The Hag of the Wind
by Laura J. Underwood
Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Eggplant Literary Productions, Inc.
Date of Publication: 10/28/2013
Word Count: 22,000
Publisher: Eggplant Literary Productions, Inc.
Date of Publication: 10/28/2013
Word Count: 22,000
Cover Artist: Roan Carter
Ginny Ni’Cooley just wants a peaceful, quiet life. But quiet is hard to maintain
when one’s mentor is a ghost who died a lush and a lech. And peace isn’t to be
found when the locals expect their local mageborn to banish monsters and help
infertile couples conceive.
It’s that last bit that is posing the most trouble for Ginny of late. Marman the pig- herder--once an unwelcome suitor--now wants Ginny to help him and his wife conceive, and doesn’t believe her when she says it’s beyond her powers.
When the couple try to solve their problem on their own, they manage to unleash a demon imprisoned years ago. Now, their actions have placed all of Connorscroft in danger and no matter how much peace and quiet Ginny wants, she’s got to find a way to defeat the demon before it destroys her village, the villagers and makes good on its threat to kill her.
It’s that last bit that is posing the most trouble for Ginny of late. Marman the pig- herder--once an unwelcome suitor--now wants Ginny to help him and his wife conceive, and doesn’t believe her when she says it’s beyond her powers.
When the couple try to solve their problem on their own, they manage to unleash a demon imprisoned years ago. Now, their actions have placed all of Connorscroft in danger and no matter how much peace and quiet Ginny wants, she’s got to find a way to defeat the demon before it destroys her village, the villagers and makes good on its threat to kill her.
Short Excerpt:
"The Hag of the Wind
She makes such a din
While blawing aboot the lea…
She summons the gale,
And the rain and the hail,
And rattles the windows with glee…"
Auld Liam sat on the steps of Talon's Tavern, singing that song at the top of his lungs as Ginny Ni'Cooley walked briskly past on her way to the baker's shop.
"Howt awa," Manus MacGreeley wind whispered to her ears. "'Tis not even noon, and Auld Liam is already deep in his cups."
Ginny frowned and ignored the mage spirit of her former mentor. She knew better than to answer him when there were so many about. The folk who lived in Conorscroft thought that she had banished Manus' spirit long ago. And while he was wise enough to stay invisible, she just wished he would not speak. What if someone heard him? It would do her reputation as the protector of this small hamlet no end of ill.
For that matter, she wished that Auld Liam would stop his off key wailing. Thistle howled along bouncing up and down enthusiastically on the end of his tether. At least Thistle and I are alike in mind that Auld Liam has a voice like a crow, she thought.
The old man grinned, revealing his one remaining tooth, and howled back, causing a number of the folk in the market square to turn and stare.
Ginny winced and hurried on, dragging Thistle. She should have left the moor terrier locked in the cottage while she traded her eggs for bread, but the last time she did so, he found her store of dried beef and ate until he looked like he would pop. Thistle snapped fiercely at the old man who just laughed and shouted, "Yer dog has nae ear fae good music, Mistress Ni'Cooley."
Ginny wanted to say that neither did Auld Liam. Instead, she sought distance in the hopes of getting Thistle to calm down before they reached the bakery.
"Uh, oh," Manus whispered. "Better make haste, lass."
"What?" Ginny said before she thought better. She looked over her shoulder expectantly.
Two figures were practically running across the square towards her now. One was a tall, willowy young man with pale hair, dull squinty eyes and a pocked, pasty face streaked with mud. The other was a short stocky woman with a florid face who heaved so much her breath fluttered the ragged strands of salt and pepper hair.
Horns, Ginny thought. It was Marman MacSty and his wife Wycie Ni'Clachan, the last two people in Conorscroft that she wanted to deal with at the moment.
Ginny tried not to catch their eyes, but it was too late. Marman waved an arm and shouted loudly, "Ginny, Ginny! Wait!"
She grimaced, crossed her arms as she stopped, and turned to face them fully, wearing her sternest frown.
"Yes?" she asked stiffly, hoping they would remain downwind and save her the trouble of having to use magic to change it. Marman mucked pigs for the young Laird MacFarr, and the stench of the sty was always on him. And since he and Wycie had wed over a year ago, the odor clung to her as well.
"I need that potion I asked ye about," Marman said.
Ginny frowned. "Marman, I don't make potions. I have told you this before."
"But, we wants a baby," Marman said. "A little-un ta carry on me name. I know you can help us. Master MacFarr says that's what mageborn do best—help folks with things they need."
He reached for Wycie's hand as he spoke. Wycie glared at Ginny as though measuring the mage woman's worth in a fight. Ginny could not help but wonder what she had done to make Wycie despise her so.
It was on the tip of Ginny's tongue to say that some folks should not have children, but she stopped short of speaking those thoughts aloud. Without softening her expression, she looked at Marman and shook her head.
"Marman, I have also told you that I cannot make an infertile woman or man fertile. That is something that only the gods can change. Now, I really must be on my way."
"But you have to help us, mage woman!" Wycie suddenly snarled. "You have to, you have to, you have to!"
"Wycie," Marman said as though trying to sooth her. "Wheesht, woman, don't be so rude to Mistress Ginny…"
Wycie jerked free of Marman and fixed Ginny with such a fiery stare of rage that Ginny took a step back, uncertain as to what Wycie might do while angry. Thistle growled a warning. Wycie made fists of her hands, pumping them up and down like a small child having a tantrum.
"You're mageborn so it's your job," Wycie added. She stopped pumping her hands to cross her arms and glare.
"It is not a matter of obligation, of which I have none," Ginny said. "It is a matter of ability. I cannot help you, Wycie. I'm sorry, but no magic can."
"She lies!" Wycie said, and with a shout, she stooped down and scooped up a clod that resembled horse droppings. "Mageborn can do anything. She lies because she doesn't think we're worthy!" Wycie flung the clod at Ginny and shrieked.
"Adhar clach!" Ginny hissed, barely in time. The clod smacked into a shield of air just inches from Ginny's face and splattered harmlessly.
"You have to make me a baby!" Wycie screamed and flung herself at Ginny.
Thistle lunged at the woman, snapping his jaws. It was all Ginny could do to hold the moor terrier back, much less cast a spell in her own defense. Fortunately, Marman must have realized that attacking the only mageborn for several leagues around Conorscroft would not be wise. He threw his arms around Wycie's middle and stopped her flight. She continued to scream like a beansidhe and flailed the air with her fists. Ginny saw small stones at her feet jumping up and down as though reacting to Wycie's rage. She flicked mage senses at the pig man's wife and felt a faint hint of latent mage essence laced strongly with the element of stone. She can't be mageborn, Ginny thought, though in truth, many Keltorans possessed a hint of the blood in them, left over from ancient time. It just did not always manifest when they matured.
"Stupid, stupid, lying bogie woman!" Wycie shrieked. "You will make me a baby or I'll…I'll…"
Ginny turned on her heels and fled through the thickening crowd of onlookers. She had not expected so many to be in from the fields this early in the day, but there they were, gathered like carrion crows watching a carcass for signs of life.
"I'll make you pay!" Wycie wailed. "Make her pay! Liar! Bogie woman! All mageborn are liars!"
Ginny made a mental note to herself to take the long path back to Tamhasg Wood to avoid another confrontation with Wycie.
"The Hag of the Wind
She makes such a din
While blawing aboot the lea…
She summons the gale,
And the rain and the hail,
And rattles the windows with glee…"
Auld Liam sat on the steps of Talon's Tavern, singing that song at the top of his lungs as Ginny Ni'Cooley walked briskly past on her way to the baker's shop.
"Howt awa," Manus MacGreeley wind whispered to her ears. "'Tis not even noon, and Auld Liam is already deep in his cups."
Ginny frowned and ignored the mage spirit of her former mentor. She knew better than to answer him when there were so many about. The folk who lived in Conorscroft thought that she had banished Manus' spirit long ago. And while he was wise enough to stay invisible, she just wished he would not speak. What if someone heard him? It would do her reputation as the protector of this small hamlet no end of ill.
For that matter, she wished that Auld Liam would stop his off key wailing. Thistle howled along bouncing up and down enthusiastically on the end of his tether. At least Thistle and I are alike in mind that Auld Liam has a voice like a crow, she thought.
The old man grinned, revealing his one remaining tooth, and howled back, causing a number of the folk in the market square to turn and stare.
Ginny winced and hurried on, dragging Thistle. She should have left the moor terrier locked in the cottage while she traded her eggs for bread, but the last time she did so, he found her store of dried beef and ate until he looked like he would pop. Thistle snapped fiercely at the old man who just laughed and shouted, "Yer dog has nae ear fae good music, Mistress Ni'Cooley."
Ginny wanted to say that neither did Auld Liam. Instead, she sought distance in the hopes of getting Thistle to calm down before they reached the bakery.
"Uh, oh," Manus whispered. "Better make haste, lass."
"What?" Ginny said before she thought better. She looked over her shoulder expectantly.
Two figures were practically running across the square towards her now. One was a tall, willowy young man with pale hair, dull squinty eyes and a pocked, pasty face streaked with mud. The other was a short stocky woman with a florid face who heaved so much her breath fluttered the ragged strands of salt and pepper hair.
Horns, Ginny thought. It was Marman MacSty and his wife Wycie Ni'Clachan, the last two people in Conorscroft that she wanted to deal with at the moment.
Ginny tried not to catch their eyes, but it was too late. Marman waved an arm and shouted loudly, "Ginny, Ginny! Wait!"
She grimaced, crossed her arms as she stopped, and turned to face them fully, wearing her sternest frown.
"Yes?" she asked stiffly, hoping they would remain downwind and save her the trouble of having to use magic to change it. Marman mucked pigs for the young Laird MacFarr, and the stench of the sty was always on him. And since he and Wycie had wed over a year ago, the odor clung to her as well.
"I need that potion I asked ye about," Marman said.
Ginny frowned. "Marman, I don't make potions. I have told you this before."
"But, we wants a baby," Marman said. "A little-un ta carry on me name. I know you can help us. Master MacFarr says that's what mageborn do best—help folks with things they need."
He reached for Wycie's hand as he spoke. Wycie glared at Ginny as though measuring the mage woman's worth in a fight. Ginny could not help but wonder what she had done to make Wycie despise her so.
It was on the tip of Ginny's tongue to say that some folks should not have children, but she stopped short of speaking those thoughts aloud. Without softening her expression, she looked at Marman and shook her head.
"Marman, I have also told you that I cannot make an infertile woman or man fertile. That is something that only the gods can change. Now, I really must be on my way."
"But you have to help us, mage woman!" Wycie suddenly snarled. "You have to, you have to, you have to!"
"Wycie," Marman said as though trying to sooth her. "Wheesht, woman, don't be so rude to Mistress Ginny…"
Wycie jerked free of Marman and fixed Ginny with such a fiery stare of rage that Ginny took a step back, uncertain as to what Wycie might do while angry. Thistle growled a warning. Wycie made fists of her hands, pumping them up and down like a small child having a tantrum.
"You're mageborn so it's your job," Wycie added. She stopped pumping her hands to cross her arms and glare.
"It is not a matter of obligation, of which I have none," Ginny said. "It is a matter of ability. I cannot help you, Wycie. I'm sorry, but no magic can."
"She lies!" Wycie said, and with a shout, she stooped down and scooped up a clod that resembled horse droppings. "Mageborn can do anything. She lies because she doesn't think we're worthy!" Wycie flung the clod at Ginny and shrieked.
"Adhar clach!" Ginny hissed, barely in time. The clod smacked into a shield of air just inches from Ginny's face and splattered harmlessly.
"You have to make me a baby!" Wycie screamed and flung herself at Ginny.
Thistle lunged at the woman, snapping his jaws. It was all Ginny could do to hold the moor terrier back, much less cast a spell in her own defense. Fortunately, Marman must have realized that attacking the only mageborn for several leagues around Conorscroft would not be wise. He threw his arms around Wycie's middle and stopped her flight. She continued to scream like a beansidhe and flailed the air with her fists. Ginny saw small stones at her feet jumping up and down as though reacting to Wycie's rage. She flicked mage senses at the pig man's wife and felt a faint hint of latent mage essence laced strongly with the element of stone. She can't be mageborn, Ginny thought, though in truth, many Keltorans possessed a hint of the blood in them, left over from ancient time. It just did not always manifest when they matured.
"Stupid, stupid, lying bogie woman!" Wycie shrieked. "You will make me a baby or I'll…I'll…"
Ginny turned on her heels and fled through the thickening crowd of onlookers. She had not expected so many to be in from the fields this early in the day, but there they were, gathered like carrion crows watching a carcass for signs of life.
"I'll make you pay!" Wycie wailed. "Make her pay! Liar! Bogie woman! All mageborn are liars!"
Ginny made a mental note to herself to take the long path back to Tamhasg Wood to avoid another confrontation with Wycie.
About the Author:
Laura J. Underwood has been writing and publishing as far back as she can
remember. Her earliest stories were selected by Marion Zimmer Bradley for the
SWORD AND SORCERESS anthologies, and her first novel ARD MAGISTER
came out in 2002 from Yard Dog Press. Since then she has seen the publication
of nearly 300 short stories, novels, novellas and other stuff. She currently lives in
East Tennessee where she works as a librarian.
Laura J. Underwood has been writing and publishing as far back as she can
remember. Her earliest stories were selected by Marion Zimmer Bradley for the
SWORD AND SORCERESS anthologies, and her first novel ARD MAGISTER
came out in 2002 from Yard Dog Press. Since then she has seen the publication
of nearly 300 short stories, novels, novellas and other stuff. She currently lives in
East Tennessee where she works as a librarian.
BONUS BOOK INFORMATION FROM THE AUTHOR!!!
About the characters in The Hag of the Wind
Ginny and Manus are not new
characters to most of my readers. They first appeared in "The
Bargain," the leading short story in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and
Sorceress 14. Marion was in many ways, my literary mother, and she seemed to
adore their adventures because she bought two more for Sword and Sorceress and one
for the magazine. In some ways, it was writing for the Sword and Sorceress
series that gave birth to these two. Marion was always looking for interesting
characters, as well as women who could stand on their own two feet, so I tried
to write a tale in which a woman who just wants a little peace and quiet finds her
life constantly interrupted by the machinations of a spirit who happens to also
have been her mentor in life. The problem was that the spirit had gotten
himself into a bit of a pickle by making a bargain with a creature of the
shadow worlds, and while Ginny could have let him pay the price (it would
certainly have gotten him out of her hair), she knew that she owed him for
setting her free of her own life.
About the “mageborn” in The Hag of the Wind
Mageborn are
something of an enigma. The power is passed throughthe generations in the
blood, and it awakens usually when a person hits their teens. Some find their
power earlier, some later and some not at all, though they sometimes have the
ability to sense magic and spellwork--justdepends on the bloodline from which
they descend. Their awareness of the magic that is part of the world starts to manifest
then, and while some embrace it, others find themselves hating it. Being
mageborn slows the aging process, creating a race of folk who often seem to live
forever. Not all mageborn are created equal. They are as varied as the
creatures from which they descended. Some bloodlines might birth a mage or two
in every generation, while others might not see a mageborn birth for several generations.
About the demons in The Hag of the Wind
One of the
things I like playing around with in nearly all the stories about Ard-Taebh
(the world in the story) are the demons. They can be everything from tiny
little bogie imps all the way up to a Greater Demon. For instance, in my novels
Dragon's Tongue and WanderingLark, there is a demon who loves music. He is a
servant to a BloodMage, and a creature of prodigious appetite. However, when he
encounters music, he becomes sort of a nice fellow. Other demons are not so
nice, though. In a few stories, I have introduced a group ofsmall demons that
are literally black squirrels with red eyes, and very ravenous. They tend to
hang around old ruins or really thick forests and drop on unsuspecting folks who
dare to venture into their territory.
About the Celtic feel of The Hag of the Wind’s setting
My
characters living in Keltora are inspired by Scottish and Irish folklore. I
count myself a fair to middling scholar when it comes to the Celtic World, and
most of what interested me were the folk tales and fairytales such as the Red
Branch and the Tain bo Cuailnge (literally, The Cattle Raid of Cooley). I read
a lot of the old "collections" of tales that were gathered in the
1700s (many of which were actually made up by the man who wrote them or retold
in his own way), but I also spent timesifting through older encounters in
poetry and balladry. The true tales are almost lost in time because the Celts
did not write down things so much as passed them from generation to generation
as oral traditions. I spent some time in Scotland, walking around the highlands
and visiting remote places, and many of those places are reflected in my
stories. Of course, being born and raised in East Tennessee, I have hiked
mountains and valleys and seen a lot of scenery that reminds me of Scotland. My
ancestors who settled in the remote areas were of Scottish and English descent
(the ones who were not actually "native" to the area, that is) and
possessed a strong oral tradition. So in some ways, writing the Celtic themes
into my stories is just my way of honoring my ancestry. Writers are, in a way,
a reflection of what they experience, and I am pleased to say many of my walks
around heather-covered moors and climbs across rough-cut bens has
given me so much to write about.
given me so much to write about.
Thank you for hosting our title on its release day!
ReplyDeleteI think I would really enjoy this book. I think I will read the whole book.
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