I’m a little less than halfway done with Edenfall, so I figure it would be good to share a couple of excerpts with you. If all goes well, it should be out by September.
As a reminder, this is the sequel to my first novel, Genesis Earth, so you may see a couple of familiar characters in this excerpt, which is taken from the first chapter. I’ve already got plans for the third book, and will hopefully complete the trilogy by the end of the year.
Enjoy!
The boulder felt rough and warm under Estee’s bare feet, the hot air dusty and dry. She scrambled up its face, laughing as her little sister struggled to keep up.
“Slow down!” Celeste cried. She lost her footing and began to slip. “Help!”
Estee turned around and dropped to her stomach. A warm breeze tousled her hair as sweat ran down the side of her face. With the grainy sandstone hot against her skin, she caught Celeste and pulled her up.
“You’re okay. Come on!”
Celeste’s face was pale, but she recovered quickly. Together, they stood atop the massive boulder, panting to catch their breath.
“Race you to the next one!”
In an instant, Estee was off, laughing at her sister’s cry of dismay. Thankfully, the next boulder wasn’t so hard. She panted for breath as she scrambled up it with Celeste following closely behind, her terror forgotten as she struggled to keep up. In less than a minute, they had both conquered the rock.
From the top, they had a majestic view of the wide, golden-green savannah and the tabletop mountains all along the horizon.
“It’s hot,” Celeste complained.
“Here,” said Estee, leading her to the northward facing side. “It’s not so bad over here.”
They both laid down with their backs against the slickrock. Estee closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the sun warming her dust-caked skin and drying the beads of sweat on her forehead. It was wonderful.
“Hey, look!”
She opened her eyes and looked where Celeste was pointing, in the direction of the beanstalk. A thin, familiar line rose from the ruins of the ancient ones into the blue sky, disappearing high above the clouds. But the thing that caught Estee’s attention was a point of light, shining like a star where the beanstalk disappeared from view.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Celeste. “Look, it’s moving.”
Indeed it was. A light breeze whistled around the boulders as the star drifted soundlessly toward the south. Estee rose to her feet, shielding her eyes with her hand as she traced its curious progress across the sky. Beside her, Celeste stood up as well.
“Is it a falling star?” Celeste asked.
Estee didn’t think so. Falling stars only happened at night, and they usually flickered out in the blink of an eye. Mama liked to study them. She always knew when the best times were to look for them, and sometimes took Estee out with her to see. Mama and Papa both knew a lot about stars, because that was where they’d come from. But Estee had never seen anything like this.
“Is it?” Celeste repeated.
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Where is going?”
The star grew brighter as it moved closer to the horizon, leaving a bright yellow streak. It was falling to the east, past the village of the little people. Estee thought it would pass out of view beyond the tabletop mountains, but then it turned abruptly north. Falling stars never did that.
“Look!” said Celeste. “It’s making a cloud!”
Sure enough, a thin whispy cloud cut a line in the star’s wake. It reminded Estee of the smoke from a candle. As the star dipped lower, it passed in front of the tabletop mountains and alighted in the nearby foothills. A shiver of excitement ran down Estee’s spine.
“Come on—let’s go!”
“No,” Celeste protested. “It’s too far away.”
“Don’t you want to find it, though?”
“The daylight is fading. We’ll get in trouble.”
Estee groaned, but her sister was right. Besides, Mama wanted them back before dark, and the sun was already starting to get low.
“Race you home. Last one back is a lazy sun-dragon!”
“Hey!” Celeste cried as Estee scampered down the boulder. “Wait for me!”
The high grass tickled Estee’s legs as she ran across the plains. Fine, red dust caked her sweaty skin, but she ran until her lungs burned and her heart pounded, simply for the joy of it. She startled a swarm of leaping locusts grazing nearby, and shrieked in surprise as they leaped high above her, rattling their wings as they sought somewhere more peaceful to graze.
“Celeste! Where are you?”
“Back here!” her sister called.
“Well hurry up!”
By the time they made it back, the beanstalk was already beginning to shimmer in the light of the setting sun. Smoke had started to rise from the adobe oven—that meant Mama was cooking, which meant that they were late.
“Oh, dungheaps,” Estee swore.
Celeste ran up beside her, still out of breath. “What?” she asked—then, noticing the smoke, “Oh.”
“Come on,” said Estee, “let’s go to Papa’s workshop.” If they came in with Papa, then maybe Mama would think they’d been with him the whole time. Papa was always late.
They snuck as quietly as they could out through the hedgerow gate, making a wide circle until they reached Papa’s workshop about fifty yards away. The thatchwork patches in the plasteel dome roof waved in the afternoon breeze.
Five of the little people rose to their feet as Estee and Celeste rounded the corner. Two of them rose swiftly to their feet, brandishing spears, but their leader scolded them and they stepped aside.
“That’s right,” said Estee, holding her palms outstretched. “It’s just us. No need to fear.”
The leader was one of the chiefs of the little people, his rich orange mane bearing jewelry carved from bone. Estee squatted so as not to seem taller than him. In just the last year, she’d grown so much that all but the strongest hunters were shorter than her. She still hadn’t gotten used to that.
The chief stepped forward and put his hand on Estee’s chest in a gesture of peace. She did the same, leaning forward so that they stood cheek to cheek. His furry skin was hard and tough, his mane so long that it tickled her arm. They both took a deep breath together, and the scent of sweat and musk filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and let it seep into her, until his heartbeat echoed hers.
Opening her eyes, she stepped back to let Celeste greet the chief in like manner while the others stood back. It wasn’t every day that they met the little people like this, but it happened often enough that they both knew what to do.
Satisfied, the little people bowed and let them pass. Estee knocked once, then parted the heavy rug door and stepped inside.
“Papa?” she called. The workshop was brightly lit. Bottles of various chemicals sat on the counter among baskets of dried leaves and flowers. Papa was on the far side of the room, next to the operating table.
“Shh,” said Papa, gesturing for them to stay quiet.
The two girls crept forward to watch. One of the women of the little people sat on the operating table, trembling with fear. She held an infant child on her chest, limp and unconsious.
Papa rinsed off a bloody pair of tweezers in the sink, then returned to the mother and child. “There, there,” he whispered. “Just one more—got it!” From the baby’s leg, he pulled out a black sliver as long as Estee’s pinky finger and dropped it into a nearby bowl.
“Gauze,” he ordered without looking up from his work. Estee rushed to assist him. After carefully cleaning the wound, he applied an herbal dressing before taking the offered gauze and wrapping it around the baby’s leg. “That should help with the infection,” he muttered, then held up one of the smelling salts to the baby’s nose until it began to whimper and cry. The mother clutched her baby to her chest and jumped off the table, rushing out the door to her waiting companions.
“What was that?” asked Celeste.
“Just a splinter,” said Papa. “But they didn’t come to me until the infection had already set in.” He emptied the wash basin and scrubbed his hands with soap and pumice.
“Why?” Estee asked.
“Because they were afraid. They see us as gods, you know. Because we came from the sky.”
“We didn’t,” Celeste said, pointing to Estee and herself.
“But you are our children,” said Papa. “And in their eyes, that makes you gods like us.”
“But why does that make them afraid of us?” Estee asked.
Papa smiled. “Let’s go see what your mama is cooking, shall we?”
“Yeah,” said Celeste. “Let’s go!”
Estee groaned. She hated it when he ended their conversations without giving her a clear answer. Recently, it seemed he did that more and more often. It was especially bad when she asked if Mama would have another baby. Hermes had already seen his first winter.
They followed Papa outside, squinting in the evening sun. Mama was waiting for them at the door of the hut, arms folded across her chest.
“You were out late,” she said, looking Estee in the eye.
“No we weren’t,” Estee lied. “We were with Papa in the workshop.”
“Were you?”
She fidgeted under Mama’s knowing glare. “No,” she admitted. “But we didn’t stay out that long—and we didn’t go far.”
“Yeah,” said Celeste, backing her up.
Papa gave Mama a kiss. “Evening, dear. You look gorgeous.”
“And you look exhausted,” she answered him back. Still, she smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.
Estee rolled her eyes. “Come on! Are we going to eat or what?”
“Hold on, you ravening locust,” said Mama. “We’ll eat soon enough.”
