by: Zena Shapter
Genre: YA Science Fantasy
Release Date: May 15, 2023
Publisher: MidnightSun Publishing
Don’t go out onto the lake. Wyann trees search the shallows to spear passing prey with their roots. Giant water-ants hunt anything that moves on the water-skin. Sala’s village survives hidden behind a wall of poisonous ivy, because everyone don’t go out onto the lake.
But when her village refuses to listen to sense, and continues squeezing beautiful pond-bred ‘keeiling’ fish to death for their precious saliva oils, Sala has no choice. She will risk it all to prove herself one last time, else leave everything behind for the dark shaded swamps beneath the towering hillfarms of Palude.
At least that’s the plan before a strange comet crosses the night sky, throwing her and her pet pointer into a race through wyann-infested swampland to unearth long-hidden truths and stir rivalries into a terrifying conflict set to change the world of Palude forever. Sala must do whatever it takes to face the truth of who she to save her village, to save her family, to save herself.
If only they had listened.
Age range 13 to 18
‘When Dark Roots Hunt is a great read - fresh, action-packed and utterly compelling. I loved it.’ — Ian Irvine, author of The Gates of Good and Evil series
‘Shapter has created an immersive, fantastical world with tension poised to snap at any moment. I couldn’t put it down.’ — USA Today bestselling author Dionne Lister, author of The Circle of Talia
So why does she persist with the idea that milking mature keei out on the lake is the only way forward? Yes, mature keei produce far more saliva than keeilings, which her world uses for fuel; but she probably only wants to go out there because she loves the majestic wild keei that swim deep in the lake.
Although sometimes Sala feels like she doesn’t belong, the reason she persists is because all any of us can do is be true to ourselves, try to make a difference, and pursue what we believe in – and she believes she has a good idea. Some people have to be shown a good idea before they can actually see it, so Sala will risk everything to try and prove herself one last time, else leave everything behind for the towering hillfarms of Palude, and the dark shaded swamps below.
At least that’s the plan before a comet crosses the night sky and everything goes wrong. A part of her will wish she’d never said a word. The other part will experience an adventure of a lifetime. She will become, and she will belong.
Chapter 1
No matter how gently I unlatch our cabin door and ease it open, it’s always too loud; especially when I’m the only one awake in our soundless sleeping village. Ancient hinges groan, then give a final creak so sharp they could sever the antennae off a water-ant across the lake. My father’s sleep-breathing shifts, lightens. I wince and stop moving. The mudskipper bag in my hand swings.
My furry black pointer Spyke sniffs at it. Fresh mudskippers. He bucks at the scent, then looks up at me with knowing: this isn’t another practice. He snaps his long downy snout around to assess my father, slowly raising two of his six leg-spikes to the door frame. Is he preparing to tap? To wake Father?
I place my hand on his rear, just before his bushy green-feathered tail, and give him a tap of my own. When he faces me, I shake my head and mouth a firm ‘no’. In the moonlight, I know he can see my face.
He huffs loudly, his only way of making sound.
But Father was up as late as anyone last night. Too tired to be roused, he rolls over and drops back into his dreaming. Thank keei. May everyone’s sleep be as solid tonight.
I usher Spyke outside, close the door and steal through a crisp motionless air, sneaking barefoot along stilted boardwalks, salty lakewater rippling underneath. Rhythmic and steady, they mask our passage with a dark lullaby, curling around the village’s lakeside shadows, serenading us with a half-hearted promise that, as long as I slink under open windows in wyann-wood walls, as long as Spyke taps gently over boardwalk connections and doesn’t jump or skip, no one will hear us. A quiet blanket of night will wrap itself around us, weighted with a familiarity that whispers: everything is going to be alright. I have a good idea, the only idea, and everything will be alright…
No matter how gently I unlatch our cabin door and ease it open, it’s always too loud; especially when I’m the only one awake in our soundless sleeping village. Ancient hinges groan, then give a final creak so sharp they could sever the antennae off a water-ant across the lake. My father’s sleep-breathing shifts, lightens. I wince and stop moving. The mudskipper bag in my hand swings.
My furry black pointer Spyke sniffs at it. Fresh mudskippers. He bucks at the scent, then looks up at me with knowing: this isn’t another practice. He snaps his long downy snout around to assess my father, slowly raising two of his six leg-spikes to the door frame. Is he preparing to tap? To wake Father?
I place my hand on his rear, just before his bushy green-feathered tail, and give him a tap of my own. When he faces me, I shake my head and mouth a firm ‘no’. In the moonlight, I know he can see my face.
He huffs loudly, his only way of making sound.
But Father was up as late as anyone last night. Too tired to be roused, he rolls over and drops back into his dreaming. Thank keei. May everyone’s sleep be as solid tonight.
I usher Spyke outside, close the door and steal through a crisp motionless air, sneaking barefoot along stilted boardwalks, salty lakewater rippling underneath. Rhythmic and steady, they mask our passage with a dark lullaby, curling around the village’s lakeside shadows, serenading us with a half-hearted promise that, as long as I slink under open windows in wyann-wood walls, as long as Spyke taps gently over boardwalk connections and doesn’t jump or skip, no one will hear us. A quiet blanket of night will wrap itself around us, weighted with a familiarity that whispers: everything is going to be alright. I have a good idea, the only idea, and everything will be alright…
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When not writing, Zena loves movies, frogs, chocolate, potatoes and living with her family among Sydney’s beautiful Northern Beaches. She’s travelled all around the world, visiting close to 50 countries, which inspire her to create worlds of her own.
With her BA (Hons) in English Literature, Zena enjoys working as a mentor, editor and inclusive creativity advocate, inspiring writers to develop their craft. She teaches storytelling and writing at festivals, libraries and schools, judges various literary awards and encourages everyone to value the importance of creativity.
She believes that stories are our best invention.
Places to find Zena Shapter:
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