Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Author Take Over: Christina Mercer, Author of Arrow of the Mist

Welcome to this blog's very first Author Take Over! YAY!! I'm proud to leave Today for Christina Mercer. Hope you enjoy!

Christina Mercer writes fiction for children and young adults. Her varied interests prompted her to study creative writing, earn a degree in Accounting, become a CPA, acquire a certificate in Herbal Studies, and take on beekeeping. She was a semi-finalist in the 2010 Amazon Breakout Novel Award Contest and she took Writer’s Best in Show at the 2012 SCBWI CA North/Central Regional Conference. She enjoys life in the Sierra foothills with her husband, two sons, four dogs, and about 100,000 honeybees.


In her Middle Grade/Young Adult Fantasy ARROW OF THE MIST terror strikes the Celtic inspired kingdom of Nemetona when barbed roots breach the land and poison woodsmen, including 15-year-old Lia’s beloved father. Lia embarks on a quest to the forbidden land of Brume to gather ingredients for the cure. She relies on her herbal wisdom and newfound gift as a tree mage through a land of soul-hungry shades, fabled creatures, and uncovered truths about her family.
This is from the beginning of the book

Nettles stung Lia’s flesh. She pressed her fingers against her mouth for relief. This is what I get for letting my thoughts wander. Grandma wouldn’t have been so careless while harvesting sting-leaf. She wouldn’t have let the villagers’ opinions prick at her mind, no matter how many called her mad for crafting remedies in the old ways. 
Koun whined and nudged Lia’s arm with his nose.  
“I’m all right, boy.” Lia gazed into her hound’s violet eyes and then turned her attention to the friendlier mallow plant. Its white flowers matched Koun’s coat and its leaves and roots promised a soothing balm for the nettle’s bite. She’d make another batch of salve for Da, too. He swore her “potions” kept his hands fit enough for hewing wood and soft enough for holding Ma. Her ma could use a bit more mallow infusion for her soaps, as well, and she’d take a bundle of clippings to Granda— 
Her thoughts scattered as Koun shot from the garden. Lia whirled around to the pair of horses charging up the path. She squinted in the dusky light and recognized Da’s friend, Kenneth, on one of the horses. Then her insides went cold. Across the other horse’s back lay Da’s limp body.
She dropped the harvested mallow and sped from her garden toward them. Ma’s scream shot like a bolt through her, but Kenneth’s words, “He’s alive,” offered Lia a morsel of hope.
Kenneth carried Da into the cottage, and Lia caught a glimpse of her father’s torn and bloodied clothing. “I’ll fetch Granda,” she cried, and hurried to her filly.  
Clad in her usual boy’s breeches and high leather boots, Lia raced her horse down the path with her heart pounding in rhythm to the hoof beats.
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