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A Voice that Thunders by Cully Mack
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Cully Mack Publishing
ISBN-10: 1916097006
Type: Fiction
Pages: 328
Copyright: April 20, 2019
ISBN-13: 9781916097001
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A Voice That Thunders is the first in an epic fantasy series set in the ancient past, when monsters crept into our world, myth was born, and magic first breathed.
Immortals conquering as gods. A Shadow creeping closer... Can an apprentice healer be the key to ignite a war?
Mirah looks for the best in everybody. But her naiveté is shattered when her clan is slaughtered, and she’s dragged into captivity. Vulnerable and scared, she has no choice but to accept her kidnappers’ offer to join their sect of lethal female fighters.
Desperate to find stability in her chaotic new life, Mirah throws herself into training as a water mage and warrior. But as she discovers her unprecedented elemental control, her instructor warns that revealing her power will put her in mortal danger.
With the fate of humanity at risk, will Mirah’s growing abilities spell her salvation… or destruction?
A Voice That Thunders is the first book in the action-packed Voice that Thunders epic fantasy series. If you like strong women, intricate world-building, and stories of enduring friendship, then you’ll adore Cully Mack’s riveting saga.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Mirah concentrated hard until she timed her breathing with the rhythmic rotation of the ship’s oars. Though she succeeded in slowing her pounding heart, memories of yesterday pushed themselves to the surface panicking her to the point of dizziness.
Several other girls from her clan sat huddled with her in silence, listening beyond the sound of creaking beams and drips of salty water to the footsteps on the deck above.
‘Where do you think they are taking us?’ Neviah asked.
‘Shh,’ Mirah whispered. ‘I don’t know.’
Neviah lowered her voice, ‘Do you think they mean to—’ She glanced around at the others and decided not to continue.
‘I don’t think so. They would have done it by now.’
‘But what do they want then? Some of them, the tall ones, they didn’t even look like men. Did you see them? Where do you think they come from?’
‘Please be quiet, Nev, let me think.’
She glared at Neviah, her pleading green eyes willing her to stay silent, fearing the sound of their voices might alert the men above.
Neviah threaded slender fingers through her long auburn hair and tugged it to the side. It was a habit she’d done since childhood whenever she became agitated.
‘Of course, you are right, we need to figure out a plan,’ Neviah said.
Mirah rubbed her forehead.
A voice above them hitched onto the wind and sent a howling reverberation into the hold. The dialect was unfamiliar, but the tone was clear, the sound of mastery, influence and power. The oars picked up speed, and the vessel tilted. They were turning.
Damp from the wooden beams had seeped through Mirah’s skirts and her legs ached when she stood. Unbalanced by the vessel’s surging and swaying, she took tentative steps forward and peered through an oar-hole. She could see another level below them with oars propelling the vessel through the swell.
From beyond the stern of the ship, the sun dimmed and rested from its labour, and the deep black sea merged with the darkening sky. Speckles of starlight sparkled to life as Mirah breathed in the salt air.
She wondered if Gabe had returned from collecting shrooms and seen the devastation. Would he realise they were missing or presume them dead with the rest?
She suppressed the screams, the horror and brought her mind to the present. She needed to focus on the now. Neviah was right to question their motives, but she contemplated questions Mirah didn’t know how to answer. Why were they taken and not slaughtered along with their clan? She returned to the others. At least nestled together she didn’t feel so alone.
The gentle rise and swell of the ship brought little sleep. Throughout the night most of the girls broke into whimpering cries of grief.
After sunrise, Abela doubled over wheezing and gasping for air. Mirah rushed to her side and brushed golden strands of hair from her face.
‘Abela, Abela, focus on me,’ she said, as she leaned over her.
Abela was now arching her back, flipping and gulping for air like a fish pulled from a stream.
‘Relax, try to breathe, slow and easy.’
Ayla hurried over and with her skirts, she gently stretched a layer of fabric over Abela’s gasping mouth. ‘Look at me, Abela. Steady breaths, remember?’
The other girls stood and fanned their skirts, sending a cooling breeze towards Abela who now laid on the floor; her faced flushed drawing on the air through the fabric. Mirah rummaged in a pouch tied at her waist. She pulled out a root of ginger and snapped off a small piece, offering it to Abela.
‘Don’t swallow it, just chew. It will help.’ Turning to Ayla, she said, ‘We need water and we need to get out of this damp, stuffy hold.’
The rasps in Abela’s breathing became less frequent. So they assisted her beneath one of the ship’s oar-holes and let the coolness of the sea breeze open her airways.
They had been sitting there for hours, each lift of the waves drawing them further from the rock shelters they once called home when a latch scraped overhead. A hatch opened and a channel of light illuminated the hold.
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