Well, now that the Christmas shopping rush is over, I have more time for writing. I've been nibbling away on Calli and completely avoiding my synopsis of Aria. :-O Bad, Kaycee, bad.
But now that the season of resolutions is upon us, I have made a committment to myself and to this blog. New year, new dedication. I'm going to be giving "The Musings" an overhaul. I will still include writing samples but will bring in some different concepts to the blog. More when I have the details smoothed out. :-)
On a similar note. I have been invited to do an interview on Lydia and Joe Sharp's blog "The Sharp Angle" in January. They have chosen some writers they believe in to feature and I am very excited to participate. I'll post a link when the interview is up. :-D
Happy New Year to All! Stay safe during this winter storm season.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Christmas Shopping Season
The Christmas shopping season has officially begun. As a minion of the retail monster, I have been a slave to the masses for the past two days. Up and at work by 5:30am yesterday and there at 7:30am today.
Hooray.
Needless to say, I have not been feeling very creative lately. It is difficult to let your imagination flow when you can barely keep your eyes open.
But when the holiday season slows down, it will be easier to get back to my fiction. Calli is standing in a Roman alley, waiting for me to return. Her sister, Echo, is trying to convince Martina to allow a young boy to join them. Aria, from my very first novel, is urging me to return to the task of writing the synopsis of her adventures so I can get her out into the publishing world once again.
So many little things are getting in the way. But I will get back to them soon.
Soon . . .
Hooray.
Needless to say, I have not been feeling very creative lately. It is difficult to let your imagination flow when you can barely keep your eyes open.
But when the holiday season slows down, it will be easier to get back to my fiction. Calli is standing in a Roman alley, waiting for me to return. Her sister, Echo, is trying to convince Martina to allow a young boy to join them. Aria, from my very first novel, is urging me to return to the task of writing the synopsis of her adventures so I can get her out into the publishing world once again.
So many little things are getting in the way. But I will get back to them soon.
Soon . . .
Monday, October 19, 2009
Theodorus Makes Plans for his Daughters
It has been a long time since I posted the first chapter of Calli's Story (working title only). This is an historical fiction set in the 1st Century Roman Empire. Calli is a young Greek woman who's father announced in chapter one that he will marry off his three older daughters within two months. Here we get a better look into his character, and are introduced to the initial antagonist of the novel, Zeno.
“Have a seat,” Theodorus waved toward the empty chair. He did not take his eyes from Zeno’s face as the younger man obeyed. He had the same dark hair and green eyes that still made his wife draw the attention of every man in the room. The family resemblance ended there.
“Why have you called me here, Uncle?”
Theodorus motioned to his slaves to bring the wine and fruit. He did not answer until he’d drained his first gobletful. “You are the son of my wife’s brother and as such I am employing your assistance.” The slave filled his goblet again as he bit into a peach. “My three elder daughters require husbands. I am too busy here on the estate to seek them out. You will find me eligible bachelors and I will make the final decisions.”
Zeno shifted in his chair and took a gulp of wine. “How soon do you need them?”
“In four weeks time, at the latest,” Theodorus answered, spitting peach juice across the platter of fruit. “I want all three of them married and out of my house within two months. I’ve pandered to them long enough. It is time they learned what a woman’s duty is – to make a good marriage and bring healthy sons into the world.”
“Four weeks time won’t be long to negotiate the terms of a marriage, Uncle. What do I tell these prospective husbands when they ask about the dowry your daughters will bring?”
Theodorus snorted and began to choke on his wine. “Tell them,” he paused to cough, “that they can take that up with me. You are not to speak of it.”
Zeno nodded. “Very well.” He stood, and left the room without a backward glance.
Theodorus threw his goblet to the floor. Young people had no respect anymore. He would be much better off when he was rid of his worthless daughters and using their new husbands to further spread his influence through the region.
Both of the slaves hurried forward to clean up the spilled wine. Theodorus kicked the darker-skinned one in her ribs as she knelt at his feet, sending her sprawling. “Clean up this filth and do not let me see either of you for the rest of the day.”
He stalked from the room and out into the olive grove. The rustle of wind in their branches whispered of money. He pulled a limb down and plucked an olive. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger to test the firmness, he walked between the rows. There would be a good crop this season. Dowries would not be difficult to supply for the three girls, but what he would get in return would be worth far more than a few barrels of olive oil.
The soft sound of footfalls drew his attention upward. The sunlight glistened on Calliope’s pale hair. She crossed the balcony, unaware of his presence. Her full, rosy lips moved, but he could not make out what she was saying. Something dangled from her left hand and as she leaned over the railing Theodorus saw that it was a necklace. The gold pendant flashed as she lifted it up and drew her arm back. She flung her hand forward, but did not release the jewelry. He recognized the medallion carved with the likeness of Demeter that had been given to her at birth. Every child born to his family had been given one. All three of his sons were buried with theirs.
Calliope turned and their eyes met. She had her mother’s delicate features but his light hair and blue eyes. In her face he saw what his first born son might have looked like had he lived. Theodorus would gain what he could from the fate the gods had dealt him. As quickly as she’d turned to face him his third daughter spun on her heels and rushed back inside. Soon he would not have to worry if she were happy, angry or sad. Her feminine irrationality would be her husband’s trouble and Theodorus would make certain to choose a man strong enough to tame her wildness.
He tossed the olive to the dirt and smashed it beneath his sandal.
“Have a seat,” Theodorus waved toward the empty chair. He did not take his eyes from Zeno’s face as the younger man obeyed. He had the same dark hair and green eyes that still made his wife draw the attention of every man in the room. The family resemblance ended there.
“Why have you called me here, Uncle?”
Theodorus motioned to his slaves to bring the wine and fruit. He did not answer until he’d drained his first gobletful. “You are the son of my wife’s brother and as such I am employing your assistance.” The slave filled his goblet again as he bit into a peach. “My three elder daughters require husbands. I am too busy here on the estate to seek them out. You will find me eligible bachelors and I will make the final decisions.”
Zeno shifted in his chair and took a gulp of wine. “How soon do you need them?”
“In four weeks time, at the latest,” Theodorus answered, spitting peach juice across the platter of fruit. “I want all three of them married and out of my house within two months. I’ve pandered to them long enough. It is time they learned what a woman’s duty is – to make a good marriage and bring healthy sons into the world.”
“Four weeks time won’t be long to negotiate the terms of a marriage, Uncle. What do I tell these prospective husbands when they ask about the dowry your daughters will bring?”
Theodorus snorted and began to choke on his wine. “Tell them,” he paused to cough, “that they can take that up with me. You are not to speak of it.”
Zeno nodded. “Very well.” He stood, and left the room without a backward glance.
Theodorus threw his goblet to the floor. Young people had no respect anymore. He would be much better off when he was rid of his worthless daughters and using their new husbands to further spread his influence through the region.
Both of the slaves hurried forward to clean up the spilled wine. Theodorus kicked the darker-skinned one in her ribs as she knelt at his feet, sending her sprawling. “Clean up this filth and do not let me see either of you for the rest of the day.”
He stalked from the room and out into the olive grove. The rustle of wind in their branches whispered of money. He pulled a limb down and plucked an olive. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger to test the firmness, he walked between the rows. There would be a good crop this season. Dowries would not be difficult to supply for the three girls, but what he would get in return would be worth far more than a few barrels of olive oil.
The soft sound of footfalls drew his attention upward. The sunlight glistened on Calliope’s pale hair. She crossed the balcony, unaware of his presence. Her full, rosy lips moved, but he could not make out what she was saying. Something dangled from her left hand and as she leaned over the railing Theodorus saw that it was a necklace. The gold pendant flashed as she lifted it up and drew her arm back. She flung her hand forward, but did not release the jewelry. He recognized the medallion carved with the likeness of Demeter that had been given to her at birth. Every child born to his family had been given one. All three of his sons were buried with theirs.
Calliope turned and their eyes met. She had her mother’s delicate features but his light hair and blue eyes. In her face he saw what his first born son might have looked like had he lived. Theodorus would gain what he could from the fate the gods had dealt him. As quickly as she’d turned to face him his third daughter spun on her heels and rushed back inside. Soon he would not have to worry if she were happy, angry or sad. Her feminine irrationality would be her husband’s trouble and Theodorus would make certain to choose a man strong enough to tame her wildness.
He tossed the olive to the dirt and smashed it beneath his sandal.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Wheel Deal ;-P
I just got home from the Wheel of Fortune tryouts. I didn't get a chance to go up on the stage and audition, but my best friend did. :-) I still have a slim chance of being chosen to go to the final auditions for the Northwest. They take the applications from the people who did not get to go on stage and pick out some to go to the finals too.
The auditions were at a casino, so of course we had to play the slots. I won $100! But then my show-off best friend had to win $200. ;-) We used our winnings to buy cute clothes and souvenirs for our families.
We also went down the coast to a nearby town to see the wax museum because by best friend's husband would never go with her. It was actually pretty cool. We also saw the Ripley's Believe it or Not and the aquarium.
The best part was that I got to spend a weekend hanging out with my best friend. :-)
The auditions were at a casino, so of course we had to play the slots. I won $100! But then my show-off best friend had to win $200. ;-) We used our winnings to buy cute clothes and souvenirs for our families.
We also went down the coast to a nearby town to see the wax museum because by best friend's husband would never go with her. It was actually pretty cool. We also saw the Ripley's Believe it or Not and the aquarium.
The best part was that I got to spend a weekend hanging out with my best friend. :-)
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
An Echo in the Bone
Diana Gabaldon's new book came out yesterday - An Echo in the Bone. This is the seventh book of the Outlander Saga, but I'm only about 50 pages into the sixth book. :-o I have to be on my guard at work until I get a chance to read it. But the customers are tricky, sometimes they bust out with a spoiler before there's a chance to stop them.
I must be wary. ;-)
I must be wary. ;-)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Dormant Creation
Can you feel them?
Just beneath the surface, struggling.
Breathing in counterpoint to reality.
Can you hear them?
Echoing in the emptiness, beckoning.
They howl, they scream and beg release.
Can you see them?
Whispering in corners, pointing.
The words in your mind that wait for inspirtion.
(c) 09/2009 K. Looney
Just beneath the surface, struggling.
Breathing in counterpoint to reality.
Can you hear them?
Echoing in the emptiness, beckoning.
They howl, they scream and beg release.
Can you see them?
Whispering in corners, pointing.
The words in your mind that wait for inspirtion.
(c) 09/2009 K. Looney
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Beware the Ides of September
My best friend (who unfortunately lives in Kentucky right now) was here this past week. YAY! Her husband was trying out for the Oregon State Police, but was disqualified at the last minute because of a slight limp (due to a previous knee injury) that developed while he was running. Boo. It was disappointing because they really would like to move to the west coast. But we had fun while they were here.
The best part? We went to Powell's. Anyone who lives near the Portland, Oregon area knows about Powell's. It takes up an entire city block and is three (or is it four? I get so dazed in there) stories of books, glorious books! They have out of print, current, used and rare books. And the best part is that they have an entire wall of books on Ancient Rome. I found four that I think will really help lend a lot of detail to my novels. How sad is it that my heart leapt when I was looking through a book titled "Every Day Life in Ancient Rome" and saw a chapter that contained children's games? I thought, that would be something fantastic to include in the background of a scene.
I bare my nerdy soul to you because I know you will understand, my fellow writers. :) You have all felt that thrill of delight, though perhaps not over something so, well, nerdy. lol.
And as a final point, though this has nothing to do with writing. I am planning to go and try to audition for Wheel of Fortune on the 26th & 27th of this month. They pick people to audition by a random drawing, so no guarantee I will be chosen, but nothing ventured, nothing gained -right? I'll keep you updated.
The best part? We went to Powell's. Anyone who lives near the Portland, Oregon area knows about Powell's. It takes up an entire city block and is three (or is it four? I get so dazed in there) stories of books, glorious books! They have out of print, current, used and rare books. And the best part is that they have an entire wall of books on Ancient Rome. I found four that I think will really help lend a lot of detail to my novels. How sad is it that my heart leapt when I was looking through a book titled "Every Day Life in Ancient Rome" and saw a chapter that contained children's games? I thought, that would be something fantastic to include in the background of a scene.
I bare my nerdy soul to you because I know you will understand, my fellow writers. :) You have all felt that thrill of delight, though perhaps not over something so, well, nerdy. lol.
And as a final point, though this has nothing to do with writing. I am planning to go and try to audition for Wheel of Fortune on the 26th & 27th of this month. They pick people to audition by a random drawing, so no guarantee I will be chosen, but nothing ventured, nothing gained -right? I'll keep you updated.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
"Somewhere" and the Outlander saga
Well, I guess I haven't been on here in a while. No good excuse, really, personal stuff going on. But, I have been reading the Outlander saga during my down moments. Only on book 4, have two more books (900 - 1000+ pages each) to read before the 22nd. Is it really September already?
I must say I am relieved that school is about to start up again. I work in a retail bookstore - in a mall. Ugh! Being inundated with teenagers and "tweens" running wild with no supervision all day gets old FAST!
I've also been working on a short story, "Somewhere" and just finished the first draft a few days ago. It ended up being longer than I anticipated, but there are plenty of revisions to make.
I must say I am relieved that school is about to start up again. I work in a retail bookstore - in a mall. Ugh! Being inundated with teenagers and "tweens" running wild with no supervision all day gets old FAST!
I've also been working on a short story, "Somewhere" and just finished the first draft a few days ago. It ended up being longer than I anticipated, but there are plenty of revisions to make.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Officially Addicted
I am now an official addict of Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander Saga." :-) I don't usually read "romance" novels, but this series is incredible. I can even forgive the small (& annoying) bits of repetition. For example, someone says something dryly about once every two pages. But I'm hooked on the characters. I actually bought the first six books of the series today while I was at work. I'm on book three and hope to finish all six before the seventh book comes out on September 22nd.
For anyone who loves romance, you must read these books. If you love adventure, battles and gore - they have that too. And if you like history and the idea of living in another time - READ THIS SERIES! :-D
Gotta go. Must - read - more.
For anyone who loves romance, you must read these books. If you love adventure, battles and gore - they have that too. And if you like history and the idea of living in another time - READ THIS SERIES! :-D
Gotta go. Must - read - more.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Calliope's Story - Chapter 1
This is the rough draft of the introduction to Calliope's story. She is Greek, so this does not take place in Rome but in Thebes. I am pleased to introduce you to Artemisia's mother as a teenager. :-)
Calliope closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun, soaking the afternoon warmth into her skin. Below her balcony, the olive grove flickered green and silver in the breeze. Several slaves moved amongst the trees checking the progress of the crop.
She adjusted her golden arm band and returned to her cushioned seat in the shade. Her mother would make a fuss if she caught her standing in the sun. “Sunlight ruins your complexion and makes you look like a common street trollop,” she always said.
With a sigh, she returned to Homer’s Iliad. The recitation of genealogy was an incredible bore, but her parents expected her to memorize it. Their family could trace its origins to Ajax the Greater, heroic companion of Achilles.
“Calliope.”
She stood at the sound of her younger sister’s voice. “Yes, Echo?”
“It’s time for supper.”
“Thank Demeter! This is so tedious.” She rolled the scroll and hurried for the door.
Echo laughed. “The Iliad isn’t all that bad, Calli. Besides it’s an honor to have such heroic ancestors.”
“Then you memorize it.” Calli thrust the parchment scroll at her sister with a grimace. “I’ll go and tell Father you aren’t hungry.”
“Very funny.”
The sisters linked arms and hurried through the halls. Hunger wasn’t what made them rush, but the fear of being late for supper. Their father did not take much notice of his daughters as a habit, but he was quick to discipline them if they displeased him.
Theodorus was seated at the head of the table. He once had thick, flaxen curls. Now only a small fringe encircled his head, drawing more attention to his ice blue eyes. Deep wrinkles creased his brow and drew lines from the sides of his wide nose to his full mouth. Calliope touched her own golden curls, wishing she didn’t resemble him so much.
Their mother sat at its foot, her brunette hair glistened in the sunlight falling through the open windows. Echo favored her, straight dark hair and emerald eyes, clear alabaster skin. Melaina entered after a few seconds, sweeping her chestnut hair off of her shoulders. Calliope’s eldest sister was followed by the second born of the family, Zoe, with her ever-present dimpled smile and curling raven hair.
“Hello, Father, Mother, dear sisters,” Zoe crooned coming to each of them in turn and kissing their cheeks.
Calliope obediently kissed her in return although she never understood why her sister always greeted them as if they’d been separated for weeks instead of hours. “Hello, Zoe.”
Four of the house slaves were still placing heaping platters of vegetable dishes and roasted meat onto the table. The ladies took their usual seats and waited for Father to bless the meal.
“Demeter, goddess of the harvest and growing things, I ask your blessing on this meal and on my family.” Theodorus reached out and grabbed the nearest dish, filled with couscous and vegetables, and piled some onto his plate. Calli’s mother and sisters took their cue and also began to fill their plates. She waited until her favorites, stuffed grape leaves and lamb kebab, were passed before choosing anything.
They began to eat without speaking, as they always did. It was not proper for a woman to address a man unless he spoke first and her father was a man of very few words. That was why she jumped when he spoke.
“Calliope.” He sprayed pita crumbs and hummus across the table.
“Yes, Father?”
“How old are you now?”
“Fourteen, sir."
“Hmm,” he rubbed his graying beard. “Already?” He looked at her sisters and then back at her. “So, now I have three daughters eating my food who should be in their own homes with husbands and children of their own.”
She looked at her plate and pushed a bite of lamb around with a chunk of pita and said nothing.
“It is time that you were all matched. I have neglected my duty as a father and I cannot afford to keep you here indefinitely. Melaina and Zoe must come first, seeing that they are older, but I will have the three of you married before the end of growing season.”
She exchanged a shocked look with her older sisters. They were to be matched and hurried out of the only home they’d ever known in less than two months! Zoe’s face was ashen and she put down the morsel of meat she’d been about to pop into her mouth. Melaina took a long drink of wine and signaled to one of the attending slaves to refill her cup. Calliope looked to her mother for some sign of help but she averted her eyes and busied herself by piling more food onto her plate. Calli’s stomach roiled. Before she vomited her supper onto the table, she got up and ran.
She made it as far as the hall.
A Welcome Deluge
A deluge. Yes, that is what I've decided to call this latest spark of creativity. I started writing on Calliope's story on the 4th and haven't stopped. I've written a bit each day since and it's still flowing well. This is very exciting for me, seeing that I had writer's block for a couple of weeks before this.
I was having a bit of trouble posting sections from my hard drive on here a few days back. But I'm going to give it another try tonight. I'd really like to share a rough draft of a new section of Calliope's story. A work in progress without a title, but it's quickly becoming my favorite project.
I was having a bit of trouble posting sections from my hard drive on here a few days back. But I'm going to give it another try tonight. I'd really like to share a rough draft of a new section of Calliope's story. A work in progress without a title, but it's quickly becoming my favorite project.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Independence Day
On this day, the birthday of our nation, I wrote the most I've written on one of my novels in a long while. Very liberating. ;-) However, it was on Calliope's story again and not Artemisia's. I am nervous about having both of they related works going at the same time. I don't like the idea of neglecting one in favor of the other. But I also don't want to lose important ideas by ignoring one of them.
Have I said all of this before or what?
There could be a reason behind Calliope's story moving to the foreground. Perhaps I need to understand her better as a teen before moving on to her life as an adult. By knowing her struggles before finding a little slice of happiness (only to have it taken away again) I can make her even more real to my readers.
Writing is a roller coaster ride. The highs are exhilarating and the lows make you want to quit. Why would anyone choose this for themselves? As any writer will tell you if you ask, they don't - it chooses them. It's a need, a compulsion, to get what's inside their head out and make it reality.
Have I said all of this before or what?
There could be a reason behind Calliope's story moving to the foreground. Perhaps I need to understand her better as a teen before moving on to her life as an adult. By knowing her struggles before finding a little slice of happiness (only to have it taken away again) I can make her even more real to my readers.
Writing is a roller coaster ride. The highs are exhilarating and the lows make you want to quit. Why would anyone choose this for themselves? As any writer will tell you if you ask, they don't - it chooses them. It's a need, a compulsion, to get what's inside their head out and make it reality.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Sporadic Inspiration
Well, while I was on break at work today I decided to do some reading in a new book I bought on gladiators - research for my Artemisia novel. But about halfway through the second page a scene flashed into my mind. I kept reading, not wanting to begin something I couldn't finish at that point, but this particular scene was very persistent. It actually took over my thoughts as I was reading and none of the words made sense. All I could see was Calliope and her father. That's right, my inspiration wasn't even for the novel about Artemisia but for the prequel about her mother!
Well, needless to say I started scribbling in my notebook - thank the Muses I had one there for taking notes!! :-D The scene is still unfinished, but it's coming along well. Calli isn't very pleased with her situation right now. She's being told by her father that she has to marry her boorish, disgusting and crude cousin so her father's estate will remain in the family when he dies.
I'm not sure how I'm going to handle working on these two novels simultaneously, but I'm giving it a try. Worst case scenario is that I put one on hold until finish the other. My only dilemma would be which one to finish first? The proper chronological order would dictate I finish the prequel first, but authors write series out of chronological order all the time. Well, best not to worry about it too much. I suppose if it comes to that, I'll have a good sense of which novel is flowing better for me and I'll just go with it.
Well, off to finish that scene.
Well, needless to say I started scribbling in my notebook - thank the Muses I had one there for taking notes!! :-D The scene is still unfinished, but it's coming along well. Calli isn't very pleased with her situation right now. She's being told by her father that she has to marry her boorish, disgusting and crude cousin so her father's estate will remain in the family when he dies.
I'm not sure how I'm going to handle working on these two novels simultaneously, but I'm giving it a try. Worst case scenario is that I put one on hold until finish the other. My only dilemma would be which one to finish first? The proper chronological order would dictate I finish the prequel first, but authors write series out of chronological order all the time. Well, best not to worry about it too much. I suppose if it comes to that, I'll have a good sense of which novel is flowing better for me and I'll just go with it.
Well, off to finish that scene.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Now is the hour.
I just arrived home from a trip to Florida for the wedding of one of my best friends and on the plane I read the July/August issue of Writer's Digest - PUB 101. I must admit that I was one of the innumerable newbies who had no idea how much work goes into taking a book from acquisition to bookstore shelves. I need to do a LOT more research before I start querying again. Like brushing up on my contract law, looking at private publicists and track down the resources mentioned by the authors who contributed to this issue. All of this while trying to juggle a part-time job at a bookstore(which gives me an edge on the market research suggestions I read), start a new part-time job, this blog and keep writing creatively. Sure, I'll just pencil that in right after I fly around the world really fast to reverse the Earth's rotation and go back in time.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Muse
Every writer knows what I'm talking about when I say the muse is smiling on me right now. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I'm writing a book which centers around the culture of the Muses, nine ladies who brought the arts to the ancients. Could it be that they are pleased with my subject matter and have chosen to bring me more inspiration than I have hours in the day? Perhaps.
Or perhaps it is the love of this book and the characters I am creating that keeps my fingers tapping away at the keyboard hour after hour. I spent a good portion of my day working on a prequel to my Artemisia book. Although I promised myself not to divert away from the original until the rough draft is finished, Calliope's story is also demanding to be told.
She's one fiesty little Theban. I found out today that she has three sisters instead of the two I'd originally met; Melaina, Zoe and Echo. She's the third born and no brothers. Her father isn't too thrilled about that either and is now determined to marry the three oldest off as quickly as possible. She also plays the flute, despite the fact that her namesake is the muse of epic poetry. She does love to read, but isn't much of a writer herself. (She leaves that bit to me.)
So whether it be the influence of Greek goddesses, or just my own delusional obsession with writing, Artemisia is flowing from my brain and right through my fingertips. I'll ride this as long as it lasts.
Or perhaps it is the love of this book and the characters I am creating that keeps my fingers tapping away at the keyboard hour after hour. I spent a good portion of my day working on a prequel to my Artemisia book. Although I promised myself not to divert away from the original until the rough draft is finished, Calliope's story is also demanding to be told.
She's one fiesty little Theban. I found out today that she has three sisters instead of the two I'd originally met; Melaina, Zoe and Echo. She's the third born and no brothers. Her father isn't too thrilled about that either and is now determined to marry the three oldest off as quickly as possible. She also plays the flute, despite the fact that her namesake is the muse of epic poetry. She does love to read, but isn't much of a writer herself. (She leaves that bit to me.)
So whether it be the influence of Greek goddesses, or just my own delusional obsession with writing, Artemisia is flowing from my brain and right through my fingertips. I'll ride this as long as it lasts.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Artemisia's First Battle & novel status update
Artemisia update - I have been working on adding new characters (Marius being my favorite so far) and the book is coming along nicely. But the largest development so far has been that I've finally decided on a time period. The book will be set during the reign of Titus (79 - 81 AD). This was a particularly interesting period in Roman history, given that Vesuvius erupted during 79 AD and Titus finished his father Vespasian's building projects - the most notable of these being the Colosseum in 80 AD. The Colosseum was opened with games lasting 100 days. This will be a perfect setting for the ending I have planned for my book.
Here is Artemisia's first battle in the arena. She's taken Apollo's place because he's become very ill and is too weak to fight.
The noise of the crowd ebbed and rose with curses and taunts. From the shadows of the tunnel, Artemisia could just make out the forms of four gladiators and two summa rudis in the arena. Two Thracians were pitted against two murmillos. The Thracians, their helmets graced by griffins, wielded bent sickle swords. Behind their square shields they attempted to flank their opponents. The sun reflected off the murmillos’ fish scale embossed helmets as they used their long, rectangular shields to deflect the Thracians’ blows. The summa rudis stayed out of the way, tending to their duty as referees and, if necessary, weapons suppliers.
Artemisia twirled the short sword in her hand, testing its weight. She was thankful that at least Apollo had been assigned to fight as a provocator. The chest plate of his armor hid her breasts, but the leather straps chaffed her back. She rolled her shoulders and laid a hand on her bare torso trying not to think about all that might go wrong.
It wasn’t going to be so bad. The matches were already decided before they began. Apollo was expected to win. Artemisia adjusted her helmet; the weight was already making her neck ache. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
The crowd roared into a steady chant. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Her attention snapped back to the fraction of the arena floor she could see. The murmillos had the Thracians backed against the wall. Gladiators didn’t fight to the death anymore. What were they doing demanding the death of valuable slaves?
An eerie silence fell over the arena.
She couldn’t see where the patron sat, but she knew they were awaiting his decision. A raucous cheer swelled until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.
A few moments later the two murmillos limped away and several men scurried out onto the arena floor. The bodies of the Thracians were carried off toward the south where the trash wagons waited.
The calm she’d felt before evaporated. What would she do if the fight didn’t go as planned? The sword in her hand felt useless.
“You there, get your shield ready!” One of the guards pointed at her. “When that gate goes up you enter the arena. If you don’t,” he held up his spear with a smirk, “I’ll give you a bit of encouragement.”
Artemisia wiped the sweat from her palm and picked up her shield. The rattle of chains signaled that her time to fight was near. The gate rose before her and she could see her opponent stumbling out into the bright afternoon sun.
She stepped forward, shading her eyes from the sudden blinding light. Hoots and jeers followed her progress across the hot, blood-stained sand. Together, she and her opponent marched to stand before the canopied box seat where the patron of the games sat with his family and the senators he wished to impress.
As she’d waited in the wings Artemisia had still believed that their greeting to him was only tradition. Now as she looked at the man she would fight, a few inches shorter than herself but with much broader shoulders, she could no longer soothe her fear with that illusion.
She raised her sword. In unison with her opponent she intoned, “Hail sire, we who are about to die salute you.”
The patron, a young man with light hair, nodded to them and with a slice of his hand bid them to fight.
Artemisia leapt back just as her opponent swung his sword in a wide arc. She felt more confident, the attack was lacking in skill. She settled into the stance ‘Pollo had taught her in secret. She gripped her sword and shifted her shield to protect her torso. The other provocator stabbed at her with a grunt of effort, and she side-stepped the attack with ease. Letting her brother’s training erase her fear, she slipped into the familiar steps and attacks.
She blocked another swing and lashed out with her shield. It caught the man’s shoulder and connected with his face guard, knocking him backward. Instinct pressed her forward, sword raised, but her opponent was quick. The strike just missed his thigh as he rolled left.
Artemisia backed away, giving him time to rise. The crowd could turn on her in an instant if it felt she weren’t giving them the show they deserved. The chant of “kill, kill, kill” echoed in her thoughts as she circled to her right.
An uneven place in the sand caused her opponent to stumble slightly. Artemisia took the opening and thrust her sword forward. It met its mark in the man’s right shoulder. He howled and the crowd went wild as she drew first blood.
The crowd roared louder as she was forced to fend off a wild attack. His sword stirred the air beside her left cheek as she dodged right. It crashed into her shield as she made a quarter turn to gain better footing. The fierceness in his green eyes pinched her throat closed as they locked weapons.
“Don’t plan for this to end as you’ve been told, boy,” he growled. “The mob is out for blood today and I’ll be damned if you spill any more of mine.”
A worm of pain squirmed across her stomach as they separated their swords. Dribbles of warmth raced toward the short tunic skirt wrapped tightly around her hips. The cut wasn’t deep and the sting was already fading.
Artemisia twisted her left shoulder and caught him in the chin with the corner of her shield. The clack of his teeth against each other sounded like a hammer on an anvil. With her left foot she hooked his right ankle and tumbled him onto his back again.
He jumped up cursing her.
In a flurry of slashing, aimless blows he pressed her backward. Losing ground was the first step to defeat. Artemisia knew the prize for this fight had become worth far more than the two silver denarii promised. The true prize today would be her life.
She spun left and stabbed at his abdomen. Her sword sunk into the unarmored flesh of his right side just below his ribcage. Artemisia was completely unprepared for the sensation. Until now her battles had been for training only. The firm, yet soft, yielding of his muscle and fat to the sharpened blade knotted her stomach. She fought the strong urge to vomit as she wrenched it free.
Her opponent stumbled and fell, his chest heaving. He made a feeble attempt to rise and the crowd’s roar reached the apex of its crescendo. Artemisia backed away when she realized what they were chanting.
“Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Her eyes involuntarily turned to where the young, fair-haired patron of the games sat. A golden laurel leaf pin sparkled upon the shoulder of his rich burgundy tunic. The canopy cast his face into shadow but his arms glowed ivory in the afternoon light. He raised his right hand.
It hovered.
His thumb thrust out from his fist and he jabbed it to his neck.
The mob’s frenzy rose even higher. Their chant dissolved into a cacophony of sound.
Artemisia looked down at the man lying upon the ground. Crimson leaked from the wound in his side. The wound she’d given him. She lifted her sword. Death was what the patron demanded for him. Death at her hand.
She began her downward strike but at the last moment threw her weapon aside. She tossed her shield down beside it. The crowd shouted profanity and jeers. Holding her head high, she kept her gaze fixed on the patron.
He stood and moved to the edge of his box. As he leaned upon the railing she saw the aquiline nose which curved over his thin lips for the first time. A hand raised to the sky was all it took to quiet the crowd. Within minutes the silence became more deafening than their shouting had been.
“Obey me slave,” he demanded. “I will not be defied. The crowd wishes to be entertained.”
Artemisia made her voice sound as much like her twin’s as she could. “That is the old way. I will not put a good fighter to death.”
She waited, willing her knees not to tremble. What was she doing? This would certainly mean her death instead. The patron stared, eyes openly filled with shock.
Then a shout came from the crowd. “Mercy!”
“Hail the merciful gladiator!”
“Show mercy, my lord!”
The sentiment was echoed again and again until the mob had changed its wishes entirely. The Romans were fickle, she had been told, and now Artemisia was seeing it for herself.
The patron’s mouth turned up in a resigned smirk. Again his raised hand silenced them. “Very well, gladiator, mercy is granted to your opponent this day. But I would see the face of the man who dares defy my command.”
Artemisia did not move. She could not move. To reveal her face would be her destruction. “I beg of you, my lord, to allow me to keep my face unknown. I do not wish for fame.”
“You defied me once, do not do it again. Reveal yourself, gladiator.”
Artemisia’s hands resisted as she reached up and removed her helmet. The sight of her auburn hair cascading down her back brought cries of shock from the lips of the mob.
“How dare you make a mockery of my games woman!” The patron’s once pale cheeks now flushed with anger. “The punishment for this deception is death. Seize her and carry out the sentence immediately.”
An outcry spilled from the crowd as the summa rudis rushed forward and took hold of her arms. Shouts of sympathy.
“Spare her!”
“Show mercy to the merciful!”
Artemisia could not believe her ears. The mob was asking for her life to be spared. But the patron’s decree was just. It was the proper punishment for what she had done. Their words ceased to have meaning as she waited for the patron to silence them again.
His face wavered. He turned to his left and then to his right. The senators on either side of him had also taken up the mob’s cry.
The summa rudis tightened their grip, watching him with her.
An alabaster hand silenced the mob one final time.
“Release her. How can I execute the crowd’s new favorite? What is your name woman?”
“Artemisia, my lord.”
“Well, Artemisia. I believe you have failed in your goal to avoid fame. May your deed bring you all that you deserve.”
With that he dismissed her.
She took the back alleys home to avoid admirers and those who might wish to do her harm. When she arrived, she paused outside. How would she explain this all to Mana and Papa?
Here is Artemisia's first battle in the arena. She's taken Apollo's place because he's become very ill and is too weak to fight.
The noise of the crowd ebbed and rose with curses and taunts. From the shadows of the tunnel, Artemisia could just make out the forms of four gladiators and two summa rudis in the arena. Two Thracians were pitted against two murmillos. The Thracians, their helmets graced by griffins, wielded bent sickle swords. Behind their square shields they attempted to flank their opponents. The sun reflected off the murmillos’ fish scale embossed helmets as they used their long, rectangular shields to deflect the Thracians’ blows. The summa rudis stayed out of the way, tending to their duty as referees and, if necessary, weapons suppliers.
Artemisia twirled the short sword in her hand, testing its weight. She was thankful that at least Apollo had been assigned to fight as a provocator. The chest plate of his armor hid her breasts, but the leather straps chaffed her back. She rolled her shoulders and laid a hand on her bare torso trying not to think about all that might go wrong.
It wasn’t going to be so bad. The matches were already decided before they began. Apollo was expected to win. Artemisia adjusted her helmet; the weight was already making her neck ache. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
The crowd roared into a steady chant. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Her attention snapped back to the fraction of the arena floor she could see. The murmillos had the Thracians backed against the wall. Gladiators didn’t fight to the death anymore. What were they doing demanding the death of valuable slaves?
An eerie silence fell over the arena.
She couldn’t see where the patron sat, but she knew they were awaiting his decision. A raucous cheer swelled until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.
A few moments later the two murmillos limped away and several men scurried out onto the arena floor. The bodies of the Thracians were carried off toward the south where the trash wagons waited.
The calm she’d felt before evaporated. What would she do if the fight didn’t go as planned? The sword in her hand felt useless.
“You there, get your shield ready!” One of the guards pointed at her. “When that gate goes up you enter the arena. If you don’t,” he held up his spear with a smirk, “I’ll give you a bit of encouragement.”
Artemisia wiped the sweat from her palm and picked up her shield. The rattle of chains signaled that her time to fight was near. The gate rose before her and she could see her opponent stumbling out into the bright afternoon sun.
She stepped forward, shading her eyes from the sudden blinding light. Hoots and jeers followed her progress across the hot, blood-stained sand. Together, she and her opponent marched to stand before the canopied box seat where the patron of the games sat with his family and the senators he wished to impress.
As she’d waited in the wings Artemisia had still believed that their greeting to him was only tradition. Now as she looked at the man she would fight, a few inches shorter than herself but with much broader shoulders, she could no longer soothe her fear with that illusion.
She raised her sword. In unison with her opponent she intoned, “Hail sire, we who are about to die salute you.”
The patron, a young man with light hair, nodded to them and with a slice of his hand bid them to fight.
Artemisia leapt back just as her opponent swung his sword in a wide arc. She felt more confident, the attack was lacking in skill. She settled into the stance ‘Pollo had taught her in secret. She gripped her sword and shifted her shield to protect her torso. The other provocator stabbed at her with a grunt of effort, and she side-stepped the attack with ease. Letting her brother’s training erase her fear, she slipped into the familiar steps and attacks.
She blocked another swing and lashed out with her shield. It caught the man’s shoulder and connected with his face guard, knocking him backward. Instinct pressed her forward, sword raised, but her opponent was quick. The strike just missed his thigh as he rolled left.
Artemisia backed away, giving him time to rise. The crowd could turn on her in an instant if it felt she weren’t giving them the show they deserved. The chant of “kill, kill, kill” echoed in her thoughts as she circled to her right.
An uneven place in the sand caused her opponent to stumble slightly. Artemisia took the opening and thrust her sword forward. It met its mark in the man’s right shoulder. He howled and the crowd went wild as she drew first blood.
The crowd roared louder as she was forced to fend off a wild attack. His sword stirred the air beside her left cheek as she dodged right. It crashed into her shield as she made a quarter turn to gain better footing. The fierceness in his green eyes pinched her throat closed as they locked weapons.
“Don’t plan for this to end as you’ve been told, boy,” he growled. “The mob is out for blood today and I’ll be damned if you spill any more of mine.”
A worm of pain squirmed across her stomach as they separated their swords. Dribbles of warmth raced toward the short tunic skirt wrapped tightly around her hips. The cut wasn’t deep and the sting was already fading.
Artemisia twisted her left shoulder and caught him in the chin with the corner of her shield. The clack of his teeth against each other sounded like a hammer on an anvil. With her left foot she hooked his right ankle and tumbled him onto his back again.
He jumped up cursing her.
In a flurry of slashing, aimless blows he pressed her backward. Losing ground was the first step to defeat. Artemisia knew the prize for this fight had become worth far more than the two silver denarii promised. The true prize today would be her life.
She spun left and stabbed at his abdomen. Her sword sunk into the unarmored flesh of his right side just below his ribcage. Artemisia was completely unprepared for the sensation. Until now her battles had been for training only. The firm, yet soft, yielding of his muscle and fat to the sharpened blade knotted her stomach. She fought the strong urge to vomit as she wrenched it free.
Her opponent stumbled and fell, his chest heaving. He made a feeble attempt to rise and the crowd’s roar reached the apex of its crescendo. Artemisia backed away when she realized what they were chanting.
“Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Her eyes involuntarily turned to where the young, fair-haired patron of the games sat. A golden laurel leaf pin sparkled upon the shoulder of his rich burgundy tunic. The canopy cast his face into shadow but his arms glowed ivory in the afternoon light. He raised his right hand.
It hovered.
His thumb thrust out from his fist and he jabbed it to his neck.
The mob’s frenzy rose even higher. Their chant dissolved into a cacophony of sound.
Artemisia looked down at the man lying upon the ground. Crimson leaked from the wound in his side. The wound she’d given him. She lifted her sword. Death was what the patron demanded for him. Death at her hand.
She began her downward strike but at the last moment threw her weapon aside. She tossed her shield down beside it. The crowd shouted profanity and jeers. Holding her head high, she kept her gaze fixed on the patron.
He stood and moved to the edge of his box. As he leaned upon the railing she saw the aquiline nose which curved over his thin lips for the first time. A hand raised to the sky was all it took to quiet the crowd. Within minutes the silence became more deafening than their shouting had been.
“Obey me slave,” he demanded. “I will not be defied. The crowd wishes to be entertained.”
Artemisia made her voice sound as much like her twin’s as she could. “That is the old way. I will not put a good fighter to death.”
She waited, willing her knees not to tremble. What was she doing? This would certainly mean her death instead. The patron stared, eyes openly filled with shock.
Then a shout came from the crowd. “Mercy!”
“Hail the merciful gladiator!”
“Show mercy, my lord!”
The sentiment was echoed again and again until the mob had changed its wishes entirely. The Romans were fickle, she had been told, and now Artemisia was seeing it for herself.
The patron’s mouth turned up in a resigned smirk. Again his raised hand silenced them. “Very well, gladiator, mercy is granted to your opponent this day. But I would see the face of the man who dares defy my command.”
Artemisia did not move. She could not move. To reveal her face would be her destruction. “I beg of you, my lord, to allow me to keep my face unknown. I do not wish for fame.”
“You defied me once, do not do it again. Reveal yourself, gladiator.”
Artemisia’s hands resisted as she reached up and removed her helmet. The sight of her auburn hair cascading down her back brought cries of shock from the lips of the mob.
“How dare you make a mockery of my games woman!” The patron’s once pale cheeks now flushed with anger. “The punishment for this deception is death. Seize her and carry out the sentence immediately.”
An outcry spilled from the crowd as the summa rudis rushed forward and took hold of her arms. Shouts of sympathy.
“Spare her!”
“Show mercy to the merciful!”
Artemisia could not believe her ears. The mob was asking for her life to be spared. But the patron’s decree was just. It was the proper punishment for what she had done. Their words ceased to have meaning as she waited for the patron to silence them again.
His face wavered. He turned to his left and then to his right. The senators on either side of him had also taken up the mob’s cry.
The summa rudis tightened their grip, watching him with her.
An alabaster hand silenced the mob one final time.
“Release her. How can I execute the crowd’s new favorite? What is your name woman?”
“Artemisia, my lord.”
“Well, Artemisia. I believe you have failed in your goal to avoid fame. May your deed bring you all that you deserve.”
With that he dismissed her.
She took the back alleys home to avoid admirers and those who might wish to do her harm. When she arrived, she paused outside. How would she explain this all to Mana and Papa?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Artemisia - Prologue
This is my current pet project. My historical fiction which is set in Ancient Rome. I don't have a set year just now, but it will be after A.D. 50. This is the prologue, which seems to be out of fashion with a lot of agents, but I can always blend bits of it into the main text later if necessary. There are a still some parts I need to rework but I think it does a great job of giving you some background on Artemisia's character. So here it is. :)
Kneeling, Calliope wiped the sweat from her brow and plunged the rag into the filthy water once more. With a grunt of effort she bent forward and continued to scrub the tile floor. Her enormous belly made the task even more difficult than usual, and the heat of the July sun did not ease her discomfort.
A wave of pain ripped through her abdomen and Calliope’s arms gave way beneath her weight. She rolled onto her side, gritting her teeth as she waited for the pain to cease. When it did, she went back to scrubbing. The baby was coming but it would be some time yet, and if she left the task unfinished her lanista would be angry. Childbirth was a natural function and no excuse for a slave to abandon her work.
When the floor was spotless, Calliope waddled into the courtyard and tossed the dirty water onto the sandy earth. She doubled over, stumbled and fell as another contraction seized her.
“Calli!” Augusta rushed to her side. “The baby comes?”
Calli nodded, unable to speak. Augusta helped her up, and whispering encouragement led her toward home. Laurentus had made their dwelling comfortable during the years of their marriage. As his fame as a gladiator grew he’d been allowed to keep a larger portion of his winnings, and Calli was grateful that her child would be born into a household of plenty.
“Lie back, dear.” Augusta lifted Calli’s feet for her and helped her to lean back against the wall.
“I’ll fetch Herminia.”
Calli wanted to beg her to stay; the last thing she wanted now was to be alone. If she were still at home in Thebes her mother and sisters would have been by her side. She took a deep breath as the pain ebbed. This was not her first labor. The previous two had borne her only silent babes. But Herminia was a devotee of Venus, the Romans’ name for Aphrodite, goddess of motherhood. Her presence would surely bless this birth. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
Soon she heard footsteps and opened her eyes to the sight of Augusta ushering in Herminia who carried a branch newly broken from a poplar, Venus’ tree. She placed it on Calli’s globular stomach and smiled.
“May Venus watch over us during this blessed time and bring to you a healthy babe with the strength of its father and the cunning of its mother.”
She leaned down and kissed Calli’s brow as another contraction contorted her face, forcing a primordial growl from her lips. A warm gush of liquid against her thighs warned her that the pain was about to get much worse. She said a silent prayer to Aphrodite, took the hand which Augusta offered and squeezed it with all her strength.
It was growing dark outside. Calli could hear snatches of distant conversation from the men waiting outside when she paused to catch her breath. Augusta wiped her face and throat with damp cloths and did her best to offer comfort. Herminia had tied the poplar branch in place over her stomach to ease the babe’s exit from her womb. It was not helping.
Calli screamed.
Herminia urged her to push.
At long last she heard the cries of her newborn babe and Augusta whispering in her ear, “It’s a girl, Calli. You have a lovely girl.”
As Herminia placed the tiny child in her arms another burst of pain wracked her exhausted body. But that could not be. The pain was supposed to stop once the child was born. Augusta whisked the child away with a worried frown. Laurentus appeared in the doorway a grin of relief upon his bearded face.
“Get him out of here,” Herminia barked over her shoulder. In a voice meant only for Calli she said, “There is another babe yet to bring into this world.”
In her muddled state Calli did not understand fully what she had heard. Another?
“Push,” Herminia ordered. “Oh merciful Venus, look over this woman in her distress.”
Calli only wondered for a moment if she’d been meant to hear the prayer as well and then obeyed. If pushing this second child out of her body was the only way to end the suffering, then she would find a way to do so.
******
“You may come in, Laurentus.”
He looked up from his seat upon the ground outside at Augusta’s pale, tired face and sprang to his feet.
“The babe? Calli?”
“Come and see for yourself,” she whispered and shuffled back inside.
His wife lay upon their bed, her beautiful, round face streaked with dirt. Her flaxen hair clung to her face in sweaty clumps. Her eyes were closed. She was so still, so peaceful. It was as if the hours of pained screams he’d heard had never happened at all.
A tiny movement drew his eyes away from her face to the bundle in the crook of her arm. It mewled like an animal and Laurentus reached down to push back its wrappings. A wrinkled, purple face blinked up at him.
“Say hello to your daughter,” Calli whispered without opening her eyes.
Relief poured through his veins, warmer and sweeter than the feeling which came with having drunk too much wine. He leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek.
“She will have to strive hard to match her mother’s beauty,” he murmured against her salty skin.
“And your son will have to work equally hard to be as dashing as his father.” She replied opening her eyes at last and hoisting a second bundle cradled in her other arm.
Laurentus dropped to his knees, with a mixture of elation and shock. A son and a daughter in one day? He would make certain to give Venus a proper sacrifice, for it was only through the goddess’ divine guidance that such a miracle could be possible. He had only time to kiss each of his babes on the tops of their heads before Herminia and Augusta hurried him out again so they could tend to Calli.
Eager eyes met him as he stepped into the fresh air once again. So great was his joy that Laurentus could only grin at them. Cassius spoke first.
“Well man, tell us the news. Have you a son or a daughter?”
Clamping a hand upon his old friend’s shoulder Laurentus shook his head in disbelief. “My dear Cassius, I have both.”
******
“Artemisia! Apollo!”
Putting her fingers to her lips, Artemisia implored her twin to keep silent. Their mother would punish her for it, but at seven the temptation to play games was far too great.
“Arrr-te-m-iii-sia! A-polll-o!”
She was closer. Apollo choked, trying to hold back his laughter. Artemisia cuffed him on the back of his head and scrunched her brows. He buried his face in both hands to further muffle the sound.
Footsteps approached their hiding place and stopped.
“Alright you two, come out of there.”
Artemisia pinched her lower lip between her teeth and stood. The bags of wheat reached only to her knees and without anything to cover them, they’d been easy to find. Apollo’s sweaty fingers intertwined with hers and squeezed.
“Mana, we’re sorry,” she whispered looking down at her dirty feet.
“Then hurry home so that you can help me finish the supper and chores,” she snapped, hands on her slender hips.
Artemisia scurried homeward, pulling Apollo behind her. Mana just missed her backside with a swift swat. Papa waited for them outside the hut door. His ruddy hair stood out in sweaty spikes from his hours of training in the yard. He ran his hand through it, making him look just as Artemisia imagined Jupiter himself did.
“So, where have you two been while your Mana was calling you?”
Her stomach felt like it was trying to leap out through her skin and she didn’t understand how her knees still had the strength to keep her from crumpling into the sand but Artemisia looked up at him. His eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black, smiled at her despite the frown on his face.
“We were only playing a game, Papa. We won’t do it again.”
“Hmm, best convince your Mana of that. She’s nearly here.”
Papa pointed behind them and in unison the twins turned to face her. Sunlight glinted off her beautiful golden hair, dancing along its curls. Artemisia wished she had curls as lovely as Mana’s. Her sky blue eyes snapped with irritation as she addressed Papa.
“Have they told you what they’ve been up to, Laurentus?”
“That they have.”
“Well, I’ve half a mind to switch the both of them until sitting would be a chore on its own.” She clamped a hand on first Artemisia’s shoulder and then Apollo’s and pushed them inside. “But I suppose this will have to do instead.”
Artemisia blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the cool dimness inside after the brilliant heat of the July afternoon. Familiar shadows dotted the hut. That black lump in the corner was the pallet she shared with her twin. The round blotch near the center of the room was Mana’s big cooking pot. Two strange shapes beside it drew her attention. They hadn’t been there before. At last she could see clearly.
The bundles were made of cloth. Mana handed the green one to Apollo and the deep blue one to her. “Happy birthday, my babies,” she whispered with tears shining in her eyes.
Artemisia cradled the bundle in her arms. It was heavy and tied with smooth, lavender ribbon instead of rough twine. She touched the luxury, feeling it slide effortlessly between her fingers. Apollo was already tearing at the cord binding his package. Not to be outdone by her younger brother, she pulled at the bow and gasped as it came open with ease. The cloth was a new tunic and the ribbon was meant to tie it at her waist. Nestled inside the tunic was a wooden sword, like the gladius Papa practiced with in the yard, but made just her size.
The new tunic forgotten, she took the weapon in her hand. It was solid and cool against her palm. She gave a tentative slash through the air. Seeing it, Apollo rose to challenge her.
“Stand up and defend yourself with honor,” he said, shuffling into a clumsy guard position.
“I will cut you down where you stand!” she shouted with glee.
“Not in here you won’t,” Mana warned. “Outside, both of you.” Then to Papa she said, “I knew those swords were a bad idea.”
As Artemisia rushed past him out the door she heard him chuckle. “They’re only children, my love; to them it’s only a game.”
“That’s what worries me.”
She heard no more of her parents’ conversation. The clack of her sword against Apollo’s drowned out all other sounds. When they’d worn themselves out, they went back inside where Mana had supper waiting. Barley porridge again.
After supper it was time for bed. Dawn would come early and she had to accompany Mana to The House. They would begin scrubbing the main hall’s floor tomorrow. It always took twice as long as the other rooms because the lanista, his family and guests tromped back and forth through it, heedless of the slave woman and her daughter who toiled at their feet.
But for tonight Artemisia was content. She fell asleep cradling her new sword. Her dreams were filled with battles in which she always emerged victorious.
******
One afternoon, not long after their birthday, Mana called Artemisia and Apollo to come and sit with her. With one twin snuggled beneath each arm she began.
“Have I told you the story about why I gave you your names?”
“Yes, Mana.” They intoned in unison. They’d heard the story so many times they both knew it by heart.
“I have?” She raised her delicate eyebrows in mock surprise. “But,” she whispered, suddenly secretive, “have I told you all of the story?”
“Yes, Mana.”
She grinned. “Are you sure?”
Artemisia felt her insides squirm. Was there really something new that Mana hadn’t told them before? A few moments passed in silence. She couldn’t tell what Apollo was thinking, but he seemed to be searching his memories just as she was.
“Please, tell us, Mana,” she begged at last, squeezing closer to her mother’s side. “Tell us all of the story.”
Mana kissed them each on the brow. “Alright, but you must promise not to interrupt, even if I tell you something you’ve heard before. It is all very important.”
“We won’t,” they answered together.
“The night you were born was very warm. Your Auntie Augusta was there and so was Herminia. They helped me bring you safely into the mortal world. But before that, you dwelt with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus, in Greece.”
“Mana,” Apollo whined, “you’ve told us this part before.”
Artemisia jabbed her elbow into his ribs, “Shh!”
Mana smiled and shook her head. “I thought you promised not to interrupt.”
Sorry, Mana.”
She gave Apollo a quick squeeze. “It’s alright, my treasure. Let’s see now, where was I? Oh of course, you were given to me by the gods as a blessing. It was only through their care that I was allowed to keep you both with me. Because you were born a girl,” here she kissed Artemisia on the nose, making her squirm and wipe the moistness away, “and you were born a boy,” she gave Apollo an identical kiss, “your names were already chosen. Zeus was blessed with his own twins –”
“I know! Let me tell this part, Mana! Please?” Artemisia couldn’t contain herself. This was her favorite part of the story.
“Very well, go ahead.”
“Um, Zeus’ twins are Artemis the moon goddess who never, ever got married and hunts with her friends and lots of big hounds.” She paused to glance at Mana who nodded encouragement.
"And Apollo the sun god who gives us warmth so crops can grow. Oh! And sometimes he helps his sister Athena in wars. Right?”
“Yes, Artemisia, you are right. But do you remember they were born of a mortal woman, just as you were? They were blessed with gifts and nothing could stand in their way. Let nothing stand in your ways either my babies. Your births were a miracle and your lives will be nothing short of extraordinary. Never doubt it. My heart knows that one day you will know more than the lives of slaves.”
“How do you know, Mana?”
“That is the part of the story I haven't told you yet, Artemisia.” She leaned down closer and whispered. “I know because the gods have told me in my dreams. When you are older, your names will be the most well-known in all of the Roman Empire.”
Artemisia gazed into her mother’s beautiful, solemn face and somehow she knew it would be so.
Kneeling, Calliope wiped the sweat from her brow and plunged the rag into the filthy water once more. With a grunt of effort she bent forward and continued to scrub the tile floor. Her enormous belly made the task even more difficult than usual, and the heat of the July sun did not ease her discomfort.
A wave of pain ripped through her abdomen and Calliope’s arms gave way beneath her weight. She rolled onto her side, gritting her teeth as she waited for the pain to cease. When it did, she went back to scrubbing. The baby was coming but it would be some time yet, and if she left the task unfinished her lanista would be angry. Childbirth was a natural function and no excuse for a slave to abandon her work.
When the floor was spotless, Calliope waddled into the courtyard and tossed the dirty water onto the sandy earth. She doubled over, stumbled and fell as another contraction seized her.
“Calli!” Augusta rushed to her side. “The baby comes?”
Calli nodded, unable to speak. Augusta helped her up, and whispering encouragement led her toward home. Laurentus had made their dwelling comfortable during the years of their marriage. As his fame as a gladiator grew he’d been allowed to keep a larger portion of his winnings, and Calli was grateful that her child would be born into a household of plenty.
“Lie back, dear.” Augusta lifted Calli’s feet for her and helped her to lean back against the wall.
“I’ll fetch Herminia.”
Calli wanted to beg her to stay; the last thing she wanted now was to be alone. If she were still at home in Thebes her mother and sisters would have been by her side. She took a deep breath as the pain ebbed. This was not her first labor. The previous two had borne her only silent babes. But Herminia was a devotee of Venus, the Romans’ name for Aphrodite, goddess of motherhood. Her presence would surely bless this birth. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
Soon she heard footsteps and opened her eyes to the sight of Augusta ushering in Herminia who carried a branch newly broken from a poplar, Venus’ tree. She placed it on Calli’s globular stomach and smiled.
“May Venus watch over us during this blessed time and bring to you a healthy babe with the strength of its father and the cunning of its mother.”
She leaned down and kissed Calli’s brow as another contraction contorted her face, forcing a primordial growl from her lips. A warm gush of liquid against her thighs warned her that the pain was about to get much worse. She said a silent prayer to Aphrodite, took the hand which Augusta offered and squeezed it with all her strength.
It was growing dark outside. Calli could hear snatches of distant conversation from the men waiting outside when she paused to catch her breath. Augusta wiped her face and throat with damp cloths and did her best to offer comfort. Herminia had tied the poplar branch in place over her stomach to ease the babe’s exit from her womb. It was not helping.
Calli screamed.
Herminia urged her to push.
At long last she heard the cries of her newborn babe and Augusta whispering in her ear, “It’s a girl, Calli. You have a lovely girl.”
As Herminia placed the tiny child in her arms another burst of pain wracked her exhausted body. But that could not be. The pain was supposed to stop once the child was born. Augusta whisked the child away with a worried frown. Laurentus appeared in the doorway a grin of relief upon his bearded face.
“Get him out of here,” Herminia barked over her shoulder. In a voice meant only for Calli she said, “There is another babe yet to bring into this world.”
In her muddled state Calli did not understand fully what she had heard. Another?
“Push,” Herminia ordered. “Oh merciful Venus, look over this woman in her distress.”
Calli only wondered for a moment if she’d been meant to hear the prayer as well and then obeyed. If pushing this second child out of her body was the only way to end the suffering, then she would find a way to do so.
******
“You may come in, Laurentus.”
He looked up from his seat upon the ground outside at Augusta’s pale, tired face and sprang to his feet.
“The babe? Calli?”
“Come and see for yourself,” she whispered and shuffled back inside.
His wife lay upon their bed, her beautiful, round face streaked with dirt. Her flaxen hair clung to her face in sweaty clumps. Her eyes were closed. She was so still, so peaceful. It was as if the hours of pained screams he’d heard had never happened at all.
A tiny movement drew his eyes away from her face to the bundle in the crook of her arm. It mewled like an animal and Laurentus reached down to push back its wrappings. A wrinkled, purple face blinked up at him.
“Say hello to your daughter,” Calli whispered without opening her eyes.
Relief poured through his veins, warmer and sweeter than the feeling which came with having drunk too much wine. He leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek.
“She will have to strive hard to match her mother’s beauty,” he murmured against her salty skin.
“And your son will have to work equally hard to be as dashing as his father.” She replied opening her eyes at last and hoisting a second bundle cradled in her other arm.
Laurentus dropped to his knees, with a mixture of elation and shock. A son and a daughter in one day? He would make certain to give Venus a proper sacrifice, for it was only through the goddess’ divine guidance that such a miracle could be possible. He had only time to kiss each of his babes on the tops of their heads before Herminia and Augusta hurried him out again so they could tend to Calli.
Eager eyes met him as he stepped into the fresh air once again. So great was his joy that Laurentus could only grin at them. Cassius spoke first.
“Well man, tell us the news. Have you a son or a daughter?”
Clamping a hand upon his old friend’s shoulder Laurentus shook his head in disbelief. “My dear Cassius, I have both.”
******
“Artemisia! Apollo!”
Putting her fingers to her lips, Artemisia implored her twin to keep silent. Their mother would punish her for it, but at seven the temptation to play games was far too great.
“Arrr-te-m-iii-sia! A-polll-o!”
She was closer. Apollo choked, trying to hold back his laughter. Artemisia cuffed him on the back of his head and scrunched her brows. He buried his face in both hands to further muffle the sound.
Footsteps approached their hiding place and stopped.
“Alright you two, come out of there.”
Artemisia pinched her lower lip between her teeth and stood. The bags of wheat reached only to her knees and without anything to cover them, they’d been easy to find. Apollo’s sweaty fingers intertwined with hers and squeezed.
“Mana, we’re sorry,” she whispered looking down at her dirty feet.
“Then hurry home so that you can help me finish the supper and chores,” she snapped, hands on her slender hips.
Artemisia scurried homeward, pulling Apollo behind her. Mana just missed her backside with a swift swat. Papa waited for them outside the hut door. His ruddy hair stood out in sweaty spikes from his hours of training in the yard. He ran his hand through it, making him look just as Artemisia imagined Jupiter himself did.
“So, where have you two been while your Mana was calling you?”
Her stomach felt like it was trying to leap out through her skin and she didn’t understand how her knees still had the strength to keep her from crumpling into the sand but Artemisia looked up at him. His eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black, smiled at her despite the frown on his face.
“We were only playing a game, Papa. We won’t do it again.”
“Hmm, best convince your Mana of that. She’s nearly here.”
Papa pointed behind them and in unison the twins turned to face her. Sunlight glinted off her beautiful golden hair, dancing along its curls. Artemisia wished she had curls as lovely as Mana’s. Her sky blue eyes snapped with irritation as she addressed Papa.
“Have they told you what they’ve been up to, Laurentus?”
“That they have.”
“Well, I’ve half a mind to switch the both of them until sitting would be a chore on its own.” She clamped a hand on first Artemisia’s shoulder and then Apollo’s and pushed them inside. “But I suppose this will have to do instead.”
Artemisia blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the cool dimness inside after the brilliant heat of the July afternoon. Familiar shadows dotted the hut. That black lump in the corner was the pallet she shared with her twin. The round blotch near the center of the room was Mana’s big cooking pot. Two strange shapes beside it drew her attention. They hadn’t been there before. At last she could see clearly.
The bundles were made of cloth. Mana handed the green one to Apollo and the deep blue one to her. “Happy birthday, my babies,” she whispered with tears shining in her eyes.
Artemisia cradled the bundle in her arms. It was heavy and tied with smooth, lavender ribbon instead of rough twine. She touched the luxury, feeling it slide effortlessly between her fingers. Apollo was already tearing at the cord binding his package. Not to be outdone by her younger brother, she pulled at the bow and gasped as it came open with ease. The cloth was a new tunic and the ribbon was meant to tie it at her waist. Nestled inside the tunic was a wooden sword, like the gladius Papa practiced with in the yard, but made just her size.
The new tunic forgotten, she took the weapon in her hand. It was solid and cool against her palm. She gave a tentative slash through the air. Seeing it, Apollo rose to challenge her.
“Stand up and defend yourself with honor,” he said, shuffling into a clumsy guard position.
“I will cut you down where you stand!” she shouted with glee.
“Not in here you won’t,” Mana warned. “Outside, both of you.” Then to Papa she said, “I knew those swords were a bad idea.”
As Artemisia rushed past him out the door she heard him chuckle. “They’re only children, my love; to them it’s only a game.”
“That’s what worries me.”
She heard no more of her parents’ conversation. The clack of her sword against Apollo’s drowned out all other sounds. When they’d worn themselves out, they went back inside where Mana had supper waiting. Barley porridge again.
After supper it was time for bed. Dawn would come early and she had to accompany Mana to The House. They would begin scrubbing the main hall’s floor tomorrow. It always took twice as long as the other rooms because the lanista, his family and guests tromped back and forth through it, heedless of the slave woman and her daughter who toiled at their feet.
But for tonight Artemisia was content. She fell asleep cradling her new sword. Her dreams were filled with battles in which she always emerged victorious.
******
One afternoon, not long after their birthday, Mana called Artemisia and Apollo to come and sit with her. With one twin snuggled beneath each arm she began.
“Have I told you the story about why I gave you your names?”
“Yes, Mana.” They intoned in unison. They’d heard the story so many times they both knew it by heart.
“I have?” She raised her delicate eyebrows in mock surprise. “But,” she whispered, suddenly secretive, “have I told you all of the story?”
“Yes, Mana.”
She grinned. “Are you sure?”
Artemisia felt her insides squirm. Was there really something new that Mana hadn’t told them before? A few moments passed in silence. She couldn’t tell what Apollo was thinking, but he seemed to be searching his memories just as she was.
“Please, tell us, Mana,” she begged at last, squeezing closer to her mother’s side. “Tell us all of the story.”
Mana kissed them each on the brow. “Alright, but you must promise not to interrupt, even if I tell you something you’ve heard before. It is all very important.”
“We won’t,” they answered together.
“The night you were born was very warm. Your Auntie Augusta was there and so was Herminia. They helped me bring you safely into the mortal world. But before that, you dwelt with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus, in Greece.”
“Mana,” Apollo whined, “you’ve told us this part before.”
Artemisia jabbed her elbow into his ribs, “Shh!”
Mana smiled and shook her head. “I thought you promised not to interrupt.”
Sorry, Mana.”
She gave Apollo a quick squeeze. “It’s alright, my treasure. Let’s see now, where was I? Oh of course, you were given to me by the gods as a blessing. It was only through their care that I was allowed to keep you both with me. Because you were born a girl,” here she kissed Artemisia on the nose, making her squirm and wipe the moistness away, “and you were born a boy,” she gave Apollo an identical kiss, “your names were already chosen. Zeus was blessed with his own twins –”
“I know! Let me tell this part, Mana! Please?” Artemisia couldn’t contain herself. This was her favorite part of the story.
“Very well, go ahead.”
“Um, Zeus’ twins are Artemis the moon goddess who never, ever got married and hunts with her friends and lots of big hounds.” She paused to glance at Mana who nodded encouragement.
"And Apollo the sun god who gives us warmth so crops can grow. Oh! And sometimes he helps his sister Athena in wars. Right?”
“Yes, Artemisia, you are right. But do you remember they were born of a mortal woman, just as you were? They were blessed with gifts and nothing could stand in their way. Let nothing stand in your ways either my babies. Your births were a miracle and your lives will be nothing short of extraordinary. Never doubt it. My heart knows that one day you will know more than the lives of slaves.”
“How do you know, Mana?”
“That is the part of the story I haven't told you yet, Artemisia.” She leaned down closer and whispered. “I know because the gods have told me in my dreams. When you are older, your names will be the most well-known in all of the Roman Empire.”
Artemisia gazed into her mother’s beautiful, solemn face and somehow she knew it would be so.
Artemisia - Laurentus is injured
This scene comes later in the novel. I'm not exactly sure where yet, but it's definitely in there somewhere.
“Calliope! Calliope!”
Artemisia paused in her chore of planting the jasmine shrub to see who shouted her mother’s name across the inner courtyard. Quintus raced into view a second later, his dark hair plastered down with sweat and dirt.
“Calliope!” he shrieked again.
The sheer panic on his young face was enough to make her stomach lurch. She dropped the spade and ran to him just as her mother emerged from the kitchen.
“What is it, Quintus?” Mana demanded. Then she saw the boy’s face and her body went rigid.
Artemisia started toward her, but stopped when Mana waved at her to stay where she stood.
“Quintus?” Mana’s voice was even, but empty.
“It’s Laurentus, ma’am. He’s been injured. They’re bringing him home now.”
Mana opened her mouth but no sound came out. The usual pink tint of her cheeks blanched to ashen gray. Artemisia rushed forward. Just before Mana was safely in her grasp, an odd gurgle escaped her lips and she collapsed.
Without hesitation, she scooped her mother from the ground and started for home.
Artemisia stumbled into the house and laid her mother on the chaise in the corner. Her limbs trembled from the effort of carrying her home. Still struggling for breath, Artemisia hurried to her parents’ room. Two slaves she didn’t know were laying Papa on the bed.
He did not look like her strong, jovial father. Blood stained his abdomen and flowed down his left leg. A large wound on his cheek also flowed freely. His deep brown eyes were closed.
“Is he –?”
One of the men laid a hand on her shoulder. “No, he’s alive. The doctor has been sent for.”
Artemisia could only manage a nod in return. The man she’d always believed to be invincible lay before her, unconscious and bloodied. She felt like she were in someone else’s body. What she was seeing could not possible be true.
Soon after, the doctor arrived. Mana was fully recovered after a sniff of his ammonia salts. Then he put them both to work as his aides.
“Boil water. Tear rags. Hold this candle. Not that high!”
The list of orders and demands seemed endless, but she obeyed him as fast as she could.
The wound was deep and Artemisia averted her eyes as the doctor threaded a needle with horse hair. She started to lose her grip on the candle and felt Mana’s warm, rough fingers close over hers.
“Go and fetch more water for the pot, darling.”
She nodded and stumbled from the room.
“How bad is it?” Mana asked.
“It is difficult to say . . . missed his lung . . . .”
Artemisia heard no more as she grabbed the water bucket and raced to the well.
Finally the doctor announced he had done all he could do. He gave Mana a bottle of acetum and instructions for how to use it to clean Father’s wounds. He told them to change the bandages after each application and left.
Artemisia stood in the bedroom doorway. Mana sat by Father’s side holding his hand. The candlelight sparkled on her unshed tears. It bounced from her angular cheekbones and left shadows beneath her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed Father’s lips.
“I knew this would happen,” she whispered, her voice choked. “What are we to do without –”
Artemisia left them then. It was time to make supper.
------------------
The fire crackled and snapped beneath the cooking pot. Artemisia was almost numb to its heat as she stirred the porridge. A hand squeezed her shoulder and she jerked her arm back from the pot so quickly she almost spilled it onto the floor.
“Sorry, Arti.” Apollo squatted beside her. “Didn’t you hear me say your name when I came in?”
She looked at him and shook her head. “No,” she whispered and concentrated on stirring the porridge again.
“How’s Father?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t awakened since they brought him home.”
“Mana?”
“By his side.” Artemisia looked at her twin again. “She’s very upset. Maybe you can sit with her until I’m finished here.”
He smiled, “Of course.”
As he started to rise, she grasped his hand. “How did this happen, ‘Pollo?” She felt the tears in her eyes.
He crouched and hugged her. “He’s going to be all right, Arti.”
She let herself sob into her brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The outcomes were already decided! Her father wasn’t supposed to die.
Apollo let her cry until she was finished and then went to see Mana and Father. Artemesia stirred the glop in the pot. While she’d allowed herself to be weak, the bottom had burned. It was going to take forever to clean up.
“Calliope! Calliope!”
Artemisia paused in her chore of planting the jasmine shrub to see who shouted her mother’s name across the inner courtyard. Quintus raced into view a second later, his dark hair plastered down with sweat and dirt.
“Calliope!” he shrieked again.
The sheer panic on his young face was enough to make her stomach lurch. She dropped the spade and ran to him just as her mother emerged from the kitchen.
“What is it, Quintus?” Mana demanded. Then she saw the boy’s face and her body went rigid.
Artemisia started toward her, but stopped when Mana waved at her to stay where she stood.
“Quintus?” Mana’s voice was even, but empty.
“It’s Laurentus, ma’am. He’s been injured. They’re bringing him home now.”
Mana opened her mouth but no sound came out. The usual pink tint of her cheeks blanched to ashen gray. Artemisia rushed forward. Just before Mana was safely in her grasp, an odd gurgle escaped her lips and she collapsed.
Without hesitation, she scooped her mother from the ground and started for home.
Artemisia stumbled into the house and laid her mother on the chaise in the corner. Her limbs trembled from the effort of carrying her home. Still struggling for breath, Artemisia hurried to her parents’ room. Two slaves she didn’t know were laying Papa on the bed.
He did not look like her strong, jovial father. Blood stained his abdomen and flowed down his left leg. A large wound on his cheek also flowed freely. His deep brown eyes were closed.
“Is he –?”
One of the men laid a hand on her shoulder. “No, he’s alive. The doctor has been sent for.”
Artemisia could only manage a nod in return. The man she’d always believed to be invincible lay before her, unconscious and bloodied. She felt like she were in someone else’s body. What she was seeing could not possible be true.
Soon after, the doctor arrived. Mana was fully recovered after a sniff of his ammonia salts. Then he put them both to work as his aides.
“Boil water. Tear rags. Hold this candle. Not that high!”
The list of orders and demands seemed endless, but she obeyed him as fast as she could.
The wound was deep and Artemisia averted her eyes as the doctor threaded a needle with horse hair. She started to lose her grip on the candle and felt Mana’s warm, rough fingers close over hers.
“Go and fetch more water for the pot, darling.”
She nodded and stumbled from the room.
“How bad is it?” Mana asked.
“It is difficult to say . . . missed his lung . . . .”
Artemisia heard no more as she grabbed the water bucket and raced to the well.
Finally the doctor announced he had done all he could do. He gave Mana a bottle of acetum and instructions for how to use it to clean Father’s wounds. He told them to change the bandages after each application and left.
Artemisia stood in the bedroom doorway. Mana sat by Father’s side holding his hand. The candlelight sparkled on her unshed tears. It bounced from her angular cheekbones and left shadows beneath her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed Father’s lips.
“I knew this would happen,” she whispered, her voice choked. “What are we to do without –”
Artemisia left them then. It was time to make supper.
------------------
The fire crackled and snapped beneath the cooking pot. Artemisia was almost numb to its heat as she stirred the porridge. A hand squeezed her shoulder and she jerked her arm back from the pot so quickly she almost spilled it onto the floor.
“Sorry, Arti.” Apollo squatted beside her. “Didn’t you hear me say your name when I came in?”
She looked at him and shook her head. “No,” she whispered and concentrated on stirring the porridge again.
“How’s Father?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t awakened since they brought him home.”
“Mana?”
“By his side.” Artemisia looked at her twin again. “She’s very upset. Maybe you can sit with her until I’m finished here.”
He smiled, “Of course.”
As he started to rise, she grasped his hand. “How did this happen, ‘Pollo?” She felt the tears in her eyes.
He crouched and hugged her. “He’s going to be all right, Arti.”
She let herself sob into her brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The outcomes were already decided! Her father wasn’t supposed to die.
Apollo let her cry until she was finished and then went to see Mana and Father. Artemesia stirred the glop in the pot. While she’d allowed herself to be weak, the bottom had burned. It was going to take forever to clean up.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
So, the writing life gets put on hold for a variety of reasons; paying the bills, homework, social obligations - whatever. There seem to be more excuses than ideas in my mind the past few weeks.
But I plug along nonetheless.
I have recently picked up a short story that was the result of a "just for fun" contest on the Writer's Digest forums and have begun expanding it. It's what I call an "other world fantasy" because it doesn't take place on Earth. There are no elements of science fiction.
It's the story of an eleven-year-old boy named Hadwyn and his faithful pet chinchibbit, Shanely. The boy finds out from a mysterious old woman that he truly is the great-great-grandson of Callin, the greatest sorcerer his world has ever known. (Callin was destroyed 140 years ago by the evil sorceress, Rassidam.) Armed with this knowledge, Hadwyn must now discover his destiny while evading the clutches of The Followers of Rassidam.
I'm only about 37 pages into it but it's a fun distraction from the stress of job hunting.
I've been lax about researching agents for "Light of Avondell." I really do need to make a tangible goal. Perhaps researching one agent a week would be practical right now. But before I can submit to any of them I have to finish my query letter. But I think the best approach to that is to completely overhaul it for each agent. From what I've seen so far, some prefer a "bare bones" approach while others like a more in-depth account of the book to grab their interest.
Nothing worth having is easy, right?
But I plug along nonetheless.
I have recently picked up a short story that was the result of a "just for fun" contest on the Writer's Digest forums and have begun expanding it. It's what I call an "other world fantasy" because it doesn't take place on Earth. There are no elements of science fiction.
It's the story of an eleven-year-old boy named Hadwyn and his faithful pet chinchibbit, Shanely. The boy finds out from a mysterious old woman that he truly is the great-great-grandson of Callin, the greatest sorcerer his world has ever known. (Callin was destroyed 140 years ago by the evil sorceress, Rassidam.) Armed with this knowledge, Hadwyn must now discover his destiny while evading the clutches of The Followers of Rassidam.
I'm only about 37 pages into it but it's a fun distraction from the stress of job hunting.
I've been lax about researching agents for "Light of Avondell." I really do need to make a tangible goal. Perhaps researching one agent a week would be practical right now. But before I can submit to any of them I have to finish my query letter. But I think the best approach to that is to completely overhaul it for each agent. From what I've seen so far, some prefer a "bare bones" approach while others like a more in-depth account of the book to grab their interest.
Nothing worth having is easy, right?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Poetry in my soul.
While "the eyes are the windows to the soul" is widely accepted, I truly believe that poetry is a window into mine.
“Set the world on fire,” he said.
So I did.
I lit the match,
and watched the grasses
catch their last breaths
as the flames
ate away at them.
And I smiled.
I smiled, at what I had done.
I danced in the
ashes of what had been.
I became the glorious Phoenix
on wings of gold
soaring high.
© Kaycee Looney 7/15/00
“Set the world on fire,” he said.
So I did.
I lit the match,
and watched the grasses
catch their last breaths
as the flames
ate away at them.
And I smiled.
I smiled, at what I had done.
I danced in the
ashes of what had been.
I became the glorious Phoenix
on wings of gold
soaring high.
© Kaycee Looney 7/15/00
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sample chapter part 2 - Light of Avondell
The Byrume lumbered away, snuffling at the air like a beast.
“Did you find it?” the higher pitched voice called out.
“No.”
She waited and listened as they searched for her, never going far from where she hid. Aria closed her eyes. Summoning all the courage in her body she thought about mice, their soft, furry bodies and large keen ears. With a faint glimmer, she crouched upon four delicate paws. Her whiskers and ears twitched as she tested her surroundings. Only her pale eyes, swirling with a rainbow of colors, betrayed that she was not a true mouse. She dashed from her hiding place and into the open, but she’d underestimated her pursuers’ senses.
“There, the mouse!”
The ground shook and branches snapped as they chased her.
She ran faster on four legs than on her usual two and soon widened the gap between them. Again she hid herself. Her heart raced, and her breathing was labored, but she was alive. Concealed in a small clump of ferns, she waited. They were careless, stepping on twigs and scuffing leaves across the forest floor.
The sudden silence made the hairs on her body stand on end. Her flesh tightened with fear, and she felt herself begin to Flicker. The foliage around her started to glow with a pale purple light, soft at first and then bright enough to make her squint. The dewdrops sparkled with rainbows as her concentration broke and her disguise disintegrated.
The snap of twigs and crunch of leaves roared in her ears as they bore down upon her. An obese face, twisted with rage, loomed over her. She crouched, shielding her head with her forearms.
“Inetaus, pryubus, curundei, myanti!”
The spell spilled from her lips in the faintest of whispers, but it was enough. Just as the soil-blackened hands of the Byrume closed around her, Aria was gone.
She opened her eyes a sliver at a time until the forest around her was in full focus. She smoothed her hair with one hand and made a slow turn. The spell had saved her from the Byrumes but it had not taken her home as she intended.
“What went wrong?” she whispered. Now that she was away from the putrid, oily-skinned Byrumes there was time to concentrate. She knelt in the damp moss and breathed in its earthy scent.
The sensation of Transportation was uncomfortable at best. It felt like being pulled apart by scavengers a bit at a time and scattered on the wind. She had learned the spell only two weeks before, and Madame Hekwryn had forbidden her students to use it outside of the classroom until they had mastered it. But she had no choice. Aria focused on The Old One. With her fingers digging into her knees, she said in a firm, steady voice, “Inetaus, pryubus, curundei, myanti.”
This time she didn’t have to open her eyes to know the spell had worked. All around her the sounds of home rang out cheerful, comforting and safe. Hutton hawked his wares as he wheeled his cart up and down the tree’s strong limbs. A group of youngsters giggled and screeched as they raced past her in an energetic game of Pintelle. She remembered her own younger years spent doing the same. When she had the Pintelle in her hand and Sarshyn held the Goffer, they were unstoppable.
Sarshyn.
He would be worried. In a moment of spitefulness she almost decided to let him fret for a while longer, but instead made her way back to the Western Branch. He was waiting for her on the stairs leading to the next level. His glow brightened, and he leapt to his feet.
“Why did you actually go out there? Are you alright?”
Aria stopped a few steps away and swept a few strands of hair off of her face. “I’m fine. Two Byrumes saw me, but I used the Transportation spell to escape.”
“You really are insane, aren’t you?” he asked giving her a hug, then grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Don’t ever do that again.”
She was too relieved by her escape to be angry with him. The pure joy and relief in his honey-gold eyes made her soften even further. “Agreed, as long as you don’t question my character.”
Sarshyn shook his head and grinned. “You’re impossible.”
“And so are you, that’s why we make such a good pair.”
They walked together as far as the granary.
“I’ll see you in the morning for sword training,” she said as he ducked inside.
“I’ll be by to pick you up after breakfast, as usual.” With a wave he disappeared from view.
Aria dawdled on her way home.
Butternut oil lamps flickered in mainrooms, casting their light over dining tables laden with evening meals. Entry stones, flat and polished from Rings of use, were swept clean and awaited the arrivals of their masters and mistresses.
Korynna lived in the cottage with the sky-blue door. The house with the beautifully carved windowsills belonged to Harkinn and his wife Albianne. They expected their first child within the week. Moordecai and his brother, Ismial, shared the house next door. It always smelled of bainberry leaf smoke and pickled needlenuts. She paused to peep in at Gemella and Rees as they danced together without any music. When Rees noticed her, he winked and grinned. Embarrassed, Aria’s glow flushed a deep magenta, and she scurried away. Her home was just up ahead.
Smoke curled from the riverstone chimney. The sun’s rays sifted through the branches and splashed across the thick sod roof. Father believed that thatching was a fire hazard and wooden shingles were far too pricey. She’d grown to love the soft green of it, which her mother tended to with her knowledge of plant magic. The simple boards of the outer walls had silvered with age. In certain light they glimmered like her father’s hair.
She heaved a huge sigh. It would take an imaginative excuse to keep her from punishment this time. Her clothes were smeared with mud; the left leg of her trousers was torn from knee to ankle. They had been her last unpatched pair. Mama would be furious. She hesitated on the entry stone, took a deep breath and pulled the handle down. The door swung inward and the warmth of the room washed over her. Aria hadn’t realized how tired she was until that moment.
At the sound of the door, her mother, Asym, turned away from the stove. When she saw the state of her daughter’s clothing, the welcoming smile on her delicate face turned to a scowl, and the pale emerald glow around her lithe frame darkened.
“What have you done now?”
She’d decided upon the perfect lie on her way home, so without faltering, Aria looked her mother in the eye and said, “I was playing Pintelle with some of the youngsters and fell from one of the lower branches.”
She was too old for children’s games so she held her breath as Mama crossed the room and took her chin between her pine-scented hands.
“Are you hurt?”
Somehow she managed to shake her head no with her face sandwiched between Mama’s strong hands.
“Thank Lady Livnia you’re alright,” she whispered clutching Aria to her breast.
The genuine concern in her mother’s leaf-green eyes as she fussed over her made Aria feel a twinge of guilt; Mama’s earth Guide made her steady and calm, except when it came to her only child.
“No, I’m fine, but I ruined my trousers. I’m sorry.”
“Trousers,” her mother snorted, “you think I’d be concerned over the state of your trousers when you might have been killed?” She was ushering Aria toward the bathing room, “Go wash up and put on some clean clothes. I’ll fix your trousers tomorrow.”
“Did you find it?” the higher pitched voice called out.
“No.”
She waited and listened as they searched for her, never going far from where she hid. Aria closed her eyes. Summoning all the courage in her body she thought about mice, their soft, furry bodies and large keen ears. With a faint glimmer, she crouched upon four delicate paws. Her whiskers and ears twitched as she tested her surroundings. Only her pale eyes, swirling with a rainbow of colors, betrayed that she was not a true mouse. She dashed from her hiding place and into the open, but she’d underestimated her pursuers’ senses.
“There, the mouse!”
The ground shook and branches snapped as they chased her.
She ran faster on four legs than on her usual two and soon widened the gap between them. Again she hid herself. Her heart raced, and her breathing was labored, but she was alive. Concealed in a small clump of ferns, she waited. They were careless, stepping on twigs and scuffing leaves across the forest floor.
The sudden silence made the hairs on her body stand on end. Her flesh tightened with fear, and she felt herself begin to Flicker. The foliage around her started to glow with a pale purple light, soft at first and then bright enough to make her squint. The dewdrops sparkled with rainbows as her concentration broke and her disguise disintegrated.
The snap of twigs and crunch of leaves roared in her ears as they bore down upon her. An obese face, twisted with rage, loomed over her. She crouched, shielding her head with her forearms.
“Inetaus, pryubus, curundei, myanti!”
The spell spilled from her lips in the faintest of whispers, but it was enough. Just as the soil-blackened hands of the Byrume closed around her, Aria was gone.
She opened her eyes a sliver at a time until the forest around her was in full focus. She smoothed her hair with one hand and made a slow turn. The spell had saved her from the Byrumes but it had not taken her home as she intended.
“What went wrong?” she whispered. Now that she was away from the putrid, oily-skinned Byrumes there was time to concentrate. She knelt in the damp moss and breathed in its earthy scent.
The sensation of Transportation was uncomfortable at best. It felt like being pulled apart by scavengers a bit at a time and scattered on the wind. She had learned the spell only two weeks before, and Madame Hekwryn had forbidden her students to use it outside of the classroom until they had mastered it. But she had no choice. Aria focused on The Old One. With her fingers digging into her knees, she said in a firm, steady voice, “Inetaus, pryubus, curundei, myanti.”
This time she didn’t have to open her eyes to know the spell had worked. All around her the sounds of home rang out cheerful, comforting and safe. Hutton hawked his wares as he wheeled his cart up and down the tree’s strong limbs. A group of youngsters giggled and screeched as they raced past her in an energetic game of Pintelle. She remembered her own younger years spent doing the same. When she had the Pintelle in her hand and Sarshyn held the Goffer, they were unstoppable.
Sarshyn.
He would be worried. In a moment of spitefulness she almost decided to let him fret for a while longer, but instead made her way back to the Western Branch. He was waiting for her on the stairs leading to the next level. His glow brightened, and he leapt to his feet.
“Why did you actually go out there? Are you alright?”
Aria stopped a few steps away and swept a few strands of hair off of her face. “I’m fine. Two Byrumes saw me, but I used the Transportation spell to escape.”
“You really are insane, aren’t you?” he asked giving her a hug, then grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Don’t ever do that again.”
She was too relieved by her escape to be angry with him. The pure joy and relief in his honey-gold eyes made her soften even further. “Agreed, as long as you don’t question my character.”
Sarshyn shook his head and grinned. “You’re impossible.”
“And so are you, that’s why we make such a good pair.”
They walked together as far as the granary.
“I’ll see you in the morning for sword training,” she said as he ducked inside.
“I’ll be by to pick you up after breakfast, as usual.” With a wave he disappeared from view.
Aria dawdled on her way home.
Butternut oil lamps flickered in mainrooms, casting their light over dining tables laden with evening meals. Entry stones, flat and polished from Rings of use, were swept clean and awaited the arrivals of their masters and mistresses.
Korynna lived in the cottage with the sky-blue door. The house with the beautifully carved windowsills belonged to Harkinn and his wife Albianne. They expected their first child within the week. Moordecai and his brother, Ismial, shared the house next door. It always smelled of bainberry leaf smoke and pickled needlenuts. She paused to peep in at Gemella and Rees as they danced together without any music. When Rees noticed her, he winked and grinned. Embarrassed, Aria’s glow flushed a deep magenta, and she scurried away. Her home was just up ahead.
Smoke curled from the riverstone chimney. The sun’s rays sifted through the branches and splashed across the thick sod roof. Father believed that thatching was a fire hazard and wooden shingles were far too pricey. She’d grown to love the soft green of it, which her mother tended to with her knowledge of plant magic. The simple boards of the outer walls had silvered with age. In certain light they glimmered like her father’s hair.
She heaved a huge sigh. It would take an imaginative excuse to keep her from punishment this time. Her clothes were smeared with mud; the left leg of her trousers was torn from knee to ankle. They had been her last unpatched pair. Mama would be furious. She hesitated on the entry stone, took a deep breath and pulled the handle down. The door swung inward and the warmth of the room washed over her. Aria hadn’t realized how tired she was until that moment.
At the sound of the door, her mother, Asym, turned away from the stove. When she saw the state of her daughter’s clothing, the welcoming smile on her delicate face turned to a scowl, and the pale emerald glow around her lithe frame darkened.
“What have you done now?”
She’d decided upon the perfect lie on her way home, so without faltering, Aria looked her mother in the eye and said, “I was playing Pintelle with some of the youngsters and fell from one of the lower branches.”
She was too old for children’s games so she held her breath as Mama crossed the room and took her chin between her pine-scented hands.
“Are you hurt?”
Somehow she managed to shake her head no with her face sandwiched between Mama’s strong hands.
“Thank Lady Livnia you’re alright,” she whispered clutching Aria to her breast.
The genuine concern in her mother’s leaf-green eyes as she fussed over her made Aria feel a twinge of guilt; Mama’s earth Guide made her steady and calm, except when it came to her only child.
“No, I’m fine, but I ruined my trousers. I’m sorry.”
“Trousers,” her mother snorted, “you think I’d be concerned over the state of your trousers when you might have been killed?” She was ushering Aria toward the bathing room, “Go wash up and put on some clean clothes. I’ll fix your trousers tomorrow.”
Friday, January 9, 2009
Sample chapter - Light of Avondell
The idea for my first complete manuscript came to me in a flash of inspiration. I was brainstorming for a short story idea as a distraction from my writing project at the time. An image popped into my head and it was the first time I'd gotten a story idea in the form of a crystal clear scene. I decided to expand it, and voila! Aria was born. So, without further ado, here is the first half of chapter one.
Light of Avondell
© 2008 Kaycee A. Looney
Chapter 1 – Close Call
Sarshyn started it.
On the way home after sword training, he poked an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.
“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”
He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.”
Aria grinned and brought her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left behind.
“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response. He mirrored her stance.
“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”
His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind and Aria took advantage of that more often than she should have. It was always fun to antagonize him. She knew the look in his golden eyes; he was angry, but she stood her ground as he advanced. Little wisps of crimson that matched his hair sliced through the orange glow around his lean body as he raised his sword.
They battled in silence on The Old One’s wide, smooth branch. The only sound was the clinking of metal upon metal as their swords crossed again and again. He feinted left, and she moved to block him, but he thrust forward instead. The tip of his sword sunk into the soft flesh of her stomach a little harder than necessary.
“I acknowledge your victory.” Suppressing a grimace of pain, Aria bowed in the traditional pose of defeat with her arms perpendicular to her sides and her ankles crossed, left over right. When she met his eyes again, the anger was replaced by his usual mischievousness.
“I have the perfect punishment for you.” He smiled and slipped the sword into his belt. “You have to go west.”
Laughter spluttered out between her teeth as she clenched her sides to try and squelch it. He couldn’t be serious. Every Duende knew it was foolish and forbidden to go beyond the borders of their own land. Within Avondell King Atrian’s magic was able to protect them, but once a Duende was outside the reach of his enchantment they were in great danger. Did he want her to get eaten by a Byrume? After a few minutes she regained her composure and looked at him again. His face was placid and a little annoyed.
“You can’t mean that.” She stepped closer and laid her hand on his warm arm.
He shrugged away, “If you’re afraid, that’s alright. I mean, you are a girl.”
She felt the blood rush to her face, and the soft purple light wavering upon her lavender skin flashed a blinding white. “I’m not a coward, and you know it, Sarshyn!” She flicked her long, sapphire hair over her shoulder and stalked away with her best friend close at her heels.
They passed the granary with its expensive shingled roof. Hutton was hauling a large cottonflower cloth sack into the storeroom, sweat poured down his broad, bare shoulders. The scent of fresh-baked bread flowed over them through the bakery’s open door. The baker’s wife, Galinia, was placing the last few rolls onto her husband’s cart before he began his afternoon selling route. She wiped her pale blue hands on her yellow dress, smiled and waved to them.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry little Shifty One?”
“Nowhere,” Aria snapped. She hated that nickname. Being born a Shifter wasn’t something she’d asked for.
“Sorry we can’t stop and chat,” Sarshyn apologized as he jogged to catch up to her again. “That was rude,” he whispered.
“I don’t care.” She could feel her anger bubbling inside her, like lava threatening to burst from a volcano. Being ruled by all four Duendean Guides instead of just one was never easy, but her fire Guide was the most difficult to control. If he said one more word she wasn’t sure what she’d do.
Dodging youngsters and adults going about their daily routines, the two of them continued past the simple board and thatch houses until they reached the lowest branch on the west side of The Old One.
Today Burz and her cousin Fyn were on watch. If Fyn saw her that would be the end of it, he would tell her father. Shuddering at the thought of how he might punish her, she pressed her body against the smooth bark of the ancient tree’s trunk and held her breath. But she wasn’t going to let Sarshyn win.
“You don’t really have to,” he whispered, clutching at her shoulder. “I was onl–”
“Shut up! I’m going.” She knew when she was really angry, her eyes Shifted color and it scared him. Aria imagined they were melting between fiery orange and blood red. It made her feel a little better.
There was one way that she could be certain Fyn wouldn’t see her. Well, at least he wouldn’t know it was her he was seeing. Sarshyn was the only one who knew about this aspect of her Shifting ability. With her eyes closed, Aria concentrated. In a flash of soft white light, she was a small brown lizard with a pale blue stripe down its back. Sarshyn sucked air through his teeth, and his eyes lost their fire. She flicked out her pink lizard tongue and licked her right eyeball, then winked at him.
He shook his head from side to side. “Aria, don’t you could get –”
But she heard no more of his protest; she was scurrying headfirst down the weathered trunk. Dry leaves crackled beneath her cool lizard toes as she slid to the ground.
“It’s just a lizard, Burz. Go back to your post.” Fyn called from overhead.
With a smug flick of her tail, Aria scuttled across the forest floor and out of sight beneath some bainberry bushes. Once it was safe, she relinquished her disguise and crept through the undergrowth with as much stealth as she could. The air was suffocating amongst the close-growing clumps of brush.
“Sarshyn, idiot,” she mumbled parting the fronds of a fiddlehead fern with her hands. “I’ll show him who’s a girl.”
They both knew being female didn’t make her any less worthy. Yet somehow, when he insinuated that it did, she rose to the challenge. It had been that way since they were just youngsters. He teased her. She reacted. But she had to admit it worked both ways.
As they’d gotten older, the challenge had become more like a joke, but not this time. She was seventeen Rings old, but he always knew how to get under her skin. There was no other Duende on the entire planet of Eldunom who could irritate her so easily. So now here she was tromping through the forest without any purpose or protection even though she was quite old enough to know better.
Aria paused to wipe a sweaty lock of azure hair from her cheek, turning to look over her shoulder as she did. The Old One no longer loomed above the undergrowth. She’d proven her point. It was time to go home. All she had to do was follow her back trail and she would be at the base of the great tree in no time. Only there was no back trail to follow. The path she’d pushed aside in the dense vegetation had sprung back to its original place, leaving no sign that she had passed. Her light wavered.
Scanning the ferns and grasses nearby for any bruising or breakage, she waded into the greenery and leaned close to inspect the individual blades. Off to her right, she heard voices. They were coming closer.
Aria crouched low to the ground.
“I tell you I smell one of those Duendes. It’s close.”
A second voice, higher in pitch but with more authority answered, “You’re imagining things. If there were one Duende, there’d be at least a hundred, and we’d both smell’em. They always travel in swarms like bugs.”
In spite of her mounting panic, that gave her an idea. She thought about dragonflies and saw herself soaring into the sky unnoticed. But before she could Shift one of the Byrumes took a step closer. She flashed blue with terror.
“There! Did you see that?” the first one shouted. “I told you there was a Duende here!”
Then she was running. It didn’t matter in which direction, as long as she kept moving. Aria sped through the forest. She was alone, without a weapon, and if they caught her, there was no hope of rescue. She didn’t see the bainberry bush until it was too late.
The thorns tore at her hair, skin and clothes. The brush snapped as they lumbered toward her. She jerked her leg free and heard the distinct rip of fabric as her trouser leg split. Then she was running again. Stalks of asucarr and whips of firenettle slapped her face, but her mind was filled with stories her twin cousins, Fyn and Gynn, had told her about Byrumes.
They’re fifty lengths tall with long scraggly hair that’s so dirty, it’s green with mold and slime, Gynn’s musical, lilting voice tittered in her brain.
They have six rows of razor sharp teeth and hooked noses so they can smell us better in the underbrush, Fyn laughed. Byrumes use the oil off their skin for cooking their food, and if they catch you, you’re sure to be on the menu.
Aria used to think they were making up the stories just to see if they could scare her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a shiny pink face crowned with green slimy hair peering into the bushes less than twenty lengths from her. She huddled beneath a leaf and tried to make the light on her skin as dim as possible. Panic fluttered at the back of her throat, tickling like a spider’s web as she tried to slow her breathing. The Byrume lumbered away, snuffling at the air like a beast.
Light of Avondell
© 2008 Kaycee A. Looney
Chapter 1 – Close Call
Sarshyn started it.
On the way home after sword training, he poked an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.
“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”
He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.”
Aria grinned and brought her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left behind.
“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response. He mirrored her stance.
“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”
His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind and Aria took advantage of that more often than she should have. It was always fun to antagonize him. She knew the look in his golden eyes; he was angry, but she stood her ground as he advanced. Little wisps of crimson that matched his hair sliced through the orange glow around his lean body as he raised his sword.
They battled in silence on The Old One’s wide, smooth branch. The only sound was the clinking of metal upon metal as their swords crossed again and again. He feinted left, and she moved to block him, but he thrust forward instead. The tip of his sword sunk into the soft flesh of her stomach a little harder than necessary.
“I acknowledge your victory.” Suppressing a grimace of pain, Aria bowed in the traditional pose of defeat with her arms perpendicular to her sides and her ankles crossed, left over right. When she met his eyes again, the anger was replaced by his usual mischievousness.
“I have the perfect punishment for you.” He smiled and slipped the sword into his belt. “You have to go west.”
Laughter spluttered out between her teeth as she clenched her sides to try and squelch it. He couldn’t be serious. Every Duende knew it was foolish and forbidden to go beyond the borders of their own land. Within Avondell King Atrian’s magic was able to protect them, but once a Duende was outside the reach of his enchantment they were in great danger. Did he want her to get eaten by a Byrume? After a few minutes she regained her composure and looked at him again. His face was placid and a little annoyed.
“You can’t mean that.” She stepped closer and laid her hand on his warm arm.
He shrugged away, “If you’re afraid, that’s alright. I mean, you are a girl.”
She felt the blood rush to her face, and the soft purple light wavering upon her lavender skin flashed a blinding white. “I’m not a coward, and you know it, Sarshyn!” She flicked her long, sapphire hair over her shoulder and stalked away with her best friend close at her heels.
They passed the granary with its expensive shingled roof. Hutton was hauling a large cottonflower cloth sack into the storeroom, sweat poured down his broad, bare shoulders. The scent of fresh-baked bread flowed over them through the bakery’s open door. The baker’s wife, Galinia, was placing the last few rolls onto her husband’s cart before he began his afternoon selling route. She wiped her pale blue hands on her yellow dress, smiled and waved to them.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry little Shifty One?”
“Nowhere,” Aria snapped. She hated that nickname. Being born a Shifter wasn’t something she’d asked for.
“Sorry we can’t stop and chat,” Sarshyn apologized as he jogged to catch up to her again. “That was rude,” he whispered.
“I don’t care.” She could feel her anger bubbling inside her, like lava threatening to burst from a volcano. Being ruled by all four Duendean Guides instead of just one was never easy, but her fire Guide was the most difficult to control. If he said one more word she wasn’t sure what she’d do.
Dodging youngsters and adults going about their daily routines, the two of them continued past the simple board and thatch houses until they reached the lowest branch on the west side of The Old One.
Today Burz and her cousin Fyn were on watch. If Fyn saw her that would be the end of it, he would tell her father. Shuddering at the thought of how he might punish her, she pressed her body against the smooth bark of the ancient tree’s trunk and held her breath. But she wasn’t going to let Sarshyn win.
“You don’t really have to,” he whispered, clutching at her shoulder. “I was onl–”
“Shut up! I’m going.” She knew when she was really angry, her eyes Shifted color and it scared him. Aria imagined they were melting between fiery orange and blood red. It made her feel a little better.
There was one way that she could be certain Fyn wouldn’t see her. Well, at least he wouldn’t know it was her he was seeing. Sarshyn was the only one who knew about this aspect of her Shifting ability. With her eyes closed, Aria concentrated. In a flash of soft white light, she was a small brown lizard with a pale blue stripe down its back. Sarshyn sucked air through his teeth, and his eyes lost their fire. She flicked out her pink lizard tongue and licked her right eyeball, then winked at him.
He shook his head from side to side. “Aria, don’t you could get –”
But she heard no more of his protest; she was scurrying headfirst down the weathered trunk. Dry leaves crackled beneath her cool lizard toes as she slid to the ground.
“It’s just a lizard, Burz. Go back to your post.” Fyn called from overhead.
With a smug flick of her tail, Aria scuttled across the forest floor and out of sight beneath some bainberry bushes. Once it was safe, she relinquished her disguise and crept through the undergrowth with as much stealth as she could. The air was suffocating amongst the close-growing clumps of brush.
“Sarshyn, idiot,” she mumbled parting the fronds of a fiddlehead fern with her hands. “I’ll show him who’s a girl.”
They both knew being female didn’t make her any less worthy. Yet somehow, when he insinuated that it did, she rose to the challenge. It had been that way since they were just youngsters. He teased her. She reacted. But she had to admit it worked both ways.
As they’d gotten older, the challenge had become more like a joke, but not this time. She was seventeen Rings old, but he always knew how to get under her skin. There was no other Duende on the entire planet of Eldunom who could irritate her so easily. So now here she was tromping through the forest without any purpose or protection even though she was quite old enough to know better.
Aria paused to wipe a sweaty lock of azure hair from her cheek, turning to look over her shoulder as she did. The Old One no longer loomed above the undergrowth. She’d proven her point. It was time to go home. All she had to do was follow her back trail and she would be at the base of the great tree in no time. Only there was no back trail to follow. The path she’d pushed aside in the dense vegetation had sprung back to its original place, leaving no sign that she had passed. Her light wavered.
Scanning the ferns and grasses nearby for any bruising or breakage, she waded into the greenery and leaned close to inspect the individual blades. Off to her right, she heard voices. They were coming closer.
Aria crouched low to the ground.
“I tell you I smell one of those Duendes. It’s close.”
A second voice, higher in pitch but with more authority answered, “You’re imagining things. If there were one Duende, there’d be at least a hundred, and we’d both smell’em. They always travel in swarms like bugs.”
In spite of her mounting panic, that gave her an idea. She thought about dragonflies and saw herself soaring into the sky unnoticed. But before she could Shift one of the Byrumes took a step closer. She flashed blue with terror.
“There! Did you see that?” the first one shouted. “I told you there was a Duende here!”
Then she was running. It didn’t matter in which direction, as long as she kept moving. Aria sped through the forest. She was alone, without a weapon, and if they caught her, there was no hope of rescue. She didn’t see the bainberry bush until it was too late.
The thorns tore at her hair, skin and clothes. The brush snapped as they lumbered toward her. She jerked her leg free and heard the distinct rip of fabric as her trouser leg split. Then she was running again. Stalks of asucarr and whips of firenettle slapped her face, but her mind was filled with stories her twin cousins, Fyn and Gynn, had told her about Byrumes.
They’re fifty lengths tall with long scraggly hair that’s so dirty, it’s green with mold and slime, Gynn’s musical, lilting voice tittered in her brain.
They have six rows of razor sharp teeth and hooked noses so they can smell us better in the underbrush, Fyn laughed. Byrumes use the oil off their skin for cooking their food, and if they catch you, you’re sure to be on the menu.
Aria used to think they were making up the stories just to see if they could scare her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a shiny pink face crowned with green slimy hair peering into the bushes less than twenty lengths from her. She huddled beneath a leaf and tried to make the light on her skin as dim as possible. Panic fluttered at the back of her throat, tickling like a spider’s web as she tried to slow her breathing. The Byrume lumbered away, snuffling at the air like a beast.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Embrace nature's beauty. It feeds the soul.