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<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nVolcanic ash has ruined the world and only\nremote outposts remain. At the castle in the mountains, covered by snow,\neveryone only sees shades of blue.
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\nExcept for Jaisy.
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\nBy day she explores farther down the mountain.\nBy night, she\u2019s plagued with dreams of a panther and ghosts calling her name.
\n
\nWhen Jaisy\u2019s job sends her into the dungeon, she\ndiscovers a hidden room filled with dangerous information. There are secrets within\nthe damp, stone walls that those in control don\u2019t want anyone to know.
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\nThe leaders will kill to protect those secrets \u2013\neven executing one of their own.
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\nJaisy will not go quietly into the blue night,\nno matter how hard the leaders attempt to silence her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Get your\nbook today from Amazon for 99 cents! getbook.at\/CastleofBlueStones<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Chapter 1<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n They tell me the world shouldn\u2019t be blue, but that\u2019s all I see.\u00a0 Everything has a twinge of blue, from the mist that sometimes rises in the morning to the snow that never wants to leave.\u00a0 The Guardians tell me the snow should be white, that which stretches everywhere across the mountains.\u00a0 I know what it looks like, white, when I close my eyes, a stark absence of color, but I shouldn\u2019t, for all I remember is blue in all different shades.\u00a0 <\/p>\n\n\n\n The cold dampness bites at my toes. The extra two pairs of woolen socks, all I\ncan fit into the old boots, aren\u2019t working. \nI glance over my shoulder, up the hills to the castle of dark blue stone\n\u2013 they say it\u2019s such a dark grey it looks black \u2013 where the windows haunt my\ndreams. That glass that reflects the\nsunlight screams at me to ignore the worn-out leather boots and the threat of\nfrostbite on my cheeks, to keep trudging and never dare go back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Except, I will. \nWhat lies beyond all the snow and rocks? \nThey tell me nothing, that I should be thankful to have survived the\nvolcano that killed ninety-percent of the population with ash, which brought\nabout what they call an ice age. Out\nthere, I will freeze and starve. Death\nwill claim me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I tug off one of my wool mittens to study my fingers,\nstill pliable enough that frostbite hasn\u2019t begun. I\u2019ve gone what might be an extra half-mile\nfrom my last trek. I mark each time I\nstop to go back by painting on a rock. I\nchoose a rock tall enough to protrude from the snow. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My breath puffs in front of my lips. I\u2019ve gone a mile, by my reckoning. I always push myself for that one extra\nmile. They\u2019re used to it, back at the\ncastle. My boss won\u2019t expect me back\nuntil morning when we file for breakfast, and judging by the sun lowering in\nthe sky, I have a few hours before twilight. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pull my glove back on and continue. The snow drifted, so in most places, it\nreaches my shins, but sometimes it comes up to my knees, or my waist, but never\ndeeper. I\u2019ve laced the ankle boots as\ntight as they go, with extra woolen legwarmers, to keep the snow from falling\ninside. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Someday, I will find what calls to me. Whatever it is, it is mine. It wants me there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The wind tears through the leather coat. I\u2019ll need to sew extra material into the\nlining. The dress underneath is thick,\nwith a collar that buttons to my chin. I\nwon\u2019t freeze. The ice would be the\nwinner then, not I. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJaisy<\/em>\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stiffen. No one\nwould follow me. They don\u2019t go outside\nexcept for the balconies, for fresh air when the sun is warm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJaisy<\/em>.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The voices have begun again. \u201cWho are you?\u201d My own voice is higher-pitched, shrill,\ndesperate. It bounces off the boulders\nrising jagged; it rattles through the mountains into the cloudless sky. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The voices only reach me when I leave the castle, when I\nam far enough away that it is only a speck of blue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Flakes of snow spiral into the image of a young\nwoman. Her hair is copper, with a tiara\non her head, set with pearls. A sheer\nveil drapes around her bare shoulders. \nHer red dress is sleeveless, with a gold sash across the front. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She is not blue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShayna<\/em>\u2026\u201d It is her voice, deeper than mine, which\nanswers my question. The flakes fall\nback to the ground, banishing her. She\u2019s\nappeared before, always leaving without more than a few words. Last time, she swore she loved me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sit in the snow and adjust my hat. My heartbeat races, my palms itch as though a\nthousand spiders bit them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A dream approaches. \n\u201cTake me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A woman shoved my arms into the\nsleeves of an oversized brown coat and jerked at the fastenings. \u201cYou do not look back. You keep going.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrandma, Lana isn\u2019t here. They\u2019re going to hurt her.\u201d My voice wobbled and tears blurred my\nvision. I wiped the burn away on my\nsleeve as she fastened the final brass button. \n\u201cGrandma.\u201d She needed to listen \u2013\nLana had to be saved. \u201cOur lives are\nlinked. If she dies, I die.\u201d It was more than that. Lana had become everything to me since I\nturned thirteen, two years ago. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s not how it works. If you die, she dies, but if she dies,\nanother will take her place.\u201d My\ngrandmother cried as I did, her blue eyes shining and the kohl around her\nlashes running. Her brown coat was as\nhideous as mine, shapeless, a peasant man\u2019s; I had to be short, so mine dragged\nalong the marble floor. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Antorge bolted into the library and\nslammed the door shut. \u201cThey\u2019re\nhere.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe spirits save us.\u201d My grandmother drew a heart over her chest to\ncall on their good graces. How could\nthey help us when we were abandoning our pets to fight for us? Lana, my panther, should be at my side, not\nsnarling at the palace gate. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Antorge pulled me into his arms to\nlay his lips against mine. \u201cI love you,\nJaisy.\u201d Gone were his regal clothes; in\ntheir place, he wore a baggy, woolen tunic and black slacks tucked into\nboots. He could\u2019ve been a servant rather\nthan my betrothed. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My grandmother fiddled with the\nlever beneath the ship painting; the secret panel in the wall swung\noutward. \u201cCome, hurry.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart thudded against my chest\nand I tightened my fingers around his. \n\u201cWe\u2019ll hide in the wall.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll keep going.\u201d My grandmother scowled as she vanished into\nthe shadows of the passageway. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Antorge and I had played\nhide-and-seek in that dank area when we were children. Father had told us it\u2019d been used for\nrefugees in the wars one-hundred years ago. \nIt would be used again for that.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n As I stepped inside, Antorge pulled\nme back around to press his lips to mine. \n\u201cI love you.\u201d He nudged me\ninside, one hand on the panel.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe said to hurry\u2026\u201d A roaring started in my ears. The candles around the library had grown too\nbright. \u201cYou\u2019re not coming.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Now he cried; so many tears amongst\nus. \u201cI\u2019ll lead them away. It\u2019s you they want.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey want all of us.\u201d Grandmother grabbed my sleeve from the\ndarkness, jerking me back. The panel\nclosed, sealing a wall between Antoge and me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019ll be fine,\u201d Grandmother\nwhispered. \u201cHe\u2019ll find us if we don\u2019t\nfind him.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The tunnel led us up and down. The tears refused to stop and a sob choked my\nthroat. Our ancestors had done this\nbefore, they would pity us. My brunette\nbangs fell over my eyes, long curls catching on my lips. In the dark, my hair could have been sable. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The passage opened beneath the\nbridge in the city. Snow fell in thick\nflakes from the sky. It had never snowed\nso much; it had begun when the evil ones first entered the country. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe temple will protect us,\u201d my\ngrandmother said. She believed so\nheartedly in the ancestors. We needed\nLana and the other soul pets, not long-dead ghosts.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The ice in the pond cracks and a\nhand jutted out, skinny enough to accentuate every bone. Yellow fingernails, an inch long, curled\naround the fingertips.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is that?\u201d I screamed. \n<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I would waken in Antorge\u2019s bed with\nsunlight painting us in colors from the stained-glass window. We would giggle, he\u2019d kiss me, and I\u2019d tiptoe\nback to my bedroom, biting my knuckles to stifle my laughter. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n This couldn\u2019t be real. A nightmare terrifying enough to send a child\nscurrying to its parent.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The hand seized the dragging\ncoat. I reached for my grandmother,\ncatching sight of her green eyes and silver hair, before frigid water closed\nover me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I open my eyes to realize I\u2019ve fallen backwards. It has begun to snow, flakes settling over\nme. When I blink, I feel frozen\ntears. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve had that dream before, and each time the loss of the\nyoung man stabs me so hard I want to scream. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrandmother?\u201d No\nanswer besides the wind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I walk to the nearest rock and pull the paint stick from\nmy pocket. They say the paint is red,\nbut it appears murky blue. I color in a\nsquare as large as my head and tuck the paint stick away, buttoning the\npocket. If I head back to the castle,\nI\u2019ll stop crying. The grandmother and\nAntorge will fade away, back into the daydream, and everyday activities will\ntake over. I won\u2019t be lost to my own\nmind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Antorge and my grandmother will never be real. I\u2019ve made them up, even though the dreams\nhave color and I can feel them touch me. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n They tell me I never had a grandmother, so she can\u2019t be\nfactual. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re lucky to be alive,\u201d the Guardians say. The volcano killed my family when I was two\nyears old. I\u2019ve lived at the castle ever\nsince. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Jordan Elizabeth writes down her nightmares in order to live her dreams.\nWhen she’s not creating art or searching for lost history in the woods, she’s\nupdating her blog. Jordan roams Central New York, but she loves to travel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n CASTLE OF BLUE STONES A New Young Adult Fantasy from Jordan Elizabeth Volcanic ash has ruined the world and only remote outposts remain. At the castle in the mountains, covered by snow, everyone only sees shades of blue. Except for … Continue reading
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\n\n\n\nAbout the Author<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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