It’s the first Wednesday of the month, so you know what that means — WIP Wednesday! I share an excerpt of what I’m working on, and I invite you to do the same in the comments. This is a critique-free zone (although I encourage positive feedback), so even if your work is rough, don’t be shy!
I’m working on The Equinox Stone, book two of my paranormal romance trilogy. It’s about a warrior with amnesia who falls in love with a woman he’s known since childhood. She had a secret crush on him for years, but he only viewed her as kind of a little sister before.
In this scene, his memories all come rushing back at once, along with all the emotions he’s ever experienced.
[AdSense-B]
They wandered out past the courtyard, the scene of festivity and then tragedy not hours before. It was quiet, clean, as though nothing had happened. The light from the torches glistened on the fronds of the potted palms. They kept walking out to the sand, toward the dock.
“Did you see me kill him?” he asked.
“Yes.” When he remained silent, she added, “I’ve seen you kill lots of times, when I’ve been in your head.”
The waves lapped near their feet. He got a strange feeling, a shimmering in the edge of his consciousness. Something was familiar. “You’ve seen a lot of people do it.”
She nodded. “Sometimes it’s brutal. It can’t always be helped.”
Tristan looked out over the water. The moon hovered over the dock, and the waves sliced the light into bright slivers. “You see me do things like this, and you still like me?”
“You know I like you.” She slipped off her sandals and held them in one hand. Her bare feet were adorable, with pink polish on the toes. His body and soul ached for her.
He leaned closer to kiss her. The scent of the ocean mingled with the scent of the conditioner in her wet hair, and her perfume…
Reality shifted, fractured, and grew, like the bright shapes inside a kaleidoscope. He couldn’t see. But no, everything was moving. Valentina grabbed his arm. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just—”
Rage. Terror. Joy. Contradictory emotions tore through him, making his heart pound in a shocking triple time, closing up his throat so he couldn’t breathe.
His coach crying foul from the sidelines after his opponent struck him in the back of the head—Tristan was furious, embarrassed, and scared of losing.
His brother as a small boy, tying his shoes for him. He and his brother as teenagers, yelling at each other. The contrast between those two stabbed him in the heart. Everything muddled together—gratitude, admiration, jealousy, and regret.
The girl in the dorm room, wearing flannel pajama pants and nothing else, taking a hit from the bong.
His mother, right before she died, telling him how she wanted to adopt a cat from the shelter.
Oh, God. It was all too much. He fell on his knees on the shore as if someone had knocked him down. I’m dying. A heart couldn’t go this fast and not explode.
Share segment of what you’ve been up to in the comments below! Or if you just want to talk about what you’re working on and how it’s going, that’s fine, too. I hope you’re having a great summer and getting a lot of writing done… and if not, now’s a great time to kick it in gear.
No matter what, thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Morning Bryn! I thoroughly enjoy your blog and thank you for your efforts you put into it!
I ‘ve started a story about a young woman who is an antique dealer and is inexplicably drawn to a small brass wedding band that was a dig find in a Civil War battlefield. She begins having dreams of a Johnny and falls in love with this person in her dreams. She goes through upheavals of emotions feeling excited at being in love with this man and looks forward to each dream of him, to realizing he is just a dream. Or is he?
I’m afraid my writing is not worthy to display here but I truly love your story and it’s potential. So much can and will happen I’m sure! It will be an exciting read!
Judy
Your story sounds really cool, Judy! I wish you the best of luck in your writing!
Thanks Kimberly! I wish I could write as well and as exciting as you and Bryn!
Hi! Your story is really interesting. Don’t give up on it. Fighting!!!
Thank you! Okay then … I’ll share the beginning of my story …. I don’t have an actual title yet!
“Johnny, don’t leave me! Please stay!” Sally yelled to her uniformed husband as he walked to the top of the knoll a short distance away.
Johnny glanced back, smiled and braced his left hand atop the wooden canteen hanging against his left hip. He was headed to war. The Confederate Army awaited him.
Lifting high his right arm he gave his wife one last wave goodbye. “I love you, Sally!” he shouted through the gusting wind. How sweet the sound, his parting words as he disappeared over the mound.
Sally fell to her knees, too weak to stand. Her arms outstretched, begging Johnny to return to her embrace. Her body trembled and tears cascaded down her cheeks.
“Oh Johnny, my darlin’ Johnny,” Sally whispered, in between the uncontrollable sobs. “I do so fear I shall never see you again.”
She hung her head, burying her face in her palms. She could hear the tolls from the old church bell echoing throughout the landscape. The same church where she and Johnny had shared their eternal vows. Then, silence. Total. Absolute. Silence. Her hands dropped. In a frenzy, she looked in all directions trying to find a cause for the deafening quiet. Intently she watched the hilltop, captivated at the sight of the shadow that appeared out of nowhere.
Sally’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Johnny! You came back!” she shouted. “You did not leave me after all!” Her tears of sorrow now became tears of joy.
She jumped to her feet to run toward the silhouette. The faster she tried to run the slower the world around her became. Then something held her back, an odd sensation, like the pressure of a hand, resting on her right shoulder. Startled, Sally whirled around to see who had mysteriously appeared.
Desperately, she looked in every direction but saw no one. She felt she simply imagined things, so quickly she turned back toward the shadow, only to find that the shadow was gone. Sad and with a broken heart, she took that first step to begin her lonely journey back home. But there it was again, the hand, resting on her shoulder, a bit firmer now, but still holding her back. As the ghostly hand held tight, a familiar voice began to call to her.
“Sally!” the phantom voice said sternly, “Sally!”
The now frantic Sally turned at dizzying speed, around and around, trying to glimpse the ethereal person.
“Wake up! You’re gonna be late for work!” the ethereal voice demanded.
Slowly, Sally opened her eyes. There, standing beside her bed was Rachel, who had a firm grip on Sally’s right shoulder, gently shaking her. The antique alarm clock, which every morning always rang the sound of church bells, was not having any effect this morning on awakening Sally.
Rachel pressed the snooze button on the alarm thinking she had shut it off.
“Come on now Sal! Get a move on! Chop chop!”
Rachel, Sally’s best friend, was staying with her for a few days until she could get her things moved from her former apartment into her new townhome. At that moment, Rachel was wondering just how Sally had ever managed to get herself up and out to work before she had come along.
“I just don’t know how you are going to get yourself up after I move out,” Rachel half-jokingly told her. “You need an alarm clock that will rattle these walls to get you up.”
“Oh, Rachel,” Sally replied ever so groggily. “I don’t want to get up. I was in the middle of one of my dreams about Johnny.”
“That Johnny dude? Again?” Rachel quipped as she sat down on the bed beside Sally. “Hey, what’s that I see streaming down your cheeks? Must have been some powerful dream to make you cry.”
“Johnny was leaving me again, Rachel. That was the third dream I’ve had of him going off to war. It was all so real.” Sally sighed deeply as she gently wiped the tear from her cheek. “My heart gets broken every time I see him leave.”
“When did you begin having these Johnny dreams?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. Seems it wasn’t too long after . . .”
Sally reached over to her nightstand and gently picked up a Civil War era copper wedding band that she had placed next to her antique clock.
“. . . after I bought this,” Sally softly whispered, then tenderly placed the band within Rachel’s palm.
Judy, I’m so glad you decided to share after all! I love the premise of your story. How interesting that in her dreams, she thinks like a person from another era! What a fun project. I can’t wait to read more. Thanks so much for the kind words!
Bryn, thank you so much for taking time to read my bit of story. I’m happy that what I have tried to portray came through about her thinking like a person from another era! As the story gets more involved and the dreams get more intense and involved, she finds she is indeed the woman in the dreams and a bygone era comes to life.
I’m so glad I found your post because I’m excited at everything I know I will learn from you! Thank you!
Judy
Oh, I’m so glad you shared. I love this kind of story and this one has me in tears. I so want to read this once it’s finished. Please.
Hi KC! Thank you so very much! I will be most happy to share my story with you when I’m done! Here is a bit more for you so you can get the jest of Sally and her dilemma. Sally struggles with the dreams of Johnny which always tears at her heart. She feels if she sells the ring in her antique shop then the dreams will stop and her life will return once again to a calm. However, Sally realizes she doesn’t want that calm, she wants Johnny back in her life, even if he is just in her dreams……..
A few days had passed since Sally carefully placed the ring in the glass display cabinet in her shop, alongside the other Civil War era items of dominoes, playing cards and dice, which were up for sale. No dreams of Johnny had invaded Sally’s sleep since that time, and she had not missed the roller-coaster of emotions that the dreams carried with them. But now? Now something was different. Something puzzling. Something enigmatic. The emptiness. It was the emptiness she was surprised she felt since Johnny had not been in her visions. He is just a dream she would remind herself. Just a dream.
But the silence of Johnny’s voice and the void of his presence was now haunting Sally. As mysteriously as he had appeared in her life, so too he had vanished. Sally had demanded he leave her alone; he granted her wish. Johnny was gone. She no longer had to worry about waking up in tears or having her heart always broken, by a dream love. She was free.
Freedom, however, comes at a price. For with that newfound liberty also came the curse. Not the demon curse of witches and goblins, but the heart-wrenching curse of loneliness. Sally had cast away a phenomenon of which she had never experienced. She now ached for its return.
Oh, Johnny, she thought to herself one evening while sitting in her back yard underneath the beautiful large oak tree; the gentle breeze softly gusting through her hair. Dusk was Sally’s favorite time of day. ‘The dusk softens the ugliness of the world,’ she would tell others, ‘then the darkness hides its evils.’
Sally looked up, watching the slight swaying of the branches and leaves above. Her thoughts on Johnny filled her mind. How do I get you back? I was so wrong Johnny. So wrong. “Please,” she begged out loud as she continued gazing up into the tree, “if you can hear me, if you’re still there, give me a sign!” Sally sat silently, slowly looking around, for anything, anything at all, that could be a signal from Johnny.
Sally believed in the spirit world. Believed that although she could not communicate one on one, messages would be sent in answer to any question she asked of them. The answer may appear in nature, it could be on the next billboard that was seen, it could be a gesture or remark from a total stranger, perhaps even the word or numbers on the license plate of a vehicle, or perchance something as delicate as a fragrance. Sally observed everything. If an answer were coming, it would be in the form of something unusual, out of place.
A beautiful red Cardinal flew from one limb to another, just a short distance from her. No, she felt, can’t be the Cardinal. I watch them here all the time. Ever so patiently she sat, anticipating. A Ladybug landed on top of her left hand. ‘Are you the message from Johnny?’ she asked of it as it slowly walked around. ‘No, I guess not.’ Sally lifted her hand and allowed the Ladybug to fly away. ‘Guess I won’t get that sign today’ she sadly thought and started to stand. As she stood, Sally froze, spellbound at what she was witnessing. “Oh Johnny!” she squealed, “you are still there!”
Floating ever so beautifully upon the breeze and landing right at Sally’s feet was a feather. An ethereal snowy white feather. As tears rolled down her cheeks, she quickly looked all through the oak tree to see if she could find the bird from which it came. There was no snowy white bird to be found. Sally knew that was the sign from Johnny. She reached down and gently picked up the divinely sent feather and held it against her heart. As she joyous wiped the tears from her eyes, she knew now that she did not wish to be without Johnny. The dreams would tear at her very essence, but if that was the only way to see him, then that was the way it would be. ‘I must see him tonight!’ she exclaimed to herself. ‘I have to get the ring! The ring will bring Johnny back to me!’
Sally dashed inside her house and laid the feather carefully within her prized crystal bowl mounted on an ornate gold stand. She then grabbed her purse and keys, jumped in her car and headed to her shop to reclaim the copper band from within the glass showcase.
Sally arrived at her shop and rushed inside, securely locking the door behind her. She hurried to the glass cabinet that secured her treasured ring, unlocked the door and reached in. “No!” Sally yelled out, “no, no, no, you have to be here!” Frantically she searched the shelf. I know I placed it right here … right here! She moved every item on the shelf, one by one, looking under and around, to no avail. “My life is over. It’s just over!” Sally dramatically blurted out.
Thank you for sharing an extra excerpt. Do continue with this and, once done, I hope you publish it so I can buy it.
This story sounds so good, Bryn! I especially love that last line. It must be so overwhelming for him.
I am furiously revising my YA fantasy about a reluctant teenage oracle in hopes of submitting to Pitch Wars next month. This is from a scene I just added, set in the Keramikos (Athenian necropolis):
. We pause beneath the stele of Demetria and Pamphile, and Gareth’s arm comes around my waist.
I forget to breathe.
It’s summer, Mediterranean summer, plenty warm, but I can’t help but nestle into him, borrowing his warmth as my side presses against his. Even on vacation, he smells clean and light, of citrus and subtle, grown up aftershave. I lean against his shoulder, and my peasant blouse slides down on the other side. Gareth pulls it back up my shoulder, but his hand remains there, toying with the end of my braid.
I haven’t taken my vow of chastity yet.
No. What am I thinking? I said I wasn’t going to use him that way. I’ve never kissed anyone, and with Gareth—
With Gareth I want to enjoy every step of the journey. It’s not something to get over with, just to avoid the responsibility of my calling.
And I want to tell him the truth.
I turn to face him. “Gareth, I have to tell you—“
But suddenly I don’t. His grey eyes are heavy-lidded and his lips part.The way he looks at me, he doesn’t want my words right now.
Neither do I.
All the guilt, all the responsibility, all the distance between us flies out of my head. My arms wrap around his neck, avoiding the guitar still slung across his back, and he wraps his around my waist. This time I don’t worry about glasses or noses or any of that stupid stuff. Everything boils down to the feel of him against me, the gentle pressure of his lips on mine, never forceful but exploring, curious. There is nothing but this moment. Nothing but us.
Kimberly, I love your story and writing! Makes me want to know what happens next!
Hi, Kimberly! Ooh, good for you for aiming at Pitch Wars. I enjoyed this so much. That small detail of her blouse slipping down and him pulling it up again… ahhh, so nicely done. Young love!
Love that scene. Good luck with Pitch Wars.
Wow, Bryn. Those punchy transitions and concrete sensory details make *my* heart pound.
I’ve been up late the last two nights working on my fan fic The Amatus and the Altus. I’m changing the canonical timeline from Dragon Age: Inquisition to meet with the rebel mages *before* traveling across the sea to face the angry clerics. It makes more sense geographically and is in-character for my protagonist.
[In a later chapter, Leo nervously follows his brother Karl to a clandestine meeting in a nighttime courtyard.]
“See you followed the notes well enough—there are two of you!” The elven archer tilted her head with a wide grin, fisted hands on her slender hips.
Karl offered her a half-bow. “Karl and Leo Trevelyan, Ser . . . ?”
She laughed, all nasally and staccato. “Not Suhr, Sera.” She jabbed a finger toward a pile of boxes. “This is cover, get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.”
“What?” Leo asked, confused, but Karl chuckled and dragged him behind cover.
With alarmed shouts, pale white Orlesian men ran into the courtyard, brandishing swords and bows. They wore their plumed helmets.
But no pants.
Leo shook himself from his shock to parry a blade that was speeding toward his head. “Why didn’t you take their weapons?!” he shouted.
“’Cuz no breeches!” Sera and Karl answered together, laughing.
With Cassandra and Dorian’s help, it only took a few moments to defeat the scared, half-naked Orlesian guards.
Leo wiped the blood from his blades and sheathed them. He nodded his head sideways at Varric, who nodded in return and bent to check the bodies for identifying items, usable gear, and spare coin.
These poor, dead sods wouldn’t need it.
Dorian came to Leo’s side, eyes full of remorse. “Such a waste of fine young men. They were just protecting their master’s property. Unpleasant business, the whole thing.”
“Yeah.”
When it came to looting, Leo was less comfortable with the task than Karl, but the Inquisition needed every spare coin they could to feed the refugees, and Leo wasn’t about to balk at a little pick-pocketing from the dead. Before the Conclave, Leo had never gone to bed without supper. Karl had, and never complained about it. No one should have to go through that. No one.
On the plus side, his brother didn’t look hungry now. He looked happy, giggling with the trim, blonde elf girl who whispered in his ear like they were children making mischief.
Karl was laughing. Laughing like he hadn’t in months. Years.
Leo shook off his malaise-induced doubt, resolved to give this woman a chance.
She was grinning again, her voice loud off the stone walls of the nighttime garden. “So, Herald of Andraste, you’re a strange one. I want to join.”
“Sure!” Karl said. “The Inquisition would be delighted to have you, Sera. How would you like to help?”
Leo couldn’t follow everything she said about “little people” and “Red Jennies,” but Karl retained his amused smile.
“What about brothers from Montfort?” Leo asked Varric, who appeared to be following the conversation just fine.
The dwarf patted his elbow. “I’ll explain on the boat.”
Thanks for reading! I’m DAfan7711 on Tumblr, Pinterest, and Archive of Our Own (AO3), where guests and registered users alike can read my stories. My new tumblr sideblog and gaming YouTube channel are called Paragade Blues.
Hey friend! Oh my gosh. Pantsless warriors. That cracked me up, but I also loved it that they had remorse. You always do a great job of rounding out your characters and making them feel multi-dimensional. I had to Google “Red Jennies” — looks like that’s DA-specific. THANK YOU for sharing, as always!
Thanks, Bryn! “No breeches” is actually canon in-game, one of Sera’s many pranks, but the people present and their reaction is what I changed. And adding a sibling to the story makes a lot more opportunities to flesh out the adventure for this otherwise lonely protagonist. Sent the chapter preceding this one off to my beta readers tonight!
I love reading your stuff here and this is no exception. I look forward to you next share 🙂
Thanks, KC.
OMG Bryn! You left me wanting more, more, MORE! Seriously, I went back and reread the piece hoping maybe a second pass would make more magically appear. Really though, fine, fine work. I hope you continue on next month.
So I’m submitting the continuation of Libra’s Limbo from last month’s WIP Wednesday. Libra has been arguing with his estranged mother telling her that he would never become an agent of Aether or Nether. This passage picks up right after that.
“Before she could spew more scathing comments, Libra stepped out of the dark shadows of the hall and into the cavern, and made a beeline for Lyon and the king, grateful for the chance to prove just how capable he would be as their ambassador. He pushed past stiff bodies, ignoring the adrenaline and aggression that flowed over him, his eyes on the two circling alpha males. Finally he broke through the slowly dividing throng, and turned in a circle watching the various species band together into their own kind until they stood back to back, ready for battle.
The Corvus Ward king had balled his hands into fists. Lyon’s leonine claws had extended, his canines had dropped, and the gold of his eyes swirled with molten rage. The fight would be on in seconds if Libra couldn’t stop it.
“Lyon!” Libra called out, his voice deep and steady. Striding to the men, he stepped between them and shoved them apart until they were out of arms-reach. He turned his back on Lyon and bowed to the Corvus Ward king. “Highness, please accept my apologies for being late to this meeting. If you would please take a seat, I’m sure we can resolve our differences without drawing blood.” He gestured to the largest throne chair in the whole place, the chair reserved for Lyon, not only fitting for his place as the leader of the InBetween and the Zodiacs, but the only chair that could accommodate his seven-foot, three-hundred pound frame.
Libra looked back at the new leader of the Zodiacs and the InBetween, and glared. One of the males had to budge and it needed to be Lyon.
Lyon backed up to Persephone’s delicate chair and tried to squeeze his buttocks into the tiny seat. The arms squeaked—the wood and fabric stretched to the limit, threatening to crack and send Lyon to the floor. He huffed, and shifted his hips until they were vertically stacked then rested his bulk.
Libra would have laughed if diplomacy and saving face weren’t perched just as precariously as Lyon’s ass.
The king smoothed his scalp feathers back until they relaxed and merged with his long, glossy black hair. “At least someone here understands diplomacy.” The man backed to the massive, embroidered silk-covered chair without looking away, refusing to lose the glaring contest. He ran his fingers along the arms, checked his fingertips, and scowled before rubbing his hands together. “I suppose this will do…after a good cleaning.” He snapped his fingers and two servants rushed forward to wipe away the nonexistent dirt.
Lyon growled low and deep in his throat. “My mate cleaned that chair herself just this morning.”
The king shoved his servants aside and settled into the chair. “Then perhaps you should have chosen a different mate.”
Even Libra’s hackles rose at the insult to Persephone. A sweeter, more caring person could not be found in all of the worlds, and she didn’t deserve the king’s insult. But perhaps that was his plan—maybe he was looking to start a fight. The Corvus Wards as a species were antagonistic in all matters, love or hate, peace or war. No one wanted to deal with them, but as one of the most populous species, they couldn’t be ignored.
But the king seemed particularly insulting today. If he was pushing Lyon intentionally, the question became why?
Artemis! You are so kind. I love reading installments of this story! The tension in here was great. I especially loved:
Libra would have laughed if diplomacy and saving face weren’t perched just as precariously as Lyon’s ass.
Libra is in such a difficult situation here. Great excerpt.
Thank you for having this wonderful forum where we can support each other!
I am loving the excerpts from this story. I could feel the tension. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much, KC!
My main character is a doctor in her first year of residency, is working on a leukemia trial with another, senior, doctor, and she has leukemia herself. This has been a rough day for her. She was assaulted by another resident in the stairwell that morning and has just come from declaring time of death on another one of her patients. This is at about 12% of the way through the 80,000 words I’ve set aside for this MS. The story takes place in Latin America in 1979.
My goal in this scene is to further reinforce her drive to do her job at all costs, to set up her acceptance of alternate sexualities, which becomes important later on in the story, and to do a spot of foreshadowing.
***
I followed, limping and stoop-shouldered. I still had patients to check. I stopped in the bathroom to check my appearance and tried the faux smile that had almost always worked before. Maybe it would…no. I looked haggard. I tried for a somber, calm look instead and nodded. It would do. Surely German and Besly, the other two patients, knew that Rosie had passed. They’d understand.
I visited Besly next. Besly had that paper-thin old person skin and that hollowed-out look that didn’t bode well. She slept through the changing of her medicinal IV bag.
After Besly, I stopped by the nurse’s desk to retrieve German’s flowers. Today they were a cascade of irises and lilies. German, the last of my patients, had been living with his lover for over fifty years. The hospital had some fairly unkind rules that prevented Juan from visiting German, so instead Juan sent flowers. The nurses would “repurpose” the flowers to decorate their area. I would “repurpose” them right back.
The flower vase felt heavier than usual. I limped into German’s room, feeling every inch of my exhaustion, and put the flowers on the table by his bed.
Although German was older than Besly, he was awake and looked a little more hale. Someone had been by recently to bathe and shave him, and he wore fresh pajamas. He smiled his appreciation of the flowers and gestured at me to bend low. “Rosie’s gone,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Yes,” I said.
“How much longer do you have?”
I blinked and looked at him in surprise. His large brown eyes held mine and I knew he had figured me out. He grasped my hand and held it in a surprisingly firm grip.
“A couple weeks,” I whispered, squeezing back. “Maybe a month.”
“You stay away from Almeida,” German breathed. He let go of my hand and his fingers touched the cut on my cheek. “He has no heart. Don’t you die in this hospital, girl.”
I stared at him in consternation. Almeida had been kind to me. Most of the time. And he cared about his trial and his patients. I wondered what could have happened for German to say such things. “Almeida didn’t hit me,” I reassured German. “He’s been a good mentor.”
“Be careful.” German’s hand sank back to his chest. “You’re a good person. You helped Juan visit me. You cared that Rosie died. You’ll cry when I go. Who will cry for you? Not him.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” I straightened and smiled at him, and for the first time all week my smile felt normal. Sad, but normal. “It’s my job to worry about you. Get some rest. I’m going to come visit you tomorrow and I expect you to
make me laugh. Okay?”
“Okay, doctor.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “Just, take my advice. Die around people who love you.”
Hi, TM! Wow, I really feel for your doc. And I have a friend who’s a surgeon at a hospital, and she talks about her tough days (though not this tough)… either you know a doctor well, or you did your research, I think!
Love this: The nurses would “repurpose” the flowers to decorate their area. I would “repurpose” them right back. What an emotional scene.
I love this. So much emotion. Thank you.
Bryn – nice segment. The memory cascade reminds me of one I read in Mirror Dance, by Bujold. 🙂
Thank you TM! I never heard of that, but I looked it up… It looks like something I’d like!
Nice scene, Bryn!
This is a continuation from the scene I shared the first time I posted some writings from my fanfiction. Because a part of it is written in the culture of a planet within the Homestuck universe, I’ll clarify a thing: a lusus is the creature that raises the humanoid aliens, the trolls, and they are attached to it like a humans would be to a parent. Both characters, who will become lovers as the story progresses, are currently in a prison-like building.
You want to reply that you’re not to be commanded by her, but refrain from doing so. The blade in her hand is undoubtedly just as sharp as the day you felt its bite. She opens a door and gestures you to get in. As she closes the door behind you and lights three lanterns inside the room she explains: ‘My office.’
‘So what are you going to do now? Torture me some more?’
‘I never tortured you, Marquise. I interrogated you, the other Legislacerators did the rest. In fact, I wasn’t even there when you got those.’ She points at the burns on your wrist. Then she locks the door behind her and nods to a chair. ‘Sit down.’
You begrudgingly sit down and snap at her that you weren’t able to see that because your eyes were full of tears. You glance around. On the far side of the room, the Neophyte is tapping some water from a small sink. The few cupboards are stocked with rows of books. A few of the titles tell you that they’re mostly law books and manuals for those who pursue justice. Such dry literature. On the dark wooden table in front of you, two uneven lumps of something stand. You move the lantern over to see that they are in fact two backpacks. Over the other chair on the opposite side of the table hang some clothes. ‘Well, then what are you going to do?’ you ask.
‘For now, I’m going to hope you shut your trap. Then I’m going to wait until that-’ she points to a big hourglass on the desk next to the backpacks. ‘- is empty. And then… I’ll set you free.’
The only thing you can do is gasp. ‘What?’
‘Set. You. Free,’ she repeats. With a louder clack that necessary she puts a box down on the table. ‘So, since you were complaining about the work of my colleagues earlier on… where?’ She opens the box and reveals bandages and more first-aid supplies.
With the first grin you permit yourself in all the time that you’ve been captured you sum your “complaints” up for her: ‘Well, first of all, a red-hot iron locked around my only good arm tends to hurt a bit, you know. So does a razor sharp knife in your shoulder and a strip of leather repeatedly whacked against your face.’ You pause thoughtfully and enjoy the disdain on her face. ‘Am I forgetting something? Why yes, that beautiful blade of yours through a perfectly good arm isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world either. And that-’ You can’t help but letting a sliver of admiration seep into your voice. ‘- absurdly powerful lusus of yours can do a lot of damage to a sensitive eye.’
‘And here I hope you’d shut up.’ She takes out a couple pots of salve. ‘If I touch one sore spot, the great Mindfang will soon be a screaming, pleading mess again.’
‘You heard…?’
‘My dear Marquise, everyone in the entire courtblock was able to hear you yell. Even before I told you that we-’
In the weirdness of the moment you forgot about that. Rising from the chair, you stand face to face with her as you spit at her: ‘You better not hurt it any more yet!’ You raise your voice. ‘Where is my lusus?’
‘We never had it.’ She pushes you back into the chair. ‘It was a ruse, to make you confess. Also, we never found out where your hive is, so how could we have gotten our hands on it? Now where was I?’
As she concentrates on the first-aid kit again you try to sigh in relief as quietly as you can. She’s safe, you think. No one has gotten their grubby hands on my custodian. Unlike you, your lusus couldn’t have survived in these horrible conditions. As Redglare instructs you to put you arm on the table, a small smile stretches the corners of her mouth. You look around the room once more. On one of the middle planks of the cupboard lie her pointed glasses. Perhaps she saw you looking, because she says: ‘I used to have square ones. Until someone said that these would fit me better.’
‘Who said that to you?’
‘Is this what all pirates do? Try to weasel seemingly unimportant details out of a person’s mouth? To blackmail them with later?’
‘Never mind then. Why do you wear glasses anyways?’
‘Sometimes I prefer to hide my eyes. From the criminals, the crowds and the judges. Eyes are a portal into the mind of someone. Like when I told you we had your lusus. Your eyes shot open in terror and your pupils dilated in fear. And all of that while you were clearly trying not to show any emotions.’ She carefully picks up your arm at the elbow and starts dabbing the burns with a wad of cloth she dipped in the salve. You do your best not to make a sound, but another sigh escapes your mouth as a blissful, soothing feeling takes over the pain.
‘Don’t worry, I know how that feels,’ the Neophyte says.
Hi, Kiete! I hope this isn’t weird to say, but I think your writing just keeps getting better.
Holy smokes… these two become lovers later on?
Thank you for sharing! (And for the compliment!)
Thanks a lot! I spend a long time checking the grammar of this scene, since the Marquise speaks in a very sophisticated manner. And what you said is a huge compliment for someone whose first language is Dutch.
Also, these two are the same lovers I wrote about last time. I’ll share one of the main causes for their so-called “matespritship” aka lovey-doveyness next month.
Oh, I enjoyed this. I so want to read more.
Thanks! I’ll post a link to the actual story on Archive of Our Own next month.
Sweet 🙂
Excellent writing, Bryn! I love the swirl of time and place/different ‘worlds’ here. Definitely makes me want to read more!
Once again, I thank you for the opportunity to share my WIP with people! The following is a short flashback chapter from “Tempest Road” where my hero, MacLeod, has to endure recovery from (soccer) injury. “Toe the line” is the dominant theme of his life.
At the hospital’s physical therapy wing, MacLeod hobbled in on crutches and paused to take in the training room. His first day. A number of weight blocks and resistance machines hummed with malice. The ones for legwork were closer, chanting. He chewed his cheek in anticipation. But if not for this, he might not walk right again—to say nothing about kicking a soccer ball.
The motivational posters on the walls—beauties and Atlases and athletes grimacing with effort—could do little to distract from the cold white and chrome metal of the machines. MacLeod looked down at his right knee encased in a black neoprene sleeve. They were in this together, him and his knee.
“Good morning,” came a cheerful, energetic voice.
He found a dark-haired woman coming over with a clipboard. Pretty eyes, inviting lips, also six-foot-one.
“Arhea,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ll be your physical therapist for the next six weeks.”
He shook her hand. Strong grip. “I’m—”
“MacLeod, yes, I know,” she explained with a smile. “Pleasure to meet you. Now,” she started, her makeup-brush eyebrows lowering, “this is going to be tough. It isn’t for pussies. I will push you. I will make you sweat and cry and shout obscenities like an animal. I will make you hate me,” she added, with an expression that said she’d like nothing better than to hump his face or hump his jock. “But we’ll get through this together. You toe the line, bam, you walk out of here like the six-million-dollar man in forty-two days. I do my job, you do what I say, and you get to go back to doing what it is you do best. Sound good?”
“Okay, Arhea. Am I saying that right?”
“Yup. It’s like a pirate stammering. Arr—hey—uh, but all run together. Right?” She slapped the seat of a leg-lift machine. “Come on, game-time.”
He gave her a look. The souped-up machine had air hoses and thick cushions. The eyes in his repaired knee, however, bellowed that it was still a torture device in disguise. A last whimper. He started hobbling over.
“You can do it,” she said, as if to a child. “Tell ya a secret about me. I was playing keeper once, college intramurals game. I dove to block a shot, and miss-timed it big-time, ‘cause I blocked it with my schnoz. See?” She pointed to a crook in her nose. “Talk about humiliating. I was prettier before that shot.”
He paused, nervous. “I-I think you’re plenty beautiful, now.”
Arhea grinned and adjusted her stance. “Sweet. Flattery’s nice, but it won’t get you out of this. Come on.”
Things were still busted. Only he, with Arhea’s help, could repair them. He lowered himself into the seat, wishing he’d brought a towel to bite into. Leg into position. Deep breath.
The exercise was the voluntary grinding of biological stones in his leg. Enough willpower to finish, not enough to keep from crying in front of a total stranger. First step on a long road.
Justin! So glad you’re back. Thank you for the kind words, too!
I love it that you know a dominant theme in your character’s life. It’s obvious that you already have him figured out really well. My brain snapped right back into this story!
The sexual tension between these two paired with prospect of physical agony is really something. And that was a clever way to let the reader know how to say her name, by the way. And “makeup-brush eyebrows” – awesome.
Thanks, Bryn! It’s been a lot of fun to work on this story. (And I’m lucky to have known PTs in college who sound just like Arhea.)
Interesting read and I love the ending… Enough willpower to finish, not enough to keep crying in front of a total stranger. I’ve been there, numerous times so I sympathise. Thank you.
Thx KC! Physical discomfort is prominent in most of my stories (though I’m no sadist or anything) so it was important that I get this one correct. Thanks for reading!
The more I read of that story, the more I’m dying for the book.
Anyway, here is a little snip it from Chapter 13 of the rough draft of my first novel, Batter Days.
I put the last few things in the kitchen away and grab my things before heading for the door. There’s a huge smile plastered on my face. I can’t wait to see the look on Derek’s face when he sees that I cooked. Ripping open the door, I plow headlong out into the hallway and am nearly knocked over when I run into something. Not something. Someone.
My eyes shoot up, and I start to make my apologies for not paying attention to where I was going when my brain suddenly registers what my eyes are seeing. There, standing in the middle of the hallway outside my door is Toni.
“Toni?” I ask in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” she says in a harsh tone.
I feel myself start to tremble. How does she even know where to find me?
“I’m really sorry,” I tell her, “but I was just on my way out. Can we do this later?”
“No,” she barks before pusher her way past me and through my still open apartment door. “We talk now.”
I mutter something about making yourself at home under my breath before plastering on a fake smile and following her back inside. She is looking around my home with the same critical eye she used to observe all of my work. I can feel my body trying to shut down in anticipation of the harsh words that will no doubt be directed at me very shortly, but i force myself to pull my shoulders back and stand tall when she turns to look at me.
“This is where you working now?” I nod. “Too small. You no can work here.”
“I don’t really have much of a choice,” I tell her. “There haven’t really been that many bakery jobs opening up since you fired me. So I’m making do with what I have.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just stands there, her beady eyes glaring at me from her overly inflated face. I shift awkwardly from side to side, just waiting for her to say something.
“So,” I finally say after a few more agonizingly long seconds, “why are you here Toni?”
“Why you no come back to work?” she asks me.
Is she joking? There is no way she can be serious. Can she? I’m sure the look on my face is telling her I think she has three heads, but when I realize that she is serious, it goes to one of shock.
“You fired me, Toni,” I tell her plainly. “People don’t come back to work for you after you fire them.”
Do I really have to explain this to her?
“I change my mind.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “You come back and work for me. Same as before.”
Is she crazy? There is no way I’m going to go back to work for this woman. Just no way.
“You’re joking right?” I ask her.
“Why would I joke about that?”
“Because you fired me!” I exclaim. “You told me work was crap. I did everything in that store, but you called me lazy and said I wasn’t worth your time. You belittled me every single day for years. The only reason I kept coming back was because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. You ran everyone else off and then screamed at me when I couldn’t do the work that was meant for 3 people when you wouldn’t do any of the work meant for 1. Why in the hell would I come back to that?”
I’m not sure where my sudden burst of courage came from, but I liked it. It feels good to finally tell Toni all of the things that had been bottling up inside of me for so long. It feels so good that I want to keep going. I want to tell her exactly what I think of her. I want to call her a pompous piece of trash that wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it bit her in the ass, but the look on her face stops me before I can shoot of my mouth some more.
Her eyes are wide in what I can only consider shock. She regards me with the most human expression I have ever seen. For a moment, it looks like my words may have actually stunned her, like she doesn’t believe that I mean the things I am saying are true. The look is only there for a moment before it melts back into the cold stony expression I am so used to seeing.
Erin, you are too nice. I love stories about job loss (it’s such an awful thing that everyone can empathize with, and I don’t think writers deal with it enough) and this was riveting. I love the whole idea of the boss changing her mind. (Also, I got fired from a bakery once after only three weeks, so I especially feel for this character!)
Really? Wow! What are the odds of that? And yes, I think it is a topic that doesn’t get enough attention.
Whaaa… where’s the rest? Just when I was getting into it lol. Thank you for sharing.
🙂 THank you I’m glad you liked it. The rest is hopefully being turned into a successful first novel. Speaking of which… *runs off to get back to work*
Very nice. I’m assuming this is just before he regains his memory….?
I’m pretty sure I’ve shared this excerpt before, but it’s undergone a great deal of editing, and I’ve changed the point of view from my main female character to my main male character in order to highlight his abilities a bit better. This is from my first book… it’s SO close to being finished….
Ricky watched her beautiful form stretching to reach the top of the wall. She was hanging beautifully hand-made alphabet letters along the top edge of the wall. Each letter was designed to represent a different animal in its natural habitat. He had always admired her creativity, and he was sure she had made these herself. She had to tiptoe on the chair to reach, but she did so with grace and confidence. Her saw her pause a moment, aware he was standing in her doorway.
His mood darkened. It made him angry that she knew he was there. He knew she could feel everything he felt and it made him feel vulnerable and exposed. She had once told him she could choose not to feel other people’s emotions, but he didn’t believe her. He believed she was always sensing and probing other people in order to manipulate them into doing what she wanted, or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe. It made it easier to accept what she had done to him.
She stepped down from the chair to get another letter.
“I’m supposed to introduce myself and welcome you to our staff,” he said calmly, but he knew she could feel the anger and confusion underneath.
She stepped back on to the chair and put up the next letter. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Her body stiffened. He could see she was as anxious about this meeting as he was. She stepped back down and got another letter. He watched her a moment. He felt she had no right to be nervous; she was the one who had done the hurting.
“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again,” he said, not attempting to hide his anger this time.
“Yet, I’m not the one standing in your doorway,” she defiantly replied, then stepped back up on the chair to hang the next letter.
“What the hell are you doing here, Laura?” He struggled to keep his voice steady. He walked to the center of her room. His emotions were boiling, and he knew from her movements that she could feel them.
“My job.” She stretched to reach the top of the wall. She stepped down from the chair, but still did not turn to face him.
“This isn’t a joke, Laura.” He wanted to see her face, gauge her reactions.
She turned to face him. “I never thought it was, Ricky.”
He faltered slightly. He had forgotten how innocently beautiful she was. “Why here?” he asked.
“There was an opening, I took it…”
“No! There’s more to it than that!” He interjected. He knew she was lying, he could see it when she briefly broke eye contact. She was always good at lying, but it seems she had gotten immensely better.
“What more do you want, Ricky? I’m a teacher, I love this area, this is my home, and there was an opening here. I wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like that.”
“You’re lying! Something you’re really very good at!”
“You just want to believe that so you can stay angry at me for something you think I did years ago.”
“But you are lying now, and you did then. You lied about everything! You said you were never in a relationship with me, that you didn’t even know how those rumors got started, you even got your mother to lie for you.”
“I was trying to save your career and keep you out of jail.” Her body language changed, he could tell she really believed that, but he didn’t want to believe it, he was still too angry.
“They released me once they found out it was Monica who planted the condom on the bus, Laura. You didn’t need to lie about our relationship!”
“You weren’t there, Ricky, I was. Those investigators were out for blood. They didn’t care that you had been set up. Lying was the only way I could think of to save you!” She raised her voice as well.
“That’s not true!” He turned away from her. It helped him to pretend she was still lying. He knew now that she wasn’t, and it hurt. His anger was the only thing protecting him from the fact that he still loved her.
“I was 15, Ricky! 15! Do you know what that means? That means I was two years under the age of consent in a sexual relationship with an 18-year-old contracted employee of the school district. It didn’t matter that Monica boasted about planting a condom on the bus to make it look like we were having sex on school grounds during school hours. It didn’t matter that my mother was in agreement with our relationship. None of that mattered. They were going to charge you with statutory rape and abuse of authority. The state, Ricky, the state was going to charge you, not the school, not my mother. The state. You had no chance. I lied to save you!”
“No!” He turned to face her, finger pointing at her in accusation. He quickly closed the distance between them. He tried desperately to hold onto his anger. “No! You lied because you never loved me!”
Her slap hit his face with immense force. It surprised them both. The look of shock in both their eyes was brief. He grabbed her shoulders. His anger gave way to a passion he had buried long ago. He could see in the flush in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes that she felt the same. He pulled her closer.
Oh! So intense. And… then you end it lol thank you, a good read.
Thank you. When I had my beta reader read only part of this book, she called me up and told me that I was the cruelest person in the world because I left her hanging.
Dude! I have a desperate need for the rest of this story now. Keep me updated on your progress. I’m gunna have to buy this one.
Than you.
This book is actually finished. I am in the process of editing it. I am working on writing book 2. I really want to have all 3 done before I publish though. But we will see if I can wait that long. LOL
That’s awesome! Seriously though, can’t wait to read the whole story.
Although I am not a fan of fantasy, Brynn, your prose is of the highest standard.
Here is my humble offering. A snippet from ONE SPLENETIC SEASON. Set across the Winter of 1748 / 49 AD.
Two weeks before the first day of Spring, when the air was still thin and cold, and the trees and bushes were working hard to produce new buds and shoots, Benjamin and Eerika decided to meet in Omagh. She took the stagecoach and he rode a horse borrowed from the father of a pupil.
From the town to the Gullen farm, a two hour ride, the small, slim girl was perched in her brother’s lap. On the way, two riders trotted by, travelling in the opposite direction. Both had scarfs wrapped around the lower parts of their faces. One wore a tricorn and the other a flat cap. They gave a perfunctory wave and went on their way. Eerika said something but the wind had risen and her words were carried away.
They arrived to the Gullen cottage and dismounted. “What did you say on the road?”
“I said, it is a long time since I last saw him, but I think the squat man who passed us was Tobias Wyvern.”
Benjamin led the horse into the barn-come-stable and threw down two forks of hay. Eerika waited.
The main door lay ajar and the pair entered, calling Borcan’s name. Eerika walked forward, into the gloomy interior. “Oh, my dear lord!” she exclaimed and Benjamin hurried to her side. Borcan was lying face down on the floor. Pieces of Delph lay about him. He had been severely battered about the back of his head. Benjamin knelt by his side but Borcan had gone to his god. Eerika was weeping when her stepbrother stood. He folded her in his embrace. “I will see to his burial and other business needed,” said Benjamin, barely above a whisper.
“Do you think this was the work of Tobias and his companion?”
“Without a doubt, but we have no proof of it. Perhaps someone wants this property badly enough to kill. With Ulric seemingly gone for good, it will go up for auction unless someone can show paperwork which passes the farm to whoever holds such.”
An hour later, when Benjamin finished wrapping the body in blankets and roping it tightly in a canvas sheet, he returned from the barn. Eerika had a hot drink waiting. “Benjamin, seat yourself and let me tell you something of great importance.” She wiped her eyes. He did as requested and wrapped his cold hands around the cup. She sat across the table from him. “Shortly before our mother died, she gave me something and told me to keep it close to myself for it may be useful in the future. It was a parchment adjunct to Lorcan Gullen’s will. It is a legal document which passes ownership of the farm to you and me if anything should ever happen to Ulric and Borcan.”
He looked long at his sister, and finally, he smiled, somewhat sadly. “I am very, very dejected at Borcan’s murder but there is a verse in the bible, Romans VI – 23, which states that ‘the wages of sin is death’. That observation aside, are you still in possession of the said parchment?”
“It is secreted in my room in the servant’s quarter at Mrs Harper’s house. We are property owners.”
“I want no part of this cursed place. It is freely yours and I will sign anything required by law to make you sole owner.” He came around the table, lifted her in his arms and kissed both cheeks.
“But … but, you deserve it as much as I. We were both badly treated by Lorcan and his despicable son, Ulric.”
“I will sign, being the male heir but, I repeat, I am not a farmer, however, I will compromise. We will both live here but I will travel to teach the less privileged and will be absent for extended periods of time. If you so wish, you may hire labour to tend the fields and pastures. I will give you the money willed to me by Lorcan and it will help to maintain the farm on a firm footing.”
“I am not sure, Benjamin.” She smiled. “I wonder if Mr Michael Kelly would be interested in working our land?”
“I see a cheekiness in your words but tis of no matter for Michael is to return to Belfast and academia soon. He will not return until July comes to pass.”
“It was lightly said. I cannot think of anything until we see Borcan quietly set down to rest near my father.”
“I must carry away some fresh clothing. When ready, we will lock up, go into Omagh and have the undertaker call past. In the town, we will register this foul deed with the garrison and hire diggers to make space with his father. Having done all that is required, we will return to Ormeau. You will give me the parchment and I will speak with Mrs Harper with a view to having her legal representative sign such into law. Both of our signatures will be required.”
“What of the stock. Borcan would have milked this very morn. They will be overflowing by dawn tomorrow; and I can see there are horses in the paddock.”
“We will call in to the Kelly farmhouse. Mairead is a friend to we two. One of her robust boyos will tend to what needs until I return.
“I am thinking, well, wondering, why Tobias Wyvern needs this little property. His father is one of the richest men in Ulster.”
“Power feeds on greed or vice versa, Eerika. Perhaps Tobias, along with his cohort, was about his father’s business. I fancy, we will discover soon enough when our ownership is made known to them. I think it behoves me to visit the father because there must have been some sort of compact made between the parties.
“That is all well considered, Benjamin. Let us begin being about this sad business. First to Mairead Kelly and then on, into the future.”
An interesting snippet. I enjoyed their manner of speech. Thank you for sharing.
Lawrence, good to see you! (And not just because you complimented me, but thank you very much for that!) You always evoke an authentic historical feel, and I liked the discussion of how they would handle the property. But I want the guilty brought to justice! Thanks for posting.
Oooo, hit by memories. So emotional. I love reading your wips.
This is a continuation from the piece I shared last month…
~*~
With Mallin slightly in front of me leading the way tracking them we’re able to get close enough that we can see them weaving through the trees. It certainly makes my job of following them easier. It’s a good thing I’m strong enough to keep hold of his leash. He’s certainly chomping at the proverbial bit to race off after them.
I don’t know how long we’d been chasing them through the trees but, suddenly, Mallin and I break free of the trees into a small clearing…
Only to come to a screaming halt.
The two we chased are joined by two others. I smell a setup and I’ve just run right into it.
“Therians?” I murmur the question to Mallin as I glance at him.
He looks up at me and gives a small single nod of affirmation. He never barks his affirmations, he always look up at me and gives a nod instead. I never taught him that. Honestly. He truly does have his own personality. All big and tough and means business when on the job and an overgrown playful pup on our time off. He certainly keeps the kid in me alive.
“Mallin, perimeter behind me.” I snap the order quietly. Because we’re outnumbered I don’t want him hurt. With him on the perimeter behind me I also don’t have to worry about him for the duration of the impending fight. And fight we will.
Thankfully he obeys and retreats.
Momentarily, the five of us just stand there; them watching me and me watching them as I regain my breath. I’ll gladly take any respite they willingly give me. Glancing up, I note it is just after midday with the sun slightly behind me.
As much as I had tried not to allow myself to be surrounded by the four of them, I end up that way anyway. They spread out and start circling in opposite directions which makes it harder to keep an eye on each of them. They keep moving as they continually circle around me. In the end I chose to stand there and rely on my hearing and peripheral vision, as well as my eyes, to keep track of them. Then they attack.
Funnily enough (although not funny haha), even though there are four of them, they only attack me one at a time while the rest continue to circle around me. Not only that, but they only attack me front on. While I don’t understand why, I’m not going to look a minor gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I rely heavily on my peripheral vision to keep an eye on them as much as I can.
We trade blows and since there are four of them they are more successful than I am. Each one comes in throws a few punches and kicks then joins the rest as one other comes at me next. By taking turns they get to rest but I don’t, but despite my exhaustion I choose not to go down without one hell of a fight.
I have no idea how long we’ve been fighting but so far roughly half of my ribs are broken, so is the left side of my jaw as well as my right cheek bone; just to name a few of my injuries. While I have managed to give one a broken nose and a second a dislocated knee which, once she popped it back it into place, left her limping. Now we’re back to me being in the centre while they circle.
“Just because you’ve been brave and fighting fair with us, we’re going to give you a clean kill. We won’t insult you by offering to turn you into one of us. We won’t even kill your dog if he doesn’t attack us.”
“Very generous of you.” I admit calmly with a raised eyebrow then I draw and aim both of my pistols; only for both actions to hurt. “Just because of the generous offer, and that I’m injured, doesn’t mean I’m going down without a fight.” Yeah, tough as nails to the end. That’s me. Right!
“We didn’t expect anything else.” He states with a smile.
The moment they move, I pull the triggers.
Two of them drop with the shorter of the four shot in the head and the second in the heart. The last two pause. Let’s hear it for blessed silver nitrate. The stuff became a regular part of our ammunition once it was discovered a year or so ago. That way we didn’t waste ammunition for having half holy water and half silver nitrate which required a minimum of two shots in vital areas to make a kill. One shot now kills both. Oh yeah!
Even though I’m standing here, slowly moving in a circle on the spot to keep an eye on the remaining two, my clothing clings to me with sweat and my breathing labours because of the pain from my broken ribs and jaw. Surprisingly, the cheek bone isn’t bothering me that much.
I follow the other two with my guns. Then, one of them stops and my left pistol stays with her while the second one keeps moving to my right. So does the pistol in my right hand. What the hell is this pair up to? All I can do is what I am doing. I have no choice. While I think this is the end of the line for me, I still don’t want to die and I’m not going to do that easily for them. Then the one on the right stops. I’m now facing the sun.
Every time I move or take a breath it hurts so much. With sweat trickling into my eyes, I don’t dare take a gun away from covering either one of them to wipe my eyes clear. Then I hear Mallin growl a warning.
Barely a second later, everything at that point, becomes meaningless as I stare down stupidly at the arrow protruding from my upper left chest. Heart and/or lung definitely. I hadn’t heard or seen a thing before Mallin’s warning. In hindsight I should have realised their manoeuvre was a trap.
It seems there are more rogues in the darkness of the forest in front of me. So well hidden even Mallin didn’t pick up on them being there. I should have realised when the two I was chasing had entered the forest that they were part of a larger group. If not then, then definitely when they were joined by the other two. My current predicament is so my own fault for not seeing the obvious.
Mallin whimpers.
“Stay Mallin…” I whisper. It’s so quiet in the clearing he would hear me anyway.
I’m surprised no one comes near me to finish me off.
Then I cough and feel something wet splatter my chin as pain lances through my jaw and chest. My world narrows down to thoughts of Mallin, the pain I still feel and the arrow sticking out of me. Such an unusual way to kill someone this day and age, but quiet and efficient and safe for the rogue.
I slowly fall to my knees as the last of my strength seeps away and my arms fall back to my sides. Even though I know I have landed hard on my knees, I don’t feel the pain of the impact. The last thing I see is the arrow sticking out of me as my backside settles heavily upon my heels. The last thing I hear is Mallin’s whimper as my head slumps forward. Despite that, I still feel the pain raging through me. No amused after-thoughts this time round, unfortunately.
Poor Mallin. Who will look after him now? Not only that, but being in a forest, no one will think to look for us here. In reality I think he will die here with me because there is no way he will allow any of them near him without a fight.
I have never been afraid of death. Life maybe, but never death. But the pain…
The pain is too much. Being in the middle of nowhere with no easy access to help, I pray for death to relieve me. Regardless of the fact that I still seem to be thinking and burning with pain, I start wondering if I am dead.
It’s so silent I can’t even hear the breeze or any wildlife let alone my own breathing or blood pumping.
It’s completely black that no light shines through my eyelids. Death’s nothing like I thought it would be.
Without the ability to hear or see I don’t know how much time is passing but suddenly the agony raging through my body spikes immeasurably. I think I scream but have no way of knowing. Maybe I just think I scream. Finally, I’m no longer thinking or feeling.
Hi, KC! So glad to read more of this. Mallin is such a great dog… and having him in the scene makes it so much more emotional. I loved the bit with the silver nitrate. I’m wondering what happens to our narrator at the end. Thank you for posting!
And thank you for your comments on my and other people’s work, too! You are the best.
You’re welcome and my pleasure for commenting. It’s only fair since I enjoyed reading them.
Hmmm, I might post the beginning of chapter 2 next month 😉
I haven’t had the time to write that I thought I would this summer. Hopefully, I will find some time while we are on vacation. I am really happy with the direction Finding Roan is taking. I think the thing that has helped me most is an article I read about treating your first draft as an outline. When you hit a road block in your story, you simply write “They got out of the building” or whatever needs to happen at that point to move the story forward. Once you are done the first draft, you next task is to fill in those plot holes as you work on revising. It has really helped me stay on task. I am really happy with how this part of the story conveys evolving connection between Sorcha and Neil.
Sorcha
I had been careful to avoid Neil since that day in the woods. None of what I was feeling made sense and the last thing I needed in my life right now was more confusion. I continued to practice my telekinesis while we drove and my elemental when we had stopped for the night. I kept close to the RV and focused on controlling the energy arcs like Neil had shown me. Neil continued to observe my progress and give advice from time to time. It was three days after the almost kiss in the woods when he finally spoke to me.
“You’re avoiding me.” Neil turned a stone over and over in his hands. It wasn’t until I stopped and look that I saw it was the same as mine and Aoife’s pendants. Neil saw me looking and smiled.
“I keep it in my pocket. Their power is limited here being so far from the Avonmora but it
helps feel more connected with Roan.” I smiled back and pulled my pendant out from my shirt. I hadn’t taken it off since that night in the motel.
“I feel the same way.” I replied and walked over to sit next to Neil. He glanced my way and smiled shyly.
“I was going to kiss you.”
“I was going to let you.” I replied. “I don’t know what to do about that. There is so much going on right now. I just don’t have room for whatever this is Neil.”
“I get it Sorcha, really. It’s not something I am trying to pursue. I just want things to not be awkward.”
“I don’t want it to be awkward either. I really need your guidance with this elemental power.” As if to prove my point, I let the electricity crackle and spread to my fingertips. It sparked furiously but stayed where I wanted it. Neil laid his hand on my arm and a calmness washed over me. I watched in awe as the the electricity settle itself into a pleasant buzz. I smiled at Neil.
“How did you do that”
“Don’t underestimate the power still coursing through your fingertips. I told you that controlling your emotions is key to controlling your power. I did nothing but remind you to stay calm.” Neil’s hand was still on my arm. I could feel warmth radiating off of him. The nearness of him centered me. I had been noticing more and more that I only felt truly calm and in control with Neil by my side
“I feel the same.” He whispered. “You need to know…”
“Neil.” I placed a finger on his lips silencing him. “I don’t want to know. I can’t do this right now no matter how good it feels. My life is complicated enough. There’s someone else, back home. I don’t even know what will come of that but I need to figure it out before this can be anything.”
“Someone else?” Neil growled, his eyes darkening.
“Yes, Joe. I’ve barely thought of him since we fled our home. I honestly don’t know what he means in my life anymore but I have to figure that out. I…” Neil took my face in his hands and leaned in. His lips burned against mine and the world faded away. My body sank against his and I surrendered myself to the kiss. I didn’t know I could feel so strongly, so quickly but this kiss sealed my fate. No one would matter now except Neil.
“I’m sorry.” Neil’s voice broke the spell as he pulled away, apologizing. I stared at him bewildered. “You said… I didn’t mean… I have to go.” Neil stammered and stood abruptly. He was sprinting into the woods before I had the chance to say anything to him.
Oh, I remember the previous part you shared, I enjoyed this too. The heart is always a complicated thing. Thank you for sharing.
Hi there, Meg! I think that is great advice about drafting. I was in a workshop once with a guy who did that! You’d get to part of his story and he’d have something like, “They do something with the shirt. Maybe make it into a flag” and just move on to the next scene.
We are working on similar stories! Great excerpt. I really felt for Neil at the end!
hey Bryn and lovely writers.
What a suspense you’re building there, I want their first kiss, NOOOW!!
I present this months some light classroom banter.
The classroom was filled with excited children, who anticipated the year’s end. They were talking loud, a few practised some mischief and two girls were singing, while one girl braided the other one’s hair. They were aged between six and ten. The children were the sons and daughters of royalty and nobility. Common people could not afford to send their offspring to school. Dorsummus entered the classroom, the scene did not surprise him.
My my, everyone is overly thrilled for the year to end. What a turmoil.
He stood there for a little while, the children seemed not to notice him.
All right then, facing thunder with lightning.
He slammed the door, before the noise of the closing door ended, the entire classroom silenced. Everyone stared at this young man in his colorful poncho.
“Good morning all,” his voice was loud but civilized. “I shall proceed towards the teacher’s desk, once I arrive at my appropriate location, I expect everyone on theirs as well. Presenting yourselves as adequate as I, work spaces included,” his words sounded less nervous than he was. After Dorsummus made his first step, the children started to rush in a jumble throughout the classroom. He was not even half way there, when every child found his own table, some were sorting their clothes and hairs, while others picked paper scraps from the ground. They were all ready as their teacher arrived at his desk, yet he did not turn around. He stood still and took another deep breath.
That was a thrilling entrance Dorsummus, keep up the pace!
He turned around, “I fully understand your prevision on new year’s celebrations. I have been told, it is your last day of school this year. Therefor I propose an alternative way of learning, compared to your accustomed teachings. I am confident you will not demur,” growing up amongst the upper class, these children were used to an extended amount of vocabulary, though they were unprepared for the usage of words from their new teacher. This, combined with his foreign appearance, overwhelmed the children.
“First let me clarify who am I, plus why am I here,” with a thick charred piece of wood he wrote his name on the marble white board, “Dorsummus Baldraya, the identity I was giving after my delivery. You may call me teacher Dorsummus, why not professor Dorsummus? The reason is quite plain as it is obvious. I am a student of the High Council of Stratos. I contemplate to become a councilmember myself one day, therefor I have no intention in becoming a professor.”
A confused boy asked, “what is the High Council?” Thrown off by this interruption, Dorsummus used even more uncommon words.
“An abrupt intervention, nevertheless an excellent inquiry, I shall recur to it in an immediate wingspan. However, first I would like to initiate a small device of assistance, since I am strange to your identities. Before you commune, lift your hand before revealing your identity. Yours please, young boy.” It took a moment for the boy to digest what Dorsummus just said.
“My… name… is Pons, sir Dorsum,” like his classmates the boy was perplexed.
“The correct manner to address me, is teacher Dorsummus, ‘mus’ Dor-sum-mus,” he wrote teacher in front of his name and underscored the mus part of his first name.
“Sorry, teacher Dorsummus.”
“To recur to your question, the High Council of Stratos is a collective of a democratic elected faction, who devote their existence to maintain the high earned accomplishment of social welfare in Stratos as well as our demographic structural status opposed to the rest of Ascydhes.” After he finished his too long answer, Dorsummus saw some heads pointed to their desks, while others peered at him with big fryut eyes.
By Devo, Dorsummus Baldraya resume yourself. They cannot comprehend! These are children, no politicians or scientists.
“They… rule over Stratos as King Vigos rules over Avora.” The class responded with understanding.
There goes my tendency to discuss the relation between gravity and glamour.
Dorsummus remained silent, he pondered on what to discuss in class today. No one else raised hands for questions, they all feared a complicated answer. The classroom has the shape of a circle. It is located on one of the top floors of Crystal Palace. The roof is entirely made of glass, its intention was to free the mind and think as far as the stars go. Dorsummus looked up to the sky.
Kamora! Hi, friend. You are too kind.
This teacher is such an interesting character. And I love his internal monologue. And this really made me smile: No one else raised hands for questions, they all feared a complicated answer. Thank you for posting! Hope everything’s going great with you.
An interesting read, I’m intrigued. I hope to see more snippets some time.
Hi Bryn and wonderful people!
I’ve just stumbled across this terrific site, and want to say thank you for such a wealth of info for us aspiring writers as well as the fantastic community that’s come together here as well.
I’ve had this idea for a fantasy story for nearly 20 years (thought it up when I was about 19), but it’s only now that I’m in a place in my life (literally and figuratively) that I have the time and resolution to sit and write it. I finally decided to do one of those “book in a month” things to push myself into getting the first draft done no matter what (even if it takes me a little longer than a month to do it). I have 122 pages so far.
The story itself is about a young woman who “falls into” another world and cannot go back. She discovers a long-lost father, a destiny she isn’t equipped to handle, and hints of a past life that are intruding on her present incarnation. It’s ultimately a love story and a forgiveness story…but anyway… Below is the VERY rough beginning of the novel:
‘I don’t think I’m dead, but f*ck, this hurts…’
The young woman took a shallow breath, allowing her lungs to expand like sticky plastic bags filling with cool, damp air. It was a bit too much, and a dry, gravelly cough made her roll over and curl into a little ball. Every part of her body was in agony, the sort of agony she’d only felt once after being in a serious car accident, and her head throbbed in tune to her heartbeat. The steady, constant thumping made her wonder if a blood vessel wasn’t about to explode. She took several more shallow breaths and heard a little moan of agony escape her throat.
The air around her moved, and she heard deliberate, careful footsteps. Footsteps meant someone was there, and at the moment, she had no idea where she was. The last thing she could remember was sitting on the grass in the warm sunlight of a midsummer’s day, thinking about her father and missing him so much. Now, she was dumped on the hard ground in a cold, dark place that smelled like a mouldy cellar. What the hell had happened?
She felt fingers touch her neck, hopefully looking for a pulse.
“Please…don’t…” she rasped, but another dry cough stopped any more words from escaping her mouth.
The hand removed itself, but the presence remained. “Who are you and what, by all that’s holy, are you doing here?”
It was a male voice, and he sounded irritated.
“I don’t…” She managed to move her arm and cover her face with her hand, her fingers rubbing her parched and aching eyes. If she didn’t get those tears going, her contact lenses were going to retaliate. “I…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who you are, or you don’t know what you’re doing here? Or perhaps it’s both!” he exclaimed in mock glee and sighed, shuffling his feet. Twigs and leaves snapped, and stones crunched as he adjusted his position next to her. “Wonderful,” he whispered under his breath. “Good gods…just wonderful. Exactly what I need tonight…”
She hadn’t wanted to anger him, but every part of her was screaming leave me alone. Nevertheless, she was now sure he was trying to help. “My name is Gabrielle,” she said quietly, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times, making sure her lenses weren’t going to pop out unexpectedly, and she allowed her vision to adjust to the dim light. Moving her fingers away from her face, the young woman focused on her new acquaintance’s feet or, more specifically, his boots. They were brown, battered and unlike any fashion she’d seen outside of a history book. She trailed her gaze up to his dark breeches and Victorian jacket that were equally anachronistic, and stopped at his face, where her breath caught in her throat.
He wasn’t human. He was…well, she wasn’t sure. The voice in her head squeaked, He’s a werewolf, but she couldn’t believe it.
“Gabrielle,” he repeated in perfect English, his speech so clear and unremarkable that nothing would have led her to believe he was anyone but some guy down the street, or perhaps a fellow student in her Psych 101 class. “And can you explain how you got here?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“If I wasn’t so horribly late for a very important engagement, I might find this whole situation amusing. I’ll take you back to Rhoenglasz, and you can have as long as you’d like getting your story straight. Come on.” He gently and firmly grasped her under the arms like a rag doll and began lifting her to her feet with amazing strength.
Her mind was in shock, but her body was in pain. She cried out and tried with little success to push herself out of his grasp. “Let go of me, please!” she uttered, welcome tears welling in her eyes. “Please…don’t eat me.”
“Eat you?” He paused in his effort, but he didn’t let her go. With surprise and distaste in his tone, he stated, “Madame, I’m no cannibal.” He sighed and shook his head, adding in a more level fashion, “We must go, but you have to help me. If you’re hurt, we have to get you to a doctor. It’s getting cold, and dangerous creatures are waking up hungry.” His stern, lupine face softened, and the corner of his mouth even lifted in a bit of a smile. “I think I’d rather have an evening meal than become one. What do you say?”
Gabrielle took several quick breaths to steady her nerves, and nodded her head with a little moan of agreement. As he said more, she noticed a slight hint of an accent in his speech, almost Eastern European like her grandmother, but not quite. She looked over the wolf-man’s shoulder and realised that this space smelled cold and damp because it was actually a cave, the ground strewn with forest litter that had blown in from the outside and the rough stone walls glistening with trails of seeping water.
“Good,” he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling like stars in the waning light. “We’ll go more slowly, but time is of the essence. Can you walk?”
She tried taking the full weight of her body on her legs, and although the pain still seared through every muscle and joint, she stood and put her hands on his chest for support. “Wow,” she sighed with a ragged breath. “I think I can manage.” He looked impressed, if she was reading his expression correctly, and that gave her the extra boost she needed to fight through the agony and take one step at a time, like a child learning to walk for the first time.
OMG, I’m just going to slam my face in the keyboard!
Apologies for doubling up on the Copy-Paste in the post and repeating the story twice. Is there a way to edit? 🙂
It figures….I’m the sort of person who enters a room and falls on her bum in front of everybody after telling myself, “I’m going to be ultra careful and not slip.”
Sheesh…story of my life. :/
PS No worries at all! That is really easy to do (but I know it’s so frustrating when you can’t edit something!) I don’t believe it’s the story of your life ☺ I got it fixed for you.
Lisa, that is awesome that you’re in the place where you’re ready to write your story! So exciting. And it sounds like it’s going great!
I immediately love the lungs being like “sticky plastic bags.” And you start the story in the perfect place– it gets the reader into it right away. I enjoy your style. You’ll post more, right?
Thanks for the kind words – I appreciate them so much!
Bryn, thanks so much for fixing my little faux pas there 🙂 ; I also sincerely appreciate your encouragement. This is my first time posting anything I’ve written in a public forum, but I figured if I want to eventually get published, gotta jump in the water and put myself out there. It’s not perfect, but I’m just on the first draft. I’ll definitely post more next week!
WIP Wednesday is the first Wednesday of the month so post then. I know I’ll be looking for it 🙂
Oh my goodness! I love this and want to read more. Having been in an accident years ago, I know how she felt. Thank you for sharing.
I am an aspiring erotic writer and would love to post a small portion of a rather graphic love scene I’ve written. Would it be too inappropriate to do so, here in the comments? I would love your feedback, Bryn! But I do not want to upset anyone who would rather not read a detailed romp in the hay, ya know?
Hi, Maery! The next WIP Wednesday is tomorrow, so look for the new post then! I do prefer to keep these PG-rated, because I have a lot of very young readers. It’s not a judgement at all, though — I write explicit scenes in my fiction, myself. I bet you can find some snippet that’s not too racy. I’d love for you to participate!