Title: Birthright Bestowed
Author: Erika M Szabo
Series: Ilona The Hun Trilogy
Genre: Fantasy/Magical-Realism/Romance/Mystery/Urban
fantasy
Publisher: 5 Prince Publishing
Release
Date: October
18 2012
Edition/Format: Ebook and Print
"Ilona is an emergency room doctor, born
into an ancient Hun tribe which still exists hidden amongst us with its strict
and fiercely enforced rules. She doesn’t know much about her Hun heritage
besides legends, customs and rituals that she continues out of respect for her
parents whose sudden death ten years before devastated her. She plays her tune
on her birthday given to her by her grandmother. Elza – Ilona’s housekeeper - explains the
purpose of the tune is to let the elders know she had come to age. Her mother
didn’t have a chance to explain her inherited powers, but after her 29th
birthday when she is considered as an adult by Hun standards, she begins to
remember the forgotten instructions concealed as rhymes her mother was teaching
her since she was a small child. Ilona discovers she can heal with her bare
hands; she can rearrange the human body to its healthy state. This ability is
exciting as well as frightening. She is conflicted between having confidence in
her intelligence and inherited abilities while having no confidence as a woman.
Her insecurity created barriers which keep others out, and I also keep her
caged in. She’s been in love with her unsuspecting best friend Bela, when a
dashing stranger explodes into her life. The sudden magnetic feeling frightens
her and discovering evil in him doesn’t help either. A sinister dark man
appears Ilona connects his presence with the series of mysterious deaths around
her. Zoltan saves her life by jeopardizing his, which prompts Ilona to start
fitting the puzzle pieces together and discovering the ancient tribal secrets
that not only can change her future but the future existence of the Huns as
well".
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Author Bio:
I’ve been publishing Alternative
Medicine related books. I love healing as passionately as I love to read.
Growing up with a father who was a closet reader (having a macho image allowed
him to read only in secret which he shared with me after I caught him reading
my book ‘The lady of the camellias’ and he left a few teardrops on the pages)
he introduced me to many great books. The inspiration to write a novel came
from my daughter. I’m an avid reader, and she was yelling at me to stop whining
when I didn’t have anything to read. She said, “If you don’t have a book to
read, than write one”. The idea shocked me a little at first, because English
is my second language, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The history
of the Huns always fascinated me, they were my ancestors. I was playing with
the idea of writing a fantasy story peppered with historical facts, and then I
decided that it was a stupid idea after I started reading about how to write a
fiction book. 'I am not a literary genius, I have no idea how to create a good
story line or form characters and make up a plot.' I thought, but the idea
didn’t leave me alone. I kept adding events and dialogs in my head to Ilona’s
story. Not knowing how to do something properly had never prevented me from a
accepting a good challenge before, so I sat down by the computer and I began
writing. I've never been good at following rules or formulas, therefore I
discarded the instructions and I made up my own rules. I began writing Ilona's
story as a diary. 'Just for my own enjoyment, writing down the ideas that are
swirling in my head is far better than being hunted by them.' I thought. I kept
writing for months, and soon I realized that I never had so much fun doing
anything in my life before. Somehow the characters came to life on their own,
and they developed under my furiously typing fingers. Pretty soon I realized
that I wrote about four hundred pages already. I gave the manuscript to my
friends to read, and they urged me to publish it. I was elated when I received the
publisher’s review about my story that said “I want to give you my overall
impression of your work: You have a terrific writing style. You have obviously
done a significant amount planning and preparation in crafting your work. Your
prose is nicely written with details that capture the reader. Right from the
start your plot was very engaging. You do a nice job of slowly making your way
through the story with details and a certain voice that allows your reader to
really interact with the characters (who are all round and very nicely
developed). The greatest value in fiction, it seems to me, lies in what we can
learn about our own lives when we take time to analyze someone else’s — even if
that someone else is just a character in a story. Characterization is one of
the most important elements of any successful story. I always love it when I
leave a story feeling like I know the characters. This is true for your prose.
So many authors rush through their stories without really developing them. Not
you. Your book read like a movie in my mind. You have crafted a quality piece
of writing.”
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Excerpt:
I was dreaming.
In the dream I was about four or five with
pigtails, wearing a ruffled white dress. We were in a grocery store; I was
happily hopping and singing, holding onto my mother’s hand, delighted to be
with her as always. She smiled at me. Her hand was warm and silky, and her
lustrous dark reddish hair flowed to her mid-back. She had the deepest blue
eyes, framed by long lashes. Her eyes promised love and security. I admired her
and wanted to be with her all the time. To my childish disappointment, she was
busy for the biggest part of every day. When she could spend the whole day with
me, I enjoyed every moment of our time together. I was chattering away, happy
she was paying attention to me, only to me. I was telling her a silly story I’d
made up, when I saw an old woman fall in the middle of the aisle. I tore my
hand from mother’s grasp and ran over to the woman. She was wincing in pain,
lying on the floor. I felt my mother behind me.
“Momma, she is broken. I want to fix her!”
I looked up, hoping for her approval.
“All right, sweet pea, you know what to do.
Gather the wish in your core and concentrate on it. There you go. You’re doing
fine. Now, put your hands on her. Don’t be afraid, go ahead!” I heard my
mother’s velvety voice, and I felt her hand on my shoulder. As I touched the
woman’s hip, I felt warmth emanating from my fingers. A serene, satisfied
feeling washed over me.
I sat up in bed startled. My room was dark;
the digital clock blinked two in the morning. Whoa, where did that dream come
from? I whispered quietly. I fluffed my pillow, pulled the comforter up to my
chin and immediately fell back asleep.
J
The sun woke me around seven. It snuck
little fingers through the lace curtains, tickling my nose. I sneezed, yawned,
and then I stretched lazily under the silky lilac cover. It was a beautiful
Sunday morning in early September. The air was spicy with the aroma of ripened
fruits. I didn’t have to get up early; I had taken the day off. The birthday
girl should enjoy the luxury of sleeping in, I thought, as I rolled on my side,
trying to find a comfortable position to go back to sleep. I couldn’t. I
recalled my dream clearly and I wished I hadn’t woken up in the middle of it. I
was wondering how it might have continued. Perhaps I had healed that woman by
touching her. The thought made me smile.
I tossed and turned, trying to figure out
what made me feel so wide-awake and keenly aware. My dream had triggered this
feeling, I just knew it. A vague and nagging memory in the deep recesses of my
mind was trying to surface, yet I couldn’t pry it up close enough to remember.
I felt a strange yearning and excitement inside me. This notion was new to me;
usually I kept my emotions well under control. I tried to hush it, urging it to
leave me alone and let me savor the lazy morning, but I couldn’t. I tried to
repress the yearning which was relentlessly creeping up on me. It became
pressing, strong and nameless until I finally understood what it was.
I felt a deep urge to heal someone. I
thought about the unusual dream and I wondered:
I am a doctor. For me it
shouldn’t be strange wanting to heal people. This feeling was different from
the usual - your illness confirmed I’ll write the prescription – type. I had
this strange idea that by touching someone I could instantly wipe away all
their illness. Yeah, right! Like that’s ever going to happen. I wish it could
be that easy…. I played a little with the inconceivable notion. I tried to
figure out why I felt so excited. It couldn’t have been birthday jitters; those
days were long gone when I was looking forward to birthdays and gifts.
Celebrations became a nuisance rather than enjoyable events. I had resigned
myself to leading a quiet, single life, and being a loner.
Suddenly, my mother’s face swam in front of
my mind’s eye. Seeing her so clearly took me by surprise. We were celebrating
my ninth birthday. I saw everything so clearly, as if a movie were playing in
my mind. Mom was smiling and leaning toward me. I had a strong feeling that it
was something important she wanted to tell me, but my nine-year-old self just
didn’t pay much attention to what she said. The silly girl was eager to open
the presents.
“Remember, little one, your twenty-ninth
birthday will be the turning point in your life, you will be a grownup. You
will find out about your heritage and…”
“But Mo-o-m, I’m only nine years old!” I
cut her off angrily, eyeing the present table. “Can I go and open my presents?
Pleease!” I whined, tugging at her dress.
“Okay, go, but let me show you something
first,” she said. I was eager to find out what was in the big silver-wrapped
box, so I just nodded. I saw Mom pulling something small and shiny out of her
pocket.
“This necklace will be yours on your
twenty-ninth birthday, this is your heritage and represents…”
Why is she showing it to me now if she
won’t give it to me? I thought angrily, and I turned toward the table loaded
with presents while she was still talking. From the corner of my eye, I noticed
a small golden medallion hanging on a leather string between her extended
fingers. It was just a necklace, of no meaning to me, so I turned and ran. She
was still talking as I left, but my mind was already on the bike I was hoping
for.
I wish I had paid more attention back then.
She had mentioned the importance of my heritage… and that the necklace
represented… What? I couldn’t remember anything else, no matter how hard I
tried. It must be important; her message is trying to emerge from the fog
filling my brain. Her message must be in my subconscious memory; she was still
talking when I turned away from her. I speculated. I tried every method I knew
of to recall that memory. I tried to picture Mom in different places, waiting
for the memory to click. I tried to picture us in my old room; I recalled other
birthdays when I was kid…… but it was no use. She never repeated that sentence,
and she never had a chance to give me the necklace. She didn’t live to see my
twenty-ninth birthday. Oh Momma, you promised to give me that necklace today, I
miss you so much! I sobbed softly into my pillow.
Going back to sleep became impossible, and
the nagging feeling returned with full force. It started to annoy me. I tried
to shrug it off, yet it kept badgering me. I knew it would haunt me
relentlessly unless I tried to relax and stop obsessing about it. I threw the
covers off, and walked barefoot to the bathroom, deep in thought. I took a
wrong turn in the hall, opening the linen closet door by mistake. The change of
rooms didn’t set in just yet. Sweet and creamy chocolate, what a dope! I
mumbled, and oriented myself toward the bathroom.
During my shower, the nagging feelings grew
stronger and stronger. By the time I’d finished drying my hair, my nerves were
on edge. I tried to order myself to act normal, to just go about my day as
usual. I went down to the kitchen, trying to make my swirling thoughts quiet
down, telling myself to just enjoy the day. Frustrated, I realized it was not
going to be an easy task – this time I couldn’t control my emotions as I had
before.
I found my housekeeper Elza in the kitchen,
busy making breakfast. Her long auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun. She
was wearing a gray uniform with the crisp white apron pressed and wrinkle free.
I had always hated that darned uniform, yet she insists on wearing it and she
ends our countless arguments over it every time by saying, ‘I am your
housekeeper. I like who I am, and that’s that!’ It makes no difference to her
that I am the boss – she always does as she pleases.
I tried to force my disapproval and nagging
thoughts to subside. Elza seemed preoccupied; she turned away quickly when I
reached for her hand. She knew I could read her feelings by touching her. She
surprised me, but I respected her wish. Yet it bugged me that she was trying to
hide something from me. To feel that strong yearning inside, and then be
emotionally rejected by my own housekeeper, started affecting me more than I
could tolerate. I just hoped that after prayer and breakfast everything would
return to normal.
Ema, Elza’s daughter and Rua, my
groundskeeper, joined us in the living room to begin our usual Morning Prayer.
The role of leading the ceremony had fallen on my shoulders ever since my
mother had died. I never fully understood why I had to do it. After my mother
was gone, Elza insisted that I continue the True Hun tradition, so I obeyed to
please her. When I had pressured her to give me an explanation, she always
clammed up. She said I would find out when the time was right. There goes
nothing, again. I don’t understand all the secrecy about being a Hun. What the
big fuss is about is beyond me. I hoped the awful feeling would stop so that I
could enjoy the day. Hopefully, concentrating on the ceremony will help me to
calm down, I thought.
I lit the sacred candles infused with
herbs, and I placed it in silver candleholder on the small round table. The
ancient wooden figurines of male and female holding hands stood between the
candles, with our delicately carved Turul bird. The statues were small; they
had a deep, warm brown color. My family had owned them for who knows how long.
The rich shiny brown color came from the hot herbal tea poured over them every
morning by Elza, and many before her, for generations. The bird held widely
stretched wings over the male and female figurines. Beside the statues was an
ancient, dark leather-bound book. It contained the names and life stories of my
ancestors.
Thank you to everyone who stopped by my review today. I hope you enjoyed the excerpt from Birthright Bestowed.
My Review =
MUST READ
I give this book **** stars
Birthright Bestowed is about a young adult called
Ilona that lives by traditions from being a True Hun with a 'gift'.
For the whole of her life Ilona has been kept in darkness of the
surroundings she has been brought up and the gift she has inherited,
it is only now that she has reached 29, which is known as the first
stage of adulthood, that she will discover her capabilities and what
her future entails . There are three main stages of adulthood 29,40
and 60 at these ages Ilona will be able to learn more about her gift
and the life going on around her.
Ilona was an interesting and amazing character to
read about and discover. As well as Zolten who has captured my heart
throughout.
I loved how the book was very informative and
detailed with each event that occurred .I also like how on each
chapter it gave you a word with a powerful meaning that would draw
you in before you even started reading the next chapter.
My favourite parts of the book are when the
chapters were based around Zolten, Elza and Ema's point of view
giving you more of an understanding of what was really going on in
there lives.
I would recommend this book as it is a
beautiful,traditional and wonderful book with a mysterious and
romantic twist all the way though that keeps you on your feet.
