About North Storm
Written by Willa Okati
107 pages / 46500 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-235-5, 1-60370-235-0
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
North has been rowing for two weeks. He's come all the way from his village across the sea to the grand citta to learn how to harvest the giant clams that have begun to show up in the waters by his village, and the learn how to be a Man Hand.
Storm is at the top of his game. He's one of the best clam divers in the citta, he's well-known, well-liked and rich. And he's agreed to teach North the dangerous job of harvesting the clams, and the pleasurable job of being a Man Hand. It's just too bad that the two of them clash from the moment they first meet.
Is it possible their animosity hides something else? Just as the two men begin to explore that concept, North is stolen and Storm must rescue him. Will he get to North in time?
Give this fantasy set in a water world a try.
Review
Alexa Snow, author of Clear Cut and Sleeping Stone, writes:
When North travels from his small seaside village to the Citta del'Acqua, it's not because he wants to explore the capitol of his world; he has two goals, in fact. The first is to learn to dive for the large clams that are harvested for their meat and the rare prils they contain. The second is to be trained as a Man Hand, who can in turn teach others to give sexual pleasure. He's arranged to learn under the guidance of Storm, an experienced diver and certified Master Hand. It isn't until after his arrival at the citta that North discovers Storm isn't all he claims to be... and it isn't until some time later that he discovers that Storm is also much more than meets the eye. Together, the two men find that they have more in common than they'd ever have imagined -- a need for each other.
The author of this story has a true gift for creating characters that readers fall in love with almost immediately, and North and Storm are no exceptions. The world they live in is similar enough to our own so as not to seem totally alien, yet different enough to be exotic and fascinating, and the writing is accomplished and a joy to read. It's easy to lose oneself in this story, and a complete delight.
Sample
For someone who had been raised on the sea, North was beginning to hate the sight of it. Blue waters, green, aqua, all of them stretching as far as his eyes could see. He'd been rowing for two weeks now, the winds too calm for his small sail to pick up much of a breeze to help propel him forward.
Lucky for him, then, that he'd almost arrived at his destination.
Just ahead, North could see the tall stone turrets and walkways of the Citta del'Acqua, the massive capitol of his world. There were other boats not too far away, fishermen dangling rods over their sides and glancing up in interest at North, scruffy from his fortnight's travel and pale with exhaustion.
"Ho!" one of them shouted, his voice carrying across the water. "Where are you bound, boy?"
"I'm no boy!" North fired back automatically. True, he looked younger than his years, but he'd passed boyhood five years back, and was fully an adult. He hated it when people thought him younger than he was.
"Oh, oh, a temper he has, a fine temper!" The fisherman and his cronies laughed. Still others lifted their heads to watch. "Well, firebrand, where are you going? Come to see the sights of the citta?"
North sailed in a little closer, careful not to lose control of his small craft and bump into one of the fishing boats. "I'm looking for the master clamsmen," he said, once he didn't have to shout. "The divers. Can you tell me where to find them?"
The fishermen found this idea to be hilarious. "A boy from the country, come to be a diver?" One of them hooted. "Boy, have you ever been deeper than eight feet below the surface of the water?"
North stiffened. "I'm not a boy. And yes, I have been further down. Fifteen feet, last I counted."
"You'd have to go a distance more to hunt the clams," the fisherman said, his weathered face crinkling in amusement. "What are you really doing here, anyway? Run away from home, did you, boy?"
North's jaw tightened. "Just tell me where I can find the divers," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll be on my way, then."
"Why, when this is so much more fun?" The fisherman gestured toward his boat. "Come on, we've a spare rod and reel. You could help us out with the days' work, and we'd split the catch evenly. Give you a little money to help you through your first night here. Plenty of wine, song, and women, eh?" He winked and splashed his oar into the water, to the great amusement of his mates.
North shook his head. "I prefer men. And I'd rather not stay and fish." His back was still bristling from their calling him boy. "Do you know where the divers are, or not?"
"Well!" The fisherman drew himself upright, as if taking offense at North's rejection of his offer. "There's no need to get all hoity-toity with me, young man. Of course I know where the divers are, but why should I tell you? You haven't earned the right to the knowledge yet."
North sighed. If this was the way they operated in the city, he'd just as soon go home. But he couldn't, could he? He'd come to the citta for two reasons: one, to learn how to dive for the giant clams that could move and had bizarrely migrated to his small village of barely four hundred, and two, to learn how to be a Man Hand, one of those who taught others how to give sexual pleasure. And how could he teach if he didn't know himself?
"Fine," he said, taking out his own rod and reel. "If I catch a fish for you, will you be happy then? Will you tell me where to find what I'm looking for?"
The fishermen nudged each other, grinning. "A big fish," their leader clarified. "Larger than my hand, and thicker than my arm. None of this penny-ante stuff for us, thank you. Then we'll send you on your way."
"Good," North said as he reached into his nearly empty bait bucket and pulled out a scrap of dead fish innards from the last meal he'd caught. "Storm is waiting for me. Or at least his letter said he was supposed to be."
The fisherman's jaw dropped. "S -- storm?" he asked after a moment, voice wobbling. "You're supposed to report to Storm?"
"Why?" North cast his line. "Is there more than one?" He grinned wickedly at the fisherman, who looked completely taken aback, his mouth moving in a useless motion up and down. "No worries. I'll be sure to tell him what good care you took of me."
He laughed to himself, softly, as the fisherman began to curse underneath his breath. No, indeed. He was no callow boy to be played with.