In any case, I have written approximately a chapter's worth so far. All of it is still in the form a first draft, of course, and the last section in particular is subject to change. For the sake of your potential enjoyment, and with hopes that I can get a little feedback, I'm posting most of what I've written so far here (excluding the tentative last few paragraphs). I'd love to know what you (as in any of you) think of it, and especially whether or not it captures your attention and leaves you wanting to read more. Please be honest, too, because if it doesn't do that, then it is a really lousy first chapter, and that does not bode well for the entire work XP. Anyway, I hope that at least someone will enjoy it, and now I will leave you to read it, and return to my studying. . .
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Markus Guillian and his friends raced through the dirty streets with wicked smiles on their faces. Markus' smile was the broadest of all as he proudly lifted the sack in his hand and lead the way toward a small, crumbling stone building. As they approached, the door of the building swung open, revealing an elderly man, hunched over slightly and leaning on a knobbly wooden cane. He watched the runners with tired, graying eyes as they came to a halt before him, and did not return their smiles as Markus held up the sack for him to see.
“We have returned with spoils, grandfather!” Markus exclaimed, thrusting out his chest and drawing hoots of pleasure from the friends on either side of him. The old man nodded grimly and watched a drop of black liquid drip from the bottom of Markus' prize.
“Come in then, and we shall eat.” The old man replied in a voice that matched his tired eyes, and bore none of the glee that characterized the small band he was welcoming into his home.
“Are you not hungry, Don'Ardo?” One of them asked the old man as he entered the doorway.
“I am always hungry, just as you are, Kaden.” Don'Ardo replied shortly, glancing down the dirt and garbage-strewn street before pulling the door shut behind him.
Markus had already emptied the contents of his sack onto a worn wooden table in the center of the house, beneath one of the few lights it held—a lantern hanging by a piece of rope from the ceiling. The three friends stood around the table rubbing their hands together in greedy anticipation, and Don'Ardo slowly made his way over to join them, wincing with each step. When he reached the table he stared down upon a pair of bloody rabbit carcasses and the frowning lines on his face became deeper.
“This is ready to be cooked and eaten,” He said after a brief pause.
“Perfect, isn't it?” Markus replied without looking up.
“Stolen, then?”
“Of course, how else?”
Don'Ardo shook his head and let out a deep sigh. Finally the three friends looked up at him, each with a similar quizzical expression.
“Build a fire then,” he said with a note of frustration, “it should be roasted quickly.”
The smiles appeared once again on all three young faces, and they dashed off immediately into an adjacent room to do as Don'Ardo had suggested, piling dry leaves and sticks in a small firepit on the floor. The carcasses were skewered on the ends of two more sticks, and anxiously roasted. Soon they were dividing up the meal into portions and gathering around the table to eat. The three younger men devoured their food within moments, and then watched with greedy eyes as Don'Ardo slowly ate his own piece.
Don'Ardo scowled back at the three unsatisfied faces watching him, and even as he finished eating he felt his own stomach still yearning for more. Seeing the last of the food gone, the three leaned back in their seats in disappointment, their smiles having quickly faded. They sat in silence for some time, and as the meager fire died down darkness settled in around them. The low, flickering light of the lantern would have made them drowsy, but their stomachs still gnawed at them and fueled their minds to ponder their own discontent.
Finally, Don'Ardo spoke up, startling the other three as he broke the silence.
“We are all fools,” he said with a heavy sigh, looking around the table at his guests. They all rolled their eyes, but none of them met his. They were never in the mood to hear Don'Ardo speak like this, and certainly not now.
“You have all been fools since your birth, but I am a greater fool than all of you.”
“Spare us, then, great fool,” mumbled the one named Kaden. His friends snickered, not bothering to hide their amusement from their host or mask their disrespect.
“I cannot spare you, and neither should I!” Don'Ardo snapped back, glaring. “The punishment we receive is justly deserved. It is the price we pay for our foolishness, and it will be our end.”
“Ha! What punishment have we to fear? There is no such thing!” Markus laughed.
“You are mistaken, Markus! I made the same mistake, and now I know it for what it is, but it is too late. Even now you are paying the price for that mistake, and you do not even know it.”
“Grandfather, what is this you are speaking of? 'Punishment?' 'Price?' You know what Medwin has said as well as I do.”
“Yes, yes, I know all too well. I was a boy when he made his promises, and they sounded like beautiful music to my ears. He told us that we could choose for ourselves whether or not our king's laws were worth obeying. He told us that we need never fear punishment for breaking them. He promised us freedom and power to do as we pleased...”
The three young men around the table nodded their heads in agreement as they listened. These things were well-known and cherished by all of them. They waited now, listening more intently, curious to hear what else Don'Ardo might say.
“And so we have these things,” Markus said abruptly, growing impatient. “Where is the mistake you spoke of?”
“Does your conscience never burden you, my son?” Don'Ardo's replied, his voice beginning to shake. “Or does it remain as dissatisfied as your belly?”
“What do you mean by this, speaking to us of conscience?!” The man on Don'Ardo's left inquired in a voice like a growl.
“I have not been filled by food once since coming here, but now I am full of remorse and regret for the choice I made in coming to this place.”
“WHY?” Kaden demanded furiously.
Tears were clearly forming in Don'Ardo's ancient eyes, but the men that witnessed them felt no pity. They waited for an answer now not with curiosity, but with impatience and suspicion.
“Because it is clear to me now,” Don'Ardo wept, “that Medwin's promises were lies!”
All three of the young men stood suddenly, sending their chairs clattering to the floor. Shock and outrage were visible on all of their faces.
“We are living our punishment, men! You must feel it as I do! We have broken the law, and we cannot escape it!” Don'Ardo continued, his own anger building as he watched the men around him clench their fists and grit their teeth.
“Shut up, old man! We will not hear this!” Kaden spat, raising his fist threateningly as he spoke.
“I can see it in your faces! You cannot hide it even from me!” Don'Ardo shouted back, rising shakily to his own feet.
“Grandfather, be still!” Markus ordered, eying his friend with a twinge of apprehension.
“I will not! Add more crimes to your names if you will! You cannot inflict a worse pain upon me than what I already bear. End my suffering then—you will not have ended your own!”
“Enough of this! He would burden us with guilt that is not ours! Let's be rid of him!”
Without waiting for affirmation, Kaden plunged his fist into the side of Don'Ardo's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Markus stared, unsure for a moment, then advanced to join Kaden in the attack. As he raised his own fist to strike, however, he felt the floor tremble beneath his feet, and was brought to his knees by an ear-splitting boom. He blinked, thinking for a moment that he had been blinded, and then realized that the lantern had been extinguished. He heard the frightened voices of his friends as they stumbled through the darkness
“What the—?”
“Outside!”
“A storm?”
“Let's see.”
The door was shoved open and light poured into the house. Markus glanced at Don'Ardo, gasping and bleeding on the ground, then turned to look out the open door. Between the figures of his friends, holding their hands to their faces and staring up at the sky, he could see the entire street illuminated, though it was past nightfall, and the street was usually black at this hour.
“What is it?” he heard Kaden ask.
“I don't know...” his friend replied. “Shall we ask the old man?”
“No. I'm leaving. I won't come back here.”
“No. You're right. Let's go.”
Markus jumped up to stop them, but they had already scampered away, and he had no desire to chase them. He stepped to the doorway, and raised his hand to protect his eyes from the blinding light that was glaring down on him from above. Squinting, he slowly raised his head to see what his friends had seen. What he saw baffled him, and burned his eyes, but he could not bring himself to turn away. An enormous bolt of lightning was etched across the night sky as if it had been torn open. It remained there, like a new addition to the constellations, for several minutes, continuing to scorch his vision until he could no longer bear to look. Finally he was forced to tear his eyes away and wipe the flood of tears out of them. He reopened his eyes slowly, blinking several times as he did. When he returned his gaze to the sky, however, the bolt had gone, leaving the street as black as it had been before.
Utterly puzzled, Markus staggered back into the house, still rubbing his eyes. He could hear Don'Ardo's heavy breath, but could see nothing.
“Grandfather... I'm...” Markus croaked, his voice catching uncomfortably in his throat.
“Markus?” Don'Ardo groaned in response.
“Are you alright?”
“No Markus. No one in this darkness is.”
“If you are right, grandfather... if what you say is true... what could we do?”
“Oh Markus, my son, if only there was something we could do. We gave that up long ago to embrace this deception. We are bound here now.”
“Sleep, grandfather. Perhaps in the morning you will see the truth again, and give up these troublesome thoughts.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I shall not see another day. I do not think it matters to me anymore.”
Markus shook his head and sat down next to Don'Ardo in the darkness. He felt more confused than he could ever remember being before. His eyes, his mind, his heart, his stomach, his hands, his feet, they all ached. The lightning bolt flashed through his mind and it made him angry, because he could not understand it. He struggled to think clearly, but he was growing numb and exhaustion was settling over him. He heard Don'Ardo sleeping, and wished to do the same. He lowered his head to the floor and closed his eyes. He did not want to think anymore. It was doing him no good. He began to drift off, welcoming the numbness of sleep to block out what he had seen and heard. In that final moment before his consciousness faded, however, he heard a knock at the door.
* * *
Markus opened his eyes very slowly and painfully. For a moment, he thought that the lightning had returned, but he soon realized that the light that was now filling the house was daylight entering through the open door. It took yet another moment for Markus to realize that there was a very tall and intimidating man standing just outside the open door, and looking very impatient.
“What are you doing here?” Markus blurted as he registered the scene before him.
“Every citizen of Hollyn is invited to the square for an audience with Medwin,” the man replied in a booming voice that Markus felt in his stomach as much as he heard it with his ears.
“An audience... what?”
“In one hour.”
Markus opened his mouth, intending to make a further inquiry, but the man turned and disappeared with dizzying speed, leaving Markus feeling bewildered once again. He turned to Don'Ardo and saw that he too was awake, but looking much less confused.
“What do you make of it?” Markus asked him, hoping that his grandfather could bestow upon him some of the clarity that he appeared to be enjoying.
“I believe that our master wishes to grace us with his beautiful voice,” Don'Ardo replied sarcastically.
“He has not done so in my lifetime! Are you not intrigued?”
“I am not. He has nothing new to say, I am sure. What is more, I am sure that his words will do me no more good than a drink of foul water. I have had enough of them.”
“Stay, then. I am going.”
Don'Ardo shook his bruised old head and let out a sigh, but did not seek to restrain his grandson. Markus jumped to his feet and wasted no time in making for the square. Though the city was large, he would have no difficulty reaching the square within an hour. If he wanted a prime spot, however, he was sure he needed to hurry.
As he swiftly made his way through muddy streets he wondered if it had rained. He knew that he must have somehow slept very heavily without realizing it, because the sun was clearly indicating that it was already well past daybreak, but he still felt as though he had not slept at all. All around him other people were leaving their houses looking excited. Many of them looked anxious and some looked as confused as he felt, which was reassuring to him. Almost all of them were looking upward, toward the center of the city. There, towering in stark contrast above the short and miserable-looking houses, was a massive and magnificent spire. It glittered dazzlingly in the sunlight, nearly as brightly as the lightning had the night before. Its tip seemed to reside somewhere among the plane of the clouds, although it was never hidden behind them. It was at the same time both intimidatingly impressive and breathtakingly beautiful.
Every person walking toward the square at the base of the structure was familiar with it. Most of them had spent their entire lives living beneath it. Yet somehow, they all remained captivated by it, and their eagerness grew with every step they took toward it—Medwin's Spire, the glory of the castle of Hollyn.
Once Markus drew near the square, it was difficult for him to see the top of the spire, and when he reached the square itself, the spire appeared to rise endlessly, as though it became part of the sky itself. He stared up at it for several minutes, simply basking in its awe-inspiring presence, before he finally managed to tear his gaze away to take in the scene on the ground around him.
The beauty of the square at the base of the spire paled in comparison to the spire itself. The structure had clearly been designed to draw the view up and away from the ground. Still, in the midst of the dingy and deteriorating city that surrounded it, it was impressive enough. It was comprised of nine polished white marble square slabs, each one many paces across, easily larger than Don'Ardo's house. One of them, raised above the others like a step, served as both a platform and an entrance to the spire. The enormous white doors of the spire, with their gleaming golden handles, would extend nearly to the edges of the platform if opened completely. The platform was also the most polished of the slabs, to the extent that its surface effectively reflected the spire and the sky above it, so that it appeared as if even the base of the building was suspended in the clouds.
Markus was among the first to enter the square, but soon streams of people were joining him from all sides. The crowd quickly grew and would clearly fill the square and spill over into the streets around it, but not a single person ascended to the platform. There was an unspoken understanding that the higher space was reserved for Medwin and his liegemen. As the hour approached the noise and tension, and sheer size of the crowd rose to an incredible level. Markus himself was beginning to tremble with anticipation, and could feel many of the people surrounding him doing the same. There was little room to move or even breath at this point, and he could scarcely believe that so many people inhabited Hollyn, but his discomfort and awe of the crowd was no match for his eagerness to see Medwin up close and hear him speak.
The place that Markus had secured himself near the front and center of the platform's base proved to be an excellent position, despite being at the center of the crowd's pressure. As the doors of Medwin's spire began to open to the sound of a regal chorus of trumpets, Markus stared, open-mouthed, into the growing gap between them, straining his eyes for a glimpse of his grand sovereign. He could feel the crowd pressing in even harder around him, and his knees ached from pressing against the platform to keep him upright, but when Medwin arrived, he was not disappointed.
A beautiful, golden sedan, carved with elaborate designs and bedecked with jewels, greeted Markus' eyes in the open doorway, held aloft on the shoulders of four liegemen wearing hooded white cloaks. The crowd which had been emitting a deafening level of noise a moment before was now completely silent. Every person present watched with bated breath as the liegemen slowly and reverently carried the sedan to the center of the platform, then, even more slowly, stooped to one knee and set it down in the center of the platform. All four of them continued to kneel, heads bowed, as the front of the sedan opened outward and downward, forming a small ramp.
Finally, the moment that had been so fervently waited for arrived, as Medwin stepped forth from the sedan. The crowd gasped collectively at the sight of him. His crowned, blond-haired head would have towered even above those of his formidable liegemen if they had dared to stand beside him, and even beneath his flowing, royal white garments, flecked with gold, his powerful, muscular frame could be perceived. In his right hand he held a solid, golden staff, which appeared to be a miniature version of his spire, and on his left hand, with which he waved to his admiring crowd, he wore a large golden ring. His smiling face was nearly as pale as his white robes, but astonishingly handsome. When he spoke, his voice rang out clearly and powerfully, carrying a sense of royal purpose.
“My people,” he greeted the crowd simply, to thunderous applause which he allowed to last for quite some time before raising his hand again for silence. “It pleases me to see you all here today, beneath my spire.”
Medwin paused. His mouth continued to smile but his eyes became suddenly stern as he surveyed his audience, as if attempting to scan each and every face out of the thousands that had crammed themselves around him. Finally his smile faded as well, and his voice took on a tone of grave seriousness as he continued.
“It is not for pleasurable company, however, that I have called you here today. It grieves me to say it, but I must instead bring you all a dire warning.”
Gasps once again broke out throughout the crowd, although their tone was much different now. A few low murmurs began to stir, but they were quickly silenced as Medwin spoke once again.
“Some of you may have seen a light in the sky last night, and, if you did, perhaps you were frightened by it. I assure you that it is nothing to fear, but I must warn you all to be on guard. There are those who may seek to remove the freedom I have given you, and they may attempt to do so by leading you away from here. They cannot harm you as long as you remain under me, but if they should succeed in their plans to turn you away, you will lose all that you have gained.”
The crowd was now in a state of utter bafflement. Of all of the things they may have imagined they would hear, this was not what any of them had expected. Troubled and crestfallen faces now looked upon Medwin, imploring him with their eyes to give them some good news to offset these terrible words. Once again, however, he paused, and allowed them to wonder and wait. He looked around at them a second time, his gaze cold and searching and watched as their trembling increased. Finally, a reassuring smile returned to his face, and he closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he looked happier than he had been upon his entrance.
“Let me assure you again, my people, that there is nothing to fear, as long as you remain my loyal subjects. I trust that you will all do so, and if I am right, it will be well for us. Now, you may all return to your homes.”
At these last words, Medwin turned suddenly and stepped back into his sedan, his robes sweeping behind him. As soon as he was out of sight, the crowd erupted with commotion, and Markus felt people jostling hard against him on all sides, pushing their way one way or another, without a care who they had to shove out of their way. Markus felt the sharp corner of the platform cut into his knees and he cringed as he swayed on the spot, forced to grab the arm of a man behind him to keep from toppling over. The man did not help him, however, but jerked his arm violently away with an angry growl. Unable to keep his balance any longer, and bleeding from gashes in both knees, Markus tumbled ungracefully onto his back, on top of the platform.
No one in the crowd seemed to be paying him any attention, and for one short moment, he thought that no one had noticed at all. As he struggled to get up, growing faint from the pain in his knees, he heard something like a flag in the wind behind him, followed by a short squeak. Before he could turn to see what had caused the noise, or even blink an eye, he felt something strike hard against the side of his head, and his vision went black.
2 comments:
Well, you've certainly piqued my interest, Zach. Looks like a very promising start. I didn't have any trouble reading through it to the end, and you left me wanting to know more. That's the mark of a good story. Well done. I hope you're able to continue with it.
Hi, Zach! I agree with your dad--both Grandpa and I have read your chapter, and are very impressed. I want to read more, so hope you will continue your story. You raised a lot of questions in my mind as I read, and I know the answers will be worth waiting for.
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