I wanted to write something clever and insightful about plot twists, but that will have to wait until next time. Therefore, I am going to leave you all with another excerpt from my book. This bit is from Chapter 1 (The prologue bits can be found here: "An Excerpt From My Prologue"), though it is not the entire chapter. Enjoy!
“Tsk.” chided his oldest
sister. “You shouldn’t have taken so long. I’ve nearly burnt your dinner.”
Llewellyn bustled about the
open hearth that sat in the center of the large circular room. A large cast
iron kettle was nestled within the glowing coals alongside a covered clay
baking dish. A copper kettle hung from a cast iron hook looped over a bar that
spanned the diameter of the pit. Two andirons cast in the shape of spreading
trees were anchored in the raised masonry that encircled the hearth while the
reaching branches supported the cross bar. A generous column of steam from the
kettle plumed upwards into the inverted brass funnel that comprised the chimney
to be carried away through a series of channels and flues carved into the rock
by the molten rock of the extinct volcano.
Llewellyn was taller than him.
Actually, all four of his siblings were taller than he was, favoring their mother’s
side of the family while he tended towards the traits of his father’s family.
Athletic as a child, her once lithe form was now curved with the weight of
having borne three children of her own. Ever the matriarch of the Mawr
siblings, she had insisted on providing a meal for him and Oona at least once a
week since Branwen had been taken. Darby suppressed a laugh when Llewellyn
cursed after burning her fingertips on the kettle. He decided against telling
her that she was just as likely to burn the dinner with or without them.
Dinner progressed quietly as
Darby and Oona suffered through the main dish of Mung fish. Looking very much
like an algae covered log with rudimentary fins, it tasted more of lake water than
of anything savory. Darby watched as Oona picked absently at the portion on her
plate, elbows on the table, her head propped against her free hand. He had just
lifted his fork when he heard Llewellyn cough slightly.
“You know she doesn’t like
Mung, Llew.” He said without looking over.
Llewellyn shifted in her seat.
“I don’t see why.” She replied cooly. “Kewen loves it.”
Her husband Kewen was from one
of the fishing families that lived down on the lake. Mung fish was only one of
the peculiar traditions that he had brought into the family. To anyone else, it
would seem that Llewellyn was simply being supportive, but Darby knew his
sister better.
“Llew…”
“Sparks,” she said firmly,
clacking her fork down onto the wooden plate. Darby scowled at the nickname.
She was the only one left in all of the Brehon society who insisted on still
using it. “She has to learn to start accepting things she doesn’t like.”
Darby glanced over to Oona and found her
studying her plate with great intent. She had, however, stopped stirring the
contents of her plate. Her hands lay flat on either side of the plate while her
hair had fallen forward hiding her expression. Darby knew his daughter as well
and could easily see how this exchange was going to end.
Yet, before he could move to
diffuse things, Oona slapped her hands against the table and shouted, “My
mother is not dead!”
Llew’s cheeks colored and her
gaze hardened. “How could she possibly be?” she replied in a level voice edged
with anger. “If she had lived, she would have come back by now.”
Darby sprang up, tipping over
his chair as he rounded on his sister. Llewellyn glared back at him with a look
that dared him to defy her. “Löre’s Breath!” he shouted!
He didn’t get any farther.
Before he could say anything more, Oona pushed away from the table and ran up
the stairs. The slam of her door burst his rising anger allowing it to leach
away within a few breaths. Llewellyn blushed and then looked away. Darby sagged against the table hanging his
head as he fought to marshal his thoughts.
“Go home, Llew.” He said
finally.
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