn all the way through without almost wanting to smash the keyboard.)
Anyway, shouldn't rant about my own shortcomings, should give Gillian a hand for completing her manuscript and getting it published, now knowing Sammy one of the owners of the Publisher as I do, and knowing how she's raving about it, it's probably top notch just not for the mainstream publishers, who let's be honest are getting stupid at the moment, but Kristell Ink like so many small publishers have become a welcome home for the great fiction that wasn't being published.
I digress from my usual rant and here is the actual stuff I should have been posting:
The Reluctant
Prophet
by
Gillian
O’Rourke
There’s none so blind as
she who can see . . .
Esther is blessed, and
cursed, with a rare gift: the ability to see the fates of those
around her. But when she escapes her peasant upbringing to become a
priestess of the Order, she begins to realise how valuable her
ability is among the power-hungry nobility, and what they are willing
to do to possess it.
Haunted by the dark man of
her father's warnings, and unable to see her own destiny, Esther is
betrayed by those sworn to protect her. With eyes newly open to the
harsh realities of her world, she embarks on a path that diverges
from the plan the Gods have laid out. Now she must choose between
sacrificing her own heart’s blood, and risking a future that will
turn the lands against each other in bloody war.
The
Reluctant Prophet is the story of one woman who holds the fate of the
world in her hands, when all she wishes for is a glimpse of her own
happiness.ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Before
settling down in the Emerald Isle with her husband and three dogs,
Gillian O’Rourke lived in Melbourne, Australia. She
received her first fantasy book from an English teacher at the age of
fourteen and has loved the genre ever since. Although she
writes fantasy, she occasionally dabbles in the paranormal.
Gillian currently works in the healthcare sector, helping adults with
disabilities live as independently as possible.
LINKS
http://www.twitter.com/gillywrites
http://gillianorourke.com
AN EXCERPT FROM THE
RELUCTANT PROPHET—
I had never
been able to see my own future, not the way I could see it for
others. Even now, on my unanticipated return to Rycroft, a part of me
rebelled at the thought of facing a past I believed long behind me.
If I had known then what a luxury it is to go home, I might not have
dismissed it so.
As an initiate
to the Order, I learned from women far wiser than I that the past was
a wraith that could come back to haunt the future. I imagined it
looming overhead like a hidden cloud, waiting, maybe over many years,
to rain upon me when I least expected it, not a soft, white thing,
but an angry, vengeful thundercloud. Perhaps I had lived too long in
the calm now, because I once again began to feel the storm
approaching. Entering the village, I steeled myself to face it, but
despite the many prayers I had said for courage, that long-forgotten
anxiety crept its cold tendrils into my soul.
I escaped the
painful memories this place forged in my childhood, and had taken a
chance to make my future a safer, happier one. But now I had come
full circle, and it was the temple above Rycroft village that held
the balance of my future within its cold, imposing walls.
I followed the
path past the village with the other initiates, and climbed carved
granite steps meticulously shaped by skilled stonemasons. Upon a
stone archway were the effigies of the three Gods we Sinnotians
worshipped. Lo, Creator and Destroyer, an armoured warrior with the
head of a wolf, carried an array of weapons, but it was the large
war-hammer in his hand my eyes gravitated to. Beside him stood Era,
the graceful feline-faced goddess of emotions, and of life and death.
Finally, at Era’s left hand, stood Tyrus, master of elements.
He was the God I most often found myself drawn to, his wise, owl-like
features faced the valley directly upon Rycroft.
An expectant
hush fell over the group, followed by soft murmurs from the young
women. They praised the Gods in whispers, for this sight we beheld as
we moved forward, heading for the path into the mountains, awed even
the noble-born among us. Like a flock of white doves, innocently
seeking an arbour to rest in, we wore the modest robes all initiates
of the Order wore, to signify their intentions to serve the Gods. But
only a select few would ever don the red robes of a fully-fledged
priestess. The final testing awaited us. I already knew that most of
the girls would return home dressed in the same clothes they had worn
before their training began, and all I could do was to hope I would
not be one of them.
I glanced over
my shoulder, catching a final glimpse of my birthplace, and the
anxiety melted away; it was behind me now. A veil of calmness
enveloped me as I turned my gaze to the temple looming ahead. Its
exterior was a thing of perfection, as if the Gods themselves had
used a hot sword to cut through the stone. Barely a window could be
seen from this low vantage point. A shiver ran across my skin. Like
the tip of my tongue verging on speaking a forgotten word, an elusive
vision teetered on the edge of my sight. The sensation faded away
before fruition, however, and was replaced with awed anticipation for
what I was soon to encounter.
It would take
several days to test the initiates in their obedience, faith and
humility. At the end of the ordeal, I hoped to find myself clad in
the red robes of a Priestess of Oraccles.
Give me
strength,
I begged the Gods as we settled into the long climb. My legs began to
burn and the summer sun was growing hot with the afternoon. The
priestess ahead turned and eyed each one of us. Most of the initiates
did not notice her quiet surveillance, but when my eyes met hers, her
gaze narrowed before she looked away and sharply directed the girls
to quicken their pace. Her scrutiny left me wondering whether the
testing had already begun.
*
Days of
inflicted pain, humiliation and cruelty brought me close to the brink
of madness, closer to my gift, leaving me weary in body and spirit. I
did not know which part of me hurt more, but when my eyes met those
of the head priestess, the superior who would decide my fate, the
keen pain of expected failure rose in my chest. Her dark eyes seemed
to swallow me whole. I felt both hot and cold at once; days of
obedience, suffering and fasting had blurred the days into one long
torture. I longed to sit and weep, but my body was too sore to do
anything but kneel slowly, stiffly into a submissive position. Many
girls had failed, and now I was to learn my own fate. My ears were
ringing and I almost cried out when my knee, cut open on a sharp
stone during one of the tests, sent pain reverberating throughout my
body. I kept my eyes upon the superior’s face. Lined and calm, her
expression betrayed nothing.
I flinched when
an unexpected vision assaulted my senses, propelling me from the room
and into a place I barely caught a glance of. A trace of darkness; a
laugh, a dark green eye. Each small glimpse offered me no more than a
confusing jumble of images I could not piece together to make a whole
picture. Swaying, I wondered if I was ill. My body throbbed and the
days of fasting, beatings and silence became as fractured and unreal
as my visions. The testing had taken its toll, but I needed only make
it through this last moment. As I fought to return to myself, I
worried again that I would make it this far, only to be rejected
because of what I was: a peasant.
The superior
rose. My awareness had been completely focused on her and I had not
noticed an inch of the marble-columned room I had been brought to.
The distracting sparkle of candlelight danced on a pool of water and
I looked away quickly, not wishing to see the future reflected in
those waters. The superior’s thin lips moved, but I heard no sound.
The ringing in my ears worsened and my heart rate trebled. When she
stood before me, she lifted her hand and smeared something powdery
against my forehead. Her touch sent waves of premonition into my
mind, making my skin shiver and creep. Fighting the urge to succumb
to the sight left me weak and trembling.
I was not
altogether myself when I managed to overcome the visions. My chest
constricted when a distant voice – certainly not the superior’s
worn croak – spoke to me, gently whispering, ‘Esther . . . Esther,’
over and over.
All the while
the superior’s mouth moved, but I knew nothing of her words. The
room tilted and the first spark of emotion lifted the older woman’s
eyes from blankness. For a moment I believed I was succumbing to the
visions her touch was invoking, but I slipped instead into waiting
darkness.
