Title: The Circle: Taken
Genre: YA Contemporary Fiction
Release Date: February 2019
Summary
Abandoned at eleven with no memory of her family, Alexia yearns to learn her true identity. She embarks on a dangerous quest for the truth of her past. In the resulting battle between life and death, Alexia learns that sacrifice and revealing the gift she fought to keep hidden may be her only chance for survival.
A secret unearthed, a shocking betrayal, and a moment when lives hang in the balance leaves Alexia with only one choice. Will the decision determine her destiny or end her life?
Buy on Amazon!
Excerpt
Excerpt
FIVE
YEARS EARLIER
The
hard fist comes at the girl from the left. She throws her arm up. The fist
slams against the bone above her wrist. She bites her teeth into her lip as the
bone cracks. Pain radiates from her arm to every part of her body. She swallows
air to silence her cry. Any sound of agony will lead to a reprimand. She is
taking a deep breath through her torn
lip, preparing to respond, when the boy pivots and slams his fist into her
stomach. Bile rises in her throat as oxygen rushes out of her body. She doubles
over, gasping for breath. Her broken wrist hangs limply from her forearm.
“Breathe through your nose,” the
instructor orders the girl. He looms over the group. His cool voice lacks
sympathy. He motions for the boy to hold up both his fists in preparation.
“Again.”
There is a roomful of them. They
range in age from six to sixteen - friends and siblings that have been raised
together. Paired with someone of the same age, they fight one another. Every
day, hour after hour, they train like soldiers. They test their strength on one
another. Blood drips from the cut above the girl’s mouth. The skin around her
right eye colors from pink to black. She swallows a mouthful of blood, nearly
gagging on the coppery-tasting liquid.
“Ready,” the girl insists. Losing is
not an option. It was a lesson learned long before she could remember. “Again.”
Sure the boy will go for her face;
she raises her good hand and wraps her fingers
into a fist. The silver ring her mother gave her years ago digs into her
skin. The boy swivels on his heel. His foot strikes the base of her spine. The
girl flies forward. Her head bounces off the wall. White spots dance in front
of her before a black curtain of unconsciousness starts to shield her.
“You are too weak.” The instructor
shakes his head in disgust. “You will never survive,” he spits.
His words are a bucket of cold
water. The girl forces open her eyelids. The instructor towers over her, his thick feet spread evenly. At over
six feet, he is a giant to her eleven-year-old
self. Around them the rest continue in their battle.
His disappointment cuts through her.
She struggles to stand, desperate to prove him wrong. At last she finds her
feet. She walks past him, toward the waiting boy. He is taller than her by a
few inches, and stronger. He eyes her, curious. The girl nods once, as if in
defeat, then pivots and slams her foot into the boy’s abdomen. He staggers
back. The girl takes advantage and slices him across the leg with another hit.
He falls to the ground. He grips his leg in pain. Sweat pours down his face.
“It’s broken,” the boy whispers.
His pain cuts through her. She
winces at his agony. The girl goes to help him up, but the instructor stands
between them. He glances down at the boy then back at the girl.
“Finish him,” the instructor orders.
The girl steps back, sure she has
misheard. “What?”
“Out cold. The loser should never be
left standing.” He points to the boy. “Now. He is weak. You have the
advantage.”
On instinct, the girl shakes her
head. She glances at the boy, who pleads with her silently not to hurt him. “I
cannot.”
“Cannot or will not?” the instructor
demands. Around them the room falls silent, entranced by their exchange. “You
think he would give you the same courtesy? You are a fool if you think he would
spare you.”
They are all watching her. She feels
the instructor’s disappointment and disgust. Maybe, she fears, he is right.
Maybe she is too weak.
“He is my friend,” she whispers,
trying to explain. “It is not right.”
“There is no right or wrong in war,”
the instructor seethes. “Only winners and losers. And you have shown your
hand.”
“No. She has shown her heart.” The
woman who enters is dressed in all white.
“Mama,” the girl says. She starts to
explain, but her mother raises her hand for silence.
“Sei
forte, mia cara, si?” her mother asks in perfect Italian.
The girl stares at her mother before
assuring her she is strong. “Si, Madre, sono
forte,” she replies.
The girl’s mother offers her a broad
smile before turning a cool gaze toward the man. “Enough for today.” She takes
a clean cloth from her pocket and gently dabs at the blood on the girl’s lip.
“You will resume tomorrow.”
“She is failing,” the man argues. At
the woman’s silence, he sighs, then nods.
Without a word to the girl, he leaves them alone.
“Mama.” Disappointed at her
weakness, the girl starts to apologize, but her mother shushes her.
“You’ll get better tomorrow and
every day after that until it is time.”
“Voy
a ganar esta
pelea.” The girl switches to Spanish.
She promises to win the fight.
Her mother insisted she master five
languages in total. The girl practiced for hours every week until she was
fluent.
Her mother smiles as she continues
to wipe the blood. The cloth touches a
bruise. The girl winces at the explosion of pain. She quickly schools her face,
desperate to prove her strength.
“Bueno,”
her mother replies.
The girl wonders whether her mother
is proud of her insistence that she will
win or her refusal to show pain.
“How many are sick today?” the girl
asks when her mother falls silent.
“Three.” The worry dances across her
mother’s face. All around them their people are ill or dying from the serum.
“We gave them the antidote, but there is
little left …” She shakes her head and offers her daughter a smile. “We
must focus on you. Soon the time will come.”
Her words are more powerful than any
punch in training. “What if I don’t want to go? To leave my family?”
The girl wraps her arm around her
waist and drops her head. It is the same question she has asked before, but each time, she silently hopes for a
different answer.
Her mother’s face contorts until the
girl is sure she is staring at a stranger. Coldness replaces the warmth, and
her mother’s eyes narrow in warning. “We don’t have a choice. You are the only
hope. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother,” the girl answers, a
well-trained warrior. She will follow directions. Always.
The woman grips her daughter’s hand
and squeezes. The pain starts at the girl’s spine and travels like a speeding
train toward the base of her skull. She imagines a white light to shield her
from the pain as her mother taught her to do. The vision begins like a movie in
a darkened theater. The girl closes her eyes and watches it carefully.
The
ocean water is cold. Deep within its recesses,
the girl struggles to breathe. Her mother’s hands push her above the surface.
She has started to swim when there’s a searing pain in her abdomen. Through the
clear blue waters, she sees a throbbing
red scar etched into her skin. She turns to ask how she got it, but her mother pushes away.
The
waves lap over the girl’s head. In the distance,
she sees the shore, but it seems
impossible to reach. With a deep breath,
she pushes forward. Her arms swing side to side as her feet kick the water in
perfect rhythm.
The
sun beats down on her as her feet finally touch the sand. She falls onto the beach, exhausted. She lays her hand on the scar. The broken skin burns. She
searches the ocean’s horizon, but there
is no sign of her mother. Other than the silver ring encircling her finger, she
has nothing left from her life before. Tears course
down her cheeks.
The
girl yanks her hand out of her mother’s. Immediately the vision starts to fade,
along with the pain.
“What did you see?” her mother
demands.
The girl tries to catch her breath.
She searches for an answer about the vision, but nothing makes sense. “I’m in
the water.” She looks up, expecting to see shock and surprise on her mother’s
face, but finds neither. “I’m lost.” She fights the tears that threaten. “Why
am I lost?” she begs.
“Because it is the only way.”
“Because it is the only way.”
About the Author
Sage Sask is a team consisting of a Washington Post, USA Today and Amazon charts bestselling author and a group of young adult writers.
Author Links
Website: sagesask.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SageSask
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thecircletaken/
No comments:
Post a Comment