Check out the cover of the for the book Fire Above. This book will be released on April 13, 2015. You can pre-order now for your Kindle or your Kobo. See the links below.
Fire Above
By C.H. MacLean
Fantasy
Fantasy
Date Published: April 13, 2015
I love her so much, I'd risk anything.
She and I don't have names. We're just
slaves, after all. But our hearts don't care, and we're lucky, we have a chance
at a scrap of happiness in our terrible lives. My father is the
Queen's pet.
But when my love discovers the lords'
newest atrocity, she lashes out, does the unthinkable, and attacks one of them.
Her courage is heroic, but now they have stuffed her in prison, getting ready
to slaughter her.
With nothing to lose, I dare to
dream of a life far from the lords. I fight for our freedom, and escape to the
woods with my love. We can do no less than free all of our people in the
effort.
Our flight
through the woods is only the start of our journey. The lords’ flaming attacks,
their deception, the loss of so many of my people—I don't know if I will
survive, or if I even want to. But for my love, I will do almost anything, even
battle the fire above.
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Excerpt
In that moment of indecision, my love struggled to rise and moaned, “Run,
you fool! If you love me, run!” A plan burst into my mind, born of desperate
hope. Perhaps it would be enough. I had to try.
The guards, distracted, turned to look at her.
“I'll be back for you,” I swore. I waited until they looked back at me,
then turned and ran into the night.
I could hear them pounding after me. I cut into the woods immediately,
slowing down and making a great deal of noise. I looked over my shoulder and
could see one clearly after me.
I ran in a large circle, keeping the guard chasing as close as I dared.
When I began to approach the castle again, I sped up to give myself a bit more
time. If I could just knock down the guard near her, we might have a chance.
But when I came in sight of the castle, I saw two guards standing in front of
my love, each firmly grasping his weapon, ready to fight. A third stood behind
her, looking into the forest. Looking for me.
She stood, arms bound behind her, feet shackled together. I stumbled,
tears clouding my vision. The crashing from behind me drew closer. I saw her
face in the moonlight, beautiful and proud. She thought I’d gotten away. She’d
sacrificed herself so I could escape. What would she say if I just threw it all
away now?
So I cut left, trying to gauge how far to go to miss the one chasing me
and avoid the two edging forward. The guard chasing me caught up and angled his
run to cut off my escape, edge me toward the other guards. Legs burning, lungs
gasping, I ran as hard as I could. Exhausted and starving, I was no match for
them, fit, fed, and well-rested as they were. But her face gave me strength.
And they didn't run like I ran. They didn't know the woods like I did.
The guard behind me dove, fingers brushing my shoulder. I leaped,
grabbing a branch and swinging as the onrushing guard leaped at me. What would
have knocked me down just grazed my swinging legs and sent him sprawling.
Landing, I cut left close to another tree, and the last guard stumbled over a
hidden tree root. I kept to the shadows, using the night to my advantage until
I reached the common footpath away from the castle. Running away from the
castle, my footfalls loud on the path, I slowed to an easy stride. I looked
over my shoulder to see the guards burst from the woods and start running.
They were still after me. Knowing my love was back there, I almost gave
up, let them catch me. At least we would be together for a short while. Then I
remembered the bandits. They had fighters,
maybe
they could free us both! Spurred on, I lengthened my stride, knowing the guards
could never keep up. I ran like my life depended on it.
About the Author
To young C. H. MacLean, books were everything:
mind-food, friends, and fun. They gave the shy middle child’s life color and
energy. Amazingly, not everyone saw them that way. Seeing a laundry hamper full
of books approach her, the librarian scolded C. H. for trying to check them all
out. “You'll never read that many before they expire!” C. H. was surprised,
having shown great restraint only by keeping a list of books to check out next
time. Thoroughly abashed, C. H. waited three whole days after finishing that
lot before going back for more.
With an internal world more vivid than the real one, C. H. was chastised for
reading in the library instead of going to class. “Neurotic, needs medical
help,” the teacher diagnosed. C. H.'s father, a psychologist, just laughed when
he heard. “She's just upset because those books are more challenging than her
class.” C. H. realized making up stories was just as fun as reading, and
harder to get caught doing. So for a while, C. H. crafted stories and
characters out of wisps and trinkets, with every toy growing an elaborate
personality.
But toys
were not mature, and stories weren't respectable for a family of doctors. So C.
H. grew up and learned to read serious books and study hard, shelving foolish
fantasies for serious work.
Years passed in a black and white blur. Then, unpredictably falling in love all
the way to a magical marriage rattled C. H.'s orderly world. A crazy idea
slipped in a resulting crack and wouldn't leave. “Write the book you want to
read,” it said. “Write? As in, a fantasy novel? But I'm not creative,” C. H.
protested. The idea, and C. H.'s spouse, rolled their eyes.
So one day, C. H. started writing. Just to try it, not that it would go
anywhere. Big mistake. Decades of pent-up passion started pouring out, making a
mess of an orderly life. It only got worse. Soon, stories popped up everywhere-
in dreams, while exercising, or out of spite, in the middle of a work meeting.
“But it's not important work,” C. H. pleaded weakly. “They are not food, or
friends, or...” But it was too late. C. H. had re-discovered that, like books,
life should be fun too. Now, writing is a compulsion, and a calling.
C. H. lives in a Pacific Northwest forest with five pets, two kids, one spouse,
and absolutely no dragons or elves, faeries, or demons… that are willing to be
named, at least.
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