What you are about to read is a sample of my writing: the (v4.0) revision of the prologue for Five Rings.
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"Prologue:
~ ~ ~
"There exists a gate through which even beggars and thieves may pass.”
Prologue:
~ ~ ~
The city had settled beneath the ocean by the time Dahjal arrived. But the water was still churning, still belching up remnants of the past. The tattered spires and tower tops were like memorials to his bloodline; one that ran deep as the ocean, right down to the crushed city streets below.
He'd seen his home desecrated countless times. Lost beneath snowfields, buried under desert sands, hopelessly shattered against mountainsides-- It was as if the Creator was trying to play games with him.
While his mind surged with the memories of his childhood, there was an underlying feeling of dread. The manifestation of the City of Enoch was always a portent. Terrible things would follow.
~ ~ ~
Talun buried his face in the wool lining of his hood. He scanned the expanse of snow and leafless whitearcs beyond the perimeter tower. No army would be foolish enough to take the Temple of Marai during the midwinter-- that's why he was only to serve half a shift. But he was certain he'd been there for at least two. Glancing back at the temple, he cursed the warmth within. And he cursed the guards who had somehow forgotten about him.
He maintained a firm grip around the knotted rope that would ring the temple bell. Sounding a false alarm would cause undue chaos, but at least he'd be warm again. At least he'd live to see another day.
As he weighed the consequences, several guards emerged from the temple. It was odd to see so many approach at once just to relieve him of his post. Perhaps they planned to apologize? None-the-less, he'd soon be out of the wretched cold.
As they crossed the courtyard, he called out, "It’s about time. I almost had to abandon post just to-" His breath caught. Each of their faces were obscured by black cloth.
They approached, silent as wraiths, until they were just out of sight beneath the watchtower. He heard hooves shuffling, then footsteps grinding into snow, then more creaking up wooden steps. One-by-one, the faceless men stepped onto the platform to crowd in around him. There, they stood. And watched.
A human voice broke the otherworldly silence. "You are to remain outside the gate."
Talun let out a nervous laugh. "Outside the temple walls-- during the midwinter-- Is that where you want me?"
“You’re to remain there until you receive further orders.”
“No,” Talun said as cold as he felt. He squinted in an attempt to see the facial details just beyond their veils. "I’m dying. The Meiallin would never give such an order.”
“Talun, please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
It was a voice he recognized. He’d heard enough. He pulled the cord with all his might and the bell rang. Icebirds scattered in all directions from the central tower. A chime echoed skyward.
Two guards rushed in to restrain his arms. The bell resounded. Blows were dealt to his stomach and by the third toll, his jaw met hard with the icy planks below. Blood rolled over his lip as his armor and effects were being torn away. He didn't resist-- He couldn't. They dragged him down the wooden stairs, past tethered horses and beyond the gate. And there he was left alone, naked, in the Daju snows.
His head rolled on its side. He watched helplessly as the guards traipsed through the snow along the blood-soaked path his body had left behind. As they closed the gate, panic set in. "This is treason! Aryl, Hanou, don't think I don't know your names. Don't think I won't remember each and every-"
The gate clicked shut.
~ ~ ~
Meiallin Asyria could see from all aspects. She could see with her eyes closed. She could see herself. Her hair was made of starlight and a gown of memories enveloped her.
She was drifting through the Fourth Ring, the breathable fires, a distinct reaction to lives spent, a manifesto redefined only by death. There, she was one with the sea of stars.
When a star was born, she felt its presence. When a star died, someone had passed away. The brilliant explosions of light would spill into the purple ether, adding to the whispers of the dead.
To come across another was a rarity, but a young girl appeared before her who took great care to keep her face hidden. She said, “Greetings, Meiallin Asyria,” her voice soothing and motherly, in spite of her youth.
Asyria's reply was automatic. “Greetings, sister of the Seven Rays.” She was unsure whose projection was being presented before her. Ribboned curls, a yellow nightgown, and a stuffed bear. She could think of no one with those particular tastes, and failed to match her to a star.
“It is an honor to meet such a gifted user,” the girl said as she gave a deep, elaborate curtsey worthy of court.
Asyria's concern grew. No star meant no soul. Demons had no souls. Yet this girl had a pleasing aura, one rich with positive energies. She couldn't bring herself to leave-- Not without learning more. “Why are you averting your eyes?" she asked.
"Because ... I don't want you to be afraid," said the girl as she squeezed the bear tight against her body.
"And why would you think I'd be afraid?" The meiallin was very good with faces. All she needed was a glimpse.
After some hesitation, the girl raised her chin. Her face was that of a typical little girl's, except there were hollow sockets where her eyes should have been.
Asyria met her gaze with a start, but then felt more uneasy than frightened. "Why does your projection ... have no eyes?"
Her response was strange. "I am no projection, Meiallin. No matter what form I take, I've always had no eyes." As she spoke, her voice deepened, she grew taller, her hair took on grey, her skin wrinkled, and her clothes changed, all of which should have been impossible for even the most seasoned of Seven Rays users.
“How-- How did you do that?”
If this being was not a projection, she had to be a demon. With a look of consternation, her form reverted back to that of a little girl. "Please do not be afraid," she pleaded.
“At least tell me your name.”
“Wisteria.”
The name sounded familiar. Possibly an ancient, dangerous name. “I'm sorry, I have to go-”
“Though I have no eyes, I see many things, Meiallin. I've seen Belial the Worthless take control of your temple, your mother, even your mind.”
Asyria backed away, brushing her forefingers together. “Belial is confined to the First Ring. It is bad luck to speak of such wickedness. Bad luck....”
“He's in the Third Ring now. You know him as Navol.”
"Navol? What do you know of Navol?" It was unsettling, how much Wisteria seemed to know about her personal life. But seeing Navol as a traitor, even a demon, didn't seem so difficult.
“It's not your fault. Everyone in the temple has been captivated by his power.” Extending her hand, she said, “Here, let me show you,” but Asyria shied away. She reached out again. “Please. You’re going to have to trust me.”
Wisteria's aura was warm and inviting, and so was the prospect of taking her hand. It was an energy unlike any she had ever felt. What choice did she have? If there was any truth to what she was saying.... She didn’t like the idea, but reluctantly, timidly, Asyria reached out to take it.
Their hands met, and the aura shot through her veins. Visions flooded her mind. Visions of her mother, Larimosa, dressed as a temple servant. Visions of herself motionless-- expressionless-- like a doll. Visions of five dancing flames, each burning out until one remained. Visions of people covered in sores, starving, being trampled to death by a stallion as dark as a starless sky; a stallion adjured by Navol.
The link severed. Asyria was breathless. She focused on her mother's star to help calm the beating of her erratic heart and whispered, "What I saw just now-"
"I wish it wasn't the truth," said Wisteria, her face full of sympathy.
"Yes. But ... was it the future?” Farsight was impossible-- Asyria knew that. But, then, so was shapeshifting.
“Everything I've shown you has already come to pass. Those visions were memories. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Memories? Of course! The energy, the visions, the overwhelming aura; Wisteria's existence was starting to make sense to her. “I could feel your connection to the ether.”
Wisteria gave a gentle smile. "Your ability to see beyond the veil gives me hope, little one. I am the arbiter of the fires."
"A being born of the Fourth Ring...," she whispered. "What should I do about Navol?"
"The temple is no longer safe. When you return to the Third Ring, you will be free of his power. He wants you to locate the seneschal. But you must escape before that happens. To stand a chance, you must reach Joun.”
As Wisteria faded into the fires, the meiallin felt conviction battle her fears. She let the purple ether consumed her.
There was a numbness. Drifting.
She awoke from her trance in the Chamber of the Convergence, the place where all ley lines intersect. It was covered from floor to ceiling in runic carvings, and at its center was the altar she'd been resting upon.
Still groggy, she forced herself up. She stood there, frozen, shocked to see her reflection staring back from across the room. Her face was painted like one of the dolls from her mother’s collection, like in the vision Wisteria revealed; her snow white hair in curly pigtails, and she'd been wearing a ridiculous frilly dress. How long have I been like this? she wondered. The last few years of her life felt like a blur, like something was blocking her memories. It hurt to try and remember.
Her attempts to focus on Larimosa's star also failed; as if her mother no longer existed. She shook with fright at the power it would take to astrally hide a giver's anima from her.
With a sense of urgency, she tore through the hallways, throwing open whatever doors might reveal her mother. A temple guard soon arrived to see what the commotion was about. "Hanou! My mother, have you seen her?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Giver Larimosa is in the audience chamber with Master Navol.”
Master? “Please," she stammered, "send her to my chamber … immediately … right after she is finished with her audience.”
He snatched her by the arm.
Wincing, she tried pulling away. "What are you doing? Let me go."
“I’m afraid I can't do that, Meiallin.”
She focused her energies, trying to make him loosen his grip. But it was as if an invisible wall was stopping her.
He smirked. "You can't get into my head, witch. It's useless to try." Asyria struggled as he dragged her down the hallway toward the audience chamber.
~ ~ ~
The ocean breeze called out to Dahjal. Black-tipped wings emerged from his robe, and, following the wind, he glided a short distance over the ocean. He landed, cradling himself in an oculus of a tower he recognized; one of the five spires of the Great Library.
The sounds of rushing water and creaking wood echoed inside. Broken opalescent windows lined the clerestory, allowing thin bars of light to penetrate the chamber. He dropped to the floor below where his feet met shallow water.
"It's overtaking the stairwell on that side of the tower, you know," said a familiar voice. As she stepped out from the shadows, holy light traced her smile. And then he knew; it was Anati.
He asked, “Have any of our brethren arrived?”
“No. It’s just you and me.”
“...I’ve missed you so much.”
Her face darkened. "Things haven't changed between us." The tower groaned as it took on more water.
“What hasn’t changed are my feelings for you.”
Anati laughed. “Of course they haven’t. I’m the only girl in the entire world that you can’t have.”
“I told you. That’s not why-”
“-I wouldn't have any use for you, anyway,” she mused. “What fun is a corrupted man who pretends to be innocent?”
Sighing, his heart ached for the Anati he held most dear; the one he knew before her sister was lost to the void. “Being cruel to me won’t bring Setare back.”
“Who said anything about Setare? This has always been about you-- You and your sick little obsessions with what you can’t have.”
Then, for a great while, the room grew quiet, save for the ambient sounds of the ocean.
In a hushed voice, she added, "No matter how ruined, it's almost necessary to see our home like this, isn't it?"
Dahjal turned to look out the window. "It certainly helps. Every time."
“Do you have a plan?”
“There’s a massive empire in Kassara. And it’s nearly in my grasp.”
“That’s it? I expected more creativity from you.”
“In the history of mankind, I’ve never seen a kingdom as large as Aydomar. I’d be a fool to pass it up.”
“Fine. And what of Rahaab?”
Anati was being typical of the way her sister would behave, seducing and torturing her way to information she had no business knowing. “My informants haven’t found any reliable information on Rahaab.” He turned around, surprised to find she'd been moving closer.
“Then what of Belial?” she whispered, brushing her fingers across his lips.
“Belial’s taken control of a sacred temple, where the meiallin resides.” Dahjal cleared his throat, angry that he would give into her so easily. He was helpless. He still loved her. But if they could somehow find a way, if they could prevent the world from ending-- if they could break the Grand Cycle-- he’d have forever to make her realize that, somewhere, deep down, she still loved him, too.
“He plans to use her to locate the seneschal?”
“She's a more reliable way than divination or mass genocide,” he said, feeling her breath on his skin. He already found it impossible to step away.
“Maybe his plan will save us some trouble, then. The Immanists must be furious.”
Dahjal nodded. “The meiallin is only thirteen. And she’s the child of a giver. Her birth was seen by many as a sign."
"The child of a giver? How cute! What's her name?"
"Asyria."
Her eyes shimmered. "What a lovely name for a little angel. It would be fun to get my hands on her."
"Belial won’t just hand her over, you know. And Asyria's comparable to a seraph. From what I've heard, she commands the Seven Rays at least as well as Drionus did."
Anati wrapped her lips around his forefinger, sucking and biting before letting it free. He drew a heavy breath. In a very soft voice-- almost a whisper-- she said, "You liked that, didn't you? ... I wonder how many years it will haunt your dreams?"
He stumbled back, startled the water had risen to his ankles. There was a series of loud snapping sounds below them, and the whole tower shifted.
Anati lost her footing. Dahjal threw out his hand, but it was too late. She fell backwards, landing on the remains of a broken altar. There, she shook her head, looking at him like he was a fool. Then, as if to regain composure, she brushed aside the hair dangling across her face. "At the shoreline did you happen to notice all the people? On the promontories?"
He nodded. "They seemed to be worshipping this place."
"Those people believe I summoned the city." She displayed herself over the tiers of broken stone, arching her back to accentuate the curves of her body. "How does it feel to be in the presence of a goddess, Dahjal? Is it humbling?”
Before he could say anything more, she transmuted into fire and vanished. All that was left was a trail of smoke leading out of the oculus.
Dahjal was left by himself. And the tower creaked and moaned.
~end of prologue."
Thanks for reading! I love feedback, so it would be great if you could drop a comment in my blog or email me.
If you are interested, the annotations for FIVE RINGS start here.
