Sad Crazy, Plus Excerpt!

The last few weeks have been kind of crazy.  We had an unexpected loss in my husband's family, and it's still hard to think of how suddenly the death came.  I'm still grieving off and on.  However, I press forward with my writing, and I hope the event will serve as an inspiration for me.

Working on several projects really stretched me thin creatively, so I pushed aside many of my projects, written and art, to work on the revision of Incarnate Memory.  The more I work on it, the more I'm excited to publish it!  I've added a lot more material to the original draft, including a completely new POV, and am having fun expanding on the story and Sabra's world.  I even met a new character I didn't expect to pop up in revision, and she's definitely going to help strengthen Sabra's story arc.

Incarnate Memory is going to be the first Legacy Incarnate book that will be published for the first time without the POV of Lithia McCail.  I edited out everything about her in the first two books and re-uploaded them to Createspace.  Doing this actually allowed me room for that new POV I mentioned, and will help tie this book a lot better into Book IV of LI.

My goal is to publish Incarnate Memory by the end of the year.  That's a real push, but if not by the end of this year, then by the end of March 2017 at the latest. It's no promise, but that's my ballpark estimate of publication date.

I created a new blog to post my book reviews, so I won't be posting book reviews on Xenithar's Lair any longer. [Edit 1/20/17: I will still post some reviews on here as well as on SDR.] It's called Silver Dragon Reviews; some of the reviews I took from Goodreads and re-posted on SDR.

I would like to share an exclusive excerpt with my readers from Incarnate Memory.  This is not from a finished edition of the manuscript, and may still have issues, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Several harsh, bitterly cold weeks passed in the northern passes of the Vurik Mountains. Sabra led her companions on bravely, and though her race was naturally built to withstand very low temperatures, the cold here was uncomfortably different from what she knew. Instead of being just a nip to the skin, it was bone-numbing, and it wasn't even Winter yet.

Deborah kept herself under Sabra's clothes most of the time, although she assured the elf that once she changed with the Winter Solstice, her body would quickly adapt to the cold. Sabra considered the fairy lucky on that point, and once more had to keep jealousy under check.

Tarcua was faring little better than the other two. The altitude and dry, chill air caused him to have constant nose bleeds, even after Sabra healed him twice. Both gave up on making it better, and so he left his already red beak crusted with his own ocher, which would freeze at night if he did not cover his beak. He didn't grumble about it, though; Sabra never knew him to whine or complain.

Their hardships were compounded with a loss of rations. They hadn't run into any generous settlements for at least three weeks where they could buy food, and had resorted to hunting in the rocky terrain. They agreed that Tarcua was the best hunter out of the group, and Sabra and Deborah were able to assist to a small degree, but it was hard to keep their stomachs full most days.

Adego and the brooder seemed to be well for the time being. They were able to crop plants whenever they camped, and though food seemed scarce, there was always water to drink. Sabra hated to think what would happen when it started to snow. If the passes became too deep with snow, they would have to abandon their steeds.

They were bereft of a main road throughout these weeks, traversing through hills and across rocky ravines. The frost was setting in, making ice edge along streams and across trees that were quickly dropping their leaves or alternately giving pines and firs silvery coats of ice. Despite their situation, Sabra was able to track their progress through the Vuriks using the map, and they were making very slow, but steady, progress to their destination.

They were making their way along a ridge that had a sheer drop of a hundred feet a few feet to their right. Sabra had chosen this path instead of going along the bottom because the canyon bottom was littered with jagged boulders and strange black, nettled plants that did not look appealing to the senses. Sabra lifted her head in their plod as she saw a spray of white creeping over the northern ridges, about half a mile off. It was actually quite beautiful with the sun filtering through it and creating a dull spectrum of color, but then it grew larger and darker. It smothered the sun and became a grayish veil that began to pour into the canyon. Snow.

Sabra rocked in her saddle when Adego stumbled, and the ground under his foot crumbled into nothing. The horse whinnied and shook his head as he tried to jump away, launching them into thin air. Sabra screamed as the horse rolled through the air, throwing her from the saddle.

“Sabra!” Deborah cried, shooting downward. Sabra watched her companions fade behind a blanket of stinging white ice. She reached upward, and then tried to grab Adego next to her.

However, the fall was lightning fast, and she had barely rolled half of herself onto the horse's body before they slammed against the side of a large boulder. Adego caught the brunt of the fall, blasting the wind from her lungs as she landed on him. A chorus of crunches and snaps came from her steed, and he was silent as he slid off the boulder.

Sabra scrabbled for a hold on his straps to pull herself over, but she was crushed under him as they landed in a rustle of black plants. Snow continued to pour onto them with the effect of a waterfall, stuffing itself into Sabra's eyes and nostrils. She spat out the snow as it whipped around her. She pressed her hands against Adego's body and inched herself out from under him, blessing the gods for Adel.

She hissed as her right hand brushed one of the plants, and when she looked at it, a black needle had lodged itself just above the mark of the Moonstone. Sabra growled and yelled a spell. Blue and white flames circled out from her in a whirlwind, incinerating the plants and most of Adego. To her the fires were cool and brought her no harm. Sabra gagged at the burnt smell of her steed and pushed what was left of him away from her, leaving a smear of black ash across her clothing and white leg armor. Her heart faltered at his loss, but she knew now was not the time to grieve.

“Sabra!” came Deborah's vague voice. Sabra's eyes widened. Surely the fairy could not fly through such a storm!

“Deborah, go back!” the Incarnate screamed. “Stay with Tarcua!”

“No, I can't just––”

Her voice abruptly snuffed out. Sabra got to her feet, holding an arm up against the blizzard, and then tightened her coat hood over her head. She gritted her teeth and moved forward, halting at the edge of where the fires of the Moonstone had destroyed the plants. The black needles filled every crevasse between the slippery, sharpened rocks. Sabra gulped, bending over slightly as her boots crunched through the plants as if they were made of glass.

After ten minutes, she had to stop as the wind tore up branches of the thick, spiny plants and sent them flying across her. The barbs tried to snag her coat, but the force of the wind was simply too strong and sent them whirling past.

Sabra wrapped a hand around her bag strap, giving up trying to cover her face and using her other hand to reach out and navigate through the stones. One step, then another, and another. She gasped as a clump of barbs scraped past her face, leaving red tracks across her forehead and one eye. She automatically grabbed her face and took another step before plunging into darkness.

She bounced once before rolling down a slide of gravel. Sabra heard her possessions clanking and cracking in her bag each time her body rolled over it, and she finally stopped. She caught her breath for a moment before attempting to sit up.

A dull light shone from the hole at the top of the vertical slope, with flurries of snow leaking in with a cold draft. Beneath her feet were delicate flakes of slate and other rocks, grating and cracking every time she shifted her weight on them. The elf held up her right hand, imagining a small flame and willing her manna forward.

“Erii,” she whispered. A ball of blue-white flames floated above her palm, and she mentally increased its size until she could see her surroundings with fair clarity. She was in a cave, what may have one time been a slate mine, and it appeared to dive deeper into the earth beyond her light. Near one side of the cave was a pool of water, and Sabra gratefully approached it.

She knelt by it with a sigh and undid her bag, allowing her flame to float above her head. Flipping the pack flap open, she found her map, flute, and several other items still intact. Sabra pushed her bag aside and leaned over the water.

At first she saw only a silhouette of herself, so she moved the fire further over the water to light her front side. Sabra saw her delicate features on the still liquid, scratched from the thrown plants. She suddenly felt warmth spread across her back. Sabra leaned closer to the pool as her image shifted into darkness.

She then saw a black wall filled with seated sentients that chanted words about sacrificing wings and glorifying the real god of the Hunters. Her breathing quickened as she became drawn further and further into it. She felt shackles around her wrists and ankles. She felt someone rip the shirt off her back. She felt something sharp pierce her skin. Pain exploded in a circle on her back. Sabra screamed and arched her back, falling onto the slate and gravel. Her hands scrabbled uselessly at her cloak and armor as she tried to gain control of the ever-increasing burning.

The memory would not leave her mind, and as long as it stayed, the Extraction of the Disobedient dug its painful magicks deeper and deeper into her body. She could feel the gold Claws tracing figures through her skin again. She could hear the laughter and curses of the Hunters and the Golden One. She could smell blood and sweat and filth.

Sabra turned onto her stomach and covered her head with a sob as the memory of that day played across her mind's eye over and over, the Extraction mark upon her flaring each time like a twisted heart beat. Sabra grasped at thoughts of something else, anything else as the Golden One laughed. Eventually her memories turned to Zanoll, the land of her birth, and to her days as princess and queen. She remembered being with Henry, married and happy, with their oldest boy Devin and their toddler Adair, sitting at picnic in the garden.

It was a pleasant, though vague, memory, but the more she pulled out the details, the more the pain of the Extraction faded. Sabra breathed hard, eyes squeezed closed. It felt like someone pulling thorns out of her skin, a relieving pain, and when the Extraction stopped its attack, she was left with an aching body and a tender back. She pounded a fist against the water.

“I'm cursed!” she yelled. “I thought I was free of him, and I'm still cursed!”

Sabra was tempted to blame Zarem and Luna for this; why hadn't They warned her this would happen? Maybe it was a sign, maybe she wasn't supposed to be out here. The thought only made her angrier. She had chosen to come out to the Vuriks for a just cause, and nothing was going to stop her.

Sabra moved away from the water and sat against the wall, glaring distrustfully at the pool and waiting out the storm. She kept her flame burning for some time, afraid of what would happen should she let the gloom envelope her, but let it go when she felt her blood burning from holding onto it for too long. Sabra turned her eyes to the ashen light of the cave entrance, fearful of looking at the pool and seeing what else the water would show her even in the darkness.[Incarnate Memory/Incarnate Memory excerpt © 2016 Sarah Bailey. All rights reserved.]