Discovery

This is just the first half of the chapter "Discovery." This one is kind of long, so I split it up. Don't worry, the second half is coming. Promise.


Atrianna wasn't sure how long she sat there weeping before her tears finally ran dry, but when she looked up the sky was dark. Sparse stars peeked through the clouds overhead, looking cruelly peaceful compared to the turmoil Atrianna was feeling within. A cloud passed in front of the waning moon, blocking out its faint light. Even in the dark, something seemed to glow. Atrianna looked around, searching for the source of the blueish light. She looked toward the sky, but saw nothing. Perplexed, she looked down at the ice beneath her and realized, to her utter amazement, that the ice itself was glowing. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, shook her head, and looked again; the glow was still there. Atrianna simply stared. Why is the ice glowing What is in there? All her previous worries were gone in an instant. She looked around her for some branch or rock or something that she could use as a tool to dig through the ice toward the source of the glow. She found nothing. Disappointed, she knelt back on the balls of her feet, staring at the glowing patch of ice.

A chill breeze blew across the lake, passing easily through Atrianna's thin tunic and sending goose pimples across her skin. She realized how late it had gotten - her family would be worried. After the news they heard this afternoon, she knew her mother would be frantic with worry. She knew she should get back, but was reluctant to leave the mysterious glowing ice patch. I'll come back tomorrow, she decided. Ercon has to see this...

* * * *

"Atrianna, where are you taking me?" Ercon asked the next day as he was being led, blindfolded, by Atrianna down a winding forest path. She had come racing into the bakery, babbling some unintelligible nonsense about Widow's Lake and the bloody merchant to him this morning. He grinned as he thought of how eccentric his friend could be. She often came running into his papa's bakery, eyes wide with excitement, yelling "Ercon! You'll never guess what I heard!" or, "Ercon, you have to see this!" So when she appeared in the bakery this morning, wide-eyed and grinning devilishly, he knew today would be interesting.
Atrianna sighed as she said, for the thousandth time that morning, "I told you. You'll see when we get there."
Ercon could hear the laughter in her voice, and, knowing he would get no more information out of her while she was in such a mischievous mood, dropped the subject - again.

News

It was almost two weeks before Atrianna was able to slip away to the lake again. The scene was the same, except that the sun was setting behind her this time, not rising ahead of her. The low clouds and heavy fog that had enshrouded the valley for the past week had finally lifted, and the sky was clear, brightest orange fading into twilight blue. Half the lake was cast into deep, dusky shadows, giving the scene and ethereal feel. Somewhere across the lake, a lone songbird sang quietly. The beauty of the scene, the tranquility felt there, would have overwhelmed any other wanderer on the frozen surface of the lake. A magical calm seemed to have settled over the wooded sanctuary.

Atrianna hardly noticed.

Her mind was still reeling with disbelief. She couldn't believe the news she had heard, the horrific report just rehearsed to all of Dorset. She had left as soon as she was able, craving the calm of Widow's Lake. She trembled as she thought back to what she witnessed only moments ago.

One man. That's all there had been. One bloodied, dying man. He had appeared as if by some black magic, coming like an apparition out of the foggy fields. The early hour and his ghastly appearance caused great concern among the few villagers who were up; they rarely got visitors in Dorset, and none of them ever came with this much dismay. Soon the entire village was roused, a sense of alarm spreading. Dorset's only physician, Eedrah, had taken the man in at once.
Only once some of the blood and terror were washed from his face was he recognizable as a merchant from Idhrin, a small village nestled in the valley where the Grein'vad River met Widow's Lake. The merchant could barely speak, and yet he seemed determined, compelled even, to tell his tale. With many starts and stops, interspersed with coughing and near-fainting, the man related his story. He refused all nourishment until he was done speaking. The news this man brought from such a peaceful town turned Atrianna's world on end.

Idhrin was no more.

They had not been able to glean much information from the merchant before he collapsed, unconscious, in Eedrah's kitchen, but the scraps they heard disturbed them. An enraged mob of rebels invaded the village, slaughtering any who did not flee. Men, women, and children all fell victim to their drunken rage.The streets ran red with the blood of the innocent. Husbands pled on behalf of wives. Women begged on their knees for their children to be spared, only to fall where they knelt; the rebels showed no mercy. Their blood-lust eventually satiated, the men ransacked and looted every building before setting the town aflame. Arson, a word that previously had no real meaning, no connection for peaceful villagers, suddenly brought intense hatred and fear to the eyes of everyone hearing the merchant's tale. Few escaped the attack. The merchant himself escaped only because he had fled, watching the destruction of his home from a nearby hilltop.
"I will never forget," the man gasped, his breath short from pain. "I will never forget those men or what they have done. The people they murdered did nothing to deserve such cruelty." An oath of vengeance passed his lips, barely heard. Those gathered to listen to his tale knew the end was near for this brave man.

Soon after his oath had been uttered, the merchant collapsed. Atrianna had fled to the lake then, desperate for calm. Slaughter, arson, an entire village decimated. A shudder ripped through Atrianna as she ran. She shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyes, trying without effect to banish the horrid images from her mind.
Unable to run any further, Atrianna fell to her knees, the hard ice stinging her skin as she landed on the lake's frozen surface. Shock and grief overcame her. Tears streamed down her face as she mourned for all of Idhrin and wondered about her own future...

Dorset

This chapter is still in progress, but it basically just intro's the reader to Atrianna's town. I will be writing more here, don't worry! For now, here's what I have so far.



The well-worn, winding path to Dorset laid itself before Atrianna's feet like a mat before the threshold, receiving her into the heart of the tiny village she had called home her entire life. As she emerged from the trees the town itself unfolded to her view, the town square and surrounding thatch-roofed buildings familiar as ever. She could see Eilwen, the baker's kind-hearted wife and Ercon's mother, just leaving Nimue's house carrying a handful of herbs. Ercon's youngest sister, Aberell, was feeling poorly again, as she often did during the harsh winters.

"Poor girl," Atrianna murmurred to herself. Aberell was such a sweet little girl; it was unfortunate she was so often ill. Luckily Dorset had such a skilled apothecary. Nimue seemed able to find a cure for any ailment, no matter the season or the symptomes.

"Atrianna!" A familiar young voice called her name, and, though she could not see the face, Atrianna knew at once who it was. She smiled and turned towards the blacksmith shop. Her smile widened when she say Aeden running toward her, the ribbons in her plaited hair untied as usual. The blacksmith's six-year-old daughter was a favorite of Atrianna's - a favorite of most of the town, acutally. Her smiling face and endless good humor were only made all the more loveable by her missing front teeth and her wide-eyed wonder at the world. Atrianna stooped to catch the little girl up in a hug.

"Good morning Aeden. And what have we been up to this morning?" Atrianna asked.
"I helped Mama feed the chickens, and helped Papa clean his tools, and fetched water from the well," came the talkative youngster's reply. "Where have you been all morning, Atrianna? You missed when the hen almost fell in the well and I had to catch her before she did!" With a proud smile she added, "Mama said I was a hero today."

"Well, I'd sure say you were a hero to that chicken," Atrianna replied with a smile. "What else happened while I was out walking the Lake? Anything else exciting?"

The little girl didn't get a chance to reply. "Aeden! Aeden, where have you runn off to now?" The blacksmith's gentle wife came around the corner then, worry creasing her young face. "Oh! Aeden, there you are, sweetie. Don't go running off, now, especially after what - oh. Good morning Atrianna. I didn't see you there. Your mother was looking for you earlier, dear. You might want to check in with here when you get the chance."

"Thank you, Baetrys. I'll go find her now. Good bye, Aeden. You be sure to keep an eye on those chickens, now, won't you?" Atrianna smiled and continued down the lane towards her own home.

Solitude

The morning was bleak. Dawn was breaking over the fresh powder that had dusted the shores of Widow's Lake in the night, the lake itself frozen over for weeks now. In the hazy pre-dawn light, Atrianna could imagine that she was alone, forsaken in a deserted wasteland of ice, walking for miles without a hope of encountering a soul. The thought sent chills down her spine, unrelated to the frigid cold through which she was walking. This sensation of solitude, however, was only an illusion; she was not more than two or three miles from Dorset, the small mountain village where she had gron up. She often spent her winter mornings walking on the frozen lake. It gave her time to think. Something about the blank, barren landscape set her mind free, breaking down the years of sameness that came with living in a secluded village.

The sun had fully risen by the time Atrianna was halfway across the lake. The sunshine reflecting off the blanket of snow was blinding, but brought no warmth to the freezing cold of the winter morning. Each breath Atrianna breathed out formed a foggy cloud in front of her face, and each breath in felt like swallowing knives. Ignoring the cold, Atrianna walked slowly, enjoying the scenery. She had no destination, really; eventually she would have to head home, but she would put that off as long as possible. Sunlight glinted off the ice, making Atrianna squint. She dug about in the leatherskin pouch slung across her chest until she found what she was looking for - an eyeshad of sorts that her friend Ercon had made for her. As she strapped the device on to block the sun's glare, she thought about Ercon. He was forever inventing useful little gadgets - eyeshades, hair clips, boxes with hidden compartments. Once he had fashioned a flute out of a bone the butcher had discarded. Most of his trinkets he gave away as gifts, but that bone flute - that treasure he kept for himself. Atrianna's thoughts wandered. I wonder why Ercon likes that flute so much - he can hardly get a sound out of it. She heard a birdsong in the distance and grinned, thinking of the noises Ercon had produced when he blew in the simple instrument. Any songbird could do much better, she thought laughingly.

A biting wind brought Atrianna's thoughts back to the present. She shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and, thinking of home, knew her ramblings had to come to an end, at least for today. She took a last lingering look at her peaceful surroundings, sighed, and turned towards Dorset.

Prologue - Part 2

Here's the second half of the Prologue. Again, sorry it's a little long.

“The elusive sign continued to vex the half-crazed king. He found his imperial duties irksome and refused to converse with anyone, thus alienating an entire nation whom he had once ardently cared for. The disconsolate monarch devoted reverential care to amassing a veritable army of astrologers, seers, and diviners in hopes of deriving the obdurate omen, while he ignored many pleas on behalf of the people, who were now afflicted with every debilitating adversity and subjected to abject penury, in deepest need of succor from their king.

“The people were torn. Some worried about their once-docile ruler and what had become of him. Many magistrates debated the issue, naming the king’s great stress and incessant exertion on their behalf as probable causes for his apparent insanity. They fervently believed Galdred to be a good man, driven to extremes by his love for his country and his people; they insisted that his craze for power, if indeed it existed, was secondary. Optimists held that his dementia was transitory and would eventually dissipate. Other subjects to Galdred’s reign of tyranny protested that his madness was not transient, that his lust for power would never be quenched, and were averse to his remaining on the throne when he was obviously lacking control of his faculties.

“Nearly two decades passed in this manner, with the masses under the oppressive rule of a madman. The people feared their leader, quivering in dread at the mention of his derangement, fearing lest they should somehow invoke his wrath with a wayward muttering or a sidelong glance at one of his equally deranged officials. They lived in caution, watching that their speech could not be taken to mean disrespect to Galdred in any way. Galdred had devised a skewed system of legislature, with his hired officials – men whose sustenance depended on their collecting the abhorred taxes levied on the impoverished people – as a main constituent, causing his subjects to resort to filching and bartering simply to procure enough to sustain themselves and their families. The enticement of their neighbor’s relative wealth was too much for many to bear, and newfound latitude of action seemed permissible, as even the vicars and priests had given up their godly ways to survive.

“The grandeur of a once-great nation was lost. One man’s greed and obsession had effectively obliterated the noble character of Amira. He had led the nation to a precipice over which he had unwittingly pushed them to their deaths; the damage was irrevocable. The mortification of the deeds Galdred had performed would have tempted any sane man to rush to the nearest promontory overlooking the ocean and take a flying leap. But Galdred was not a sane man.

“More than two decades had passed from the day of the fateful premonition. No sign had been seen, no war had been waged, and yet Amira was in shambles. The people had long since given up hope of escape from this ordeal except by Galdred’s death. Talk of rebellion had whispered through the land, but few were brave enough to challenge a demoniac monarch who had an army of devoted followers. The people were despairing. And then it happened; the long-awaited sign came.

“On the outskirts of the country, something strange happened. There had been a bright flash of light, reaching across the sky. The night sky appeared as bright as noon. There was a streak of green light, headed for the Theudal Mountains. And then all was dark. Even the stars had appeared to vanish from the sky; there was no moon. The green-glowing thing landed, striking the mountains and sending a ripple of ice spreading slowly across the countryside. Winter seemed to be coming early.

“Galdred at once called his finest astronomers to him. He demanded to know what had happened, what explanation they could give. Incredulous, they told him that the constellation Evander the Archer had changed. The point star, the arrow that the mighty hunter had been shooting, was no longer there. The astronomers supposed that the bright flash and ensuing streak of green light was Evander shooting his arrow at Amira. They believed they knew where it could be found, and they began to describe the scene wherein Galdred could find the star.

“Galdred had set out at once to find this fallen star, taking it to be his long-awaited sign. He took with him a small appendage of his guard, as he always did. If he could just get hold of that star … He knew, instinctively, the power that it held, a power that could be his.

“He never found the star. He had forgotten the warning that came with the sign, that a great revolution would come as well. As Galdred was rushing to Theudal, pandemonium broke loose. An enormous civil war rained down upon the land. A riotous band of renegade men from various regions of Amira, deeply hating the man their king had become, crossed paths with Galdred and his guard. In that instant, the obsessed tyrant realized his own dissoluble state. Seeing he was loathed and outnumbered, Galdred fled his attackers. As he tried to escape, Galdred was slain. Amira was granted repose from his reign of terror. No dirge was sung on his behalf, no week of mourning declared as is the custom for the death of a king. Amira was free at last.”

The old storyteller, his voice gravelly from hours of speaking, pauses at this point in his narrative to sip water from the flask at his waist. Caught up in the tale, Atrianna is surprised to look around her and see, not the dark trees of the Theudal Forests, but the crude wooden walls of the storyteller’s hut and the rough plank flooring on which she is seated. She sees a child slumbering in his mother’s arms, blissfully unaware of the dark tale that is his country’s past. Atrianna knows there are only a few words left in this tale, but they are the few that send chills down her spine, and so she awaits them anxiously. The old man, the water having slaked his parched throat, continues in a hushed whisper, as if trying to convey a secret without anyone’s overhearing. He leans forward, grinning as he delivers the last lines to his enchanted audience.

“From there, the tale is as different as the people who tell it. Time has washed the details into a confused blur of opinion and speculation. Some believe there never was a Star, though there are many records of seeing the bright green flash across the sky. Those skeptics maintain that the whole legend was conjured up as a ruse to dethrone a demented king. Those cynics, however, are few and far between.Others speculate that Galdred was never killed, that he lives on, still searching for the Star. Yet others claim that the Star was found by another, and hidden away. Many believe that the Star is still buried deep within the mountains, waiting to be found by one worthy of its power. Most Amirians believe the legend, believe that the Star is still out there, waiting to be found. All it takes is a believing mind and a pure heart, and, if you are lucky, you might find the Citla-Drazan – the Treasured Star.”

Atrianna could feel the goose flesh crawling up her arms. No matter how many times she heard the Legend, the ending was always so thrilling. She arose from the wood floor and stretched her legs. As others around her were beginning to do the same, she could see how crowded the hut had become; it seemed as if all of Dörset had maneuvered their way into the tiny space, even the skeptics. Atrianna smiled. No one could resist the old man’s stories, no matter how many times they called him a crazy old loon.

Through her smile, she stifled a yawn. It really was getting late. She made her way out the door, headed for home and bed. As she crossed the small town square, she looked up at the clear night sky. The crescent moon was just beginning to set over the highest peaks in the west, and the stars were brilliant tonight as always. She said good night to her papa, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and climbed into bed thinking of the Legends she had heard today. As sleep overcame her, she felt a chill breeze and thought she saw a green glow in the sky. She rolled over, pulling the covers tighter about her ears, and drifted to sleep, dreaming of the Treasured Star.

Prologue - The Legend (part 1)

Here's the first half of the Prologue to "Earth's Eye." Sorry it's a little long, but it sets up the whole story. Enjoy.

The fame of the Theudal Mountains has whispered its way into every corner of Amira. Every child, no matter how young or how poor, has heard the legends that originated there. Perhaps the fact that the Theudal Mountains are on the fringes of the war-torn country of Amira helped to foster the legends. Or perhaps the ancient lore is simply a creation of fancy. Whatever the case, the stories about the Mountains are single to the region. Some of the tales often told around the fire in a local bard's shanty are only believed in the zeal of youth, spurned by the majority of adults. Others are long-held beliefs of every Amirian, passed from generation to generation by venerable storytellers in every hall and hovel across the country. Many legends immortalize great warriors and heroes of ages gone by. More often than not, these are stories of brave men fighting dragons, famed captains who helped fend off invaders endeavoring to harass a crippled country grappling with anarchy, or unflagging explorers who traveled to the haunted mountain passes to face the Demon Lord himself.

Of all the legends of the north - the legends that are most fantastic - one legend refuses to be dispelled. Children of all ages sit at the feet of the traveling bard to listen closely to every tale he tells, a diligent audience to the accounts of their forefathers, each dawdling the whole of the day to hear one legend in particular, one story which leaves them all captivated - the Legend of the Treasured Star. Sometimes the tale is told as an exhortation against greed, sometimes as a lament for days gone by. Some claim the legend to be no more than an obstinate creation of fantasy, dreamed up long ago and passed on as mere amusement. But whenever the legend is told, a hush falls over the restless audience members, every countenance lights with excitement, and even the most ostensibly critical townsfolk, who chastise the children for such negligence as putting off chores to listen what they deem an old man's worthless drivel, creep in among the falling shadows in the doorway of the old fabler's humble home to hear the legend told anew.

Only then - when the sun has set and the moon is just beginning to rise above the mountain peaks, when the creatures of the night abandon their hidden alcoves and the smoke from the dying fire drifts upward towards the stars - only then does the old storyteller sit back in his chair, his eyes closed in remembrance. A smile spreads slowly across his weathered face, adding to the wrinkles etched around his ancient eyes. Memories of times long since past fill his thoughts, and the interlude from the recounting of lore stretches on forever in the minds of his captivated audience. The fire, only embers now, casts eerie shadows, deepening the lines on the old man's face. The humble tenement of the storyteller is filled to capacity, with children and parents alike listening in awe to the tales of the north. They know the Legend of the Star is not far off, and anticipation thrills through the thick, smoky air. The creaking of the floorboards and the low hissing of the embers are the only sounds in the room. The excitement is almost tangible.

The old storyteller seems lost in his reminiscence. Without opening his eyes, the old man quietly begins the legend.

“Long ago, before the mighty Narthazell forest was a single sapling, Amira was ruled by one man. Galdred was a mighty man, a kind king who loved his people and served them well. In return, the people loved and served him willingly. The people were free; no unjust taxes or corrupt magistrates oppressed the citizens. There were no wars waged or revolutions suppressed. Galdred’s reign was a time of continual peace throughout Amira.

“Galdred had in his charge many wise diviners and astrologers who told him of what was to come. Their advice never failed him, and he trusted in their word absolutely. These astrologers came before him one day, appearing quite troubled.

“‘My lord,’ the first astrologer said sadly. ‘There is trouble in the heavens. The stars and planets are not following their prescribed courses across the sky. We fear these changes carry a warning.’

“The second astrologer continued, ‘You see, my liege, often when there is a change in the heavens, there is a great change in the land as well. We fear the celestial alterations we have witnessed foretell a terrible war, sire.’

“Galdred was worried. His astrologers had never been wrong in times past, nor had they ever foreseen an event so catastrophic. Galdred asked, ‘What shall be given as a sign? There is always a sign, is there not?’

“The astrologers hesitated, exchanging troubled glances. Though neither wanted to admit the answer to the king’s query, Galdred’s kind words prompted them on. ‘We do not know what the sign shall be, Majesty. The heavens will not reveal this to us. We surmise that there shall be a strange event in the land, something that will be whispered throughout all Amira. This shall be the sign, we believe, but we do not know what it is, exactly, nor when it shall come.’

“Galdred was outraged. The once-benevolent king gnashed his teeth as he swore by heaven and earth to learn the secrets of the universe that the astrologers’ inferior divination could not teach him. In his delirious fury he could not see the futility of his endeavor. Though he had once been a good and a kind ruler, he believed himself to be superior to those he ruled – superior enough, he believed, to know the intricacies of the cosmos, secrets that no other man knew or possibly could know. Galdred feared that his men knew something of the sign, and that they would not reveal it to him because they wanted to see him dethroned. Paranoia seized him; he suspected betrayal, deceit. His reason, worn thin by fear and mistrust, left him altogether, his benevolence relinquishing its hold on his mind and leaving room for invidious passions which were hitherto unknown to him. He became obsessed with the impending sign and his obsession drove him mad.

An Introduction

Hey. So this is my first blog, ever, so it might be a bit rough at first. I thought I'd give you a little info about what it is I'm trying to do with this blog anyways. I am working right now on writing a fantasy novel. It started out as a short story idea, and ended up having a mind of its own! For anyone who has read the Inheritance Cycle or similar books, I've taken quite a bit of inspiration from those sorts of writings. My book is (tentatively) called "Earth's Eye." I will be posting it, bit by bit, as often as i have time to write. Feedback is more than welcome. As a budding writer, I need all the input I can get! But please, don't be vulgar or profane, or I might have to dump the blog idea.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy my writing!!