Intro to My Writing

Part II of my in-depth interview with myself will discuss my journey as an aspiring writer. You’ll have to wait another day or two for that to be posted. In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from my novel “Blood of Esta.” I’ve pasted the prologue below.


 

BLOOD OF ESTA

By,

N. M. Carrara

Thirty Years Earlier

Montivi, Sansolo

Rayina Esta’s hair, once an iridescent red and black, clung to her hollow cheeks. She looked down at the newborn cradled in her wasted arms. The blue-grey light of the approaching dawn illuminated the child’s face. It was still slick with afterbirth, having been pulled from Rayina’s dying womb only a moment before. Her time on this earth was ending. The whispers of the Earth had told her so months ago. The moment the Mietmoda had succeeded in killing all other members of her race, Rayina knew she too would die. But she fought with all of her power to keep the essence of her soul inside her dying body long enough to hold her baby girl one time. 

“Bring her to Adorna and raise her there with you. Like you raised Leoh,” she said to the two cloaked men who knelt by her bed.

She didn’t look at them. She kept her eyes on her little girl, watching her matted, blood-covered hair flicker from black to red to black like the flames of a smoky fire. “You must protect her. Train her. She is the Tribe now—the last healer of the Earth.”

“We’ll keep her safe,” said the man kneeling to her right. A tear rolled down his scarred jaw.

Comforting voices whispered in Rayina’s ears, It is time to say goodbye, child.

She took in a shallow breath and looked up. Her vision became clouded. She began panting.

The man on her left rubbed an ointment on her head to ease her pain. “Do you want to name her?”

Rayina looked at the third man in the room, standing at the foot of the bed. His broad shoulders slumped, he leaned against an unadorned steel sword like a crutch. She looked at the glint of the steel, then into the man’s dark eyes.

“Pastella,” she said.

The swordsman closed his eyes and nodded.

“Futchesta Pastella.” She looked at her child one last time. Then the essence of her soul broke free from its earthly confines, and rose from her body with the dawn.

Welcome Futchesta Pastella, the voices of the Earth sang into the newborn’s ears like a choir. Creator be praised for the blood of Esta.

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