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Sun 25 Jul, 2004 05:37 pm
*A.N - This will eventually be a full novel, though I am only up to seven chapters. -END A.N.*
Chapter 1
-
"Give me the bow."
Calypsa laughed. "Get your own." She held the bow above her head so that her brother, Jarin, short in his age of only twelve sun cycles, couldn't reach.
"Please," he whined.
She giggled and started running, nearly toppling an elder in her glee.
"Calypsa Li'Sar!"
She stopped, turning to face her father. Her hands clasped together behind her back. "I'm sorry father," she said quietly, bowing her head.
He was angry, she could tell. "As well you should be. Sixteen cycles is much too old for you to be fooling about like a babe. Get back home and get your chores done." He started toward the elder, adding, "And give your brother his bow," as an after thought.
Sixteen cycles wasn't old. She'd only just completed her womanhood ceremony and was barely of marrying age.
Calypsa went inside her father's hut and collected his tunics to be washed and mended, discovering a few pairs of leggings that needed it, as well.
She put them in a Mandisari basket, made by the people of her village, and walked down to the river. The water was cool and clear, reflecting the deep blue hues of the sky.
She got the garments washed and had them hanging over a nearby tree branch to dry.
A scent in the air caught her attention. It wasn't uncommon, she knew, to pick up scents and sounds from a neighboring village, but usually it took an Elven elder of some skill to do it.
She wasn't so powerful, so the source of the strange scent must be close.
She edged her way along the river, passing through a copse of thorny helia bushes, and into a clearing.
The spot faced the river and was surrounded by trees and underbrush.
She started to walk through, but stopped, covering her mouth with her hand. "A fire warlock," she whispered in awe.
A warlock was one of the rarest sects in her world, and one who could control fire was the rarest of all. They were hunted, like the ancient Draconus, because of their affiliation with fire and the belief that they were evil.
The warlock groaned and rolled slightly, displaying a bare chest and firm muscle. His breeches were tore, his boots worn. The scent of blood was strong, and she immediately traced it to a nasty gash across his side.
She approached him hesitantly, not sure of his intent and found him in a state she believed to be unconsciousness.
Her hand reached out of his own volition, wanting to touch something so rare.
"Don't."
She jerked away, sprawling on her behind in the grass.
Her eyes went to his face. There was blood matting his shoulder-length flame colored hair and the goatee framing his full mouth. His eyes were open, and he appeared ready to do battle. There were tendrils of flame licking around the irises of his unusual eyes.
He grimaced, groaning in pain, his eyes returning to their usual hazel.
"Be still." She moved to his side. "I'm going to tend your wound."
"No! You must not touch it!"
She laid her hands in her lap. "If I don't, you'll get the blood fever, or worse, bleed to death."
"My blood will set you ablaze, stupid wench," he said through clenched teeth.
She scooted away immediately. "What can I do?"
He sat up, nearly howling with his pain. "Tear me a bandage from the hem of your underskirts," he said, his breathing labored.
She did as instructed, tearing it all the way around about four inches wide, as he maneuvered himself closer to the edge of the water until he was nearly sitting in it.
He held out his hand for the bandage and she placed it there, careful not to touch the dried blood in his palm.
He moistened the cloth in the running water of the river and leaned back on the grassy bank, dabbing around the wound.
Every time the cloth touched his injury, a sizzling could be heard like pouring water on hot coals.
When the gash was cleaned to his satisfaction, he stood, with much effort, and did something Calypsa thought she'd never see in the extent of her cycles.
As big and forbidding as a giant, he braced his feet apart and lifted his right hand. The nail on his index finger was nearly an inch long and as red as the sun in the Ricarit Desert.
His eyes flamed over, a phantom wind blowing his magnificent mane of red hair.
When his hand was waist high, he uncurled his long fingers, his palm facing out.
She watched, awestruck, as the tip of his fingernail produced a small flame, then it grew, engulfing his hand. He pressed it to the cut in his side.
It had started to bleed again just slightly.
He let out a bone-shaking roar as the gash sealed up tight with a hiss.
Weak, he dropped to his knees, bracing his big hands on his thighs, and breathing as if he'd just run a mile.
Seemingly having gathered his wits, he went to the river and scrubbed the blood from his face and corded forearms.
Calypsa watched him, fascinated, then stopped.
A sound came to her attention. Hoof beats and men talking, one man in particular, shouting orders.
He was watching her closely. "You can hear it?"
She nodded.
"They're less than a half mile from here."
Fear squirmed its way into her belly. "Who?"
"Warsan hunters," he replied, looking grim.
She gasped. So that's why he'd been hurt. "What will you do?"
"There is only one place I am safe. The Rhighan Mountains."
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "That's two hundred miles from here."
Nodding, he replied, "Ten days walk." He cocked his head, as if listening. "You must go back from whence you came."
"But, they'll kill you
"
He held up his hand to silence her. "You, as well, if you don't go."
She couldn't just leave him. Without a horse, he would lose ground to them quickly. "I'll get you a horse and some food for your journey. Come."
She led him back along the river, to the outskirts of the village. Thankfully, the horse pen was just ahead.
The stables were empty, as it was late afternoon and time for the evening meal. She got him the biggest horse they had, a white stallion, and saddled him up.
She led the horse behind the stables, handing him the reins. "Wait here," she whispered.
She moved carefully to her father's hut, going straight to the provisions and putting some in a leather pouch.
She rejoined him. Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder.
Handing him the pouch, she said, "There's sweet frybread and some cheese, also a flagon of wine."
He thanked her.
"Safe journey," she replied, knowing it would be the last time she would lay eyes on such a magnificent creature.
I've always been a fan of fantasy, you have a good beginning here.
A few things though; I think it moves just a little too fast from the intro to the action, unless there's a sizable chunk of normalcy to come you may want to think about adding a little more descriptive text in this chapter. Maybe describe the village or the weather or something. Just my opinion.
When Calypso first comes across the fire warlock, it needs to be a little more plain why she recognizes him instantly as a fire warlock. Just any predominant feature.
You say his eyes return to their 'usual' hazel, perhaps a more normal shade of hazel? After all, how is Calypso to know that that is their normal shade, she only just met him and they've already proven to be changeable.
Lastly, you say that fire warlocks are widely believed to be evil, yet Calypso helps him without question, you have not given her motive for this remarkable leap.
Other than these points I enjoyed what you've given of this story, I am looking forward to more installments!
fortune wrote:A few things though; I think it moves just a little too fast from the intro to the action, unless there's a sizable chunk of normalcy to come you may want to think about adding a little more descriptive text in this chapter. Maybe describe the village or the weather or something. Just my opinion.
When Calypso first comes across the fire warlock, it needs to be a little more plain why she recognizes him instantly as a fire warlock. Just any predominant feature.
You say his eyes return to their 'usual' hazel, perhaps a more normal shade of hazel? After all, how is Calypso to know that that is their normal shade, she only just met him and they've already proven to be changeable.
Lastly, you say that fire warlocks are widely believed to be evil, yet Calypso helps him without question, you have not given her motive for this remarkable leap.
You've made a couple of good points and I'm going to keep those in mind when I do my revisions. :wink:
Chapter 2
Wyndel mounted the horse, hearing someone shout, "There he is!"
He'd been spotted, the Elven girl, too.
"Grab the wench!"
"Go, girl!" Wyndel barked as she stood frozen in her spot. He started to ride off, catching a glimpse of two hunters as they neared the girl.
He sighed, cursing his own nature, as he turned the horse around and rode hard toward her. He leaned down, scooping her up as he passed. She settled on the saddle in front of him. "When I tell you to do something, do it," he said angrily as he rode up to the river.
He scanned his surroundings quickly. The mountains were North, so he crossed the river, maneuvering the horse into the forest on the other side.
They rode hard for miles, until the horse was tired.
He lifted the small girl from the saddle and set her on wobbly legs in the ground. Dismounting, he took the reins and trudged forward.
She didn't move. "What now?"
"We walk."
They'd covered quite a few miles by moonrise, alternating between riding and walking.
He spared a glance in her direction.
Her straight, waist length chestnut hair was mussed from the wind of riding, the tops of her pointed ears barely showing, and her eyes were more shut than open. About every five or six steps, she stumbled.
In her weariness, she tripped over a tree root, crying out as she fell hard onto her hands and knees.
He hoisted her up by her waist and stood her on her feet. "Keep up, girl, or get left to your own devices."
He moved on, wanting to make camp before the moon was halfway up in the sky.
He came to a circle of trees that housed a clearing shielded from view on three sides.
Tying the horse's reins to a tree, he left it to graze on the short foliage that seemed to cover the forest floor.
The Elf dropped to the ground, leaning against a tree.
Wyndel gathered a few pieces of brush and some dead wood, using his magick to start a fire in the clearing.
The girl was asleep outside the trees and he nudged her with his boot. "Come."
She murmured in her sleep, but didn't wake.
He nudged her again. Nothing.
Sighing his impatience, he picked her up, carrying her small form to the fire and laying her on the mossy ground beside it.
Her lashes lifted, revealing wide, innocent eyes, the color of a summer sky. "My name is Calypsa," she whispered, falling back asleep.
He moved himself away from her, staring into the fire before falling asleep himself.
He was in the midst of dozing off about halfway through the night when he heard a noise. The fire had died down, the coals not shedding much light.
Moving slowly, silently, he inched closer to the girl.
She was shivering, whimpering in her sleep.
He didn't notice the cold, his clan's magick sustaining him when his surroundings couldn't, and he sometimes forgot that the rest of the world could freeze or starve.
He sat beside her, laying his hand over the coals, murmuring a spell under his breath. The fire blazed again, with no wood to keep it going.
He stretched out behind her, using his body heat, which was easily twenty degrees warmer than hers would be normally, to warm her from the back as the fire did so from the front.
He fell asleep, more comfortable than he had been in a while.
-
Sunlight streamed through his eyelids as something soft and sweet smelling tickled his nose.
He wriggled his nose, trying to escape the sensation, but the pest was persistent. He opened one eye, encountering smooth strands of fine chestnut hair.
She was curled up, fast asleep, against him, her arm wrapped around his waist and her nose buried against his chest.
He shifted her, trying to move away without waking her.
She squirmed closer, her head lolling back. Very slowly, her eyes opened.
She blinked up at him with innocent eyes, smiling. "You're warm."
Wyndel moved away, sitting in silence for a moment before standing and going to the horse.
He untied the pouch from where it was tethered to the saddle. Going back to the clearing, he opened it and took a bite of the frybread.
She watched his mouth avidly as he chewed, looking away with a blush when he caught her.
Sitting down on the mossy ground, he offered the bread to her.
She took it, barely chewing as she ate.
He sipped the wine, handing her the pouch so she could finish the cheese. She would need it more than he would.
"We have a long journey ahead of us. We should keep moving." He closed the top on the wine, setting it beside her and returning to the horse.
She followed, still nibbling her cheese.
He mounted the horse and held out his hand to help her up in front of him.
She ignored it, more interested in the food in her hand.
Sighing his irritation, he picked her up by her waist, the cheese and wine still in her grip, and set her in front of him, resting his arm around her middle as she finished her morning meal.
They rode through the forest until the trees became sparse and a village came into view
She turned to look up at him. "Where are we?"
"Harric, an Orc town."
She gasped, her small hands clutching his arm where it was around her.
He scanned the horizon for signs of anything threatening. "We'll ride around it," he said quietly, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
He nudged the horse on slowly, skirting around the small town that looked more like a military encampment.
There was minimal movement, and that in its self was an oddity. Orcs were, by nature, a militant society. There should have been more than a few guards.
The air was silent except for the sound of hoof beats against the dirt path.
Wyndel looked around again.
Nothing.
He could feel it. Something was definitely
off.
Using his acute sense of hearing, he scanned the area again.
Someone was nearby. He couldn't hear them. He couldn't see them. But they were there. He'd almost bet his life on it.
Something was watching them.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
-
Calypsa's eyes were alert to her environment. She could sense something near them.
It was said that all Elven people had an alliance with nature, and they drew their power from it.
She'd seen countless cousins make plants grow with a touch of their hand or heal a dying animal by stroking its fur. Her own brother could communicate with the creatures of the forest like he would another elf.
But she was the exception to the rule. She was the only elf who couldn't.
Her father had sent her to numerous elders to try and find her skill, but there was none to be found. She'd given up on being normal, in any sense of the word.
It was a foreign sensation for her to sense anything, unless it was touching her.
The underbrush on this side of the encampment was tall and thick, leaving room for someone to hide.
The thought made her heart flutter with fear and a knot of worry tighten in her belly. She squirmed closer to the solid being behind her, his warmth a comfort, and held tightly to the thick forearm laying over her tummy.
"Be still," he whispered fiercely, his breath ghosting over the sensitive tip of her right ear.
She shivered, goosebumps racing over her skin, as she tried to sit stock still. She was sure, if he did that again, she'd fall off the horse, orcs or no orcs.
There came a great noise at their flanks and a hundred orcs came rushing at them.
The warlock quickly dismounted, standing before the armed orcs.
His unique eyes flamed over, and he lifted his fist, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He opened his palm, fire starting on the tip of his nail and engulfing his hand in orange, blue, and violet flames.
His other hand, which had been hanging limp at his side, came up, moving in a sweeping motion from right to left, the brush catching fire where his hand had just been pointing and creating a line of burning brush between them and the attacking orcs.
The orcs stopped their attack, looking fearful of the blaze that had erupted.
The warlock moved forward, standing in the flames, his long hair blowing in the non-existent wind. His voice was like a thunderclap when he spoke. "Why do you attack?!"
Calypsa could see them conversing. The meanest-looking one stepped forward. "You bring demons."
Demons? They lived deep underground, and it was said that their leader could control fire. They were fierce when angered and would die to protect their leader.
Calypsa had heard stories as a child of soul-stealing monsters that ate the dead. A cold chill worked its way up her spine and she glanced around her.
"We harbor no demons, orc!" The warlock replied, his voice a loud rumble that would make anyone quake with fear. "Let us pass!"
"We cannot!" the shorter man barked at the warlock. "You will see the king."
The warlock let out an angry roar. The fire that had restricted itself to his right hand, erupted in his magnificent mane of hair. "Let us pass, orc, or may your gods have mercy on you!" he warned.
The orc leader took a step back, showing his fear.
In that moment, Calypsa saw something in her mind.
Six blood colored eyes watched the exchange, without malice, from the cover of trees. She couldn't see their faces, only their eyes.
To their front, the orcs were retreating toward the town, but to their back
Calypsa nudged the horse toward him with her knees. "Warlock-"
"Wyndel," he said.
She nodded. "We are being watched."
He swung his leg over the saddle behind her. "I'm aware." He urged the stallion into a quick trot, heading into the plains.
They rode in silence for quite a few miles. They'd forgotten about being watched by the time they stopped to get a drink of water at a stream.
The sun was low in the western sky when they got back on the horse and moved on.
Calypsa's eyelids were droopy. She let her head fall back against Wyndel's shoulder
Her belly rumbled loudly and she blushed, murmuring, "Sorry."
The expression on his handsome face hadn't change from the interminable scowl. His full lips were turned down slightly at the corners, his brows knitted together.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth as he spoke. "We'll stop at an inn in the morning and get some food. We can't build a fire on the plains."
She got goosebumps just thinking about the night chill on her skin with no fire to ease it.
Calypsa gasped a little as she was suddenly lifted from the horse's back and set on her legs. Her feet were completely asleep inside her leather shoes and she almost fell.
Wyndel had climbed up a slight hill and was moving around. She followed, wincing at the pins and needles in her legs.
He had trampled down a spot in the waist-high golden grasses. If someone were to ride right by, they wouldn't be seen.
"We'll sleep here," he said.
She laid down and got comfortable, or as comfortable as one could get on the ground, and her exhausted body drifted off into sleep.
She awoke sometime during the night. He was pressed against her back, one thick, masculine arm was draped around her, as he murmured in his sleep.
He was as warm as a summer day and she wriggled closer as a cool wind drifted across her front. She turned in his arms and tried to get warm.
He moved in his sleep, threading his fingers through the hair at her nape and tucking her head beneath his chin.
He sighed, then went back to snoring slightly.
Calypsa was comfortable and safe and went back to sleep quickly.
She was awoken early in the morning by the rays of the sun shining cruelly through her eyelids.
She sat up, stretching to remove the stiffness from her muscled caused from sleeping on the ground.
As she relaxed, every hair follicle on her being stood on end.
They were close this time, watching her, all alone.
It was then she realized Wyndel was no where to be found. She refused to scream, even though the urge to was overwhelming.
She sat very still, her belly twisting up in knots. They could just attack her. She was without any protection.
A chill raced over her skin and she shivered as something moved in the tall grass.
Calypsa whimpered. What if the hunters had found them. What if Wyndel was lying somewhere dying.
She moved out of the clearing they had made and into the grass.
She heard something move again and, then, it gave a low, throaty growl.
I am enjoying this story.
Query: why does Wyndel run from the Warsan hunters when he can face down a hundred orcs all by himself. Maybe you could reduce the number?
Also, Wyndel was formerly wounded and yet he seems to suffer no ill effects. In fact you say that he "fell asleep, more comfortable than he had been in a while".
Not neccesarily a problem, but, IMO, the arrival of the orcs is a little abrupt. They're just sort of
there all of a sudden. Likewise for their disappearance. I also think that Wyndel and Calypsa forget about the thing watching them a lttle too readily. Like I said, not a real problem, it just felt that way to me when reading it.
I am looking forward to the next installment.
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