Danvers Literary Festival at Peabody Institute Library Featuring YA Fantasy Author Patrick Doud
Saturday, May 08, 10:00 AM
Middle grade authors Patrick Doud and Christine Brodien-Jones will be reading from and discussing their books for kids ages 9 and up from 10-11 am, as part of the Danvers Literary Festival at the Peabody Institute Library in Danvers, MA. All events at the festival are FREE, including a complimentary light lunch provided by Casual Catering. Other authors in attendance include fantasy authors Leanna Renee Hieber, N.K. Jemisin, and Margaret Ronald, as well as authors of romance and mystery novels, book illustrators, and more!
Address: 15 Sylvan Street, Danvers, MA
For a full line-up and more information on this event, visit the festival’s blog HERE.
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With many bloggers comparing The Hunt for the Eye of Ogin to Lord of the Rings, The Spiderwick Chronicles, and Tales of Narnia, it’s not hard to see why Midwest Book Review recommended this thrilling new fantasy-adventure series to Harry Potter fans. The first in the new series, The Winnitok Tales, the poetic language and cliffhanger plot line if The Hunt for the Eye of Ogin is sure to hook fantasy lovers of all ages.
From Chapter 9, “Running”:
The friends set out along this sunken road, within which they were as hidden from sight as in a tunnel underground. They went quietly all the same, for the swath of poison ivy on either side of the ditch was not broad, and yugs were not the only people in Oldotok they wanted to avoid.
The ditch was also a creature haven and highway, as they could see by many tracks and signs. Shortly before dark they saw an inquisitive fox observing them pass by the mouth of her den, a sharp red face with glinty eyes peering out from a crack in the wall. A little later, they saw a shadowy shape disappear with a leap over the ditch’s edge as they approached. “Bobcat,” said Drallah, kneeling and pointing at a round paw print in a patch of leaf mold.
As the last of the dusk-light leaked away they halted. A fire was out of the question, so they wrapped up tight against the cold and munched their dinner in the dark. Though Slukee and Booj were naturally watchful—one or both would be roused even from sleep if so much as an opossum approached the camp—as an extra precaution Elwood and Drallah took turns at watch through the night. The hours of darkness passed quietly, though, and when the sun returned in the morning they had yet to hear or see any sign of the yugs they knew were not far away.
There had been a frost, and as the warm orange light slanted down into the ditch it found innumerable points of rime to sparkle upon and melt. Everything was lovely and still, and they hardly thought of the danger that lay all around them. But just as they were hoisting their packs onto their backs, a deep baying sounded from somewhere close by in the wood to the south, a call like the howl of some evil hound.
“What’s that?” cried Elwood, terrified.
“A horn,” exclaimed Booj, hopping with fright.
Another sounded in the north and was answered by several more, each calling from a different direction. Booj shot into the air and up through the branches overhead. Tensed to move, the others waited and listened. The horns ceased. Drallah climbed a stair in the southern wall and cautiously looked over the edge of the ditch. Nothing moved in the trees immediately around them. Minutes passed. Then she saw something.
“Fire!” she whispered, sighting a black cloud of smoke rising through the trees to the southeast.
The raven returned from the direction of the smoke, whizzing back toward them between the walls of the ditch. “They’re burning the wood, they’re burning the ivy! They’re all along both sides of the ditch!” he croaked, lighting on top of Drallah’s pack.
“I know, I know! They must think Ginnich is down here; they’re trying to smoke him out into the open. How is it that way?” she asked, pointing along the ditch to the northwest.
“Not so many fires yet. If we hurry!”
Without any more deliberation they set off at a cautious jog, their moccasins and paws barely making a sound on the stones. They could all smell the burning now. Booj flew ahead under cover of the tunnel-like ditch to scout the progress of the fires, and to see how far they had yet to go before they reached the reservoir Noshkwa had described.
Blown on the western wind, trails of black smoke began to appear overhead. Harsh, dreadful shouts in the trees beyond the ditch reached their ears, and the crackle of flames devouring wood. Forsaking caution for haste, in unison they broke into a wild run.
Elwood’s stamina, though much increased in recent weeks, was not yet nearly as great as Drallah’s, and after they had run a mile he was forced to stop and catch his breath. While he did, Drallah decided to get a look at what was going on in the woods. Since there were no stairs at hand she leapt, caught at the top of the southern wall, and hauled herself up. Crouching at the edge of the ditch she could see that, though they had left several fires behind, they were approaching more. There were no yugs in sight, but she knew they had placed themselves some distance back from the ivy and the fires all along both sides of the ditch, waiting and watching for whoever might be within to try to escape. She could well hear what sounded like a large mob of them whooping and hollering as they fed the flames not too far off. She could not see Booj anywhere.
As Drallah dropped back down into the ditch the wind shifted to the south. A shriek of pain rose up amidst the yugs’ din, hung frightfully in the air for a moment, then faded and died.
“One got caught in the smoke,” said Drallah. “It carries the burning ivy’s poison; it’s a good thing for us that we’re down here, and smoke rises. Are you ready to move again?”
Still gasping, Elwood nodded.
On they ran. The western wind returned. They left the shouts of the yugs behind, but after running a little farther heard more. Here were massed a greater number, it seemed, and the tumult of so many ugly voices raised at once was terrifying. A cloud of black smoke blew overhead, darkening the ditch. There was a deep roar that was not that of the wind. Through the acrid reek they saw red flames licking trees along the top of the wall to their right. Down through the burning branches and ivy plunged Booj, turning sharply to glide past Drallah.
“Hurry; the reservoir is just ahead,” he cried.
“Is it on fire?”
“Not yet!”
“But the yugs are sure to have surrounded it,” she said, grasping the hilt of the long knife at her side as she ran.
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