Publication date: February 2014
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Synopsis:
All her life, clever Aemi has been a slave in the Village of the Rocks, a place where the sea and sky meet. She’s heard the stories about the fabled People of the Sea, a people who possess unimaginable technology who live below the waves in the dark, secret places of the ocean. But she never dreamed those stories were true.
When a ship emerges from the ocean and men burn her village, Aemi is captured, and enslaved below the waves in Itlantis, a world filled with ancient cities of glass and metal, floating gardens, and wondrous devices that seem to work magic. To make matters worse, her village nemesis, the stuck-up mayor’s son Nol, was captured with her, and they are made servants in the same household beneath the sea.
Desperate to be free, Aemi plots her escape, even going so far as to work with Nol. But the sea holds more secrets than she realizes, and escape might not be as simple as leaving…
When a ship emerges from the ocean and men burn her village, Aemi is captured, and enslaved below the waves in Itlantis, a world filled with ancient cities of glass and metal, floating gardens, and wondrous devices that seem to work magic. To make matters worse, her village nemesis, the stuck-up mayor’s son Nol, was captured with her, and they are made servants in the same household beneath the sea.
Desperate to be free, Aemi plots her escape, even going so far as to work with Nol. But the sea holds more secrets than she realizes, and escape might not be as simple as leaving…
Purchase:
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Author
Interview with Kate Avery Ellison
Describe
Of Sea and Stone
in six words.
Atlantis,
steampunk, sunlight, seawater, secrets, romance.
What
books have you read and loved lately?
I
am almost finished with Finnikin
of the Rock by Melina
Marchetta, and it’s an absolute delight. Witty, immersive, and
utterly compelling fantasy that reminds me very much of my beloved
Megan Whalen Turner books.
Ice
cream or cake?
Ice
cream cake, of course! It’s the best of both worlds.
What
authors have influenced your writing style the most?
I
grew up on a pretty steady diet of mystery, actually, so I feel like
classic mystery authors like Agatha Christie had a strong influence
on me. When I was a teenager, I started reading fantasy by authors
like Robin McKinley, Gail Carson Levine, and Sherwood Smith. The
Blue Sword, Ella Enchanted, Crown Duel...I
loved those books. I also had a huge love of historical fiction, so
Ann Rinaldi, Elizabeth George Speare, and Eloise Jarvis McGraw
influenced me a lot as well. As far as more recently-written books
that I didn’t grow up reading, I continue to be an awe of fantasy
authors Megan Whalen Turner (The
Thief, The Queen of Attolia, etc.)
and Melina Marchetta (Finnikin
of the Rock), dystopian author
Suzanne Collins (The Hunger
Games), and contemporary young
adult authors Lucy Christopher (Stolen)
and John Green (A Fault in Our
Stars).
If
you had to pick a shoe that represented your writing style, what
would it be?
Have
you seen those canvas shoes where an artist has drawn original
artwork on the front and sides and is selling them online? I think my
books are like that—in some ways they feel familiar, but they have
their own surprises and twists that make them unique.
Who
has been the most supportive person in your writing career?
My
husband. About two years into trying to get published, I was ready to
give up on my stories and get a job doing something tremendously
ill-suited for me, like being a secretary (I am a very bad secretary.
Very disorganized). He convinced me to give it more time, and he is
probably the sole reason I am published today. He is my first reader,
my strongest encourager, and my most reliable critic.
Are
you working on anything else currently?
Yes!
I’m currently hard at work on the second book in the Secrets of
Itlantis series, and I’m also working on a few secret projects on
the side—one is a more traditional fantasy, another is a
post-apocalyptic novel. I hope to have more details about them for my
readers very soon.
Excerpt
The sea sang to itself in
the music of blue water and salt and gulls’ cries as I sat above
it, crouched atop the column-like Looking Rock with a spear clenched
in my hand and words of frustration crawling on my tongue. The water
below lapped at the edges of the rock, foaming over the pebbled shore
that ringed the rock, and the foam hid the fish I was trying to
catch.
I bent over the water and
stabbed the spear into the foaming waves. When I withdrew it from the
pool, a fish wriggled on the end, and I smiled with a quick jerk of
my lips. I had always been good with a spear, somewhat inexplicably
according to Nealla.
I tossed the fish into my
sack and moved to the other side of the Looking Rock, where the tide
pools were often filled with exotic things washed in from the sea. It
was a secret place, and few knew to look here. I came often whenever
I had a moment of freedom from my duties, for if I could catch enough
things of value, I could sell them in the marketplace and add coin to
the stash I kept hidden away, the stash that would one day buy my
freedom.
The first tide pools were
disappointingly empty except for a few anemone and starfish clinging
to the sides of the rocks, and a yellow fish darting away from my
face as I peered down.
I moved on. Three more
pools, empty. But luck had not abandoned me. At the final pool I
stopped, transfixed by the creature I saw beneath the surface.
It was eerie and beautiful,
with fluttering fins along its throat and back and tail, speckled
blue scales, and a mouth full of teeth. It wasn’t a fish or a
dolphin or a snake, but something that looked like bits of all three.
I had never seen such a creature. It was some monster from the
depths, but a small one.
I bent over the rock,
sliding my belly forward by inches, peering into the deep glassy
green of the pool beneath where the creature swam in small circles,
imprisoned until high tide. I didn’t want to use a spear on such a
magnificent creature. For this, I needed a net.
I stabbed my spear into the
edge of the pool, marking the fish-creature as mine. Then I scrambled
to the edge of the Looking Rock. The wind swirled around me, wetting
me with a mist of sea spray as I brought my arms forward and dove
into the sea below.
Bubbles exploded around me
as I swam through the green-blue water. Below, fish wove between a
jewel-colored spread of coral. A dark line at the edge of my vision
signaled where the shallow waters ended and the deep water began.
No one ever went out into
deep water.
I reached the larger rocks
that rose from the water like the spearheads of giants and hauled
myself onto a sea-carved shelf of white stone. My master’s house
was before me, a collection of caves and hollows in the rock. It was
a nice house, with a strip of pebbled beach facing west. Beyond the
beach, a shallow place for bathing and washing was surrounded by thin
white stones that protruded from the water like fingers and broke the
force of the waves.
A hole in the rock wall led
to the interior. Strings of shells formed a curtain barrier, and they
tinkled and clicked in the wind. I shoved them aside and stepped into
the cool stone passage leading to the house.
I needed one of my master’s
nets. Just to borrow, to catch that fish.
The master’s father sat on
a mat beside the fire, muttering to himself. Beside him were nets,
the small ones used for hand fishing. He was mending them, his
wrinkled hands moving swiftly as he worked over a hole.
“Hello, Old One,” I
said, speaking carefully and respectfully. “I need to borrow a
net.”
He lifted his head and
scrutinized me. I was dripping from the sea. My hair stuck to my neck
and forehead. Droplets fell from my fingers.
He reached for one of the
nets and lifted it toward me, but pulled it back before I could take
it.
“Don’t go in the deep
places,” he said, and his voice creaked. “The Sea People are in
the deep places.”
“Yes, Old One,” I said,
leaning forward to reach the net.
The master’s father was
crazy, but gentle. Sometimes he liked to ramble about fables from his
youth, and sometimes I listened, because none of the others did, and
I felt sorry for him.
I didn’t have time for it
today.
“I saw one of their ships
the other night,” he continued, pulling the net farther away and
out of reach again. “Came up from the depths, black as a wet stone,
bright with lights. They’re watching us.”
“Don’t worry, Old One,”
I said. “We’ll keep you safe.”
He harrumphed as if doubtful
and handed me the net. “Stay out of the deep places,” he said
again.
I snatched the net and
hurried outside once more. The wind fanned my face. I stopped at the
edge of the water and shaded my eyes against the glaring sun.
Someone else was on the
Looking Rock. I saw a figure moving around the pool. Confound that
Old One and his stories! I splashed into the water, my heart pounding
as I swam hard, kicking my legs. I reached the rock and hauled myself
up, hair dripping, leaving wet footprints as I ran to the tide pools.
A young man stood at the edge of the pool, his feet hanging in the
water, his arms braced behind him and his face tipped toward the sun.
He was lounging, waiting for me, stretched out as if to show off his
physical perfections and the gold bracelets on his arms and ankles.
That handsome, arrogant face, smirking mouth, and long, dark lashes
that contrasted with his pale, wavy hair—I’d know him anywhere.
Nol.
I looked past him into the
water and stopped in horror.
The creature was gone.
My bag of sad little fish
lay at the edge of the rock, looking deflated in the sunlight. My
spear lay beside it.
Fury built up at the back of
my neck and swept through my throat to take hold of my tongue. Anger
licked at my bones.
“You stole my catch.”
Nol opened one eye and
looked at me. “What are you talking about? Your bag of fish is
right there. I didn’t touch it.”
“No. The creature in the
pool—it was my catch. I found it first, as was clearly demonstrated
by my spear marking the pool. You took it! Where did you put it?” I
was furious, devastated.
Nol straightened and blinked
at me. His smile was slow and smooth, like butter being spread across
bread.
“It wasn’t your fish,”
he said. “It wasn’t in your net, so you had no claim.”
“I marked it with my
spear—”
“You aren’t a fisherman,
thrall-girl. The rules of the village don’t apply to the likes of
you. You have no identifying marker that deserves to be honored, and
that thing you call a spear is simply a piece of garbage with a point
at one end. It could have washed into the pool on its own, for all I
know.”
I wanted to strangle him. My
anger was hot and fierce, and it made my legs tremble. But he was the
mayor’s second son, and he could do as he liked. Instead, I bit my
tongue and turned away.
I’d lost this round, but I
would not lose to Nol again.
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AUTHOR BIO
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