Kindle
Edition ON SALE 1-30 April
Night Sea Journey
by Paula
Cappa
The Night Sea Journey by Paula Cappa will be
ON SALE for the month of April. You can get it for only $2.99 (save $2.00).
Description
There's no such
thing as a dream within a dream. Poe was wrong. Dreams are deep shadows between
reality and illusion.
In the haunted
Abasteron House, artist Kip Livingston dreams of a mysterious winged being, all
bone and muscle and greedy teeth plunged out. Until one night when her dreams
break through the illusion and the nightmares become reality.
The characters:
Kip Livingston is a
stunning young artist living alone in Abasteron House on Horn Island, painting
her dreams every day. But inside this antique house by the sea, another power
rules her nights. What does this fierce winged creature want? Is it haunting
her from the secrets of her past ... or for her destiny?
Raymond Kera, a
priest exiled to Horn Island, falls for the seductive Kip Livingston but risks
his own sanity when her nightmares invade his dreams. Raymond knows these dark
angels who dominate and the demons of his past--the road to hell is paved with
the skulls of priests. With his vows violated, Ray must choose between God and
the human love he so desperately desires.
Garcia the Prophet,
Raymond's mentor, has firsthand experience with the alternate consciousness of
dream power. Garcia is a rebellious visionary, possessed by this mystical power
and the all-consuming desires of deceit, power, and murder. This conflict
propels him to abandon all he loves and seek heaven or hell.
On Horn Island,
inside Abasteron House ... a tale of the supernatural where the night journey
ends beneath the ghost-grey sea.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Horn Island, Rhode
Island
The
owl rises. A wrinkled blue spreads across the Atlantic. Above the brooding
waves, winds blow to leave ancient face prints against the salt-caked windows
in the house by the sea. Abasteron House is named for the angel who rules the
fifth hour after sunset. A watchful creature, Abasteron can flash the air or
whisper a note. She is known for her winter walks across the dunes in the
tilting sun.
As
angels go, Raphael rules the spring, Uriel the summer. Many know Duma as the
angel-prince of dreams, blessed with spiky blond hair and shocking green eyes.
The perfection of the universe requires these messengers who, on occasion,
assume physical bodies or borrow them from nature.
From
the rocky shoreline, all can see Abasteron House, a cream-colored wooden
structure on a grassy hill. A fringed garden hugs the house bordered with sea
lavender abandoned to run wild. Inside, the walls are painted oyster white.
High bleached ceilings pitch into arches over the chimney room—named so because
of the twin fireplaces set at each end. The wide floors spread with faded
Carolina Ash: white wicker sofa, white stuffed chairs, and a bowl of yellow
pears on the whitewood table.
In
the bedroom, a woman sleeps under an iron headboard scrolled with delicate
birds the color of eggshells. D. Kip Livingston clutches her pillow. Her
coverlet is askew, bunched to leave a leg exposed, a foot to dangle on the
edge. One hand grips a revolver beneath the lace trim of the sheets. Her
night-bound eyes flutter.
Duma
arrives. A chamber opens.
Pale
light creeps over the ocean’s moaning verge. Kip stands on the beach, her
ankles buried in spotted locusts. Thick bands of yellow nymphs and boat-shaped
males with short horns swarm the shoreline like warriors on attack.
The
waves advance. Battalions of quickened snakes shine the surface water. Above
the grey sea, Kip sees a dark figure leaking streaks. It’s him. The firehawk.
He
flies, full and fast, prowling the hump-backed crests. With a chest full of
orange flames, the firehawk hooks his charred wings on a nest of stars. In a
hot fit of pride, he races toward her.
A
scream jams in her throat.
He
hovers above her face, spewing ash, showing off one golden claw. He thinks
himself full of beauty. What a plumage he has, all full of bone. The muscles on
his neck bulge, lumpy veins galloping with blood. Greedy, his teeth plunge out.
The beast lets go of his fire-tongue. From the open mouth, Kip hears his
tumultuous heart.
He
thinks himself a king.
Black
snakes crisscross over Kip’s chest like a cage and propel her into the deepest
waves pulsing with ice chunks. She twists and screams, but the high rollers
crash over her, filling her mouth with foam. The firehawk soars in triumph.
With his hairy ropes, he reels her out to sea like a thrashing trout. Blue
arrows, boiling with fierce light, rip open the sky as she fights to keep her
head above the freezing water.
A
giant black-blue serpent swings up from the inky waves. It spreads its hood,
expands its ribs to expose devouring jaws.
Kip
bolted awake.
Shards
of ice crashed the floor. She jumped out of the sheets before a chunk hit her.
The black-blue serpent shot up from the mattress. His marble eyes darted just
as he lunged at her like a sword.
Stunned,
shaking, unable to draw a breath, she searched for the revolver under her
pillow. Hurry! With slippery hands, her body dripping as if the sea were
leaking from her flesh, her feet sliding on the wet floor, she found the gun.
Kip tightened her grip on the metal, narrowed her vision into a pinpoint, and
with razor-keen aim, she pulled the trigger. The serpent jerked and hit the
floor, spurting filmy white liquid in all directions. Again, she pulled trigger,
this time releasing a scream that knocked her back against the wall. She sucked
in a breath, fists still clenched. Angel Uriel blew a clean breeze through the
open window. Heart calming, refreshed, she rolled her head against the firm
plaster wall. Steady. Awake. Safe in Abasteron House. Was it Tuesday?
Wednesday?
On
the floor, the serpent twitched with spasms. There was no time to lose. She
reached into the night table drawer and removed a hatchet. For leverage, she
separated her feet, gripped the handle with both hands, raised her arms, and
slammed down the hatchet.
What
a cruel chop. The head flipped and landed at her feet. Another chop and she
separated the tail. Again the hatchet came down. Methodically, Kip joined the
tail at the serpent’s head, positioned the middle sections at both ends. It
shook violently. With a close of its gleaming fangs, the serpent convulsed and
finally lay dead.
Battle
won. She gathered sheets soaked with seawater, sand, and slime and dumped the dead
snake inside the bundle, then tied it with double knots. The eyelet hem of her
nightgown hung heavy. She wrung it out, grabbed the sack, and headed outside.
The
Atlantic rolled forth; it reminded her of rhythmic wave trains. How everlasting
the waves were, their sine wave patterns a muscular inexhaustible power.
Perhaps only God was mightier.
She
dragged the sack through the darkness to the far sand dunes and didn’t stop
until she reached a wide expanse dotted with sea grass. With claw-like fingers,
she dug a deep pit. Sudden winds blew her dark hair into her mouth—the strands
tangled between her teeth. Salt stung her tongue.
With
a groan, she heaved the sack into the pit. How many times had she buried the
serpents? For how many weeks, these wretched dreams, night after night. Months
now. Quickly she covered the hole with sand and sat back on her haunches. With
a huff, she patted the sand into a hard surface and walked away. No, she
wouldn’t look back. What for? The dream was dead and buried now. Until she
dreamed again.
Kip
walked home along the shore, sea spray on her cheeks. Full morning broke. Sun
ablaze, gulls flapped at the chin of sky. Abasteron House appeared small with
its evergreen shutters and peaked roof against the big sky. Was that a white
crane soaring over the roof? Maybe she’d pick some fresh sea lavender and fill
Abasteron House with shades of plum and violet. And she’d let the soft aromas
act as a balm for her thoughts.
Kip
climbed the hills to the beach path that lead to the house. The flagstones felt
warm against the soles of her feet. At the porch, each step gave her pause.
That white screen door stood ajar over a foot wide and hung perfectly still.
But the hinges squealed as if the wind were batting the door back and forth.
Her own shadow shifted. She watched it slip inside the doorway, yet she hadn’t
move a single finger. Who’s there? She licked her thirsty lips, made a
step back. Then another step. She grabbed the porch rail, a bad case of the
shakes overwhelming her. Tears mounted. She swallowed them back.
Kip
whipped herself around to face the sea. Her eyes wandered the soothing blues
and greens. She swept her vision across the shoreline. Almost immediately, she
spotted the sailor. “Good Morning!” Her voice cracked. She threw a wave even
though he hadn’t seen or heard her greeting. Certain she was fully awake now,
Kip saw this sailor as her guarantee she was back in the concrete world. Every
morning, rain or shine, the man trotted the beach in his navy shorts and
tee-shirt. That scoop of white sailor cap tilted perfectly to the right on his
head. Some mornings he’d see Kip in the garden and give her a wave as he
passed. What a smile. But not today. Today he was trotting up island, east to
west, head down.
Oddly,
the sky piled high with sudden clouds. Sailboats tossed on the horizon like
twisted handkerchiefs. Even the beach seemed to retreat in the face of that
ferocious surf heaving up sand and shells and driving the seabirds into fearful
circles.
The
shimmer off the sea swelled up like an old claw, long and suddenly greyed. Her
tears surfaced but did not fall. Kip entered the garden and filled her arms
with sea lavender.
Seven
thunders rolled up from the sea, but she did not hear them.
Review
By Kay
Lalone
I loved it from the
very beginning and all the way to the end
Paula took me on a
journey through Kip's dreams of angels and demons. Or were they Kip's dreams?
Great visual descriptive writing let me see Kip's paintings and let me
experience the dreams along with Raymond, a priest who just met Kip.
Toward the end of
the book, Raymond asks this question to a friend. "Do you think it's
possible for a dream, a dream that is so powerful, so full of desire that the
dream is capable of manifesting its elements into our world?"
It's a great
question. If you want to know the answer, I suggest you read Night Sea Journey by Paula Cappa.
I'm fascinated with
dreams and the supernatural, so this story fired my imagination.
Thanks, Paula for a
great read.
About the Author
Paula Cappa lives in the Northeast USA. She is a published short story
author in literary journals and e-zines (Fiction365,
Every Day Fiction, Smokelong Quarterly, Twilight Times, and others). As a
writer of news and features for several community newspapers, she gained a
respectable readership in New York and Connecticut. She works as a freelance
copy editor in advertising, business, and medical/pharmaceutical. She writes a
weekly fiction blog, Tales of Terror,
which features classic short stories of mostly 19th-century authors, with
commentary.
Night Sea Journey is Paula's first novel. Her second novel, The Dazzling Darkness, will
be released at the end of April 2013.
For further insights, you can read two interviews with the author (links
below).
Links
