Blue on the Horizon: Legends of the Aurora, #1

By Rebecca Ferrell Porter

Includes an Exclusive FREE Short Story. Details inside. 

A fun, magical adventure with a strong moral undertone. Highly recommended. -The Wishing Shelf Awards

An Imaginative New Take on Trolls - Steve Alcorn, author of How To Fix Your Novel

Rushing streams, meadows, dark woods, crystal caves, and the earth's lullaby - Linda Bricco Schalk, The Press Project

Banished for the crime of having blue eyes, Gaven chooses to apprentice under the treacherous Azool, the Blue Fairy of Torv. Magic comes easily to Gaven yet it's never enough. In desperation, she offers up her firstborn trollkin to her fairy mistress in exchange for the final secret. Not that it matters. She's hideous. No one is foolish enough to bind himself to a blue-eyed trolless. 

This quirky and humorous coming of age adventure is book one in the award winning Legends of the Aurora epic trilogy. 

The Legends of the Aurora fuses natural phenomena to a veil of magic, and guides you on an action packed adventure dripping with humor into a Norse landscape populated by reinvigorated trolls, dragons, and fairies.  

Interview with the Author
Why a female lead? I'm certainly not the first to chose a female protagonist for my fantasy novel,but trolls are most often portrayed as male. I decided to explore the softer side of trolldom. Gaven's struggles will rip your heart out, but she finds her inner core of granite. I promise. 
 
Many people think of fairies as sweet or at least benign, but you have taken an opposite approach. Why? I'm greatly influenced by the old stories. They're more realistic. If you've read, the Brothers Grimm in the original form, you'll know what I mean. Besides,somebody had to be the bad guy.
 
You add a lot of humor to the dangerous situations. Is that difficult? Not at all. I'm always thinking about my readers and when things get dark, I add a healthy dose of fun. Dragons, and more often trolls, are frequently portrayed as angry creatures. I seek to redeem them. 
 
Which character do you most identify with? Leaf. When I'm writing in her voice, I can feel the grass moving through my fingers as she pulls her hands through the vegetation of the meadow, taste the sweetness of the plum as it flows over my tongue, and hear the crickets chirping in the grass. 
 
Why an Epic Fantasy Adventure? I've always been able to anthropomorphize things. Besides, I find that Fantasy allows my elastic imagination to go places its never been before. It's so much fun.
 
What can you tell us about the other books in the Legends of the Aurora trilogy? Cairn: A Dragon Memoir finds Troika learning just how much he doesn't know as he travels back to the lair for a real lesson in what it means to be dragon. Garden of Betrayal sees Leaf all grown up, but still longing to restore Slug. She faces her greatest fears and prejudices when she meets Terra, Aurora's Elemental twin, but the fairies reveal the stunning truth behind everything in the final book in the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Ferrell Porter
• Release date: Mar 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524225087

Book preview

Part One

Outcast

Chapter 1

Sleep taunted Gaven, and her back was twitching painfully putting the bliss of sleep out of reach. It would be a long day.

Exhausted, she lay on her cozy bed of cottontail fuzz with her nose pressed firmly to the goldenrod infused pillow she had made fresh that autumn. She had been eager to escape into sleep that morning, but it was not to be. Normally, Gaven loved twilight. Those few heartbeats before the world and all its pressure faded away were special because she could dream of what might have been. Not that she was special, quite the opposite. But when things were quiet and she was alone, Gaven felt almost normal. Almost.

Just as her thoughts started to drift away, Fidget sped past the open door, screeching as if his tail were on fire. It had to be that horrible crow. Fidget really hated that old bird. Gaven rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut, but he would not shut up. Sunshine! She rarely cursed, but the chipmunk was driving her crazy.

Stay. Danger. Trees. Blue. Scared. Without elaborating, he tunneled into the decaying leaves at the base of the oak.

Nonsense, the moon still holds the sky, and Mor is watching over us. It did little to push back the fear. Fidget was never wrong. Giving up on sleep, she sat up, and her delicate web of half-truths collapsed. A spinning blue glow filled the doorway, and her stomach hardened into a fist so tight, she feared her midnight meal might make a return visit. Gaven had nowhere left to run. It had come down to this place, this time. A lifetime of struggle was depending on Leaf. All she could do was hope she was ready, and that Uredd would forgive her.

Okay. Safe. Gone. Hungry. Fidget scurried away to start his busy day.

Gaven watched until the blue dissolved into the soft light. Leaf and the others would still be at the river, safe for now. As the twilight began to brighten into the ugly pink of another dawn, she turned over and buried her head under the pillow.

Without warning, she was flung back to where it all started. It was time to begin lessons at the learning stones, and she could still feel her father’s massive hand swallowing her tiny fingers as he led her to her future. Father had been huge, tall for a troll. To keep pace, Gaven took at least three steps for every one of his. As the memories started to flow, her stomach filled with fluttering moths, just as it had that night.

On they walked, right to the center of Torv where a circle of stones supported other trollkin eagerly awaiting the new season at the stones. Most were obviously older, seemingly experienced in the tradition, and bothered by the nervous energy of the younger trollkins. Only one appeared to be her age, a pretty female whose upturned nose repeatedly snorted in large gulps of the cool night air. Father guided Gaven to the edge of the circle, but he did not approach the one empty stone in front of them. Gaven rubbed her toe in the soft dirt, and waited for the ritual to begin.

Lalman, you were warned. The elders have made their decision. That abomination will not attend lessons with Torv’s proper trollkin. The mold-encrusted trolless at the center of the circle glowered at them.

Her father raised his chin. "Professor Blottet, there is no place for her. Please, Gaven is intelligent and eager to learn. Even now, with absolutely no training, she shows real promise in the magical arts." Father squeezed her hand.

Gaven’s knees felt ready to give way while she awaited permission to take her seat. This must be part of the ritual, she thought. Taking her cue from Father’s unusual praise, she puffed out her tiny chest. Greetings, Professor. I look forward to lessons at your learning circle.

The other trollkin gasped so deeply they nearly pulled the air from her lungs. Father dropped her hand, and the blood rushed back into her fingertips He tried to turn her toward home, but it had no effect on her. She was convinced if she could only get the ritual right, she would be asked to take her rightful place at the circle. Gaven twisted away. Bounding up to the pretty, young trollkin with the upturned nose, she thrust out her hand. Hi, I’m Gaven, daughter of Lalman. You have a lovely nose.

Don’t touch me, you blue-eyed beast! Snot dripped from the pretty trollkin’s flared nostrils, and she turned toward Professor Blottet. "Momma, it’s trying to touch me. Make it go away."

Gaven bit her lip and dropped her hand. What did she mean blue eyes? Trolls have lovely brown eyes; surely, hers were as dark as Father’s were. In the distance, Gaven noticed a thin, elderly troll glaring at her from behind a boulder with a nasty sneer on his face.

Again, Father tried to pull Gaven away, but the Professor’s shrill voice froze her in her tracks. Now Neam, even stupid, blue-eyed beasts have feelings.

Father scooped Gaven up and tossed her up onto his shoulder. Without another word, he hurried away with Gaven bobbing up and down, her eyes locked on the others who had gathered together to share a gut jiggling laugh at her expense. Gaven lowered her head, allowed it to dangle, and forced back the bile that had risen in her throat. Back at their lop-sided home, she fumbled for the right words. Father—am I—ugly?

He rubbed the back of his neck. I can’t little one. I have to go to the mine. The elders are demanding even more peat. Don’t you feel that chill in your bones? If I don’t fill my quota before the bog freezes, we’ll be tossed out of here. He retrieved his spade and turned to leave. Be good, Gaven. It’s just you and me now.

She grabbed a clay bowl from the table and tossed it against the wall, but it bounced off the soft turf and fell to the dirt floor, unbroken. She rubbed her eyes and walked outside.

Not knowing where else to go, she wandered toward a rack of peat drying in the night breezes. How could they treat her this way? What had she done? Her stomach twisted into a knot, curdling the fresh grub she’d eaten earlier that night. It didn’t make sense. Father had been told to keep her away from the others. How could he allow her to stand there like a dritt begging admittance to their stupid learning circle? Her fists tightened; it was so unfair. Lost in thought, Gaven began to smell smoke, and to her alarm, she realized the peat was smoldering, sending steam upward in dark, angry clouds. Her hands went limp, but her feet skittered away as the heat dissipated. The trollkin followed the path to the mine, ignoring the swiveling heads. The scent of smoke carried dangerous implications in a peat bog.

She slunk between the trees beyond the bog. It was cool in the forest, and no one ever went there. As she walked, she pushed away the memories of the laughing trollkin with the upturned nose. Neam wasn’t so pretty after all, she thought. The space between the trees darkened as Gaven pushed forward. Maybe she would never return to Torv. They didn’t want her anyway. Lost in thought, she stumbled over a tree root, and landed face first in a puddle. Sunshine. Her feet were too big for her body. How could this night get any worse? In utter defeat, Gaven gave in to the tears as she lay with her hands and face covered in mud until she ran her emotions dry.

Earlier she had danced, and sung silly songs while she prepared for the next phase of her life. It was lonely on the bog where none of the other trollkin came to play. Awake long before it was time to leave, Gaven had kept busy mending a holey pocket, but now she cringed as she pictured herself as a giggling mess, inventing wonderful new friends who would never materialize. Father had known—known she would be rejected. Wiping away her tears, Gaven peered into the still puddle only to find a hideous creature covered in mud with eyes the color of the midday sky. For the first time she saw what the others saw: a gawky trollkin with fairy eyes.

Chapter 2

Come closer little one. Her body was cold, but oddly comforting.

Time is short, and the beasts have come, but there is much you must learn.

Troika tried to form words, but his tongue lolled about, useless in his mouth.

Don’t try to speak. You need only absorb. The knowledge will infuse your soul. Comer closer, as close as you can.

It was dark and eerie sounds came from behind him. He was shaking, but he moved closer.

We have been waiting for you. I knew you would be the one. A mother always knows.

Terrifying images filled Troika’s mind. No, I don’t want this. Make it stop. There has to be another, but the knowledge continued to seep from her body into his.

He lost track of time. It might have been a few heartbeats, but the knowledge now installed in his brain led him to believe much more time had passed.

Sleep now. You will know what to do when the time comes.

And so, Troika drifted off to dreams filled with strangers who somehow seemed familiar.

Chapter 3

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. It had been all so clear back at Breen. Mother had seen it and Father, well, he had accepted it. Uredd’s destiny would eclipse them all. He was the one. Uredd had been certain he knew what Mother had meant by that— the one, what a dritt.

Hundstein had had a vision the night he was born. The tale of Uredd’s birth was legendary at Breen, and the memory of his father’s voice still echoed in his mind.

A male, I couldn’t be happier, his father had said. He’ll follow me to the forge. Just look at his hands. Those are smithy hands. Brannsmi’s wide smile lightened Uredd’s mood.

He will be what he was born to be, Mother had said. "Uredd is the one. My vision is clear."

Nonsense, Hundstein. You’re just tired. Things will settle in once you’ve had some sleep.

But Mother would not be dissuaded. She had drilled her trollkin about the fluctuating value of gemstones, the effect of climate on production, and the need to keep a keen eye on the current of the Great River. It had all been important, but nothing was more so than her lessons regarding fairies.

"They’re monsters, Uredd. You can’t trust them. You must promise me if you ever find yourself in the presence of a fairy, you will run, flee, find cover at all costs. There’s no shame in retreat because you must survive. You are the one."

After Hundstein’s lessons, it had been inevitable Uredd would find fault in the monotone Professor Vike. Sunshine, how Vike had bored him. Only the generous tufts of ear hair billowing from his head had entertained Uredd at Breen’s learning circle. The rest had been unnecessary for one whose future looked so bright. What did he need to learn of Odin and Thor, dwarfs and elves, or some old tree of life? He just needed the basics. Mother would fill in the rest.

It wasn’t all bad. Uredd had loved hanging around Brannsmi’s forge of practical wares when the angry winds hurled buckets of snow across the village. Father’s thunderous laugh had rattled Uredd’s bones as the good-natured joking cut deeper and deeper and the storytellers warmed up. Brannsmi had fancied himself a master of the art, but Venn had been better. Breen’s master trader had a way of spinning an adventure as the spider spins her web. One heartbeat you were caught up in the wonder of it all, and the next, Venn pounced and had you tangled up in laughter.

Venn, now you’re making that last part up, Father had roared.

No, I swear she looked me right in the eye and said, ‘if that’s a ruby, then I’m a rose-breasted grosbeak.’ That Sila, I never could put one past her.

Well, a little too much grog and you do look rosy around the cheeks, Father had said.

Uredd had grabbed his belly with laughter so thick it refused to escape his throat while Venn turned the very same shade of red as the bird in question.

One morning, after one of those happy nights, Uredd had plucked the web that would put his feet on the path to destruction. I’ve made my decision. I wish to join Mother as a seeker.

A scowl had pulled Brannsmi’s broad face down but he had nodded. You never were one to sit still. Shaking the ashes from his head, Brannsmi had lowered his muscular body onto a log, his expression as frozen as the icy crags of the glacier.

It had been a very big decision because a troll might live forever, but few made it that far. More than one seeker found an abrupt end at the base of the rocky cliffs surrounding Breen while others would survive the fall only to succumb to a battle inside their own bodies. Even the strongest magic could not prevent death. It didn’t matter. Uredd’s life would not be spent quietly working a forge. From his earliest memories, he had been destined for the glacier and the river that slipped from beneath the ice. Uredd would comb the banks at his mother’s side in search of agates and other less valuable crystals as they washed from under the glacier.

Tomorrow, be ready before the sun sets. Nights along the river are cold so dress warmly, had been all Hundstein offered by way of encouragement as Brannsmi had slipped away to the forge.

Life at Breen had been comfortable. Situated at the base of Tonga Glacier, they lived where the Great River herself was born, and as if that weren’t enough, they were positively awash in gems. To be a seeker was a life full of adventure and honor, a life Uredd craved. Not that he would grow rich as a seeker. Breenites did not hoard treasure. That would have been unthinkable. Instead, the village smithies would smelt ore into copper or silver to bend into intricate settings to embellish the gems. They were the true artists of Breen while other forges, like Brannsmi’s, specialized in cauldrons, ladles, and implements of all kinds. Most of Brannsmi’s work went down the trade routes to distant villages on the backs of the traders to be bartered for food and peat to fuel the forges while most of the true treasure was left in a meadow below the lair. The dragons demanded their annual tribute, and they would not tolerate hidden treasure.

Uredd, Mother had warned that first night. Keep one eye on the forest, and another on the horizon. One hides the fox and the other, Skummelites. You’ll know them when you see them. One is silent and hairy and the other stinks.

But how am I going to find agates with both eyes focused somewhere else?

Stop it. You’ve chosen this path, now step onto it. You’ll learn more along the river than you ever would safe at the fires, but since it seems Vike skimped on your lessons, I’ll have to start from scratch.

Uredd’s lip had quivered, and he remembered he had wanted to say something in the professor’s defense, but it was too late. Mother had barely slowed for a breath.

Nature can be cruel and being small we’re seen as prey by the fox. That’s just the way it is. Accept it and move on. But the fox isn’t the only thing you need fear. Always keep watch for dragons, Skummelites, and fairies. Fortunately, the dragons prefer larger prey, and as long as we leave the tribute under the last autumn moon, they leave us alone. And you’ll smell a Skummelite long before you see him, but you should know what you’re looking for. They’re huge, at least thirteen arm spans tall, and lack of ambition has left these trolls portly, but they send out raiding parties in search of dim-witted trolls to toil their lives away in the underbelly of Skummel. We’re relatively safe here because their mountain home is far down the chain, but you can never be too careful. Your last warning will be the sound of their clacking pendants shaped in the form of an owl. Owls are the symbol of Skummel. You must remember to run from owls.

Uredd’s head had pounded as his blood squeezed through tighter and tighter passages, and he had suddenly wished he had paid attention at the learning circle. 

And don’t forget the fairies. They could pop up at any time, any place; you must remain wary when you’re exposed along the river.

His throat had felt like it was coated with sand. Yes, Mother. I’ll be vigilant, I promise, he had managed to croak out after several heartbeats. 

She had stood with her feet wide, her hands stretching down toward the ground. See that you do. You have much to learn Uredd, and time is short.

From that moment on, Uredd was no longer a trollkin. From that moment on, he had become the one.

The season of endless sun had returned, and being creatures of the dark, they were trapped in the deep shade most of the time, but it was also geode-hunting season. As the earth warmed under the burning sun, the ice snapped in agony and melted away. Uredd dreamed of finding a geode, one big enough to impress even Brannsmi, but he needed more experience before working the head of the glacier where the big gems were found. Training was endless, and as he had tuned out Professor Vike, he languished under the tutelage of the other seekers. His mind was on the Promise Festival to be held later that summer at Torv.

Once every ten summers, trolls of the five villages gathered at a pre-determined location, and excitement was building while Uredd spent countless heartbeats deep in the emerald forest practicing his moves. He was nervous about the parade. He had to get his tail swishing just right as he strolled past the eligible brides because he may have been the one, but that was no guarantee of a happy match. Uredd wanted what Brannsmi and Hundstein had: a relationship built on trust and respect. They were happy even if his mother sometimes seemed gruff. The festival consumed his imagination, but as soon as the infernal sun dipped below the horizon, he was at the river dipping his toes into the cold water and pawing through the stones with an eager eye. In fact, that’s where he was when this all started. Uredd’s great adventure, the one he did not choose, and the one that changed the course of his life.

Mother worked the base of the glacier where the current was strong; too strong for an apprentice. One slip could carry a troll away in a frothy death, but Hundstein was skilled, and lucky.

Uredd was picking through the rubble downstream when the banks erupted in screams. It seemed all of Breen were running toward the glacier. What’s happened? He shouted to a troll running by.

It’s Hundstein, she’s found a geode. They say it’s huge and she needs help to free it. Hurry, it’s lodged in the current and might break loose at any heartbeat.

Uredd dropped a handful of the ugly, colorless crystals called diamonds and raced upstream to the largest geode he had ever seen. Spherical and pale gray, it promised a massive bounty of gems. It might even be big enough to appease the dragons in a single find. They must free it from the silt before the river claimed it. Waist deep in the muck, Hundstein struggled to remove the muck of the glacier, but she was losing the battle against the current. Father climbed into the current next to her, hauling armfuls of mud away, but the river refused to give up her prize.

It’s not working. Mother scraped silt from her lips.

From the safety of the shore, the elders huddled in an animated conversation, arms swinging wildly as they argued the best course of action while Hundstein and Brannsmi fought the river. Finally, Venn turned toward the crowd. As our most skilled trader, I will go to Torv to ask the miners for help. They have specialized tools that will free the geode.

Uredd wanted to argue, and it sure looked as if Hundstein did as well, but Brannsmi called for stones to barricade the geode from the ravages of the river.

Frosted with mud, they returned to the patchwork of sticks that served as their home high in branches of a blue spruce. With three grown trolls still occupying the home, space was tight and Brannsmi refused to sit still, I can see it now, the dragons will be mesmerized by the bonanza of crystals that geode will provide.

Uredd fell under his father’s spell. Those dritts won’t even notice we kept the agates. Everyone knew agates were far more valuable than crystals even if the dragons were too stupid to realize it.

All I know is that geode will pay for safe passage through the valleys when Uredd and the others leave for the Promise Festival. Hundstein curled into a ball, her soft snorts signaling the conversation had concluded.

It would take Venn a full moon cycle to reach Torv, and another to return with the miners. Uredd tried to go about his business as if the prize looming at the mouth of the river didn’t exist, but it was nearly impossible. Each night as the roasting sun slipped below the horizon, he made his way to the river. Mother had insisted he continue his training even though the other seekers spent their time below the glacier shoring up the stones protecting the geode. Hundstein salted a few agates into a huge pile of pebbles on the far shore to keep Uredd focused on his studies. It was tedious, but necessary practice. Agates were difficult to see amongst other river stones, and he desperately wanted to be the best. Meanwhile, the real action was upriver where Mother, with Father at her side, supervised the effort to save the geode.

Uredd lowered his head to the task. He knew there were three agates in this patch of riverbank, but he had found only one. He closed his mind, and blotted out the moon. He saw much better in the dark. It was worth a shot anyway. Suddenly, the night sky exploded as if a meteor had struck the village, but this was no rock from above. The dragons swooped across the moon, their feathered wings stirring the trees and whipping the river to froth. Uredd froze. A dozen deadly dragons had come with evil intentions. When the first flame hit the peat stacked near the river, he dove into the icy river and swam to a rocky shelf at the curve downstream. Spitting out the sharp tang of fear assaulting his tongue, Uredd closed his ears to the screams of the dying. His brain reeled as he tried to remember what the monotone Professor Vike has said to do in case of attack, but nothing would have helped. Even Uredd would have remembered a lesson like this. In the end, he hid like a frightened rabbit as the noble trees of Breen died in horrifying tongues of flame. Then he caught a glimpse of the most frightening sight a troll can see: fairies sat astride the dragons on brightly painted saddles. Fairies riding dragons were destroying Breen.

Time compressed to a snail’s pace, and he was glued to his perch in the icy water, but the ledge was growing slick with the mud rushing downstream as the glacier retreated from the inferno. He gripped with his toes and fought to stay awake as the river sapped his strength. Finally, it was still, but the tragedy blazed on. So near the flames, yet locked in a battle for heat, Uredd could only watch it happen. The fires consuming Breen burned all night and most of the next day until they eventually ran out of fuel.

What had been a great evergreen forest lay smoldering before him when Uredd dragged himself numb from the frigid torrent that was choked with the debris. Unable to wait, he ascended under the burning eye of the sun that slammed him in the face, searing his eyes blind. Uredd fell to his knees and pawed the bank for something to shield his eyes. He felt the lumpy exterior of an agate and hurled it away. It was too late for treasure. Finally, his hand found the supple bend of an oak leaf that had magically survived the pyre. Using it to shield his eyes, he staggered upriver. Within steps, he stumbled over what he thought was a log only to discover the charred face