Lisa Farrell
 |
Lisa Farrell has been writing for as long as she can remember.
Much of what she writes is speculative fiction, but she tries
other things from time to time. She has an MA in Creative
Writing from the University of East Anglia.
BLOG
|
New Title(s) from Lisa Farrell
Click on the thumbnail(s) above to learn more about the book(s) listed.
|
Magic cannot be used without consequences,
that's why you need a license to use it. But if your child was
suffering because of the backlash of someone else's spell, could
you stand by and do nothing? Wouldn't you want to save them, no
matter what the cost?
This is a dark tale of magic, desperation and revenge.
Excerpt
Word Count: 7600
Buy at:
Smashwords (all formats) ~
Barnes and Noble ~
Amazon
Price: $ .99 |
|
|
 |
FREE READ!!!
As a child of the temple, Alandra's goal is simple: to please the Mothers who raised her. When sent on a mission, she knows she must obey without question, no matter who is to be punished or how. Until the face of a victim brings back memories she didn't know she'd lost, and changes everything.
Excerpt
Word Count: 4400
Buy at:
Smashwords (all formats)
~
Barnes and Noble ~
Amazon
Price: $ .99 |
| |
|
| Excerpts |
The Cursed |
She pretended not to notice the women watching her as she
approached the bier. She kept her head up and eyes forward as
she passed them, her baby held carefully in the crook of her
arm. Her offering was precious perfume for the chaotic god; she
had to bring the best she could afford. It wasn't her fault the
other women could only spare a loaf of bread or a bunch of wild
flowers. Their husbands toiled in the wheat fields because they
hadn't the skills to do anything else. Her man could both write
and count, and so served the lord personally, up in the great
house on the hill.
That was where he was now, though the sun had almost set. The
farmers were able to attend to the rites with their wives while
she had to make their pledge alone. As the other women joined
hands with their men and marched past her with their noses in
the air, she turned to head for home. She cooed to her baby, who
was waking up.
It was a warm day, so she kept to the shade of the tall rickety
houses along the street. The smell was worse in this season, as
the sun released the vapours from the dung that had been walked
into the cobbles of the road.
She hated the town. Everywhere there was life, but of a very
different sort to that around the country dwellings where the
more fortunate lived. The sort she could have lived in, had her
husband's family not been cursed with ill fortune. It would be a
long time before he could afford to house her on one of the
hills above the town, where the air was clear and the ground not
infested with maggots or disease.
Her husband worked all day up on that hill, and she envied him
for that. She had to return now to their poky little house, with
nothing but a stone wall between her and the farmers' families.
At times she even envied the farmers themselves, who at least
got to spend their days in the open fields beyond the town
walls. They weren't encased in stone all day.
Her baby began to cry as she closed the gate behind her. He
didn't like the grate of metal as the latch dropped back into
its place. Her garden was a mass of herbs and the scent greeted
her. Everything she grew had a strong smell; it served to mask
the stench of the town.
She walked up the little stone path, jiggling the baby in an
effort to quieten him.
“It's all right, my sweet one,” she said, “we're home now.”
She wished that she needn't take him out when she paid homage,
but she couldn't keep a nanny for him, and it would look bad if
she didn't take something to the bier in the square at least
once a day. Not with her husband doing so well in comparison
with the other poor souls around, and with a young child to keep
safe too.
Her key was in the bottom of her pocket; she could feel it
digging into her thigh. She held the baby close with one hand
and fumbled for the key with the other. Her long skirt was too
tight, she couldn't get her fingers in without shifting position
again. The baby was starting to thrash in her arms.
“Stop it,” she snapped. “Give me a minute.”
Her tone did nothing to soothe him, but when she pushed the
heavy door open at last and stepped into the dark of the hall,
the cool air quietened him. He whimpered softly as she moved to
the living room, where she placed him on the rug before the
empty grate.
“There, that's better,” she said, smiling as she knelt before
him, hoping to have a smile in return. He just stared at her
with his big blue eyes, but she tickled his round tummy and was
rewarded with a giggle. He was getting bigger so quickly. It
hadn't been long ago she could leave him lying there as she
worked and he'd be safe. Now if she turned her back for a moment
he would crawl off somewhere more interesting.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as he reached for her. “Already?”
She gathered him in her arms and sat in the chair by the
fireplace to feed him. She had worked hard today, washing and
baking. She hoped he'd sleep after his feed, and give her time
to rest herself.
***
She woke to his wailing and sighed. Her head hurt, as it
generally did when her sleep was interrupted. Her husband rolled
over to face her and mumbled something, but she hushed him. She
would get up to quiet the baby and let him sleep.
Her candle had burnt down while she slept. Moonlight highlighted
the cracks in the shutters and allowed her to see her way to the
cot by the shades of grey. The baby's cries were angry and
urgent, as though he was in pain. He was kicking his legs in the
air as he shrieked, and his tiny fists were clenched. She
reached in to lift him out, but before her fingers touched him
she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She was afraid
to touch him. She put a finger to his wrinkled forehead and
yelped at the burning of his skin.
“Mark!” she cried. “Get up! Something’s wrong.”
She didn’t try to lift him for fear of dropping him, so stood
uselessly looking down at his face. Her husband stumbled to her
side and blinked down at the screaming child.
“Maybe he just needs feeding?”
“He’s too hot, Mark, feel him. I think... I think someone has
brought the curse on us.”
Mark put his hand to the baby’s forehead and the little hands
latched onto his bare arm. The sickly smell of burnt hair began
to fill the room but Mark didn’t move.
“Fetch the doctor,” he said.
She spared little thought for the shame of having to go herself,
but hitched her nightdress up and ran barefoot through the
street to the doctor’s house. A learned man who came at no small
price, his house had a wall higher than her own. She clambered
over the gate, for her hands shook too much to open it, and
hammered on the door.
She was shivering by the time he opened it to her, but couldn’t
feel the cold. She could only blurt out that they needed him
before she broke into sobs. He came with her at once, throwing a
coat over his dressing gown.
They could hear the baby’s cries from halfway down the street,
and she cried harder to think that his little throat must be raw
with screaming.
“He’s burning up,” Mark said as they entered the bedroom.
“What’s wrong with him, Doctor?”
He had detached his arm from the child and lit a candle. She
could see red welts on his arm where he’d been gripped. The
doctor hurried to see into the cot, and swore.
“What is it?” she asked, and gasped as she peered over his
shoulder. The child’s face was scarlet, and his eyes, open wider
than she’d ever seen them, were bright yellow.
“Oh, gods help us!” she said. “What’s happening to my baby?”
The doctor turned to her, his lips a tight line and his brow
furrowed.
“I can’t help you,” he said. “It’s the curse. Only magic can
save him from magic.”
“No!” she shook her head, and her husband caught her trembling
hands before she could grab the doctor by the collar. “There are
no magicians in this town! There must be something we can do.”
“I’m sorry, Madam, but this is no natural sickness. Do you want
me to inform the witch-finders?”
“Yes!”
“No,” Mark said. “That won’t help him. We must employ a magician
to redirect this curse.”
“Someone has cursed our child,” she growled at him, “and we
can’t let that go unpunished. No one has a license in this town.
They must be brought to justice!”
“One man has a license,” Mark said. “Our lord. And I shall go to
him at once.”
“Be sure that you do,” the doctor said. “The child will burn
out; he doesn’t have long.”
“Wait!” she shrieked, breaking from Mark’s grip to follow the
doctor from the room. “I beg you, Doctor. Send for the
witch-finders.”
“As you wish, Madam.”
|
|
Back to The Cursed |
The Mother |
“We are all proud of you, Alandra,” the Mother said. “You have
learned your lessons well.”
“Thank you, Mother,” she said, bowing low and taking hold of the
holy skirts to kiss them. The feel of the rough, bleached fabric
against her lips was familiar and comforting.
“You performed well on the last mission, and we think that the
time has come to send you on a task of your own. Do you feel
ready to face the world with no one by your side?”
“I know that the Great Mother will be watching, Mother,” she
said, unable to keep the smile from her face. She kept her eyes
cast down. “I will attempt whatever task you see fit to give
me.”
“Good, child.”
She felt the Mother's bony fingers brush her cheek, and images
began to flick through her mind like memories. She saw the house
they wanted her to hit, along with the route she must take to
find it.
“It is up to you, child, how you bring their fate upon them. But
the Great Mother has made Her choices and tonight you must be
Her instrument. However you do it, be sure that Her will is made
known.”
Alandra nodded, the smile still upon her face. She waited,
listening to the slow, sliding footsteps of the Mother shuffling
away across the marble floor. She flexed her hands, stretching
her fingers, then clenched them into a fist, digging her long
nails into her palms. Only when the Mother was definitely gone
did she lift her head. The room was empty, but for the crates
stacked against one wall, obscuring a frieze of the Great Mother
defeating the crocodile god of a nearby island, some old enemy
of her people.
Alandra would not be carrying any more crates today, she would
leave the task for some other child of the Great Mother to
complete. She had to prepare herself for the work ahead. This
would be her first solo mission, the first time the Mothers
trusted her to go out into the world without some elder as an
escort. She had done everything she could to show them how
useful she could be, and now she finally had a chance to prove
her competence.
She would pray. She left the storage room, her bare feet quiet
as she walked with practised care. It was mid-afternoon and
supplicants still lingered in the temple, waving incense sticks
and muttering before the image of the Great Mother. Her statue
was made of white marble like the floor, and looked as cold. Her
expression was meant to be serene, but it looked merely
unfocussed to Alandra, as though the Goddess gazed uncaring over
her people and did not see them. Her six arms were spread out,
her palms cupped to receive candles and offerings. It had once
been one of Alandra's jobs to clean and polish them when night
fell and the temple closed, but she had given that job onto
another, younger child as soon as she was able.
She passed the statue and went through the dark doorway behind
to the inner sanctum, where only the Mothers and children of the
temple were allowed to go. She passed through the room
containing the Casket, said to house stars that had dropped from
the sky, sent by the Great Mother to be made into powerful
weapons of war. Beautiful shells had been arranged around it,
gifts from the waters surrounding the island, the waters that
kept their enemies at bay for much of the year.
|
|
Back to The Mother |
| |
| |
| |
| top |
|
