assortment of items that didn’t seem to have anything to do with each other. A two-inch piece of rope, a conch shell, a large smooth black stone, a gorgeous antique compass that didn’t appear to work, and a ring of three skeleton keys. Each key was a different metal; bronze, silver, and gold.
The last thing in the box was a very old leather bound book. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was more of a journal, but it was massive; more the size of a scrapbook, it held a collection of various maps, directions, drawings, and information. I couldn’t imagine the invaluable information hidden within its seams and I couldn’t wait to devour every last bit of it. As I held it in my hand, I felt a piece of paper that was attached to the back. I retrieved it carefully and unfolded the delicate stationary. A letter. I felt the blood drain from my face.
“It means princess. It was her nickname for you.” My heart warmed and I smiled widely at him as I kept reading.
“What do I have to do?” I asked with as much courage as I could manage. His dark blue eyes turned stormy, but his smile brightened the room.
“The River Styx is one of the five rivers of the Underworld. Without your parents, it’s the only way to complete your essence.”
“So, I have to go to the Underworld.” It sounded simple….right?
“Not exactly. Your soul has to go to the Underworld. Your body will remain in this realm.”
“So that means….”
He stepped closer and his features darkened completely.
“If your soul makes it back to this world and therefore your body, you will have succeeded.
But to get there…you have to die.”
Daughters of the Sea Trilogy: Book #2
Coming October 2012!
Awaken Sneak Peek!
Prologue
The familiar call of seagulls diving for fish amongst the crashing waves pulled him from his restless slumber. His tired, blood shot eyes opened and gazed upon that same weathered stone ceiling looming above. As they roamed down the sloped wall where he kept count, he pushed back the agonizing hopelessness encasing his heart. Another long night behind him simply meant another long day before him. He swung his legs over the side of his cot and gently placed his worn feet on the stone floor. It was always bitterly cold in the morning. He shivered as he glanced down at his too-
skinny legs and the dirt that clung to his calloused feet. His ragged, cotton shorts now hung low around his emaciated waist and his faded blue shirt had been discarded long ago; traded for a sunken-
in, bare chest. He smoothed down his gray hair and thick beard; wondering if today would be the day.
Sighing, he stood and collected the conch shell he kept hidden within a crack in his counting wall. He found the last mark and bent down to add yet another. He never counted days; only nights.
The darkness always brought out his worst nightmares and he was continually amazed he had made it through so many. Thousands of marks littered the wall before him; a diary of solitude and sheer will captured forever in stone.
As he did every morning, he padded over to the window, and looked out over the rolling sea.
The lone window of his small room faced east, allowing him one pleasure amidst the hell that had become his life. Sunrise. At first each sunrise brought only tears to his eyes while the slow ache in his chest grew, threatening to rack his body with a sadness no man should bear. What those brilliant colors dancing across the sky stood for only served as a reminder to his unending loss. Another night bereft of her loving arms. Another day without her magical presence. Over the years, the pain had receded, but her memory never faded. Neither did the seed of hope she had planted so long ago. It grew every day, branching out and becoming the only thing that kept him alive. Many nights he had peered out of his window at the white sand far below. He thought of how easy it would be to end this torture and return to her. But he knew he had a bigger purpose and he would not let her down. He would endure and wait until his heart beat no more.
Once a week he was allowed to stroll along the beach and speak to the others. But it was only a brief illusion of freedom. They could feel the eyes that watched their every move. The others had become his only companions. For years there had only been seven. But a couple of months ago, a newcomer had arrived. He could hear her anguished cries at night and her deep despair was evident in the scratches along her arms; the victims of her own fingernails. She too finally succumbed to the seclusion and hopelessness; becoming void of emotion and as hollow as the rest of them. His thoughts moved back to the present and the brilliant ball of light inching its way above the horizon. This is when he felt closest to her. He closed his eyes and called upon the memory of her ever gentle, loving eyes.
“My love, I have lived to see yet another dawn cast its light upon this retched spit of land.
Thankfully, this dawn brings new hope for my weary soul. You appeared to me in my dreams once again last night, but for the first time I heard the sweet melody of your voice. You spoke to me and breathed life back in to my withered heart. You told me to be patient; to remain steadfast. You assured me the hour is growing near and I know the words you speak are true. Indeed, it is almost time.”
About the Author
Kristen Day is a native North Carolinian who, in true southern fashion, is addicted to sweet tea, baked