Aveline: Daughters of Tara, #1

By Leah Connelly

Aveline and Emmaline did everything together.  That all came to a halt right before their sixteenth birthday, when a stranger attacked the twins in the woods, tied them each to a tree, and left them to die. Only Aveline survived.

 

Out of equal parts survivor's guilt and desperation, Aveline returns to the scene for answers. But one answer leads to more questions when she discovers a magical connection to some of the forest trees.

 

Then there's the encounter with Moncreiffe O'Leary, a self-proclaimed druid and bard whom she met while attending his lecture with her best friend Collen and his handsome older brother Gareth. Moncreiffe's reaction to Aveline's questions are truly puzzling. And things only get more confusing as she uncovers more mysteries, including a shocking family secret (or two).

 

Prepare to become engrossed in Aveline's journey as she deals with the grief of losing her sister, the hassle of an overbearing father, the discomfort of being in the middle of a love triangle, and the utter disbelief and frustration of having a supernatural power. And settle in as she tries to untangle the mysteries surrounding her very existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah Connelly
• Release date: Jun 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223498124

Leah Connelly

Leah Connelly is a writer, pianist, and piano teacher living in the metro Detroit area. She's an avid tree-hugger and lover of plants and animals.  Aveline is Leah's debut novella, which started as a novel in 2016 for Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month).

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Thank you to the Charleston Creative Writing Group - especially Tabitha, Matt, Deana, and Nancy - who provided me with valuable feedback and encouragement I needed to keep going on this project.

Thank you to Matt Perry (not that one), who got involved with the creative writing group and told me he was writing a book, and then published it, and offered his help and encouragement for me to finish mine. I finally did it!

Thank you to my family members and anyone else who read my early drafts.

Thank you to my beta readers for all your valuable feedback.

Thank you to Nanowrimo for existing. Without it, I may never have attempted to write any novel.

Thank you to Ken Connelly, Shauna Snyder, Stephanie Robinson, Cheryl Houck, and Jason Webber, my current and former Patreon Patrons.

Nancy Turner, my 7th grade English teacher from East Bank Junior High School - You told me to find you when I published my first book. I don’t know where you are, but maybe these words will find you. I haven’t forgotten!

Devynn - My alpha reader and kindred spirit. Your help was invaluable! Thank you so much!

Dad, Patti, and Grandma - Thank you for your unyielding love and support for me and my endeavors.

Lucia and Asta - Thank you for being the delightful yous that you are.

Chris - Thank you for being my last-minute editor and for bringing joy, inspiration, and love back into my life, and for all your support.

Me - Thank you for (eventually) believing your work was good enough to publish, and for doing the hard work.

1.

Aveline breathed deeply as the fresh breeze blew her hair around her face, same as it was doing to the branches around her. One of them released a cluster of red-orange leaves that sailed to the ground, joining the others on the shallow pile. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be here again.

She hadn’t been alone in the woods since the incident. That was two years ago. She hadn’t been truly alone in nature since the night she lost her sister. She had missed her sun and clouds and rocks and grass and trees and wilderness. She had missed communing with them regularly, as she and Emmaline had done on their daily walks. Without that connection to nature, Aveline was lost, irritable, sad, and weepy — although she’d been told these were normal signs of depression. Nothing healed her heart and mind better than a walk in the forest.

More than anything, she missed her sister. She refused to visit Emmaline’s grave. Her sister was here, among the trees. Not in the ground under a heavy rock.

In the past year, when Aveline would attempt to go for a hike or a morning walk, her plans were thwarted by her father. If she said she wanted to go to a park, he went with her, always hovering, always watching, in case some new danger arose. Without Emmaline there to mediate, Aveline found going anywhere with her father oppressive.

She reached the clearing off to the side of the path where Emmaline had spotted a nest of baby robins, with the mother lying dead beside it. One of the babies had a bloody beak.

Aveline closed her eyes and remembered.

She remembered Emmaline bending to the ground to take a closer look, and being caught from behind by a man with strong, hairy arms. Aveline tried to run for help, but the man caught her too. He tied both she and her sister to the trunk of a tree, Emmaline to an ash tree, and Aveline to an oak. It was a red oak, her favorite, because of how red its leaves always turned that time of year, the deep orange-red that was her favorite color.

She remembered watching and screaming while he beat and scratched Emmaline, first with his hands, and then with a stick from the ground. With Emmaline nearly unconscious, Aveline begged him to stop.

She remembered the man did not listen.

She remembered every blow and scratch and fist across her own face, delivered to her own body, and every tear that trickled down, and the taste of iron in her mouth. Aveline tried to remember the man’s face. She remembered the pain — the searing, the screaming, and the crying — and his large hands with stubby fingers. But she could not remember his face.

Still remembering, Aveline picked up a stick — smaller than the stick he used — and grazed it over her cheeks. It only stung a little. Then she scratched her arms with the same stick. She could almost feel the grief releasing from her skin with the sensation that felt surprisingly good. She dug the branch deep into her forearm, dragging it hard until she broke skin. She leaned against the tree behind her for support and drew a breath, preparing for the next blow. As soon as her hand touched the tree, she watched the fresh cut on her arm disappear. Amazed, and somewhat disbelieving, Aveline dragged the branch across her other arm, drawing blood, making it as deep as she could stand. She was intensely aware of her heart pumping blood through her body. The current she had felt wasn’t just from the tree now — it was inside of her. Wincing, she touched a branch above her head. Again, the wound — and the pain — faded, as if it hadn’t been there. The few remaining leaves still clinging to the branch shriveled and fell on the ground next to Aveline’s feet. Overpowering adrenaline flooded her system.

Taking in a jagged breath, Aveline pressed against the tree trunk with her fingertip. Another current trickled through her body. She rested her hand lightly on the tree and this time, she experienced a stronger, more energizing surge. When she moved her hand, its outline left a dull, gray imprint on the trunk.

Aveline repeated the process with another tree — the one Emmaline had been tied to. Nothing happened. She went to the tree next to it, a sycamore. Nothing happened. She went to the next tree, another oak