Here's a cool fantasy story.....(hang in there to the end of this post, there is a lot of neat stuff, and a pretty awesome give-away!)
BLURB
"All of her life, clever Aemi has been a slave in the Village of the Rocks, a place where the sea and sky meet. She’s heard the stories about the fabled People of the Sea, a people who possess unimaginable technology who live below the waves in the dark, secret places of the ocean. But she never dreamed those stories were true.
When a ship emerges from the ocean and men burn her village, Aemi is captured, and enslaved below the waves in Itlantis, a world filled with ancient cities of glass and metal, floating gardens, and wondrous devices that seem to work magic. To make matters worse, her village nemesis, the stuck-up mayor’s son Nol, was captured with her, and they are made servants in the same household beneath the sea.
Desperate to be free, Aemi plots her escape, even going so far as to work with Nol. But the sea holds more secrets than she realizes, and escape might not be as simple as leaving…"
Of Sea and Stone by Kate Avery Ellison
Publication date: February 2014
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
ABOUT THE AUTHOR - Kate Avery Ellison
I live in Georgia with my wonderful husband and two spoiled cats. When I'm not writing, I'm usually catching up on my extensive Netflix queue, reading a book, giggling at something funny online, or trying to convince my husband to give me just ONE bite of whatever he's eating.
Learn more about my writing and books at my blog, find teasers for upcoming works on my Facebook page, and subscribe to my new releases newsletter to be notified of new novels as soon as they hit stores!
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AUTHOR INTERVIEW
Describe Of Sea and Stone in six words.
Atlantis, steampunk, sunlight, seawater, secrets, romance.
What books have you read and loved
lately?
I am almost finished with Finnikin
of the Rock by Melina Marchetta, and it’s an absolute delight. Witty,
immersive, and utterly compelling fantasy that reminds me very much of my
beloved Megan Whalen Turner books.
Ice cream or cake?
Ice cream cake, of course! It’s the best of both worlds.
What authors have influenced your writing
style the most?
I grew up on a pretty steady diet of mystery, actually, so I feel like
classic mystery authors like Agatha Christie had a strong influence on me. When
I was a teenager, I started reading fantasy by authors like Robin McKinley,
Gail Carson Levine, and Sherwood Smith. The
Blue Sword, Ella Enchanted, Crown Duel...I loved those books. I also had a
huge love of historical fiction, so Ann Rinaldi, Elizabeth George Speare, and
Eloise Jarvis McGraw influenced me a lot as well. As far as more
recently-written books that I didn’t grow up reading, I continue to be an awe
of fantasy authors Megan Whalen Turner (The
Thief, The Queen of Attolia, etc.) and Melina Marchetta (Finnikin of the Rock), dystopian author
Suzanne Collins (The Hunger Games), and
contemporary young adult authors Lucy Christopher (Stolen) and John Green (A
Fault in Our Stars).
If you had to pick a shoe that
represented your writing style, what would it be?
Have you seen those canvas shoes where an artist has drawn original
artwork on the front and sides and is selling them online? I think my books are
like that—in some ways they feel familiar, but they have their own surprises
and twists that make them unique.
Who has been the most supportive
person in your writing career?
My husband. About two years into trying to get published, I was ready
to give up on my stories and get a job doing something tremendously ill-suited
for me, like being a secretary (I am a very bad secretary. Very disorganized).
He convinced me to give it more time, and he is probably the sole reason I am
published today. He is my first reader, my strongest encourager, and my most
reliable critic.
Are you working on anything else
currently?
Yes! I’m currently hard at work on the second book in the Secrets of
Itlantis series, and I’m also working on a few secret projects on the side—one
is a more traditional fantasy, another is a post-apocalyptic novel. I hope to
have more details about them for my readers very soon.
EXCERPT
The sea sang to itself in the music of blue water
and salt and gulls’ cries as I sat above it, crouched atop the column-like
Looking Rock with a spear clenched in my hand and words of frustration crawling
on my tongue. The water below lapped at the edges of the rock, foaming over the
pebbled shore that ringed the rock, and the foam hid the fish I was trying to
catch.
I bent over the water and stabbed the spear into
the foaming waves. When I withdrew it from the pool, a fish wriggled on the
end, and I smiled with a quick jerk of my lips. I had always been good with a
spear, somewhat inexplicably according to Nealla.
I tossed the fish into my sack and moved to the
other side of the Looking Rock, where the tide pools were often filled with
exotic things washed in from the sea. It was a secret place, and few knew to
look here. I came often whenever I had a moment of freedom from my duties, for
if I could catch enough things of value, I could sell them in the marketplace
and add coin to the stash I kept hidden away, the stash that would one day buy
my freedom.
The first tide pools were disappointingly empty
except for a few anemone and starfish clinging to the sides of the rocks, and a
yellow fish darting away from my face as I peered down.
I moved on. Three more pools, empty. But luck had
not abandoned me. At the final pool I stopped, transfixed by the creature I saw
beneath the surface.
It was eerie and beautiful, with fluttering fins
along its throat and back and tail, speckled blue scales, and a mouth full of
teeth. It wasn’t a fish or a dolphin or a snake, but something that looked like
bits of all three. I had never seen such a creature. It was some monster from
the depths, but a small one.
I bent over the rock, sliding my belly forward by
inches, peering into the deep glassy green of the pool beneath where the
creature swam in small circles, imprisoned until high tide. I didn’t want to
use a spear on such a magnificent creature. For this, I needed a net.
I stabbed my spear into the edge of the pool,
marking the fish-creature as mine. Then I scrambled to the edge of the Looking
Rock. The wind swirled around me, wetting me with a mist of sea spray as I
brought my arms forward and dove into the sea below.
Bubbles exploded around me as I swam through the
green-blue water. Below, fish wove between a jewel-colored spread of coral. A
dark line at the edge of my vision signaled where the shallow waters ended and
the deep water began.
No one ever went out into deep water.
I reached the larger rocks that rose from the water
like the spearheads of giants and hauled myself onto a sea-carved shelf of
white stone. My master’s house was before me, a collection of caves and hollows
in the rock. It was a nice house, with a strip of pebbled beach facing west.
Beyond the beach, a shallow place for bathing and washing was surrounded by
thin white stones that protruded from the water like fingers and broke the
force of the waves.
A hole in the rock wall led to the interior.
Strings of shells formed a curtain barrier, and they tinkled and clicked in the
wind. I shoved them aside and stepped into the cool stone passage leading to
the house.
I needed one of my master’s nets. Just to borrow,
to catch that fish.
The master’s father sat on a mat beside the fire,
muttering to himself. Beside him were nets, the small ones used for hand
fishing. He was mending them, his wrinkled hands moving swiftly as he worked
over a hole.
“Hello, Old One,” I said, speaking carefully and
respectfully. “I need to borrow a net.”
He lifted his head and scrutinized me. I was dripping
from the sea. My hair stuck to my neck and forehead. Droplets fell from my
fingers.
He reached for one of the nets and lifted it toward
me, but pulled it back before I could take it.
“Don’t go in the deep places,” he said, and his
voice creaked. “The Sea People are in the deep places.”
“Yes, Old One,” I said, leaning forward to reach
the net.
The master’s father was crazy, but gentle.
Sometimes he liked to ramble about fables from his youth, and sometimes I
listened, because none of the others did, and I felt sorry for him.
I didn’t have time for it today.
“I saw one of their ships the other night,” he
continued, pulling the net farther away and out of reach again. “Came up from
the depths, black as a wet stone, bright with lights. They’re watching us.”
“Don’t worry, Old One,” I said. “We’ll keep you
safe.”
He harrumphed as if doubtful and handed me the net.
“Stay out of the deep places,” he said again.
I snatched the net and hurried outside once more.
The wind fanned my face. I stopped at the edge of the water and shaded my eyes
against the glaring sun.
Someone else was on the Looking Rock. I saw a
figure moving around the pool. Confound that Old One and his stories! I
splashed into the water, my heart pounding as I swam hard, kicking my legs. I
reached the rock and hauled myself up, hair dripping, leaving wet footprints as
I ran to the tide pools. A young man stood at the edge of the pool, his feet
hanging in the water, his arms braced behind him and his face tipped toward the
sun. He was lounging, waiting for me, stretched out as if to show off his
physical perfections and the gold bracelets on his arms and ankles. That
handsome, arrogant face, smirking mouth, and long, dark lashes that contrasted
with his pale, wavy hair—I’d know him anywhere.
Nol.
I looked past him into the water and stopped in
horror.
The creature was gone.
My bag of sad little fish lay at the edge of the
rock, looking deflated in the sunlight. My spear lay beside it.
Fury built up at the back of my neck and swept
through my throat to take hold of my tongue. Anger licked at my bones.
“You stole my catch.”
Nol opened one eye and looked at me. “What are you
talking about? Your bag of fish is right there. I didn’t touch it.”
“No. The creature in the pool—it was my catch. I
found it first, as was clearly demonstrated by my spear marking the pool. You
took it! Where did you put it?” I was furious, devastated.
Nol straightened and blinked at me. His smile was
slow and smooth, like butter being spread across bread.
“It wasn’t your fish,” he said. “It wasn’t in your
net, so you had no claim.”
“I marked it with my spear—”
“You aren’t a fisherman, thrall-girl. The rules of
the village don’t apply to the likes of you. You have no identifying marker
that deserves to be honored, and that thing you call a spear is simply a piece
of garbage with a point at one end. It could have washed into the pool on its
own, for all I know.”
I wanted to strangle him. My anger was hot and
fierce, and it made my legs tremble. But he was the mayor’s second son, and he
could do as he liked. Instead, I bit my tongue and turned away.
I’d lost this round, but I would not lose to Nol
again.
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