I'm writing a new book called Storm Crow. Here is the first chapter. Please post a comment afterward and tell me what you think. (I'm open to compliments, suggestions, and criticism of any kind. Please be honest. :) )
Corvus flew into the chilly night air. His mother Corax had finally realized that Corvus was ready to discover his magic power hidden within.
Corvus dove straight down into the cornfield to find a bite to eat.
After he had eaten his fill, Corvus took to the skies again. He searched and searched for the king of his village, but could not find the hollow tree stump.
Bubo, the Great Gray owl lived in that poor, lost, hollow tree stump; the king of all birds in the land of Specianus.
Just then, a loud hoooooo pierced the silent night air. It was Bubo, the King of Specianus. But no matter how hard Corvus looked, he could not find the hollow tree stump. Corvus needed to find Bubo if Bubo was to give Corvus his magic power.
Hoooooooooo. The soft owl hoot was starting to crescendo. Corvus was getting nearer.
HOOOOOOOOOO. Now Corvus could see it. The hollow tree stump. He gracefully arched his back into a dive.
Corvus landed softly into the tall grass. He walked around the tree stump until he found a small hole just the right size for a Great Gray owl. Corvus stepped inside.
“Hello?” Corvus called. “Hello?” There was no answer. Just then, a small white mouse scurried out from behind a piece of bark. “Excuse me,” Corvus asked the mouse. “But do you speak my language?” Corvus had never seen a mouse before. The white mouse stared into Corvus’s black eyes.
“I guess not,” Corvus sighed. “Now how am I supposed to find Bubo?”
A puff of dust flew into the air as a coughing gray owl came into view.
“Sorry about that,” The owl said. “Allergies. I believe you were looking for me?”
“Bubo!” Corvus gasped. Corvus sank into a deep bow.
“Oh, pish posh!” Bubo waved an impatient wing. “Let’s get down to business.”
“My mother Corax advised that I search for my magic power,” Corvus explained. “She said I had ‘come of age.’ But I don’t know what that means.”
The old owl stared curiously into Corvus’s eyes.
“How old are you, Corvus?” he asked.
“Yes,” Bubo said nodding. “Yes. Your mother would know.”
“Know what?” Corvus asked.
“Your mother knew that it wasn’t safe for you gain your magic power until you were fifteen. Most crows gain their magic powers at ten or eleven but you’re different.”
“How am I different?”
“You are a crow, not a raven. Most birds that live in Specianus are ravens. But when you hatched, everyone knew right away that you were different. Any crows born into Specianus have different magic powers. More powerful powers. That’s why you have to get your powers at fifteen instead of ten or eleven. If a crow gains their magic powers too early, it will eventually destroy them.”
“How come I have a more powerful magic power?” Corvus was interested.
“Long ago before even I existed, Specianus was much smaller and much more dangerous. At that time a crow named Maximus ruled Specianus. Maximus was a brilliant and powerful crow. The first crow ever to walk the lands. Maximus was also very kind. He used to be the only bird in Specianus that had magical powers. So ever since Maximus ruled Specianus, the magical powers have been passed down from leader to leader. Each bird has a magic power locked inside their heart. But they cannot use that power unless the current leader unlocks it. It’s almost as if the leader is a key that can be used to unlock a secret.”
“Can you unlock my power?” Corvus asked pleadingly.
“Yes. We need more birds with magical powers to protect Specianus from the monstrous animals that walk these lands. They are well hidden. You must be on your guard.”
“I will. I’d just be more useful if I had magic powers to protect others and myself. My mother Corax said that when she was eleven she searched for you, but met my father Caley along the way. They mated and had me but my father was killed by a fox. Now my mother needs protection and I’m the only person she’s got left.”
“I will unlock your magic power. But first you must swear upon the Sacred Oak Tree that you will use your powers for good and only good.”
Corvus nodded enthusiastically. “I swear.”
“I appreciate your energy. We need more hard working birds like you.” He shook his head, still laughing softly. “I guess that’s just the kind of energy you get when you’re a crow.”
Bubo closed his eyes and spread his wings. He began to chant in his owlish language. He spread out his wings towards Corvus and moved them around slowly, still chanting.
Corvus’s body began to glow, radiating a brilliant light that filled the hollow stump with a magical energy. And then all at once, it stopped.
Corvus teetered a little, dazed by recent events. Bubo steadied him.
“Whoa,” Corvus breathed. “That was awesome. What kind of power do I have, now?”
Bubo shrugged his wings.
“I can’t say for sure. I can never figure out the power that I unlock exactly, but I know one thing. Your power is, well, powerful. Using it could be very risky. It could end in harmony and peace, or destruction and disaster.”
“Never use your power unless absolutely necessary. Using it non-stop will weaken it over time and make it harder to control. You should know what I mean by absolutely necessary.”
Corvus nodded slowly.
Bubo’s coughing fit returned.
“I’m sorry,” Bubo said apologetically. “My allergies are flaring up again.”
“I’ll leave then, sir,” Corvus said. He turned to go. “Thanks, again!”
Bubo waved. “No problem. Tell your mother hello!”
Corvus leaped into the air and flapped his jet-black wings and took off into the starry night.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
I am a 17-year-old homeschooler, author, daydreamer, voracious reader, introvert, feminist, klutz, fangirl, and overuser of tape. I love the impossible (which might explain my obsessions with fantasy novels and Harry Potter) but I dip into the real world . . . occasionally. I tend to get overly emotional over my OTPs and eat sushi or listen to Taylor Swift to soothe the pain. If all else fails, reruns of “Doctor Who” or “Supernatural” is sure to help. I’m a big fan of mismatched socks, Cheez-Its, and bittersweet endings. I believe anything Rainbow Rowell, Felicia Day, or Lin-Manuel Miranda touches turns to gold. If you want to win the way to my heart, help me adopt a baby elephant. Or a llama. Or both. I write to survive and will often yell at my characters if they aren’t behaving, which is always. It doesn’t usually help. I am a contributor to the "Fauxpocalypse" anthology. You can follow me on Twitter at @Magic_Violinist.