“I saw the dead king…burn,” Raphere whispered to the voices.
“Why would I see such a thing, if not to prevent it.”
since spilling her blood before the Teller of Destiny, Raphere has
tried to prove she is not like her mother, a dark sorceress. Some call
her Jivasivar–savior; others, assassin. One thing is clear: everyone has
a plan for Raphere. Few seem to care about what is best for her, only
what she might gain or cost them.
the handsome mercenary, who fascinates and frustrates her, has secret
plans he doesn’t wish to share. Ever watchful in the shadows, Rant Pae
spies on her–probably for her mother, Verisa. Does Rant Pae wish to draw
Raphere closer with his distance? If so, he is succeeding.
for her purpose Raphere embarks upon a journey to find the white
wanderer Tranquia and the Jivan Tome–the Divine Poem which promised
Raphere’s emergence, centuries ago. She must discern friend from foe as
all strive to manipulate her for their own designs. Does she have the
conviction to be the Jivasivar or is she merely a pawn in a fight for
the survival of both ancients and kings?
I've been on a fantasy kick for awhile now, so I'd hoped that this book would provide me with some major fantastical action. Other than its genre however, I had no real idea what this book was about when I first started, I kind of just wanted to surprise myself.
From Continue starts off in Raphere's point of view. Raphere is a young girl, about sixteen, who at first reminded me of a naive twelve-year-old. But as the story went on Raphere did manage to grow up and stand up for herself. She just needs some time for you to warm up to her. Raphere is the Jivasivar, however I have no idea what that means. I know that it's important, but none of the limitations, expectations, or rules of the magical elements of this story were ever given a good description. I felt more than a little lost when I was reading.
The beginning of this book, much like the magical aspect of the story, was really confusing. It took me a good chunk of the book just to get my bearings. It didn't really help that the names were all similar to average words that could easily get lost in a sentence like Rant, Continue and Nerve.
Despite how lost I was at the start, I found myself enjoying Raphere's journey towards the middle of From Continue. Raphere's mother, Verisa, is introduced and sometimes has her own point of view, which showed how twisted the woman really was, and the love interest, Rant Pae, got his own parts, too.
Rant Pae was an interesting phenomena for me to read about. While I was initially creeped out because he'd slept with Raphere's mother, and started a little something with Raphere, I found myself enjoying his character more than all of the others. He was more grounded than the others and he actually felt like someone you would meet in any fantasy novel. However, I didn't like that the book never really told his age. I kept picturing him as almost 30, but that just seems really odd considering he's lusting after a teenager...
The ending of the story was definitely the best part of the plot. Things were finally happening and people were actually doing things, instead of just discussing. I think the last half of the book made this story.
All in all, the plot of the story did pick up in the second half of the book and Raphere manages to grow on you once you get there. I'd recommend this book for anyone who's looking for a short fantasy read.
Teller of Destiny, Book One: From Continue Excerpt:
pitched earlier by her mother’s visitors, were scattered about the cottage
grounds. More would appear tomorrow and the next day. Raphere would never sleep
out on the grass with the visitors so close, and it was a long hike back to her
friends. The closer to the house she came, the smaller her steps became; a mere
snail’s crawl by the time she approached the wooden porch.
She tensed as
the first step gave way to a creaking snap under her foot. Holding her breath,
she jumped the remaining two. Like a bold but stealthy thief, she placed her
hand carefully on the latch and pushed the door. It opened.
gingerly into the room then closing the door behind her, she was suddenly happy
to have waited so long before returning. The moon poked its head into the
window, shining ghost light upon the cluttered table. Catching the light,
pewter glistened and tin reflected white. Pints of ale and overturned mugs
littered the oak table—evidence of a lusty drunken visit by friends she would
her previous caution and fetched some water. She decided to start with the
table and rolled up her sleeves as she approached the mess. With a quiet grace
that came naturally to her when alone in the cottage, she began clearing away
the filthy stains and crumbs. The acrid stench of spilt ale weaved a way to her
nose, wrinkling it. Picking up the remaining mugs and placing them in the tub,
she pivoted around to view her accomplishment and absently dried her hands on
their hovel could be, she admitted wryly. A half smile flitted across her oval
ducked behind a cloud and darkness filled the room once again. Out of the
shadows a figure moved, detaching itself from the inky blackness. She swallowed
hard. The memory of swirling grey clouds crushing Tedric’s massive body flashed
before her. Instinctively, she touched her wristband.
Like a cat in
grace but a nighthawk in menacing calculation, the dark figure fairly swooped
toward the table where the clutter had been. The moon was rescued from its
cloudy prison and shone suddenly into the room, casting blue dusk upon the
monstrosity, Raphere caught her breath. Instead lazy, sardonic eyes entrapped
her. Gray irises suited this man. Though mesmerizing, they veiled an impersonal
hardness she sensed. She broke the enchantment, moving to the visitor’s distinct
cheekbones that framed his face and downward still, to a prominent, firm jaw.
Under her regard his jaw tensed; he frowned.
Like a statue
she stood, gawking at him. Her heart pounded but the beat was oddly different
this time. She was not afraid.
something else entirely. But maybe this feeling was equally dangerous. Her
breath caught in her throat. What if he were an assassin?
appear evil, she dismissed. Murderers were wicked and ugly, their features
distorted by the darkness that crept about their souls. Her hand fluttered to a
lock of hair and tugged upon it. He owned no characteristics of a cutthroat.
Maybe a thief?
crossed his arms over his broad chest and didn’t seem inclined to chat. And, by
Fate, she held no ability to speak at the moment, even if she wanted to. But
look she could.
He must be
very comely, she guessed, having never seen one like him before this night. The
others caused her flesh to creep. But then she remembered her beautiful mother.
moment, she wished for Verisa’s grace and ease—no mortal-minded ever flustered
her mother. Raphere desperately wished to speak and searched for something to
say. Her face grew warm. She didn’t want this one to think her an idiot. Her
eyes nearly crossed with effort as she tried to think of some clever phrase.
The silence became unbearable. Indecision pestered her then dread as his
eyebrow lifted higher and higher.
handsome?” she finally blurted out; a horrible whimper followed. Almost
imperceptibly, his eyes widened but resumed their lazy regard just as subtly.
Raphere?” he lightly countered, making fun of her. He said her name so
smoothly; his voice like butter. She’d expected it to be that way…
is it hurt?”
mouth gaped open. This one was shrewd. He’d caught her slight gesture. Not a
thieving thug. A mercenary? A spy?
steps, the man advanced around the table while he studied her. Calmly, he
waited for her answer, the acknowledgement that refused to leave her lips. His
hand rested naturally on the hilt of his sword. Fingers of an old habit idly
tapped upon leather.
thought it might be you,” he said.
ridiculousness of his statement jolted Raphere into finding her tongue. “No,
she’s not,” she snapped.
swordsman’s hip came to rest on the table, his body closing her in as the
moonlight played upon his strong features. “Shall I call her—?”
But his words
fell on deaf ears. With the grace of a doe, she sprinted. Swiftly, he grabbed
her arm and jerked her to a halt.
She gasped as
he turned her wrist upward and her woven bracelet slipped. She winced. Her
blood pounded under the old wound. Her knees began to shake, just as they did
when she was young.
His words drifted into silence while he examined her exposed wrist in the
moonlight. He pulled her closer to him and breathed in deeply, sniffing her
hair. “You smell of the deep woods.”
get away, she hissed, “Let go my arm, mutant.”
eyelid twitched. Steel entered his gray eyes, though his hand went limp,
releasing her. Raphere bolted past him and up the stairs; skirt gathered in her
About the Author
A. H. De Carrasco embarked upon the writer’s journey at a young age,
writing illustrated fan fiction for her grade school classmates’
favorite shows. Several decades later, she is publishing her collection
of fantasy novels for teenagers and adults. Lately, she writes beside a
waterfall as her husband tests his goggles and flippers. Her cats look
on in displeasure from the screen door, but purr happily when she writes
at her desk.