woensdag 6 juli 2016

Book Excerpt Raising Sleeping Stones

Book Excerpt

Kiva looked closely at the sun’s golden face. Wavy rays representing shimmering heat
radiated out from it. Its cheeks were plump, the lips full and curved, the nose wide, and the
eyes were a little almond-shaped, like hers. In the middle of its forehead was a weird circle with six curving parts swirling around a six-pointed star. She’d never seen the sun drawn like that.
Wondering what was on the back of the pendant, Kiva turned it over.
The instant she saw the moon’s closed eyes, her hair flew back in the wind, her stomach
dropped, and she was pressed back against the cushions of a vessel that was flying just inches above the river. She jerked her head back up and found she was in the back of a crescentshaped boat piloted by an old man sitting up front. She was about to call out to him when he pointed at a tree that had fallen across the river and shouted, “When you get here, you must take a detour that even old Jacques didn’t know about! Hold on!”
Before she could, though, he turned the boat around so quickly that Kiva was thrown
against the side of her boat and the wind was knocked out of her. She only got her breath back when he straightened out and followed the river back down.
“Look there!” he shouted moments later. “Turn right between the tall twins!”
He banked hard again, this time steering a course between two eight-foot stones that
stood on either side of a narrow stream coming out of the forest. They followed the stream’s
crazy zigzags until they came to a fork and he cried, “Then turn here!” and cut sharply to the
right again above another small stream, flying so close to the trees on either side that Kiva
nearly got her head chopped off by some of the branches. The lane widened as the stream did, then opened where it spilled into the river.
“Here we are! Heading back upriver, just as I told you!” the old man crowed, gently
turning to the left and setting the boat back down in the water.
Kiva wiped the wind-streamed tears from her eyes and started to tug at the pendant
that had gotten blown over her shoulder and into her hair. When she finally got it free, she
brought it up to her face to untangle its chain. As soon as she straightened it out and let the
pendant go, the old man was gone.

About the Book

raisingcoverTitle: Raising Sleeping Stones
Author: P.H.T. Bennett
Genre: MG Fantasy
Like every kid in Solasenda, 11-year-old Kiva Stone has been far too busy training for one of the five town guilds to think about something as useless as dreaming. But when she and her sister DeeDee uncover a mysterious plot to get rid of them, their only hope lies with a shadowy group of people who get unimaginable powers from their dreams. As the girls escape with them up the river, they start learning secret dreaming techniques that have been forbidden for centuries. But how can they learn enough to stand against the enemies chasing them? The answer lies in the shattered history of Orora Crona, the lost Valley of Dreams, and whoever can piece it together first will rule for centuries to come.

Author Bio

raisingauthorP.H.T. Bennet began exploring his dreams when he was a child and has never bothered to stop. He had the good luck to have two daughters, Juliette and Paola, who not only served as the inspirations for DeeDee and Kiva, the main characters of Raising Sleeping Stones, but also helped him turn their family dreamwork sessions into this book. His lucky streak grew when he married his lovely wife, Mim,who tolerates his turning on a light in the middle of the night to write down ever-crazier dreams and talking about them in the morning as long as he lets her sleep in, first. His favorite dreams involve flying, visiting the dead, and replaying nightmares until they reveal their secrets.
Pratt’s latest projects are editing Book Two of the Orora Crona Chronicles and planning a virtual summer dreaming camp with other dream authors.

Links

Buy on Amazon
Twitter: @phtbennet

1 opmerking:

  1. Thanks for sharing this. Your support is much appreciated.

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