Today hasn’t allowed me to finish editing and uploading the Lionheart preview in epub form just yet, but I didn’t want to leave everyone with a something to read. So, here’s part of the prologue that you’ll be reading in its entirety sometime tomorrow. Enjoy!
Prologue
The Seven Star Prophecy
There are many texts that have been written by man. Many have been lost to the years or translated and rewritten into irrelevance. The words of these texts have seen much abuse: Misspoken by the meek, misheard by the millions, misused by the heretics. Then there are the stories and texts that still closely resemble their former selves, passed down carefully through the generations. The Leonis is one such folk. The Seven Star Prophecy one such story.
The Prophecy tells of a great and powerful few. Every 100 years, seven are born to seven star signs. There’s no rhyme nor reason understood, every member of this fraternity seemingly randomly chosen by whatever god or gods there may be. These seven are gifted, even viewed by some as gods themselves. These men and women are special because of a force they to tap into.
Those born of these Stars cannot engage the powers as fully, but have strange talents of their own: An intimate relationship with the ethereal, vivid dreams that seem to come true, a keen sense of the wrong place at the wrong time. The farther the blood of the Seven travels throughout the bloodline, so widens the distance from the power and the control over it.
***
A young girl steps out of her car onto a dirt path leading up to a poorly kept wooden house at the edge of a lake, the type of house you fear an overly aggressive breeze could topple. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, short in height, black hair past shoulders, athletic. She was dressed comfortably, blue jeans, and black t-shirt with some anime reference printed on front.
Her phone rang and she snatched it out of her blue and black satchel.
“Yea, I’m here.” She listened as another voice reinforced her purpose for being there. She listened attentively as she cradled the phone against her shoulder and tied her hair back into a ponytail.
“I got it. I’ll call when I’m headed home.” She tapped the screen to end the call and slide it back into its place. She looked up at the house as a chill breeze swept across the lake’s surface. She walked up a well worn path bookended by trimmed brush to the front door. It opened slightly as she knocked and a voice called out from inside.
“Come on in!”
She peeked inside a bit and saw no one.
“Hello?” Her voice was met with the subtle clink of what sounded like saucers from a bit further inside.
“Have a seat wherever you like Enya!”
More sounds echoed from a ways in as Enya stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and made her way into the living room. She took in the room: Old pieces of art interchanged with small mirrors and pictures along the walls, an elaborately designed antique couch along one wall that didn’t look the least bit comfortable, figurine filled glass cabinet opposite that bookended by small stands with lamps, and an old armoire in the middle of the longest wall. The ceiling fan circulated cool air throughout the room and the lights were set at a dim level with the windows aside the armoire wide open. She sat down in one of the chairs, which turned out to be surprisingly comfy, and waited.
A few minutes passed before the scattered clanging calmed and footsteps rang down the hallway. An older woman rounded the corner, a tray filled with a couple cups and teapot in tow. Though her age was evident at the corners of her eyes and along her olive skin, youth was in her step and flowed amidst her long crimson hair. She smiled as her eyes met Enyas but paused as her eyes rose upward a bit.
“You colored your hair?” The woman’s eyes didn’t stray, but the smile faded slowly. “Hmpf.”
“Wanted something new.” Enya watched as the woman placed the tray on the coffee table in front her and poured them both a cup. She took the offered cup graciously and waited for the woman to sit. “A bit warm out for tea isn’t it?”
“Never too warm sweetheart.”
Enya smiled at that response and blew over the tea before taking a sip. “Just like my mom.”
“Well I guess my good looks weren’t the only thing your mom got from me huh.” She drank her tea slowly, smiling eyes looking over the rim of the cup as Enya sipped a bit more. “So what do the kids think of Grandma Leonis these days?”
“Well. Most call you Flamma because of your hair.”
“Flamma?” The older Leonis repeated the word slowly as if tasting it for the first time. “I like it! Much better than a few other names I’ve earned and ‘Vera’ is so dull. My mother didn’t have the flair for names, but your mother and yourself were lucky.”
“Mom tells me that my name means fire. I’m not sure where Carmen comes from.”
“Fire is right, which you contradict with that poisonous dye and your mom’s name is from one of our ancestors. I plan to tell you a bit about her today.” Vera finished her tea and sat the cup back down on its tray.
Enya finished her tea in turn, setting it down. “Yea. Mom wasn’t very generous with details on why she’s suddenly sending me out here.”
“Well, when a Leonis child reaches a certain age, the elders share stories passed down throughout the years. My mother shared with your mother and her brother, like I’m sharing with you, and like your mother will share with your children, and so on and so forth.” She gathered the tray and stood up. “Want more?”
“No thanks.” Enya watched as Vera took the dishes back to the kitchen and waited for her return. When she did come back, she had a lit cigarette in hand.
***
The Writing Righter 