Storm of Arranon
By R.E. Sheahan
Genre: YA Science Fiction , Fantasy
A forbidden birth. A remarkable young woman. A marauding alien society. The battle begins.
A brutal alien society invades Korin and Arranon, intent on destroying the two worlds that make up Cadet Erynn Yager's home. Forced to expose her strange abilities and reveal her forbidden birth, a guarded web of secrets unravels.
Stranded on an unfamiliar planet of eternal winter and predatory wildlife, the mysterious living consciousness of Arranon intervenes, leading Erynn on a mystical journey.
Aware of Erynn's potential, the alien enemy pursues her. She struggles to gain control of her growing powers while in a constant race to elude the invaders, and join the forces preparing to fight a mounting occupation.
Erynn’s secret may be her worlds' only hope, but at the cost of her life. Swept up in a chain reaction of events, Erynn's dedication extends far beyond service and duty. She learns the true meaning of sacrifice.
Along with courage and hope, Erynn finds something unexpected on her journey of awareness and growth.
Birk rolled on top of her. Leaves and twigs stuck in his dirty, windblown hair. Dust swirled. Debris from the windstorm dug into her back. He straddled her. One hand grasping her throat, he squeezed.
Erynn coughed, clawing at his hand, and arm.
Birk’s laugh rumbled low and menacing from deep in his chest. His strange pale eyes sparked and burned with anger. His arm drew back, hand fisted.
In Erynn’s peripheral vision, the jeweled dagger shimmered in the sunlight. Blue tendrils wound around her hands. She released the current. Energy arced through the air. Time slowed to a measured beat. She reached out, her fingers grasping through dirt, stems, and leaves, finding and clasping the hilt. Static popped in the air. Erynn lifted the dagger and swung the tip down, driving the point into Birk’s thigh.
Birk screamed and released his hold, rolling off her. He leapt up, holding his leg. Blood poured around his fingers. His eyes glazed over. “You’re dead,” he snarled, limping forward.
Jaer sighed. “I will get you there, Erynn.” His hand stroked her hair.
I’m Erynn again. She angled her face to see him. “Why do you do that?”
He tipped his head. His hand stopped its soft movement and dropped. “I am sorry. I will not do it again.” His arms stiffened.
“No. I mean sometimes you call me Lieutenant, or Lieutenant Yager, but rarely Erynn. Why?”
“I guess the same reason you call me, sir, and not Jaer.”
She stared at the dark outline of his face, quiet for a long moment. “So if I call you Jaer, you’ll stop calling me Lieutenant?”
He laughed quietly. “Yes, Erynn.” His hand moved back to her hair, sliding around to hold her face. His lips brushed hers, tentative at first, then with more pressure, but still gentle.
Erynn put one arm around him and the other up to his jacket, grasping the collar and pulling him, returning the kiss. Electric blue tendrils wove around, slow and graceful, encompassing them in a soft light.
I have always been a reader. I’d come home from grade school with stacks of books every week, and during the summer, I’d get my fix from the library. I love books. Later, while working every day outside at the ranch, I’d listen to audio books on cassette with one of those Sportswalk players I’d hook to my belt. I could go through three or four books a week.
I started writing while working as a Paramedic/Firefighter in Northern California.
Trust me, it’s not always like it appears on TV. There was plenty of time for reading.
Writing got serious for me when I moved to my ranch in Oregon. While waiting for lambs to be born in the middle of the night, I would head back to the house for an hour or two and sit down at the computer. Before I knew it, I had a manuscript. One hundred and twenty-two thousand words that desperately needed help, but it was a start.
The characters demanded their story be told, so I joined critique groups and attended writer's conferences. I was on the fast track to learning what I needed to know to write well, and tell, show, an engaging story.
In 2013, I received an honorable mention in Writer’s Digest’s Self Published book awards for MG/YA, so I guess I had learned something! BTW, I’m still learning.
Ideas from dreams follow me into warm sunny days or the quiet of falling snow. “What ifs” feed a vivid imagination. Even mistyped phrases may lead to an "aha" moment. Brain storming sessions standing in dark, windy parking lots with fellow writers release thoughts that pry at the corners of my mind, grasping for purchase. Sometimes the ideas pursue me, with persistence.