Sun Oct 2 '22 Announcement
4 months ago
– Sun, Oct 02, 2022 at 11:27:26 AM
Our Indiegogo campaign for raising funds to publishing Seasons Unceasing has finished, and we have raised $710CAD on our goal of $2500. While it is disappointing that we didn't hit our goal, we are looking forward to publishing this anthology anyway! This is our strongest anthology yet, and we know you will love it.
Missed the chance to back the campaign? Don't worry, you can still preorder copies of the anthology! We will be launching a Backerkit campaign, which is an addon for Indiegogo that allows us to launch a presale store! Watch this space for more news.
Want to help? Follow us on social media and share our posts! Every share helps, and you'd be supporting an indie woman-run business.
Wed Sep 28 '22 Announcement
4 months ago
– Wed, Sep 28, 2022 at 08:38:34 PM
With only a few days left of the campaign, we wanted to share a few excerpts from the anthology!
A column of water, hundreds of feet high, streamed towards the sky. Vapor, whiter than any of the three moons, whiter even than the flower tufts that clung to the scraggle grass, rolled off the column. Cadence’s mouth worked involuntarily, imagining the water washing the dust from her mouth, sliding down her throat and spreading through her ribs. Beside her, the kozels watched too, panting and already impatient to get to camp.
But first, as priestess, she must lead the tribe in celebrating the beginning of Father Per’s season. Despite her weariness, she shook the ceremonial quizita, rattling the pebbles and hardseeds inside.
The children ran to Jala, Cadence’s great-niece, who passed out the jubilee wands. Zald, Jala’s man, riled the children by scooping them up and swinging them in his arms. He further infuriated them by pretending to have forgotten their names and bestowing unflattering nicknames on them instead, such as Tadpole, Grass-stain, and Pebbles.
“How fitting it will be to wash your newly born in the waters of Father Per!” Cadence shouted to her. Jala nodded enthusiastically but her response was lost in the happy screams of children, streaming their wands of ribbon and feather.
The celebration was cut short by the sudden dissipation of the water column. The children still scampered, but the adults began exchanging looks of alarm.
- The Last Season by Amanda Barrett
Hooting sounded above her head, soft, barely audible. Sleepy.
Tris froze, wand still outstretched.
Owls loved fairies. Everyone knew this.
Their wings were delightfully crunchy, and the magic tingled on the way down.
There, in the shadows of two intersecting branches, right near the trunk. The owl fluffed its brown and black feathers and blinked its huge orange eyes at the snow that covered it. It yawned, curved beak stretched wide, and readjusted its wings to remove the snow.
Tris lowered her wand slowly as the owl hopped out of the shadows into the sunlight. She searched the grove for an escape route, barely daring to breathe. She kept one eye on the owl, which was now preening its feathers, and gathered herself to dart away.
Her bare foot knocked a tiny pebble off her rock, and the owl's face swivelled towards her. Her body clenched in fear as the owl tilted its head back and forth.
Searching for her heartbeat.
Well, it wouldn't have any trouble there. Her heart beat so fast that her ribcage felt too small. Or maybe that's because she was holding her breath.
The owl's eyes locked onto her, the burnt glowing in the dawn light.
- Snowflakes by Freya Bell