That waking flutter returns. “You memorized Milton?”
“Maybe we could make it a song.” His voice smiles. The sun warms my skin as he weaves a hand in mine. The gentle hum I thought was a ringing in my ears, wakens into a pulsing melody as he says, “They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, / Through Eden . . .”
“Took their solitary way.” I finish.
“Only we’re not alone,” Maddox says as we make our way through the grass. “Devon and Harper are in front of us, walking across this mossy green field. Harper’s arm is hooked through his. Her head on his shoulder.”
I can picture it. Maddox doesn’t have to tell me her hips sway as she walks. And Devon is probably walking with his head high, leading the way.
“Tree branches wave as you walk by. They’re climbing over one another, reaching out, begging for one touch as yellow leaves toss their petals like confetti in your path.” Maddox is clearly exaggerating, but sounds as if he’s enjoying painting the scene in my mind. “The Awakened army line the road, bowing as you walk by. They’re smiling. Even Tanji.”
Now he’s gone too far. I swing a playful fist into his ribs. “You’re such a liar.”
When we hit the graveled path, I shuffle because sometimes I can trip over the dips in the uneven trail. Maddox slides his arm around my waist, supporting me as a soft wind blows against my back.
Then distinct scents swirl along the trail leading back to the cabin. A growing presence fills the road. Was Maddox really serious? I try to sense the surroundings as we walk.
Their faces flash in my mind as I pass: The potter’s clay strengthened by fire is Claire. Then it’s Kellan’s enduring leather with a dash of cologne. Amide is a spiced ginger with a gracious smile. And starched linen warmed by the sun—Foster.
Other fragrant scents collide in the crisp air, but I can’t yet connect those to faces I know.
One hopeful scent stands out over the rest. Cutting through the light breeze, Maddox walks beside me with his arm around my waist. And I smell rain—after the storm.
“In ten, twenty, a hundred, or even more years from now, when you see the world in a way no one else can—when you think you’re misunderstood and alone. Know that you’re not. Consider it a sign. A clear indication that a new battle is brewing and you’ve been called to protect and fight. Don’t let fear blind you to inaction. Trust that everything will come together. You’ve been Awakened. Take heart and know there are others like you waiting to be found.”
—Cera Marlowe
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story was born from a struggle of my heart, and it was a struggle to wrangle the words onto the page every step of the way. But I know that the story wouldn’t have come to life without the continued love, support, and encouragement of so many people who believe in the power of storytelling.
So I give the biggest thank you possible to those who carried me along during this journey. First, to Steve Laube for seeing the potential and trusting the vision of this book from just the synopsis. To Lisa Laube, I’m forever grateful for your love of the story, taking time to talk through elements, and working your editing brilliance to tighten the manuscript, turning it into so much more than I could have imagined. A huge thank you to Trissina Kear and Jordan Smith and the Enclave Publishing team for the continued support and encouragement. To Kirk DouPonce for amazing and breathtaking cover design. To Lindsay A. Franklin for laboring over the manuscript and wielding your meticulous copyediting magic, as well as encouraging me along the way. I’m so thankful God has allowed me to be part of this family and given me a story to tell.
To Donna K. Wallace whose mentoring, guidance, and encouragement was the brightest hope when I didn’t think I could take another step, prodding me to dig deeper and blessing me with the notion of a Ghost Army (thanks, Cierra!). To Jamie Downer for first-run editing, being a sounding board at the very start, and helping me claw my way out of a tangled mythology. To Susan Brower for plowing through the initial draft and urging me to finish the story. Carla Hoch for incredible guidance on the fight scenes and training sequences. To Judy McCarver for the French translations. To Wes for the motorcycle ride and answering my bazillion bike questions. To Jeremy for the battle strategy discussions. To my amazing beta readers: Sara Swinford, Elizabeth Gammill, and Isabelle Kenneke who helped make the story what it is.
And to Professor Angelica Duran for graciously reviewing an early draft in rough form and nudging me for deeper clarity, and for the unending support and belief in the story.
Of course I would not have made it across the line without the love and support of my Art House Dallas family and Fort Worth Writers Group. A huge thank you to fellow authors, Sarah Kay Ndjerareou and Krissi Dallas for being the best cheering section anyone could ever have, encouraging, checking in on me, and dousing me with prayers while I was swimming in chaos.
To Mary David, for the morning walks and hot meals so I could reach my deadlines. To Erin Turek for those long car rides, discussing the mythology and properties of the “gate,” adventure trips, and enduring all my emotional ups and downs. And to Travis Turek for all the support and Sunday night gatherings. To Mary Gammill for talking me off several ledges and a few cliffs. To Annemieke for sharing too much coffee, and never letting me get out of hand.
To my children, Addison, Leyton, Siena, and Ethan for answering my bizarre questions, tolerating my daydreams, and packing patience during my deadlines. To my sisters: Juliana, Diana (your support has been beyond what I could dream), Claudia, and Camila for the kindness and understanding when I couldn’t return phone calls and faded off the planet.
And a huge thank you to my readers whose comments and joy of the story make it take flight. Thank you for taking the time to read and share the story. Your support and kind notes drove me to make this half of the story the best I possibly could.
To Professor John Rumrich for sparking my love for Milton, encouraging me to continue the journey, and opening doors I never thought possible.
As always, to the love of my life, John, for the unending support while allowing me to spread my wings and dream.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandra Fernandez Rhoads is the author of Mortal Sight. She is a Cuban-Colombian living in Dallas, Texas with her husband and four children. She has a deep love for the artist community, and is an active part of Art House Dallas and the Fort Worth Writers Group. She holds an M.A. in English with a focus on John Milton and has an insatiable love for coffee, laughter, and adventure. And dinosaurs.
www.SandraRhoads.com
Instagram: @sfrhoads.author
Twitter: @sfrhoadsauthor
Facebook: Sandra Fernandez Rhoads – Author
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