Witch Song (Witch Song #1)

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Brusenna is the last. 

All the other witches have been captured, their songs stolen and twisted from harmony and growth into chaos and death. She alone must stand against an evil much older and darker than anything she could ever imagine—an evil every witch before her has failed to vanquish. 

In that, Brusenna must be the first.

Click to read the Reader Guide.
Click to download the Sales Sheet
Click to download the Press Kit

Purchase links:

Witch Song Reviews:

"In WITCH SONG, Amber Argyle makes a riveting debut, creating a fresh new world full of wonder, peril, and splendor. I found WITCH SONG to be positively engrossing from the first page to the last. I'm convinced that this is just the first book in what will be a long and prosperous career!" David Farland, NYT Bestselling 

"Witch Song was a rich and compelling fairytale of magic and dark controlling forces, that gives a unique twist to witchcraft and witches, in general. It was powerful and interesting. Argyle's ability to create a world in which the power of song is used to create magic, is not only masterful but brilliantly clever." ~Suz, Soul Unsung

I can honestly say that I haven't gotten this lost in a fantasy world since the Harry Potter series. Witch Song was so unbelievably outstanding, that I'm having a hard time translating my thoughts and feelings into a sufficient review. Amber Argyle for me, has earned herself a rank equivalent to the best fantasy fiction authors of this decade.” ~Cory, Antidrug Reads 

It is rare to find books that immediately sweep you into their world, plunging you head first through a tale filled with intensity so real you can feel it. These are the books I crave - the stories I seek & find once in a blue moon; such is Witch Song.” ~Author Ashley Knight

“An engrossing story peopled with colorful races and far off places await you in Witch Song, an adventure that will sweep you from the daily grind and deposit you on the other side of your imagination . . . Those readers who love books by Shannon Hale and Aprilynne Pike will enjoy Witch Song.” Christy Dorrity, Syracuse Islander

Witch Song is a debut with an engrossing world full of magic, adventure and romance. It's a story that fascinated me with its unique witch lore and rich world building, and introduced me to some great in-depth characters.” ~Katie, Mundie Moms

“Ms. Argyle’s story of a young witch’s journey through dangerous lands during even more dangerous times held me utterly mesmerized. Witch Song was Bewitchingly Beautiful and the tempo of the story sang to me long after I had finished it.”~Kristi Stern, The Book Faery

First page

Brusenna’s straw-colored hair felt as hot as a sun-baked rock. She was sticky with sweat—sweat that trickled down her spine and made her simple dress cling to her. Her every instinct begged her to run from the glares sticking her like wasp stings. But she’d already put off her trip to the market for too long as it was.

The merchant finished wrapping the spools of thread in crinkling brown paper. “Twelve upice,” Bommer said sourly.

A ridiculous price—no doubt made worse by the drought. Had Brusenna been anyone else, she could’ve bartered it down to half that. But she wasn’t anyone else. And even though the villagers only suspected, it was enough. Careful not to touch her, the man’s hand swallowed the coins she dropped in it. She wondered what marvelous things he ate to flesh out his skin that way. Things like the honey-sweetened cakes she could still smell in her clothes long after she’d left the marketplace.

As Bommer mumbled and counted his money, Brusenna gathered the packages tightly to her chest and hurried away. She hadn’t gone five steps when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. Fear shot through her veins like a thousand nettles.

Here, no one ever touched her.

With a wince, she craned her neck back to see the merchant looming over her. “You tryin’ to cheat me, chanter?”

This close, the smell of his stale body odor hit her hard. She swallowed the urge to gag. Her mind worked furiously. She’d counted twice. It’d been right. “I gave you twelve,” she managed.

He yanked her around, grabbing her other arm and bringing her face next to his. She cringed as his large paunch pressed against her. Somewhere, a baby squalled. “You think I can’t count? That it, huh?”

Brusenna tried to answer, but her mouth locked up. She should’ve been more careful. She should’ve stayed until he’d finished counting her coins. But she’d been too eager to escape. He shook her, his dirty nails digging into her skin. Her packages tumbled from her hands and hit the ground.

Taking shallow breathes and arching away from him, she squirmed, desperate to be free. “Please,” she said, finally finding her voice. “Let me go!”

He laughed, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. “No. I don’t think so. Not this time. You know what the punishment is for stealing?”

The stocks. Brusenna swallowed hard. Trapped for an entire day with the whole village taunting her. They’d throw things. Rotten food. And worse. She looked for help in the crowd that had eagerly gathered around them. Satisfaction shone plain on every face. She was suddenly angry with her mother for letting her face this alone. For refusing to come on the grounds that someone might recognize her.

“I didn’t steal,” she whispered, already knowing no one would listen.

“You callin’ me a liar?” Tobacco and spit splattered her face. He backhanded her. For a moment, her vision flashed white, then black with stars, then red. She tasted blood. Her eyes burned with tears. She clamped her teeth shut against the pain, refusing to cry out.

Bommer half-dragged her toward the center of the square, where two thin blocks of wood were connected with a hinge. Three holes, one for her neck and two for her wrists. Remnants of rotten food, manure, and even rocks littered the base.

The sight of the stocks shocked Brusenna into action. She squirmed and struggled.

His hand on the back of her neck, Bommer shoved her throat into the largest, center hole. She tried to rear back. He pushed harder. The wood cut into her windpipe. She couldn’t breathe.


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