Grace Irese, sixteen-year-old desert warrior with a chip on her shoulder, is gifted in ways she does not yet realize. Duncan Oaks, teenage member of the Grif-Drif con-artist guild, is a boy who has made one bad choice too many. Finding themselves remanded to an off-world juvenile facility with lifetime sentences, Grace and Duncan plot an escape into the horrific environment beyond, determined to save Duncanâs young sister from Graceâs war-torn world. Can they and their unlikely companions survive their quest unscathed, or will they find theyâve been forever altered?
Set in dark alien worlds and told in the first person with three separate voices, The Shadows We Make is a fast-paced tale filled with conflict, bravery, a touch of strange magic and characters bound by unexpected friendship.
Grace Irese, sixteen-year-old desert warrior with a chip on her shoulder, is gifted in ways she does not yet realize. Duncan Oaks, teenage member of the Grif-Drif con-artist guild, is a boy who has made one bad choice too many. Finding themselves remanded to an off-world juvenile facility with lifetime sentences, Grace and Duncan plot an escape into the horrific environment beyond, determined to save Duncanâs young sister from Graceâs war-torn world. Can they and their unlikely companions survive their quest unscathed, or will they find theyâve been forever altered?
Set in dark alien worlds and told in the first person with three separate voices, The Shadows We Make is a fast-paced tale filled with conflict, bravery, a touch of strange magic and characters bound by unexpected friendship.
Grace
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A stench swirled on the winds as flames devoured ancient timber and moreâso much more. I didnât want to think about the more, but I drew a deep, desperate breath, coughed, spat on the ground, imagining the more despite my best intentions.
For fifty-one days, Citadel had been burning, filling the air with the smell from those faraway fires. Sitting with my back to the wall, knees drawn up to my chest, I studied the flames coloring the distant horizon like a rising sun. Ash traveled on the wind across the miles. Delicate, paler than sand, it settled on my arms, caught in my hair, dusted trousers and tunic. When I rose, my muscles had cramped. I stretched and listened. Voices drifted from neighboring dwellings as people came out to converge on the nearby common, assessing events, speculating about the emissaries who had ventured into Citadel, my parents included. They had not yet returned. As only a few days had passed, no one worried overmuch. At least not out loud.
I heard others speaking, too: strangers whose desert vernacular differed slightly from ours. I had no trouble understanding them. I had always been fluent in the various dialects, as well as the languages used within the city and elsewhere. It was my gift, to be so empowered. I supposed word of it had conferred on me the value which had caught Stone Tiranâs interest. My particular ability, and my warrior status.
I turn and spat on the ground again, this time in disgust.
Crossing the yard, the sand shifted beneath my bare feet. I had left my sandals on the doorstep. No matter. Who would see? And even if they did, I did not care. Rules, law, traditions, none concerned me the way they did my brothers, my parents, our tribe. I tried to keep my disdain to myself, but sometimes it leaked out, resulting in fury or an occasional, reluctant amusement among my family members. I had at one time wondered if my recalcitrance was the reason for their agreement to the bonding with Stone Tiran. The man possessed, after all, nothing to elevate our family. Indeed, the Irese clan was held in such high esteem the gain was to Tiran alone. Bonding was arranged between city dwellers and influential desert clans as a way to increase power, prestige. Stone Tiran possessed none of those with which to barter, and yet my parents had agreed to his request.
I resisted spitting on the ground again. It was a nasty habit I could well do without.
At the wall, I leaned my forearms atop warm stones, blatantly eavesdropping while I watched a girl with hair as dark as mine. We shared a birth anniversary, she and I, having been born the same day a year apart. She was now fifteen and I, sixteen. A wide lavender streak curved through her braid. Mine was the color designated to the Ser Irese, a blue as dark as midnight, identical in shade to the tattoo upon my left cheekbone. Mara had not yet received hers. Her warrior training was incomplete.
Snatching a tiny white pebble from beneath my fingers, I lobbed it at her. She jerked around, eyes flashing angrily until she saw me. She hurried over to the wall.
âGrace!â
I smiled. âWhere have you been?â
âPractically under lock and key. I only came out today because I begged my uncle to let me accompany him.â
Yes, without her warriorâs status, she would not have been allowed to wander freely in the present circumstances. I nodded sympathetically.
âWhere are your brothers?â she asked. She had her eye on the youngest. We plotted misadventures to get them together, but thus far had met with no success.
âThey left,â I said.         Â
âWhen?â she cried, thinking of Connor, I knew. We had strange names, my siblings and I. They came from our mother. It was her blood which gave me my green eyes, my paler skin like bronze rather than the ruddy brown most possessed.
âThree days ago.â
âAnd they left you alone?â she demanded enviously.
âOf course,â I said, trying for nonchalance. I could not help adding, âNot totally alone. Ella is here.â
She flicked her fingers, dismissing Ella. I didnât like when she did that. I liked everything about Mara except her dismissal of Ella due to her humble birth. Ella had been with us since my eldest brotherâs birth. She was, to me, family.
âIâm grateful sheâs here,â I said.
Mara shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to the crowd on the common and back again. I narrowed my eyes at her.
âDonât pout,â she said.
I almost walked away, right then, but I stayed, watching her, listening to the others. âMara, have you heard anything? I think communications are down.â
She shook her head. âThey are, or so my father says. No one can get through to anyone whoâs gone to the cities.â
Cold fire danced along my spine. I reached my fingers across the small gap between the wall and Maraâs shoulder, but she didnât see them, her attention diverted by two men arguing. I didnât know who they were. Several more stepped in, voices raised. I pulled my hand back.
âCome inside,â I said.
âI canât. My uncle is calling me.â I saw where she looked now, to her waving relative urging her to his side. âIâll try to see you tomorrow, but you know how it is now.â She started to turn away, swung back to me, eyes on mine. âBut how could I have forgotten? Iâve wanted to ask for ages now. Is it true? Tell me, quickly.â
I didnât need to ask her meaning. Although my parents had attempted to hide what happened, secrets had a way of surfacing like worms working their way up through the soil in the garden. âYes,â I admitted. âItâs true.â
Maraâs mouth dropped wide. âThat canât be.â
âIt is.â
âOnce the contracts were negotiatedââ
âI know.â
She stared a moment longer before wagging her head from side to side. âYouâre a fool, Grace Irese,â she said, âa terrible fool.â
I flinched and she was gone, disappearing quickly into the gathering. Releasing a long sigh, I turned on my heel and went back inside, whisking my sandals from the step as I went.
Maybe I was a fool. It didnât feel that way to me, though. Iâd made a stand, angering everyone in the process, but I felt no shame in having done so. The first glimpse of Stone Tiranâs enraged countenance should, perhaps, have given me pause, yet somehow it hardened my resolve. His threats had made my final words easy.
I refuse the offer of bonding.
The deceptively simple ceremony promising me to a veritable stranger had been the next step, with the official ceremony to take place two years after, when I reached majority. Some girls welcomed it, worked on their wedding clothes during the intervening years with joy and anticipation. I couldnât imagine why. I had never been able to imagine why.
Striding through the main living quarters, I thought about Tiranâs threatened repercussions, the handsome face the girls so admired twisted in rage. Considering the tragic events taking place, I should not have been grateful for their timing, but the sudden tumult had torn everyoneâs minds away from the fact Iâd broken with a custom which was very nearly law.
I paused by the fountain against the southern wall, scooping a little liquid in my hand and letting it trail into the bowl while I silently gave thanks. We werenât a particularly religious family, but I decided to take no chances. The water plunk-plunked back into the basin, the last few drops released from my cupped palm. I breathed in and out, my silk tunic rustling like a small birdâs wings. Outside a raptorâs cry pierced the wind with a heartbreaking keen. With night falling, it was late for the hunter to be aloft.
âMiss?â
I jumped, despising my unaccustomed nerves. âElla, I didnât hear you come in. What is it?â
The woman approached, head bowed, her demeanor deferential. I wanted to touch her hand, to take it, to offer comfort. She drew back her shoulders in offense, as if I had spoken aloud. She often seemed to understand the thoughts in my head, so adept was she at reading my expressions.
âI am not afraid,â she said.
Some would have called it impertinent, her response to my unspoken sentiments. I called it brave, and I admired bravery.
âI came to see if you wanted your dinner, that is all,â she said.
âHave you had yours?â
She shook her head.
âMight we not eat together, in here?â
Ellaâs eyebrows lifted. âThat would not be proper, miss.â
âI donât give a fig about proper.â
Her expression didnât change. She waited.
âFine,â I said. âIâll take the meal in my room.â
Retiring to my bedchamber, I crossed to the window and threw the leaded glass wide. Outside, shadows gathered close in the garden enclosure where radiant firemites small as dust motes filled the air. At a knock on the doorframe, I turned. Ella came in and set a tray on the nearby table.
âThank you.â Without a word, she bowed her head and exited. I wished she would relent and spend some time with me. Sharing a meal could not be wrong.
As it ended up, I barely ate. Two spoons full of spiced stew and my stomach turned. A third was worse. The fact no word had come from my parents since their departure and even my brothers were late in returning gnawed at my insides. Pushing aside the tray, I went again to the window and stepped out into the garden. With wondrous irrigation and imported soil, my mother had managed to cultivate flowers among the desert sands. Though the blooms closed when darkness fell I smelled their lingering fragrance and blinked back odd tears, scrubbing my knuckles impatiently beneath my eyes as I lifted my gaze to the night sky.
Riley, Taliaâs smaller moon, was only now rising above the horizon, illuminated by its artificial glimmer. To the left and always visible the smaller second moon shone iridescent green. Many stories circulated about the Emerald, about the prison there. The Emerald held its position above the massive Talia, spinning in possession of its own days and nights. I couldnât fathom it, not something caught between the gravitational pull of Talia and Arias, the distant sun. Such a claim defied logic.
There were darker tales, as well; most seemed to have been manufactured to frighten recalcitrant children. Others had some truth to them, but those stories had been told for so long and with such embellishment it had become difficult, even with research, for me to discern the reality. Still, there was no denying the sphereâs visual beauty, sparking like a fine-cut emerald in the black velvet sky.
Seeking calm, I began an exercise Iâd learned in my warriorâs training: breathe, step, flex; breathe, stretch, turn. The repetition helped, as did each respiration and the extension of muscles Iâd been holding myself tightly bunched all day. I considered my family, and then the slumbering flowers, and then nothing, allowing thought to sift from my mind beneath the vast sky. There existed music in the emptiness, without tone or rhythm but encompassing the harmonies to be found in the racing sand, the wind.
Abruptly a deep thrum coursed along my skin, digging in, calling my attention back to the world. My gaze shot to the sky. Shadows black upon black drew near, blocking the stars. I dropped to the ground so swiftly my knees rang on stone.
Ships.
Grace is a warrior born to the Ser Irese, a desert tribe on Talia. She has been contracted to marry a man, Stone Tiran, something which she had no desire to do. When she refused the bonding, he took offence. Great offence, and somehow ended up in control of the government of Citadel - the principle city on Talia. He became The Revered. He gained it by taking advantage of the unrest that was already happening in the city. After he becomes Revered, he arrests Grace on a trumped up charge, and drugs her into unconsciousness. She awakes in time to overhear a strange man with amber eyes testifying against her. She's sentenced to death.
Death doesn't come to Grace, though. Instead she's shipped off to a penal colony on a distant moon named Emerald - primarily for it's green hue. She awakens in a cell, and soon discovers that there are four other young adults there - and no one else. There's Mika, a doctors son with a penchant for playing board games. Skelly Shane, a miner who can move with stealth. Carina, a young dancer who has gifts for seeing and hearing things no one else can. And Duncan. A man with amber eyes. The same man with amber eyes who had ensured Grace's sentence.
All Grace knows, is that she has to leave this prison; she must get home. But there are dangers on Emerald that are more frightening than she could ever have imagined. Should she trust her other inmates, can she trust them? Or do they mean to harm her or impede her?
The Shadows We Make had me pretty much gripped from the first chapter; I immediately felt comfortable with Grace's narration and slipped into the world with ease. Admittedly, I didn't really know what Citadel was, nor the history of why it was burning - but that simply just made me want to read on further; to see if I could unravel this mystery.
I found that I was left slightly disappointed, in that I never really found out much more about Citadel or Stone Tiran - but the array of new characters and voices made up for that. As did the action sequences on Emerald. It was truly spooky and slightly horrific, what happened there, as well as adding to the mystery.
In all, this was an amazing read. I'm looking forward to The Thrice-Gifted Child which is cited to be released early next year.
S. A.