Return of the Mantra

Susie Williamson

Description

Suni and her mother make a living weaving baskets, and selling herbs they harvest secretly at night. With no warning, Suni is cut adrift. She sets off to find her father in the crystal mines. Return of the Mantra chronicles Suni's experiences in the mines, how she escapes, and the people she meets. It explores some very modern issues.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Science fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Stairwell Books
• Date de parution: 24 mai 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913432171
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Blood Gift Chronicles
Book One
 
 
 
 
The Return of the Mantra
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Susie Williamson
 
 
Stairwell Books

 
Published by Stairwell Books
70 Barbara Drive
Norwalk
CT 06851 USA
 
161 Lowther Street
York, YO31 7LZ
 
www.stairwellbooks.co.uk
@stairwellbooks
 
 
 
 
The Return of the Mantra © 2018, 2019, 2020 Susie Williamson and Stairwell Books
 
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, e-book or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.
 
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
 
 
ISBN: 978-1-939269-74-4
eBook ISBN: 978-1-913432-17-1
 
Printed and bound in the UK by Imprint Digital
Layout design: Alan Gillott
 
Front Cover: “Reed Flute Caves displaying the ‘Crystal Palace of the Dragon King’ formations. Located in Guilin, Guangxi Province, China” – DnDavis
Back Cover: “Sandstorm blowing through dead trees in Namibian Desert” - Cheryl Ramalho
 
 
 
 
Dedication
 
 
 
Thank you to the team at Stairwell Books, who got behind the story and gave me feedback and space to produce a draft ready for publication. Special thanks to Rose Drew for her support in this project, and to the wonderful editorial assistants, Coral Hammond and Becca Miles, for their valued input and words of encouragement.
It has been a work in progress over many years, and during early drafts, when I was struggling to see it objectively, I sought the help of writer and editor, Debz Hobbs-Wyatt. She was instrumental in helping me to believe in myself as a writer who may one day be published.
I thank my family and friends for their support and encouragement: my mum who believed in me, and my dad who inspired in me a love and respect for wildlife, which would feature as a backdrop for the story. Lastly, Kate, my partner, who believed in me when I didn’t, and who has lived through sleepless nights and the ups and downs of a debut novelist. Thank you.
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 1
It was early, the skies filled with the golden colours of dawn, but already the river was bustling with life. Today was a special day.
I led the mule along the rise of the riverbank, wading through long reeds. It was hot, it was always hot on my homeland of Shendi: the drought had lasted all my fifteen years, and decades before. Despite the heat I pulled the hood down low over my face, as I passed women washing clothes, men fishing, and children swimming. Listening to their chat and laughter amidst a backdrop of squawking gulls, seeing the odd scowl cast in my direction, I felt like an unwelcomed stranger in my hometown. The hood was reassuring since it hid my face.
I felt something hit me on the back of the head, and then again. I rubbed my head, hearing giggles from behind, and turned to look. Two boys looked out from the reeds, one holding a handful of stones. Nearby, a man was watching from the river, water up to his waist, a young child sitting astride his shoulders. For a moment I thought the man might say something to the boys, but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. He glanced at me only briefly before turning away, lifting the child off his shoulders and swirling her in the cool water. My gaze lingered on the child as she reached out with chubby arms, pulling at her father’s lips and nose, making gurgling sounds as she smiled at him. He smiled back and pulled her towards him, kissing her on the cheek before cradling her into his chest.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw another stone hurled in my direction. I stepped aside and pulled at the reins, hurrying the mule along. The closer I came to the estuary, the quieter the river. The townspeople were superstitious and feared the ocean. My mother, Mata, privately ridiculed rumours of sea monsters and evil spirits that pulled people deep into the ocean depths, to die a watery death. The shores of the estuary was one place I could guarantee to find solitude.
Further on beyond the crowds, a girl sat alone idly skimming stones. She glanced at me as I went to walk past, and to my surprise she smiled. I paused, looking back at her, and almost returned her smile. I felt suddenly awkward and turned away.
‘Won’t you sit with me?’ she asked.
I looked back, confused. I had no friends my own age; Mata forbade it and besides, I had never had any offers. I thought it might be a trick, expected her to say something cruel, but her smile faded leaving a hurt look on her face.
I knew few people by name but I knew faces, and I was sure this was not a face I’d seen before. Dressed in a dowdy smock, she appeared poor like the beggars, but beggars never left the dark lanes and shadows of town. She looked to be a similar age to me; plain in appearance but with a subtle beauty in her dark brown skin and rosebud mouth. Feeling nervous and intrigued I dropped the rein, leaving the mule to graze, and climbed down the bank.
‘I’m Ntombi,’ she said, as I sat down beside her. She rolled a flat stone in her fingers, before flinging it out across the water. I watched it bounce four times across the surface before it sank. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, turning to face me.
‘Suni,’ I said, pushing the hood back from my eyes.
She nodded and looked back at the water. I did the same, nervously fiddling with my cape.
Finally she said, ‘I don’t remember seeing you at school.’
I felt my skin prickle and stared long and hard at the rippling water, wondering how to change the topic.
‘I’m a weaver,’ I said. ‘I work at the market with mother.’ I turned to face her. ‘I haven’t seen you before either.’
‘I’ve got a job as well,’ she said, leaning back to rest on her elbows. ‘In the mornings, at the bakery. I just go to school in the afternoons.’
I was curious to know why she didn’t go to school all day like other children, but I didn’t go at all and kept my thoughts to myself.
We entered into an uncomfortable silence, broken by the sound of rustling in a nearby clump of reeds. A boy and girl emerged, faces flushed, hair ruffled. As the girl stopped to do up the buttons of her smock, the boy looked straight at me, frowning.
‘What are you looking at?’ he said, meeting my eye. He put his arm over the girl’s shoulders and turned to lead her away. ‘Witch,’ he shouted back, a taunt I knew was meant for me.
I felt my cheeks burning and stared down into my lap. ‘Witch’ was a dangerous word.
I was surprised when Ntombi gently touched my arm and said, ‘Ignore them.’
Still I couldn’t look at her, and pulled the hood back down low over my eyes.
‘I should go,’ I said, standing up.
‘Will I see you at the festival?’ she asked.
I shrugged. I would be at the festival but I wouldn’t be able to speak to her, not when my mother was there. I looked at her and smiled nervously, afraid of offending her after she’d been so kind.
She smiled back and said, ‘Well if I don’t see you before, come by the bakery tomorrow. I’ll be there.’
I nodded and turned to climb back up the bank. All the way home I smiled to myself, daring to hope that I had found a friend.
Chapter 2
The King’s annual festival was a day of celebration for loyal followers, which included virtually the whole town. Us few remaining non-believers kept our disloyalty secret. Still it didn’t deter the gossip. As I passed families gathered in doorways readying to leave, the sight of mothers distracting young children from looking my way was a familiar one. I was Mata’s daughter and that made me an outcast, a status I felt most strongly on festival days.
Turning the corner to home, I saw Mata standing on the doorstep, a look of impatience on her face.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, as I approached.
‘Just down at the river,’ I said, tying the mule next to the trough.
‘I wish you wouldn’t wear that up,’ she said, reaching for my hood as I walked past to go inside. ‘You draw attention to yourself.’
‘Stop fussing,’ I said, shrugging her off as I walked over to the fireplace.
I kept my back to her as I looked down at the smouldering embers, wanting to hide my irritation. But I felt the tension between us and knew she was watching. With Mata there were always so many rules. I understood why, but sometimes they stifled. Moments passed and the silence stretched between us. I couldn’t say I felt safer with the hood up, couldn’t say I just wanted to be invisible. The last time I had told her of stones being thrown at me she had reminded me that our beliefs were bigger than any one of us, reassured me that we had each other, and hadn’t let me go out alone for months. Back then we had argued. Once I told her I hated her. Never again. She had raised her hand as though about to slap me, but stopped. I had seen the tears well in her eyes before she turned to hide her face. I still remembered the sight of her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, still remembered the shame that I had felt at the thought I had made my mother cry, still remembered how her words had stung when she told me it was time I grew up. I was fifteen years old, almost sixteen, and had long vowed not to make her cry again. I was a young woman now and Mata was all I had.
‘We need to tidy you up,’ she said, breaking the silence.
She came up behind me and dragged a brush through my hair. I felt it pull but I didn’t move. Festival days always left Mata flustered and ill-tempered. She moved round to stand in front of me and paused, tilting my head to face her.
‘Why were you late?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry.’
I could never tell her about Ntombi. I was taught to trust no one, especially a school goer which, aside from me, all children were. I was used to hiding my feelings from my mother, but this was my first big secret. Looking into her eyes