Forgotten – NaNo Novel 4th Excerpt

As you can see, I finally found a better name for my novel. It came to me a couple of nights ago and it fits the story much better. And yes, I was in bed at the time, and yes, I had to get up and forage for a pen and paper to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it. 😊

In this, my final excerpt from my story, we have Sabella reaching some ruins where she’s taken shelter for the night. Aaban is on his way back to extend the village’s invitation to join them, but he’s not there quite yet and Sabella is trying to figure out what her next move is.

Sabella woke to a rustling sound in the bushes outside of her shelter. She looked up in time to see one of the monkey-like creatures make off with the scanner, which she’d left on top of the packs.

“Hey!” she shouted, getting to her feet. “Come back here with that!”

The monkey made a chittering noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter and scurried up the nearest tree. From there he leaped to another, then another, and was soon lost to view.

“Great start,” she said in disgust. “I lose the one thing from the ship that was of some real use.”

With a sigh she turned back to her shelter, having taken several steps outside of it to chase the thief. Rooting around in the pack, she took three of the water bottles down to the river. Kneeling at the edge, she filled the bottles, then set them aside to splash the cold water on her face.

“What I wouldn’t give for a hot caffeine,” she said with a sigh, turning back to her shelter.

No sense thinking about things like that now. Her chances of ever having a coffee again were pretty slim. There were a lot of things she was never going to see again and she would do best not to dwell on them. She needed to focus on survival.

But suddenly the thought of all those long years ahead of her, all alone, were almost too much to contemplate. What had she done? She sank down until she was sitting on the ground. A tear slid down her cheek, followed by a torrent of others.

She didn’t want to be alone on this world. She especially didn’t want to die alone here. Sniffling, she swiped the tears away with her hand. But she’d certainly would die here if she didn’t get ahold of herself.

“Okay. First things first,” she said, feeling marginally better after her little outburst. “Time to take stock of what I’ve got.”

She pulled the packs towards her and opened them up. Her cursory look the night before had left her puzzled as to some of the contents. The blankets and empty bottles she understood, but she held up several metal objects, one after another. Tools, maybe? But tools for what purpose?

There were twenty-two of the foil pouches left. She’d have to be careful not to go through them too quickly. It would be a shame to have made it this far, only to starve to death. Of course there was always the fruit. She’d suffered no ill effects from it so far, but she doubted it would be a viable diet in the long term.

“Oh! This might be handy.” ‘This’ was small, metal box that held several barbed hooks. “Fish hooks, I think,” she said.

Or maybe not so happy. She’d read historical books that talked about fishing, but she had no idea how to do it herself. Hopefully she could learn. A sudden though struck her, sending her to her feet. This building she was in was not natural. Someone had to have built it. There had to be people somewhere, hopefully not too far away.

Stepping outside of the shelter, she considered it for a moment. She couldn’t climb the surrounding trees, but she’d bet she could climb up to the roof. And maybe once she was up there she could climb one of the trees that pressed against it.

It wasn’t easy. Her legs were a little shaky from all that walking over the last two days, and her upper body strength was pretty much average. But she managed to hoist herself up onto the rubble strewn roof.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t high enough to give her much more of a view than she’d had before. She could see down to the river, and a few feet along it in both directions, but in the grand scheme of things there wasn’t much else to see but trees.

Going over to one of the trees abutting the building, she put a hand on the trunk and looked up at the crown. The trunk was smooth, and there were no branches sticking out. There was no way she’d be able to climb that, even with the boost the building gave her.

With a sigh she turned away to look out at the river again. Didn’t people usually settle near rivers, or some other source of water? What would happen if she kept following the river. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do.

Now all she had to do is get down from this roof.

“Well this isn’t good,” she muttered, surveying the tumbled down wall she’d climbed up.

Grumbling under her breath, she sat down on the edge, dangling her feet over the side. Then, thinking better of it, she turned around so she was facing inwards instead, backing towards the edge on her hands and knees. Carefully, she eased her legs downwards, holding onto the roof for support. Her feet made contact with the ruined wall, and she spared a glance downwards before moving her hands from the edge of the roof to the top of the wall.

She was a little off of where she’d climbed up, but this way there were some sturdy looking vines she could grab onto, which was a good thing. She was only halfway down when one of her feet slipped.

A man’s voice called out as she grabbed for a smooth brown vine. Startled, she looked up as her hand connected with the vine. As she watched in amazement, a man dropped onto the roof of the building. There was a frantic look on his face as he kept talking, and she realized the vine under her hand was moving. She transferred her look to her hand, just as the snake she’d grabbed onto bit her.

Fire shot up her arm. Sabella screamed and fell the rest of the way to the ground, snake still attached to the back of her hand. The man, moving faster than she’d ever seen anyone move, was beside her in seconds. An enormous knife appeared in his hand, and with one swipe he cut the head off the snake. Even then, he had to pry the snake’s jaws open to get her hand free.

Tossing it aside, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into the shelter of the building. Sabella was in no shape to protest. The fire continued up her arm and she was starting to feel dizzy. Obviously the snake was poisonous – the man had probably yelled to warn her of the danger. She was too dazed to even wonder where he’d come from.

Forced Landing – NaNo Novel 3rd Excerpt

Today’s excerpt comes in two parts. First, we have a continuation of last week’s scene, in which Sabella is still searching for a good place to camp out. Unbeknownst to her, she has a protector/observer who’s been following her, and the second scene is him making a report to his superiors.

Before she could seriously start looking [for some place to camp], the jungle began to thin a bit and she found herself in a group of tall trees, though not quite as tall as the trees in the surrounding jungle, that were laden heavily laden with a bright green fruit.

It looked delicious. “But is it safe to eat?” she wondered.

Just then, a small, furry animal swooped down from one of the tall jungle trees. It snatched up one of the fruit that Sabella only now noticed littered the ground beneath the trees, and leaped away again.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” she said, laughing in spite of herself.

She recognized the creature as a monkey. She’d learned about them in a documentary she once watched. As she recalled, there were many different species of them, but she couldn’t have said exactly what kind this one was. He was small and brown and had an extremely long tail that if she remembered correctly, could be used almost like an extension of its paws.

Stooping down, she picked up one of the fruit, wondering as she did so what exactly it was. Not that she’d seen much fresh fruit in her life. Not since she’d been a child. The world she’d been raised on was a mix of agriculture and technology. She and her parents lived in one of the settlements at the edge of a city, more because it was more affordable than because they had any great affinity for nature.

While some of their neighbors had large gardens, her mother had no time for such nonsense, as she put it, and limited her efforts to some potted herbs to be used in cooking. Her mother was a supervising technical analyst for the Branyon Corporation, Tel-Corp’s greatest rival, which her father also worked for as an engineer. Branyon paid for their quarters, and when they’d chosen to live on the outskirts of the city, they provided them with vehicles to get them to and from work.

But none of that was important now. She hefted the weight of the fruit in her hand. It was dense, and it had a faintly sweet scent. Shrugging, she finally bit into it.

“Oh!” she said in surprise. The sweet flavor burst onto her tongue and the juice ran down her chin. The flesh was firm, a lighter green shade, and delicious. She finished it in a hurry and then stooped down for a second one. This one she ate slower, savoring the taste.

Tempting as it was to keep eating until she was full, she knew better than to gorge on fruit when her stomach was so empty. She’d make herself sick for sure, and there were no med units here. She’d have to be very careful. So instead she gathered up a dozen or so – any more and they probably would just rot before she could eat them – and stowed them in one of the survival packs.

Feeling surprisingly refreshed, she continued on, seeking some place to have a proper rest.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

As usual, the clan chiefs knew he was coming and had already gathered. He had missed the communal mid-day meal, but that was nothing unusual. Eschewing the use of the ladders, he scaled the red cliffs much like the children did, using the handholds and rocky protuberances.

“Sometimes I think you are more a child than the children,” clan chief Ebou, Aaban’s friend, chuckled.

Aaban grinned in return. “Helps keep me fit. I wouldn’t want to become soft, like you.”

“What have you to tell us,” Mohlomi said, interrupting them before they got too carried away with their jibes.

“Forgive me, Clan Chief,” Aaban said, with a bow in his direction. “It is my opinion that the woman is not a threat. Those who pursued her came and left again, believing he dead.”

“And why would they believe such a thing?” Mohlomi asked with a frown.

Aaban hesitated. “Though the small ship crashed, it was intact. However, shortly after the woman left, it exploded in such a fashion that there was little doubt there were no survivors.”

“And that was enough to persuade the others? You did not assist in the deception?”

Aaban shrugged. “I may have accidentally dropped a few pieces of tak-tak flesh and bone when I was examining the wreckage. And they may have misconstrued what they saw.”

“Hmm.” Mohlomi eyed him balefully. “May have dropped flesh and bone, eh?”

Aaban made no reply.

“Where is this stranger now?”

“She follows the river Malarrich and should reach the ruins of the temple of the old gods before day’s end.”

Mohlomi pursed his lips. “She is already almost off of clan lands. Perhaps it would be—”

“Hold!” the voice came from the entrance of the meeting chamber. Ntsebo rapped her staff against the stone floor to get their attention.

There were murmurs amongst the clan chiefs. Ntsebo rarely left her cave, people usually were required to go to her. She was the oldest member of the clans, and arguably the most powerful. She was tiny, as though a breath of wind could blow her right off the cliff face, her stark, white hair confined in a braid that hung down her back, her face seamed from her many years. She walked with a cane, and was quick to use it on those who annoyed her.

She was the Mother of the Clans, a position she’d held since the first vision came to her when she was still a child. And she would hold that position until one was born to the clans who could take her place. No one knew how old she was, and there were some who believed she had always been with the clans.

“Clan Mother,” Mohlomi said, bowing his head respectfully. “You honor us with your presence.”

She snorted. “We shall see about that.”

“Have you had a vision, Mother?”

Using her stick to shoo the nearest clan chief aside so she could take his seat, she made herself comfortable before answering. “Is that not my function within the clans, to have visions of warning or guidance?”

“And which is it that you have had,” Mohlomi asked patiently. He was used to her sharp ways and was not offended by her rudeness.

“I do not know. But I have seen a stranger, a woman. She runs, though she has done no wrong. She has come to our world by accident and will surely die here if we do not give her aid. Her death would diminish us all.”

NaNo No More

NaNo may be over, but the story goes on, which is why you’re getting another excerpt from Firestorm this week. It’s a long one, so I’ll keep the explanation brief. Brand has decided to become a mercenary, so his foster-father Nairn sent him to his old friend Sanron who runs a mercenary training facility. In this scene, Brand has been told he must wait (with a few others) in a kind of half-way house until there’s enough of them to make a class. This starts with his first dinner there. Oh, and Gowan is kind of like a house mother, only for mercenaries. :-D

Gowan was sitting at one end of a long table; there were three other men sitting with him. One seemed very young, one was about Brand’s age, and one a few years older.

“Welcome,” Gowan said cheerfully. “You’re just on time. Come and take a seat.”

Two men were already seated on Gowan’s left, so Brand took the seat on his right to even things out.

“Allow me to introduce your fellows,” Gowan said. “To my right is Dren. And to my left is Alaric and Brin. Gentlemen, this is Brand, who will also be staying here.”

Dren was close to Brand’s age, with dark blond hair cropped close to his head and pale blue eyes. Alaric was a few years older, a heavy set man with dark hair, also close cropped, and grey eyes that missed nothing. Brin, the youngest, fidgeted in his seat as though unable to stay still. He was a slender youth with dark curly hair and brown eyes.

There were murmurs of greeting which Brand answered with murmurs of his own. He was saved from any further conversation by the appearance of servers who began bringing in platters of food. The dishes were passed around and everyone helped themselves.

“Forgive me,” Brand said to Gowan after everyone had been served, “But did you not say there were six of us here?”

“Veran’s always late,” Dren told him. “And Grent hasn’t come out of his room since he got here.”

This was followed by an interruption as a man hurried into the room. His shaggy brown hair was mussed and there were ink stains on his fingers.

“You’re late Veran,” Gowan said disapprovingly.

“I know, I know. And I’m very sorry. But I was thoroughly engrossed in the history tome I borrowed from the library.”

He hurried took the seat beside Alaric. “Hello, you’re new,” he said to Brand. “I’m Veran. You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve never met a Witcher before.”

He seemed rather pleased to be meeting one now and Brand couldn’t help taking a liking to him. “I’m Brand,” he said. “And yes, I am a Witcher. Or at least half of me is, at any rate.”

There was little talk while they ate and what little there was consisted mainly of compliments on the food.

Gowan rose from his seat, signifying the end of dinner. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have duties to see to. Feel free to make use of the common room.”

“Good night Gowan,” Brin called after him. “Anyone up for a game of dice?”

The rest of them pushed away from the table and stood as well.

“This way,” Brin said, leading the way.

The others looked at each other and then Alaric shrugged and followed, the others trailing after him.

Someone had started a fire in the fireplace, and on a sideboard just inside the door was a variety of beverages. Alaric poured himself a goblet full of an amber liquid from a crystal decanter, Dren chose a clear liquid from another. Veran held up a pitcher of ale and raised an eyebrow at Brand, who nodded in assent. Brin ignored the refreshments altogether and was busy going through the boxes on a shelf, looking for the dice.

While Alaric and Brin settled at a table for the game, Brand and the others settled into the chairs near the fire.

“How long have you been waiting here,” Brand asked. “Gowan told me we must wait until there are twelve of us.”

“Alaric has been here the longest,” Dren said. “He’s been here close to three weeks. “I arrived more than two weeks ago. Veran arrived the day after I did. Brin and Grent arrived from different directions six days ago.”

“Grent is the one who does not leave his room,” Brand said.

“Brin exaggerates, of course,” Veran said. “Grent breaks his fast in the morning, but he does not linger. He claims he needs to have quiet for his meditation and prayer.”

“I find it odd that someone so religious would seek to become a mercenary,” Dren added.

Personally, Brand felt the same, although he said nothing.

Two days after Brand arrived, a much older man named Sena arrived, followed three days after that by Lucca.

Veran was almost as excited by Lucca joining them as he had been by Brand. Lucca was from the western wastelands, whose inhabitants were almost as insular as the Witchers.

Brand found time weighed heavy on his hands as they waited for the remaining three to make their appearance. He worried about how Raven was faring, but Gowan assured him he was doing well. Veran speculated that the wait was a test of their patience and Brand was forced to agree.

After the first day of inactivity, Brand made it a habit of rising before breakfast to run through the sword dances. The second morning of this, he realized Brin was watching.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked.

“It is the sword dance,” Brand said, without breaking his rhythm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Few have, outside of the Witch Hills,” Lucca said, coming downstairs early as well. “May I join you?”

“Certainly,” Brand said. “I’m about to start the third movement.”

Lucca took his place beside him and joined seamlessly into the dance. Brin watched, mesmerized as the two men moved in synchronization, one move flowing into another.

Veran and Dren joined the audience. “What are they doing?” Veran whispered.

“It’s called a sword dance,” Brin whispered back.

Alaric joined them as well, watching silently until they were done.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Brin asked.

“It was part of my training,” Brand told him. “One of the first things I ever learned.”

“As it was with me,” Lucca said. “Our sword master was a Witcher.”

“I’ve seen something similar in the east, but without the swords,” Alaric said. “It was called the warrior’s way.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Brin asked eagerly.

Lucca and Brand looked at each other. Brand shrugged. “Why not?” he said.

When he and Lucca came down to the common room that afternoon, as they’d arranged to with Brin, they found the others gathered as well.

“What’s this?” Lucca asked.

“We figured it couldn’t be much harder to teach all of us than just one,” Dren said.

“What say you?” Lucca asked Brand.

“Why not?” Brand said easily. “If we are to fight together, why not share knowledge that could aid us?”

Gowan, watching from the shadows, smiled.

NaNo Week Four

I really should have knocked on wood last week when I made the comment about life having a habit of interfering when you least expect it.

I wrenched my left shoulder badly last Friday, and typing has become something of an issue. I think I’m getting better (*knock on wood*) but for a while there I wasn’t sure if I was going to make my NaNo goal.

But more about that on Sunday’s post. This is Fiction Friday and time for another excerpt from Firestorm. To set this one up . . . Last week Brand and his squire/friend Kel reached the home of Nairn and Therza, only to find them packing up to move. I figured I might as well continue on with that one because a lot of what I’ve been writing lately is all over the place.

The trip took more than a month and by the end they were all weary of it. But the weather had been fair and the trip uneventful, so from that perspective they could have done much worse.

Their destination was the town of Burnsen, a market centre for the surrounding farms. After making inquires, Nairn was directed to a newly vacated farm, to be had for what he deemed a very reasonable price. The holding agent suggested they camp there for the night to see if it would suit and Nairn agreed.

The farmhouse was larger than he expected, with a sound barn close by and pens that could be used for a variety of livestock. When asked what happened to the previous owners the agent shook his head sadly.

“What happens to most in these parts. A man and his wife raise their family here, and the sons grow up wanting something other than dirt under their nails. This is good, rich land, mind you, but it takes a will to make it work.”

Nairn nodded in agreement.

While Brand and Kel chased the boys around the farmyard to help them blow off some of their steam from being cooped up in the wagon so long, Nairn and Therza checked out the house.

It was two stories, built of wood and stone and looked to have had an addition added on at some point. The door opened into a large room with a stone fireplace. A door off one side led to a good sized bedroom with its own fireplace that Therza deemed would be perfect for the two of them.

On the other side of the main room was space for a table for dining, with a kitchen off of it. Therza surveyed the kitchen with her hands on her hips. There were plenty of shelves and counter space, a work table in the centre, and a large iron cook stove that would heat things up nicely in the winter months. To her delight, one of the doors off to the side led to a pantry. The other door led outside where there was a kitchen garden. It was somewhat overgrown but she could see several of her favourite herbs amongst the weeds. Just beyond that was a plot of land that had obviously once been used as a vegetable garden.

“It’s perfect!” she exclaimed to Nairn.

“You haven’t even seen the upstairs,” he said in amusement.

“As long as there’s enough room for the boys, it’s still perfect,” she assured him. “Just look at all these windows. When the storms come they can be shut, and when the heat is upon us they can be opened to let in a breeze.”

There was a proper set of stairs leading to the upstairs, which boasted four rooms of equal size.

“While they are young they might wish to share a room still,” Nairn said. “But when they grow a little older they’ll want a space of their own.”

Therza nodded in agreement. She turned to Nairn and wrapped her arms around him. “It is perfect here. But are you sure this is what you really want?”

“Yes,” Nairn said, kissing her soundly. “There comes a time in a man’s life when he needs to lay down his sword, and my time has come.”

Therza set to work at once, cleaning and setting the house to rights, drafting the men into helping her. They swept and scrubbed and polished. Therza washed the floors and walls and the glass in the windows. Even the little ones were given tasks, and threatened with dire results should they stray from the farm.

It took better than a week before she was satisfied and allowed the men to unpack the wagon. While the men saw to the actual heavy work of lifting, Therza saw to the placement of every stick of furniture, every pot and plate herself.

“I think I would rather face a hoard of tribesmen than face Therza when she is setting up house keeping,” Brand said with a heartfelt sigh of relief when she finally released them to see about dealing with the rest of the farm.

Kel grinned at him. “It was a definite change from cleaning armour.”

The Home Stretch

After a herculean effort on my part (ie. less farting around, more writing) I managed to finally catch up on my NaNo and I’m even a little ahead of the game. But even if I wasn’t, I still have the rest of today, most of tomorrow, and all day Saturday to cross that finish line.

It’s been a fun ride, but I’ll be glad when the pressure’s off. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up the good habits I’ve developed – writing every day and spending more time in my office. Working on the Neo helped a lot too.

And now, the final excerpt from An Elemental Spirit. This one is actually in two parts, but they’re both giving a little more insight into the Illezie. And while you read them, remember that they’re unedited. :-)

Many important records had been lost when the dissenters set off the explosion in the records hall in their attempt to contravene the prophecy. The most important loss was that of the clan birth records, which is why the age of any Illezie born before that time could not be confirmed.

The Illezie hierarchy was age based, the older the Illezie the more weight their words carried. A syllable was added to their name with each century that passed, but many, after the explosion, had eschewed this tradition, citing that after even half a millennia the names became too unwieldy, and that more time was spent reciting lineages at a Gathering than discussion on the topic at hand.

E.Z. had stopped adding to his name at ten centuries, but even so he preferred to go by the initials the young wind elemental with so much potential had given him. Watching her grow had been a bittersweet experience for him. He knew the boosting of her mother’s gene sequence at just the right stage, infusing the embryo she carried with his own DNA, would result in the most powerful wind elemental born, just as he had known what fate she was to be groomed for. What he had not known was how much he would come to care for the girl.

It was too late to put a stop to events now, far too late. What had been put in motion had taken on a life of its own. If he had not been instrumental in bringing Nakeisha and Chaney together they would not have been in the right place to help Rayne and Pyre, which in turn set off the events leading to the creation of the elemental comet which spelled his world’s doom. But who was to say the volcano would not have erupted in any case, sending the elemental energy released by the death of all those elementals and potential elementals into space instead?

He sighed, a most uncharacteristic thing for an Illezie to do.

“It is a heavy burden we carry, the Illezie who learn to care,” Gra’anna’s voice came softly to him.

“Did you ever attach yourself to one of the Ardraci?” he asked, curious.

“Oh, yes.” She came to stand next to him where he was gazing out at the stars streaming past. “It was many centuries ago. Her name was Anna, she was an Earth Elemental.”

“They are so short-lived,” E.Z. said quietly. “Their lives burn out so quickly.”

“That they do,” she agreed. “But oh, how bright the flame while it lasts.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

There had been no new offspring of the Illezie for centuries. Da’nat was, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, the last Illezie hatched in the incubation chamber. Housed in a large cavern deep in the bowels of Zarathul, it held row upon row of pods waiting to be filled.

It was a place Da’nat visited when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, as he did now. He had never made use of the sequencing pods and so never contributed to the gene pool from which new life was drawn. Now he would never have the chance.

As far as he knew, no one but him ever visited this place – there was no need. Or perhaps they found it too depressing, that it would never be needed again. It was a sad and lonely place, but somehow he felt at peace here.

Da’nat had never given any thought to offspring, until he had become acquainted with the young elemental Zephryn. Of course he was only young by Illezie standards, by human standards he was a grown man. But he was a man full of life and exuberance. He lived life fully while the Illezie had become nothing more than observers of life.

Though young by Illezie standards, Da’nat was old enough to realize that the Illezie race was stagnant. Save for the few who still made their presence known on Ardraci, the Illezie had not left their world in centuries. While he had no more wish to die than any other creature, he was ready for whatever lay beyond this plane of existence. He would play his part in the ascension with a willing heart.

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that he did not sense the presence sneaking up behind him. By the time he sensed the danger it was too late. The blade of obsidian cut like butter through his back and into his double-chambered heart. Da’nat would never know the joy of ascension.