BLOOD OF THE EARTH kicks off Faith Hunter's new Soulwood
series. This
series is a spin-off from the Jane Yellowrock series and is
set in the same
world. While you can still enjoy this book as a standalone,
I would definitely
recommend reading the Jane Yellowrock series first just
because the author
doesn't waste time in explaining the worldbuilding or its
politics with this first
book. She already assumes that readers know how the world
works, which I
think can be confusing to some of the brand new readers who
may be trying
her writing for the first time.
The main heroine of this series is Nell Ingram. She is a
character that we've
seen in the Jane Yellowrock series that the author has
chosen to focus more
on. I would say that while Nell is fierce in her own way,
she's a little more
calm and composed than Jane. Jane is a little more badass
while Nell feels
more grounded. There's an old world quality to her that
displays a great
amount of maturity so I'm curious to see how Hunter will
show Nell's growth
over the course of the series.
If this is your first time reading Faith Hunter, she has a
very simple writing
style that works very well for this genre. The style reminds
me a little of
Patricia Briggs so if you are a fan of Briggs and haven't
tried Faith Hunter, I
think you should give her a shot. Hunter takes a more slower
pace to Urban
Fantasy, but at the same time, it still has the right amount
of thrills
throughout the story. Despite the fact that this is a
spin-off series, Nell's
character and her world stands separate from Jane's and I
liked that Hunter
explored those avenues in this book. It makes the loyal
readers see the world
in a whole different way. BLOOD OF THE EARTH is a fantastic
start to the
Soulwood series.
Set in the same world as the New York Times
bestselling Jane Yellowrock novels, an all-new series
starring Nell Ingram, who wields powers as old as the
earth.
When Nell Ingram met skinwalker Jane Yellowrock, she was
almost alone in the world, exiled by both choice and fear
from the cult she was raised in, defending herself with
the
magic she drew from her deep connection to the forest
that
surrounds her.
Now, Jane has referred Nell to PsyLED, a Homeland
Security
agency policing paranormals, and agent Rick LaFleur has
shown up at Nell’s doorstep. His appearance forces her
out
of her isolated life into an investigation that leads to
the
vampire Blood Master of Nashville.
Nell has a team—and a mission. But to find the Master’s
kidnapped vassal, Nell and the PsyLED team will be forced
to
go deep into the heart of the very cult Nell fears,
infiltrating the cult and a humans-only terrorist group
before time runs out…
Excerpt
Edgy and not sure why, I carried the basket of laundry
off the back porch. I hung my T-shirts and overalls on
the front line of my old-fashioned solar clothes dryer,
two long skirts on the outer line, and what my mama
called my intimate attire on the line between, where no
one could see them from the driveway. I didn’t want
another visit by Brother Ephraim or Elder Ebenezer about
my wanton ways. Or even another courting attempt from
Joshua Purdy. Or worse, a visit from Ernest Jackson Jr.,
the preacher. So far I’d kept him out of my house, but
there would come a time when he’d bring help and try to
force his way in. It was getting tiresome having to chase
churchmen off my land at the business end of a shotgun,
and at some point God’s Cloud of Glory Church would bring
enough reinforcements that I couldn’t stand against them.
It was a battle I was preparing for, one I knew I’d
likely lose, but I would go down fighting, one way or
another.
The breeze freshened, sending my wet skirts rippling as
if alive, on the line where they hung. Red, gold, and
brown leaves skittered across the three acres of newly
cut grass. Branches overhead cracked, clacked, and
groaned with the wind, leaves rustling as if whispering
some dread tiding. The chill fall air had been perfect
for birdsong; squirrels had been racing up and down the
trees, stealing nuts and hiding them for the coming
winter. I’d seen a big black bear this morning, chewing
on mast and nuts halfway up the hill.
Standing in the cool breeze, I studied my woods,
listening, feeling, tasting the unease that had prickled
at my flesh for the last few months, ever since Jane
Yellowrock had come visiting and turned my life upside
down. She was the one responsible for the repeated recent
visits by the churchmen. The Cherokee vampire hunter was
the one who had brought all the changes, even if it
wasn’t intentional. She had come hunting a missing
vampire and, because she was good at her job—maybe the
best ever—she had succeeded. She had also managed to save
more than a hundred children from God’s Cloud.
Maybe it had been worth it all—helping all the children—
but I was the one paying the price, not her. She was long
gone and I was alone in the fight for my life. Even the
woods knew things were different.
Sunlight dappled the earth; cabbages, gourds, pumpkins,
and winter squash were bursting with color in the garden.
A muscadine vine running up the nearest tree, tangling in
the branches, was dropping the last of the ripe fruit. I
smelled my wood fire on the air, and hints of that apple-
crisp chill that meant a change of seasons, the sliding
toward a hard, cold autumn. I tilted my head, listening
to the wind, smelling the breeze, feeling the forest
through the soles of my bare feet. There was no one on my
property except the wild critters, creatures who belonged
on Soulwood land, nothing else that I could sense. But
the hundred fifty acres of woods bordering the flatland
around the house, up the steep hill and down into the
gorge, had been whispering all day. Something was not
right.
In the distance, I heard a crow call a warning, sharp
with distress. The squirrels ducked into hiding, suddenly
invisible. The feral cat I had been feeding darted under
the shrubs, her black head and multicolored body fading
into the shadows. The trees murmured restlessly.
I didn’t know what it meant, but I listened anyway. I
always listened to my woods, and the gnawing, whispering
sense of danger, injury, damage was like sandpaper
abrading my skin, making me jumpy, disturbing my sleep,
even if I didn’t know what it was.
I reached out to it, to the woods, reached with my mind,
with my magic. Silently I asked it, What? What is it?
There was no answer. There never was. But as if the
forest knew that it had my attention, the wind died and
the whispering leaves fell still. I caught my breath at
the strange hush, not daring even to blink. But nothing
happened. No sound, no movement. After an uncomfortable
length of time, I lifted the empty wash basket and
stepped away from the clotheslines, turning and turning,
my feet on the cool grass, looking up and inward, but I
could sense no direct threat, despite the chill bumps
rising on my skin. What? I asked. An eerie fear grew in
me, racing up my spine like spiders with sharp, tiny
claws. Something was coming. Something that reminded me
of Jane, but subtly different. Something was coming that
might hurt me. Again. My woods knew.
From down the hill I heard the sound of a vehicle
climbing the mountain’s narrow, single-lane, rutted road.
It wasn’t the clang of Ebenezer’s rattletrap Ford truck,
or the steady drone of Joshua’s newer, Toyota long-bed.
It wasn’t the high-pitched motor of a hunter’s all-
terrain vehicle. It was a car, straining up the twisty
Deer Creek mountain.
My house was the last one, just below the crest of the
hill. The wind whooshed down again, icy and cutting, a
downdraft that bowed the trees. They swayed in the wind,
branches scrubbing. Sighing. Muttering, too low to hear.
It could be a customer making the drive to Soulwood for
my teas or veggies or herbal mixes. Or it could be some
kind of conflict. The woods said it was the latter. I
trusted my woods.
I raced back inside my house, dropping the empty basket,
placing John’s old single-shot, bolt-action shotgun near
the refrigerator under a pile of folded blankets. His
lever-action carbine .30-30 Winchester went near the
front window. I shoved the small Smith & Wesson .32 into
the bib of my coveralls, hoping I didn’t shoot myself if
I had to draw it fast. I picked up the double-barrel
break-action shotgun and checked the ammo. Both barrels
held three-inch shells. The contact area of the latch was
worn and needed to be replaced, but at close range I
wasn’t going to miss. I might dislocate my shoulder, but
if I hit them, the trespassers would be a while in
healing too.
I debated for a second on switching out the standard shot
shells for salt or birdshot, but the woods’ disharmony
seemed to be growing, a particular and abrasive itch
under my skin. I snapped the gun closed and pulled back
my long hair into an elastic, to keep it out of my way.
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