ASH AND ANGEL By Taylen Carver
The Scorched Lands Sage, Story 1.0
Contemporary Dystopian Fantasy
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In a world of ash, an angel longs for freedom—can a firebird be her salvation?
In the crumbling ruins of Tangier, Perrin—an angel—has survived the brutal world of viejos and street gangs by hiding her light and fighting for every breath. But when a strange firebird named Michael crashes into her life, she is forced to confront the impossible dreams she has kept buried: escape, freedom, and finding the family she thought lost forever.
Michael comes from the forest sanctuary of La Mancha, where life flourishes in a world ravaged by ash. Drawn to Perrin by her resilience and mystery, he offers her a chance at a new beginning—but to Perrin, freedom seems impossible.
Can she trust a firebird with promises of salvation, or will she be doomed to remain a prisoner in the ash forever?
This novelette is part of The Scorched Lands Saga, which is a spin-off series from Taylen’s Magorian & Jones series:
1.0 Ash and Angel
… with more to come!
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Taylen Carver’s Super-Bundle
Contemporary fantasy, dystopian, fantasy.
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Excerpt
EXCERPT FROM ASH AND ANGEL
COPYRIGHT © TAYLEN CARVER 2024
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Tangier, Morocco.
She was still groggy and just starting to put together where she was, when the idea slid into her mind that she wasn’t alone, and that wasn’t the way this usually went.
The idea solidified into conviction as her mind sluggishly compiled clues, while she drifted between sleep and hazy consciousness. She was on the roof. This was the new building. She didn’t like this roof. One wall on the south side had fallen in onto the roof itself, leaving a pile of big stones and rubble, and taking up much of the roof space.
She heard the sound again, and this time, it registered properly. A soft wheezing cough. From behind her head.
There was someone else on the roof with her.
Perrin tried to open her eyes, but lethargy kept them closed. Even the thought that someone else was nearby did not rouse any emotion in her. She was still tired. Too tired…
The next time she woke, she had the strength to open her eyes. It was night. Behind the clouds, the moon had risen, making the low clouds glow with a sickly yellow light. Most of the night had gone, then. That was usual.
She froze as a series of spluttering coughs sounded somewhere behind her head. They were followed by a ragged, gasping breath, filled with harsh wheezing. It sounded painful.
Now she remembered the earlier discovery—that someone else was here, too. Were they like her? Lying on a thin mattress that had been tossed up here at the same time la bande blanche had dragged them up the worn stone steps to the roof?
Curiousity roused her. She found she had the strength—just!—to roll over on the dirty mattress onto her hands and knees. She shook out her wings, for they had been underneath her, and her shoulders ached from the pressure on the joints.
There was nothing behind her but rubble and the gap where the wall had once been, bracketed by the two corners. Long ago, when people had cared about such things, the outside of the building had been painted yellow. Now the yellow was faded but showing here and there among the rubble, looking bright in the sick moonlight.
The cough sounded again, softly, as though it was being smothered. By a hand? But now she had the direction. It was beneath the rubble, which defied sense.
The idea of crawling across the grit and stones did not appeal, so Perrin forced herself to her feet. They had put her next to the little shack and she used the wall to prop herself up, while she examined the pile of rubble in the yellow light.
She kept her left hand on the wall, and picked up the chain with her right, then moved around the perimeter of the roof a step at a time. Movement helped. She could feel some strength coming back to her, but she kept her hand on the wall anyway, while she approached the pile of stones.
From this side of the roof she could see that the wall had been reinforced with the iron that had the angled patterns on it. That hadn’t stopped the wall from collapsing…or perhaps something more powerful than iron had overcome the construction? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time a gang war had destroyed walls.
But the iron had bent with the weight of the falling wall, and now there was an oepn space beneath it. She crept toward the shadowed opening as the coughing rattled once more. She’d heard coughing like that before. It came from too much dust in the lungs.
“Mrhban?” Perrin ventured.
Silence. Even the coughing stopped.
She dropped the chain and crouched, propping herself up with her hands on the gritty roof. “Ant marid.” You’re sick.
“¿Sabes español?” Very soft. Cautious. Male.
“I know Spanish,” she said in Spanish.
Movement at the edge of the shadows sent her skittering backward.
“No, no, I won’t hurt you!” he said quickly. He appeared at the edge of the crawl space. His face was white in the moonlight. A square jaw. Black eyes, or just shadowed and daylight would reveal their true colour. Dark, curly hair.
Something fluttered behind him.
Wings. Perrin drew in a sharp, startled breath, delight spearing her.
But they weren’t white…
He began to cough again. This time the cough got hold of him and squeezed. He hacked, wheezed and bellowed, unable to draw a full breath. It didn’t surprise her when he sank to the ground and lay still, his breath fast and shallow, one arm lying uselessly before him.
