A Sample of a fantasy novel idea I am working on.
The worn leather of the large tome was cracked in places along the spine, golden framed corners gleaming in the quickly dwindling candlelight. I blew the dirt off the cover, brushing remnants of road dust from my linen patched skirt. I found the book hidden among ferns at the base of my tree near the library, a place I frequented often to nestle against the familiar trunk. The book was ancient and locked. I’d worked my dirty fingers to get it to pry open all day, but there wasn’t a keyhole or seam to rip. The metal holding it together was completely fused shut.
The flame of the beeswax candle danced lazily to and fro as I sighed deeply, narrowing my eyes to make out my fingertips, trailing the thick stitching along the edge. The flame sputtered as I turned the book over, and I prayed that the light would last long enough for me to finally crack this thing open. The light flickered once more, then puttered out into smoke. I groaned, leaning back in my armchair, rubbing my neck to get the crick out of it from hunching over for so long. I was utterly spent, well before the sun had awoken the dawn. Much prepping of my knitting and recent garden harvest needed to be done to give my “offering” to the soldiers arriving in town today for the Sweep. Acid rose in my esophagus, fury roiling in my stomach. In and out, Mabel.
The Sweeps were the Queen’s way of ensuring our compliance while providing for her army. They were becoming more frequent as the winter months blew their cold winds in warning. Snagging a bushel of peppermint from the drying line, I threw a few stems into my mortar to grind up for tea. I put the kettle on and leaned against the counter. As if summoned by my irritation, my grey and white striped garden cat slipped in through the front door right as the sun slipped over the horizon. The cat leapt into my arms, purring loudly against my ear as he settled on his perch on my shoulder as I poured my tea and sniffled the calming aroma. Cats were intuitive creatures, and Munch could always sense when I needed a snuggle. The cat licked my cheek with his sandpaper tongue as I scratched behind his ears once more, plopping him into my armchair. I glowered at the leather book.
Five tolls from the belltowers pealed across the valley, clanging and alerting the village that the Queen’s soldiers had arrived through our front gates for the Sweep. The sound reverberated in my ribcage, striking equal measures of fear and resentment in my core. I stifled a growl as set the cup down to grow cold, lifted my basket of knitted scarves and gloves with one arm, then my tote of dried herbs from my modest garden with the other. Glancing down at the sealed book, I shook my head and started up the dirt path from my cottage to the village square. Pausing, a turned back around and shoved the tome into my tote bag. Maybe someone in the village knew something about it. As it slipped, the gilded edge sliced a finger, blood immediately rising and smearing on the roughly cut paper edges. I snicked in a breath and dropped the book. That was going to be difficult to scrub out. But did it matter? I couldn’t get it open, anyway.
Quickening my pace, I hurried up the path out of the valley into the town. The soldiers were scheduled to come at the end of every month, demanding an offering for the Queen’s army as a penance tax for living on her land. Her armies protected us from the monsters lurking in the forest and our continent’s enemies. Yet the tax wasn’t a mere percentage that dipped into our resources, but a painful dig; a gaping crater left behind to make us wither away in Barsk’s harsh winters. A wound to fill with a hoped generosity between villagers who could afford generosity, and an ache in the bellies of those who could only afford to steal and scrounge. The Queen’s reign was not a kindly one, but one with a steady hand, reminding her people that they ought to be grateful for her protection and generosity. I scoffed. Her so-called reign was a sickness that permeated the very earth we farmed. Our insignificant village, on the outskirts of the volcanic desert, was rich with minerals from the ash from the sleeping volcano’s eruption centuries ago. Yet our crops yielded only a third of what was sown, our sheep only able to survive birthing one lamb each spring before passing after a few days. T’was our plight, yet the Queen raided our supplies. Still poked her fingers at a festering wound of which she denied treatment.
There were the occasional whispers and grumblings across the land of a revolution. Of bringing power to the people’s hands, the ones that knew their land and needs well. But those were squashed as quickly as the second notion of support was made in shadows of taverns. She always knew that people were talking. Somehow, she always knew.
I blew a stray brown strand of hair out of my mouth before I accidentally inhaled it as the wind blew southward, my tresses escaping the loosening threadbare scarf I tied in an attempt to cover my hair. I darted my eyes towards the path and over doorways. No one was watching me make the trek – they were all too busy gathering up their own goods to hand over to the Queen’s men. A short breath escaped my lips, a momentary slip of emotion. Reaching with my free hand to pull the headscarf back over my hairline and closer to my forehead, a white-haired child ran up the stone pathway leading away from their house. I smiled at him gently, a little wave of my fingers. He stopped abruptly, curiosity and fear in his eyes.
“Charlie” a mother’s shrill voice stabbed at me. “Get back from the path! Get away from that woman.”
My smile fell, replaced by a cool aura of indifference. I imagined it wrapping around me like a tightly knit cloak, covering my unnaturally tan face and arms, clouding my strange pale eyes, straightening my back, and lifting my chin. My defensive armor if you will. My “stay away if you see what’s good for you” facade. The tenderness in me retreated. Was it fear of me that I saw in the boy’s eyes? My distinctiveness and stature? Or was the fear implanted into his mind from the stories he’d been told about the outsider women delivered to the town healer on the night of a blue moon? No matter. I turned away from the boy as he slowly backed away from me and ran toward his shrieking mother. My heart ached; breaking and twisting with guilt that I shouldn’t be carrying, but did nonetheless, and a wave of anger that I didn’t let rise to the surface. If I allowed it one iota of authority, I feared I would be lost within its grasp. Its grip and power threatened my countenance often, but I always won the battle, stuffing it deep within the cobwebbed corners of myself where the light of day has never touched.
Those padlocked and dank closets were my safety net. A place where I could contain that which would otherwise consume me if I let the memories grasp that I was aware of them. A deep scratch across my mouth and a red welt shaped like the back of the healer’s hand floated to my mind’s eye. Tears rippling the creek’s surface behind her home as I nursed my wounds in silence. I shook my head to rid myself from the image, imagining both hands shoving it back into the dark corner and slamming the door – never to be let out again.
I heaved a sigh, thankful that my feet continued to carry me towards the town square without half of my brain functioning. If I could, I would avoid the Sweep. But none could avoid it without the consequence of a public punishment. The last villager who couldn’t scrounge up enough of their dwindling resources was forced to kneel in the freezing water in the fountain through the night in winter. He lost a few fingers and toes because of it.
But the bazaar after the “donations” was a necessity. Sure, I could make my own garments and grow some vegetables and herbs, but there were other supplies I needed for my modest cottage that I had to shop for at the various tents. And some villagers were kinder to me than others that needed the items I crafted. I wished that I could be entirely self-reliant, but it was impossible with our terrain and society. We needed each other, just as the Queen needed our wares.
I sighed quietly, double-checking that my scarf was secure, and stepped into the gloomy square. I lifted my head slightly to search for the pitched tent of soldiers and their cart full of growing goods from our village and was instantly confused and horrified at what greeted me first. The village tavern was ablaze, yellow and orange flames devouring the old beams, the sign reading: THE BICKERING GOATS crashing to the cobbled street in a shower of sparks and splinters. Anwir, the tavern’s owner, stood a few yards away, stunned tears falling in rivulets down her face. I approached her slowly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She was one of the few villagers that treated me with kindness and did not shy away when my pale gray eyes met her deep green ones.
“Anwir… who did this?” my voice sounded strange and deeper to my ears, like the anger was leaking out of its hiding place and speaking for me.
Numbly, she faced me with unblinking eyes, briefly glancing toward the laughing soldiers sheltered under their tent, mugs of ale from her tavern in hand. They guffawed and slapped each other on the back, useless twits idling and allowing the fire to grow even as the town worked to get the water pump flowing.
I saw crimson. Purple vignetting the outside of my vision. It felt that the fire was consuming me, and I acted without deliberating. I didn’t care that my out-of-place chestnut hair came unbound, didn’t care that my wide hips swayed as I stalked towards the ten or so men gloating in the dancing shadows of their carnage. I did not care that the villagers paused to guess what I would do; to watch how the village outcast would react.
“Mabel – Mabel don’t, they’re not worth-“
My basket of knit items and herbs for them thwacked a soldier in the back.
“How dare you!” the words spit out of my mouth, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I thought I felt the flames of fire sizzling in my palms, warming them, but I assumed it was simply because I wanted to hit the jerk.
I could take the injustices against myself. I could handle the village casting me away because I wasn’t pale-skinned and pale-haired. I would allow them to blame me for the Sweep beginning, as my untimely arrival as a toddler to the village healer appeared too much like a coincidence. Hurt people wanted to put the blame on someone tangible, to find a scapegoat, and the Queen wouldn’t let them take a wrong step forward in her direction without dire consequences. But these soldiers were getting too rash, too bold in abusing their power. My body wouldn’t let me sit idly by.
“You laugh with stolen beer in your hands as you unjustifiably ruined that woman’s livelihood. Disgraces. All of you.”
Anwir pleaded at me, reaching for my shoulder. “Mabel, don’t. They’re not worth your life-“
I shirked her touch, my bag with the book sliding off into her hand instead as I met the eyes of each soldier. The men turned to meet my anger, and I faltered. There were many of them, and a woman with fiery anger could only do so much against a group of men whose honor had been insulted by someone they deemed inferior.
“You hear that, boys? We’re disgraceful beings, the girl said.” The soldier that spoke took a step forward, spurred on by the jeers of his comrades. “And who might you be, little wench?”
I lifted my eyes and the sneer fell from his face, replaced with disgust.
“Ah, a pale eyes, I see. Even better. Don’t spot much of your type anymore. But that’s cause you’re all mostly dead.”
He gripped me by the biceps, trying to get a yelp out of me, but I wouldn’t pleasure him with the sound. Much worse has befallen me throughout my lifetime besides a burly child trying to intimidate me.
“Men, why don’t you add to the flames a bit more? Test if it might catch onto that adjacent building over yonder while I take care of this little anarchist.”
Anwir yelled my name, trying to chase after me, one of my only friends in the village, but the soldiers held her down to watch whatever this soldier was about to do to me. I sensed the square quieting, onlookers stunned by the fire and the scene unfolding to the right. They wouldn’t know where to look, but I knew that no one would stand up for me. Frankly, they’d be glad to be rid of me. Maybe the Sweeps would stop, they would suppose.
He tried to turn my back to him, and I spat in his face. My head snapped to the side, stars dancing in the black haze tunneling my vision. I was back inside the healer’s hut, her spittle flying in my face as she shook me by the shoulder, pointing in my face and screaming obscenities as I cradled my bleeding cut from the ring on her fat fingers that backhanded me. His lips, pressing brutally to my mouth, broke the memory. Something within me wanted to crack, wanted to be let out, but it felt blocked, restricted. It felt purple and old, with a slight sense of nostalgia, like holding a weathered letter from a dead relative. The sense deepened and ached within me, asking to be set free. It was trapped by some barrier.
“SOLDIER!” a man yelled from the town gate. His voice echoed like the bells across the buildings. The man instantly stopped trying to touch me, dropping my body like a rag doll to the cobbled street as he stood to attention. I let myself drop though everything in me wanted to reach out and trip the man who’s tried to defile me, letting myself look defeated. I could sense what he wanted, what he would do if I hadn’t fought back. But I knew how to hide, how to play and act like someone that I’m not. It’s a skill I learned to survive the harsh words and winters of this village over the years.
“We didn’t expect you back until this evening after the Sweep, Captain Pax.”
“Clearly.” He turned his horse in circles, surveying the area. Onlookers started to gather water to help douse the flames, devouring Anwir’s inn.
I kept my eyes down as I slowly rose to my feet, hoping to shuffle away quietly after I escaped the handsy soldier. I wanted to throw up, to get the feeling of his mouth on mine and his hands on my body off of me. To slip away without attracting any further notice of my presence.
“Wait.” I stopped in my tracks, keeping my eyes low. I truly made everything so much worse for Anwir. I should have kept my head down, should have minded my own business. I turned to look back at the inn and was surprised to find that the villagers had the flames nearly doused, smoke billowing out the windows. There was more salvageable than I’d first thought. A rush of relief swept over me, drenching the purple fire raging in me. I was aware enough now to notice that rage had a color. Had I noticed that before? I stood to my full height, facing the captain on the back of his brindled colored horse as the soldier recounted his version.
The captain met my eyes and did a double take, something I was prepared for. I wouldn’t hide among these men. They didn’t deserve my subservience.
“You did assault a man of the Queen’s army, girl.” I bristled at the term girl, the captain looking no more than two years older than my 24 years. “And that requires a punishment.”
“What of your men stealing and burning the town inn, hm?” I challenged, taking a step forward. What could this captain to do me that hadn’t already been done? What more could be taken from me than what had slowly been chipped away since I was a child? I did not fear him.
“They too will be punished according to the Queen’s desires,” he replied, glowering at his squad. They cowered, glancing at one another in terror. They too felt the wrath of our dear Queen. “You will be without food for two days because of this. And you will walk next to your horses as we make our way. You-“ he said to the man who tried to defile me, “will be the one to explain to your General and Queen what happened this day.”
Satisfied gratitude snaked through me at their chagrin, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough for what they’ve put this continent through. I wasn’t sure about the other towns and villages across their country of Barsk, of what existed beyond their borders. They were heavily guarded, and no memories existed of what might lie beyond. But I knew that if the Sweep happened here, it happened in other villages to keep up with the needs of the army and to fill the Queen’s coffers.
“Place her into the stocks for the night. She’s given you her offering, has she not?” the captain said.
“Yeah, by chucking it at my head,” the soldier muttered.
The captain tried and failed to hide his amusement. “She has completed her task. Lock her in the stocks.”
A minor infraction’s punishment, I thought, curious about this captain as I was led to have my head and wrist placed in the carved holes of my prison for the night.
The chains clinking around my wrists instantly sent me into a panic. I thrashed, stunned by the visceral bodily response of utter terror. I screamed as I tried to escape, my neck slamming into the top of the stocks and aching against my efforts. Anwir approached me slowly and laid a palm on my cheek. Exhausted. I was utterly spent. She whispered her thanks for standing up for her and that it would be over soon. I saw she managed to get my tote bag in all the crazy as she lowered it behind the post by my foot. So grateful. I could try to sell the herbs the next week.
I collapsed into the stocks, my back fragile from the panic attack making it difficult to remain standing. My eyes fluttered shut, but before the dreaming world took me – a flash of a lush green forest, a stark white gothic castle, a sapphire jewel, and a redheaded woman came unbidden into my mind’s eye. The purple rage subsided, the gentleness of my heart returning to me.
What in the three realms was that?
***
“I’ll be there in a moment, gents,” I waved to the men waiting up to head the inn for the night. They deserved to let loose a little bit after today’s Sweep. Except Marley. At the thought of Marley’s name, I cracked my neck and felt the redness fanning up my neck. How dare he handle her in such a manner? She assaulted a soldier, but did his disgusting punishment fit the crime? No crime should be punished in the way he intended. I saw his dilated pupils, the eager roughness in which he tried to push her face first against the wall. I did not care what kind of manipulative and abusive reign my mother chose. My men would not be allowed to act in like manner. He would be reprimanded.
Turning my back to the cart as the men meandered down the street to guzzle some ales, I tossed an empty sack smelling of salted meat onto the cart to haul back in the morning. It landed on the meager pile of goods the villagers presented to us each month with a faint whoosh.
The village of Sigtona was not one that used civilized currency but had bartered and trading traditions, much to the Queen’s disdain. My platoon was ordered to refrain from trading with civilians. It gave the villagers a sense of connection with the soldiers, humanizing the queen’s army instead of fearing us. The villagers spat at us, hated us, and frankly, I did not blame them. But orders were orders, and I would take any command my Queen gave me. Though she didn’t have to know that I traded with as many people as I could before the trek back to the capital. The General would have my hide if he found out about my insubordination, regardless of my role. No, in fact, I am certain he would revel in the prospect, making the Queen, my mother, watch as he whipped me.
A growl sounded off to my left, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sure it was a dog. I turned to the well to pull some water to wash my hands and face. “Though it sounded like one massive canine,” I mumbled as I pulled the rope. I pulled an anelas dagger from my boot and held it loosely, my father’s training coming to mind. Don’t hold it with a vice-like grip, Pax. Give the dagger some wiggle room and she’ll go where you need her to.
Another growl sounded from behind the cart. The streetlamps were no help. Instead, they cast more shadows that unnerved me. I let the bucket fall back into the water. My eyes scanned the streets for any signs of movement as I crept around the cart, knees bent and dagger at the ready. People milled about the streets enjoying the warming spring air at the weekend’s beginning, despite the presence of his soldiers. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. I kicked a rock to startle whatever animal might lurk behind the wooden blockade. A long snout poked out from the corner, followed by the front to elongated hairy arms. It bared its sharp teeth to tear out my throat, then lunged in my direction, standing on its back two legs, long arms with sharpened claws held out, ready to wrap themselves around my trachea. I spun away, putting my back towards the street to keep from being trapped against the wall, and pulled out my sword from my left scabbard. A dagger would do nothing against this… creature, if I could call it that.
Before it could ready its body to spring again, I held my sword over my head with two hands, like an executioner ready to behead its victim. A yell exploded out of me as I attempted to slice through the thing’s neck, a horrendous screech blasted into the air. A sound like a hurting child combined with a drowning cat. One hack wouldn’t do it. Fighting the urge to cover my ears, I quickly raised my sword again and cut off the creature’s head, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as its head hit the stony street. A woman shrieked behind me, sobbing at the scene before her while clutching her partner’s arm in terror. Were there more of these things?
Wheezing, I shook out the ache in my arms and sprinted into the street, looking for any others that might hide in the shadows or among the villagers. I turned in circles, scanning shingled houses and shops, the town gate not over 200 paces away, and checked down the street where my comrades had gone off to not minutes before. I sagged in relief, not seeing anything to cause danger. I walked to the couple, taking care to hold my sword behind me so the black blood dripping from the tip wouldn’t make the woman faint.
“Are you alright, madam?” I asked, tilting my head to meet her eyes.
“What was th-”
Grunts and growls erupted around us. Monsters unleashed upon the village. Some poured in from the city gates, some jumping over the roofs that I’d scanned my eyes over moments ago. “Fenrish,” I realized in horror. But no, not the same wolf-like creature I’d grown accustomed to fighting over the years. These were different. Larger. More agile despite their extensive arms, limbs that were long as their bodies were tall. No, these were creatures had been morphed or bred. The forest was changing, and so were its creations.
“Run! Take cover!” I shouted to the surrounding villagers, hoping they’d lock their doors against the onslaught of wolves descending into their town in time. I tried to count them: roughly fifteen pillaged the area, and this was only the east side of town where the city entrance and watch tower were. Why weren’t the bells ringing to alert the townspeople?
I stabbed at a Fenrish rushing at me once, then twice before it fell, then looked up at the bell-keepers. I stared on in horror. The trunks of bodies from both of the two towers were tossed to the street below, followed a few seconds later by their jaggedly severed limbs.
There would be no defeating these creatures, I realized, even if the village defenders could rally and fire their arrows. The wolves wouldn’t be fazed. We could only fight the ones that we could land a blow on and hide, praying that whatever they wanted would be found quickly and they would retreat from whence they came. This village would not recover from this. And the Queen would not assist them as they suffered through recovery.
***
Screaming. Someone was screaming.
Images from the vision swam through my head, but it couldn’t be dealt with.
Fear sunk down into my already quivering limbs. Somehow I’d forgotten I was locked in the stocks. I must’ve fallen asleep. I shook my head to clear it, kicked my legs to shake out the tingles. The shrieking remained. Doors were knocked off their hinges, and streaks of blood tracked through the streets as if someone had been injured and dragged out of their house across the threshold. Women shrieked in agony over unmoving bodies lying at their feet.
Three hunched things were creeping their way through the square, breaking into one building at a time. In the wake of damage behind them, houses were torn apart to slivers, and a fire burst to life on one property. Villagers scrambled for cover, the bazaar forgotten, and people’s wares left behind for a chance of survival.
“Let me out of here!” I shook the stocks holding my wrists and head in place, the chains ringing to capture anyone’s attention. But the captain was the one who held the key. And he was nowhere in sight. The soldiers were probably well on their way out of town to deliver their stolen goods to their Queen. I spat on the ground in her honor.
Why weren’t the bell-keepers sounding the alarm? Where were the village warriors? Hell, where were the queen’s soldiers?
“Mabel!” a familiar voice shouted a few paces in front of me. “We have to get you out!”
Tilting my head as much as I could, I barely spotted Ismelda at the top of the street, her kid brother on her hip. I sagged against the wood in relief. She was my only friend, daughter to Anwir, and the only person I could trust in this town. My relief was short-lived. The creatures swiveled at the sound of Ismelda’s clear voice rising above the people wailing.
“Ismelda, you have to run!” I screeched; flailing and bucking against the stocks. She saw what my shaky hand pointed at, and sprinted back down the hill into the valley, the opposite direction of where the monsters were creeping. Their legs were spindly, arms longer than their height, bloodied fingertips scraping the ground as they walked. Their beady eyes met mine, legs readying for what I couldn’t tell. They leapt, gliding through the air with claws outstretched towards my face. Screaming, I could only stare in terror as they loomed closer, blurry thoughts of the redheaded woman smiling down at me flitting through my mind.
The metallic warning bells clanged at last, the notes bouncing off the short peaks of our village mountains. Three notes followed by a delayed gong. An invasion.
A hand thunked to my feet, ichor splattering my sandaled toes.
A bloody sword swung thrice more, swiftly gutting two creatures and beheading the other. The captain stood panting, quickly surveying the streets for any others.
“It appears your sentence will end a smidgen early, huh usurper?”
