Prologue of 'Shadows' End'

Here's the beginning of a story idea I've been toying with on and off. It will most likely end up as a prologue, maybe a flashback. Anyway, the kid, Roan, is about seven years old, maybe eight. If anyone's up to commenting, I have a few main questions, aside from just the general "does anything seem weird to you?" one:

From this beginning do you have a decent idea of where you think these people are and who they are? What are your impressions of these things?

What is your impression of Morika? Roan?

Did this create emotion in you? What emotions?

And, would you keep reading?

~(@)~

  Roan crouched down by the pile of brush in the corner of the hut and traced a finger along the baby’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Maia,” he whispered.

 “Come, boy.” A rough hand seized Roan’s arm and jerked him up, away from his sister. “We have to go, now.”

“No!” Roan wrenched away and dropped again by Maia’s makeshift bed. “Not unless she comes too.”

“I have told you already, she cannot,” the man spat in the rapid native language.

 “But you cannot leave her here alone!” Roan objected, crying back in the man’s tongue. He grabbed her little hand and she wound her fingers tightly around one of his.

 Don’t go, Roan, her eyes seemed to beg. I need you! He stared into her brown irises, nearly dominated by the black of her pupils. They gazed at him, wide, unblinking, and shining in the moonlight that streamed through the tiny window of the hut. He stroked her skin, shades browner than his own, stretched taut across the visible ridges of her bones from lack of food, dry and dehydrated from lack of water. He wouldn’t leave her...he couldn’t. She would die without him! 

The tall man bent over and grabbed Roan around the waist. He hauled the small boy up over his shoulder.

 “No!” Roan screeched. He thrashed and wriggled, kicking against his captor and beating his back with clenched fists. “No, no! Maia! Let me free!”

 The grip around his waist and legs tightened and the man pushed aside the reed mat that served as a door for the hut. The bright moon threw its light about, washing the tiny clearing in an unearthly glow.

Roan wailed, tears pouring down his cheeks, and continued to beat. “Please, let me go! I’ll stay with her, I don’t have to come with you! You can leave without me, I won’t follow, I’d stay here with her and not go anywhere, I promise. They wouldn’t find you! We’d be quiet. They wouldn’t track you! Please!” He ached to touch her, to hold her close and feel the curl of her soft black hair against his cheek, to hold her and let her know that she was safe.

 The man did not answer him.

As they drew further away from the opposite end of the clearing, nearing the jungle tree line, a soft cry rose from the hut. Whimpering at first, it rose in a growing crescendo, finally becoming a steady, mournful wail.

 The man swore in his language and began to run, jostling Roan about like a wild antelope being brought home from a kill.

 A kill. Dead. Roan felt dead. He fell silent, stopped kicking, knowing that there was nothing left he could do. He knew Morika would not give in. That he was too concerned about what lay ahead. That the only thing behind that mattered to him was when the baby would please stop her crying so there would be no sounds or hints for the wicked men to follow them by.

all in a name

So, I have a more article-like, thought-provoking post in the works, but it's just that -- in the works. So I figured I'd throw out another excerpt while I'm still working on that. A "filler" post....but not really, because I probably would have posted this sometime anyway.

This excerpt is also from A Name Worth Carrying. It takes place just a little while after the last excerpt I posted, actually. This is a moment that I hope sets up a big story issue, being Abby and her struggle with her name and it's realtion to her father.

My goal is emotion, inner conflict, and history. I'd love any thoughts you might have on this - Could you feel Abby's confusion? Shock? And the inner conflict she has at the beginning and end? Those are what I'm going for, but are they really there?

Enjoy :)
(and let me know if you do!)

~(@)~

stock photo from shutterstock.com

            My father is joy.

            My father is joy.

            The meaning pounds in my head.

            Why, Mom? Why did you give me such a name? Joy? My father? Ha. More like, my father is frightening me. My father is suspicious. My father is...not the man I once thought I knew.

            Joy. Sure. Right.

            I lie there {in bed} for hours, even after Katey has finally gone to bed, not able to sleep. My mind spins, reliving as many moments as I dare, all ever since the accident. Me, being awoken by the ringing of the phone early that morning. Stumbling in to the living room to see Dad sprawled on the couch, completely dressed, shoes and all, stoned from something. Not even the harsh tones of the phone would rouse him. They always did. Well, when he wasn't hungover. I picked up the phone, still bleary.

            "Hello?"

            "Hello, may I speak with James Garrett?"

            I turned to the couch and roll my eyes. "He's, uh, unavailable right now. Can I take a message?"

            "Who is this?"

            "I'm Abby. His daughter."

            "Oh, dear. Uh, are you sure he can't come to the phone?"

            I shook my head and my stomach started to flutter. "No, he really can't. Is something wrong? Who is this anyway?"

            "Ah...this is Officer Bryant from the city police department. And, well, I need to confirm a license plate number, along with...some other things. Eh, how old are you, sweetheart?"

            I was really scared now. "Fifteen. I, ah, I think I could remember the number," I had to stop and swallow. "If you read it to me?"

            The voice on the other end sighs. "I suppose. But, hon, I've some bad news."

            Something from the tone of his voice told me it was more than just a parking ticket or an arrested family member -- even if I didn't have any family close by. I cleared my throat. "Uh, okay. What is it?"

            "Well, let me make sure of the plate first. here, you ready?"

            "Sure."

            He started reading off a combination of letters and numbers, which I immediately recognize as my mother's license number.

            "Y-yeah," I stammered. "That's my mom's car."

            He sighed again. "I was afraid of that. Abby, right?"

            "Y-yes." I didn't dare say anything else.

            "Abby, I'm sorry, but we got a call a little while ago. Someone found your mother's car on a back country road. It had been driven into an old fencerow and smashed into a tree and a couple of fence posts. The car is totaled. And..."

            My stomach dropped and I sank down to my knees on the kitchen floor.

            "There was a woman inside, in the driver's seat. She had suffered some fatal injuries. What we assume to be her purse was on the passenger side. The driver's license identified the woman as Nicole Garrett."

            "What? No. No, are you sure?" I yelped. "No, Mom...she's here, in her bed, asleep. That can't be her." I jumped to my feet and pounded down the hall to my parents' room, still clutching the phone. My hand flew to the wall and the light flashed on. The bed was empty. "Mom!" I screeched, yanking the bathroom door open. She wasn't there either. I dropped to the floor by the bathtub, eyes burning and chest heaving. "No, no!" I pressed the phone to my ear again, forcing the words out, "She...she's not here. But that can't be her. Can't be!"

          "Please, Abby, calm down. That's why I'm calling. I need your father to come down to the station..."

          But I didn't hear anymore. The phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor. "Dad," I whispered. "Daddy!" I launched forward, on my hands and knees, scrambling to get to my feet. Flying, I nearly crashed into my father, still sprawled on the couch. I shook his shoulders. "Daddy, wake up! Where's Mom?" I had to keep shaking, then finally screaming, before he blinked open wearily. I could smell the liquor on his breath.

          "What are you talking about, Abigail?" he mumbled, struggling to sit up.

          It was all I could do to keep from slapping him. "Where is Mom?" I yelled again. "Some guy from the police department called and said she was in an accident. That she wrecked her car and got killed!"

          A look of terror crossed his face, then shock. "No," he muttered, pushing me away from him and stumbling off the couch. He slapped his hand to his forehead, moaning. "Ohh, my head...where's the phone?"

          I couldn't remember what I'd done with it. "I don't know," I said, realizing that tears were streaming down my face. "I...I don't know!"

          He'd pulled me out of school that week in late September, and I stayed at home with him for two weeks. He grew distant, barely talking to me and flinching every time something unexpected happened, whether it be me closing a cabinet or Lexie knocking on the door. He never let me out of the house without him during that time. And when he left to go to some sort of legal thing about the accident, he locked me in the house. That's when he put up the grate over my window as well.

          Joy. Yeah, right.

          I roll over on my stomach and scrunch the pillow up in my arms. I rest my chin on it, staring at the blank wood of the head board. My throat tickles. My eyes burn. I want to let it out. But, instead, I glare into the darkness and refuse to let the tears come.

~ Chapter 3, A Name Worth Carrying

©2011 MacKenzie Pauline

Excerpt from Escape into Darkness

This is an excerpt from the first chapter of my OYAN (http://oneyearnovel.com/) novel, Escape into Darkness. I had the synopsis posted on the sidebar at one point, but took it down so that it couldn't be, uh, stolen. (I'm paranoid...) Anyway, this (below) is not the entire first chapter, but the first scene from it. And, I am going to ask a few questions. Does it provoke your curiosity? Would you keep reading? Does it make sense? I would greatly appreciate anything anyone has to say. Please, and thank you, very much. :-)

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Chapter 1

I drew in a sharp breath and laid a hand to my lower back. The welt that had emerged since last night still stung. And why shouldn’t it? Master Dryte was an expert marksman from what I’d heard; surely he could lay several well placed thrashings to the back of a young slave girl like myself.

Grimacing, I wrung out the last tunic over the washbasin. After hanging it on the line with the others, I hefted the tub up to dump it. Yet, Mistress didn’t like for me to dump it in the stone courtyard, as I painfully found out long ago, so I staggered toward the grass to pour out the soapy, murky contents.

“Keilah!”

I yelped, startled by the loud voice, and dropped the tub on the cobbled stone. The heavy basin landed on my foot. “Ouch!” I cried. Water sloshed out, soaking my skirts, as well as the floor. “Ooh!”

“Oh, Keilah!”

I pried my foot out from under it and spun around. A tall young man stood by the courtyard gate, grimacing. “Rylen!” I shouted at him. “Look what you made me do!”

Rylen unlatched the gate and slipped inside the fence. “Sorry,” he said, his voice sympathetic. “I’ll help you clean it up.”

I sighed and picked up the tub, now much lighter. “Never mind that. It’ll dry pretty quick. I just hope she doesn’t find out.” I dumped the rest out on the grass and set the tub against the side of the cottage. “Now, what was it?” I asked, wringing out the hem of my skirt.

Rylen blinked, probably trying to remember. “Oh! Right. Father gave me a horse! Do you want to see her?”

I drew my head back. “Really? For you to train?”

“Yes. He said he thinks I’m ready.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’d love to see, but I don’t think...”

Rylen shook his head. “Father got you thirty minutes of leave. You’ll be fine. Come on.”

“Well...all right.” I snatched my kerchief from the pocket of my apron and tied it around my head, so that it hung down to my shoulders. Mistress required me, as all the female slaves were to do, to wear the veil when I went out. They set us apart from the village girls.

I followed Rylen out of the gate and through the winding main streets of the village toward his father’s smithy shop and stables, which were not that far from my master’s home.

On the days that I had minimal amounts of work – those being mostly on holy days or festivals, which were few and far between indeed – I often went to the stables to visit and assist in any way I could. When with people who treat me well, work never seems near as grueling. It’s even enjoyable. As long as there are no whips nearby.

One of the most treasured memories I have occurred over a period of a few days three summers ago, several months before the raid. Father woke Mama, Alena, Darrin, and I early and took us out to the fields for a seasonal round of surveying. After Father retired from his profitable architecture exploits, he had taken back to the land, like his father, and his father’s father before him.

The days were hot and humid, yet as we went through the farmlands, we stopped often to work alongside the servants. They were not slaves, forced to work in unbearable conditions with cruel, heartless masters ripping their backs under stinging cords, but all were paid employees of my father’s. They were treated well -- not as animals. He taught us the difference.

As we worked, we talked with them. I had many enjoyable conversations during that time, with young and old alike. Mama, Alena, and I would often return to the wagon and supply fresh water and food for the workers. And, whether we brought it to them, or they had to supply their own with the money from their pockets, they always had enough to eat.

Life is so different now.

Here in the village, those working in the fields are often shackled together by their ankles. The scraps of clothing that do little more than cover their bodies in the necessary places, hang off of their malnourished frames like loose sacks. And it is not unusual to see several being whipped to the point of death each day.

So, so different.

I shook the thoughts from my mind and trotted to catch up with Rylen. We entered through the side of his father’s shop and went straight to the door to the stable area.

Grooms and stable hands bustled about, carrying things back and forth. I dodged a boy wheeling a cart full of droppings and sidestepped a pile on the floor that he must have missed.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Out in the back pasture. Pap bought her, along with four other foals, at the auction in Framburn last week. They arrived yesterday.”

Once we’d reached the door that would lead out of the stable and into the paddocks, I turned, reaching for the handle. Rylen kept walking. “Uh, Ry?” I furrowed my brow. “Isn’t it this way?”
Rylen made his way back to me, hesitated, and then grasped my wrist. “Well, yes, but…” He inhaled and glanced around, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Just, keep following me. We aren’t going out to the field.”

“But I thought you said –”

“I know! Just, come on.”

I allowed myself to be pulled along the corridor for a few more meters. Rylen stopped at the ladder to the hayloft. “Go on up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I stepped onto the first rung. “I don’t have a whole lot of time, you know.”

“I’ll hurry.”

I clambered up the ladder and plopped down on a bale to wait. What in the world is going on? I picked at the straw and twirled a blade between my fingers; the sweet smells of horse and hay drifted through my senses.

“Keilah.”

I looked up. That was fast. Rylen came and sat next to me. He had a fat, leather-wrapped bundle in his hands. “This came for you.”

I drew my head back. Slaves never received anything. It was forbidden. Questions flew from my lips. “For me? What is it? Who is it from? And how did you get it?”

“I don’t know anything about it except what Pap told me. He brought it back with him from Framburn. He got it from some messenger. Mysterious fellow, he said,” He shifted and held out the bundle. “It’s addressed to you.”

I took the package from his hands. It was bound with small, thin cords of rope, crisscrossing over the leather. I slid them off, dropping them onto the hay-littered floor. I peeled back the outer wrapping, revealing another cloth, a thick, woven dark blue one, beneath. I stopped and stroked the fabric. “Why, this reminds me of...” I pulled it away and set aside the small contents of the package without looking at them. I shook out the cloth and gasped. “It is!”

“What?” Rylen asked. “It’s just the wrapping.”

“No.” I grinned, shaking my head. “It’s my Mama’s shawl!” I wrapped it around my shoulders and pressed the cloth against my face, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent filled my nostrils, sending a shiver down my spine. I sighed. “It is.”

Rylen nudged me. “Keilah. What was in it?”

“Oh.” I picked up the former contents, turning them over in my hands. A small, fat book bound in soft, white calfskin and a sealed letter. I opened the letter first, immediately recognizing the small, perfect handwriting. Handwriting I hadn’t seen for more than three years. I glanced at the upper corner or the page; the date written there was a year old.

Dearest Niece,
If this letter ever reaches you, praise be to the
Father in Heaven. As I have little time for formalities, I will simply say that I miss you, and that I long to see you once more. God has been gracious and has kept my brothers and me well. My home has recently begun to receive boarders, many of which are ill and seeking refuge from their daily trials. We are tending to them as well as we know how.

One of the boarders, a young man named Darrin, came to me one night, saying that he had news of my blood-brother, whom I had not heard from in some time. He said that he and his wife had recently moved to a small fishing village up North, Yarom, I believe, and that he (the young man) had accompanied them for the journey. Problems arose, and the young
man had to leave the village. He expressed to me that he had hoped to bring my brother back to visit, but he had been unable to leave the village due to an … occupational problem.

He also told me that the couple’s daughter had not been heard from since they relocated. They had wanted her to join them, but, for some reason, she was unable.

Niece, I now must make a request of you. We have an abundance of people staying with us, and are thus unable to care for them all the way that we should. Also, I have need of your discerning mind and able youth concerning other matters of which I dare not put down in writing. Please, if you can, will you come? I beseech thee, dear niece. Come to me, for I need your help. And, remember as you make your decision, that even when things seem most hopeless, our Heavenly Father is always there, to be our Comfort and our Guide. God bless
you. I hope to see you soon.

In Christ, your loving uncle,
Jacob

I blinked. What a strange letter! Obviously, it was from my uncle, Israel, but why had he used “Jacob” to sign it? And it was so vague! Boarders? Brothers? And what was all that about my brother, Darrin? And the very last paragraph seemed quite out of place. I sighed and folded the letter up, sticking it in the front cover of the book. I had a feeling that there was much more information contained in the letter than I was seeing.

Rylen nudged me, awakening me from my fog. “What was that?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

“It’s from my uncle.” I sat for another moment, not saying anything. Then, I gasped. “Oh, no!” I jumped up and wrenched the shawl from my shoulders, stuffing it, along with the letter and the book, in Rylen’s hands. “Ry, I’m sorry, but I have to get back. I can’t take all this with me -- Mistress will have my head if she finds it. Will you take it back with you?”

“Well, of course, but –”

“No, I have to go. You can read it if you want, but it probably won’t make sense. I don’t even understand it!” I dashed to the ladder, kicking up a storm of straw. “I’ll see you later, and then we can figure it out!”

I climbed down the ladder and ran through the aisle, stopping at the access gate to the pasture instead of going all the way to the shop entrance. Pushing aside the sliding door, I slipped out the back. Perhaps, if I could make it back to the house without running into any crowds, I just might make it back before my time ran out. Though, it wasn’t likely.

I rounded the corner of the large building and took off at a sprint through the streets of Ridefel. I took a shortcut, sticking to the side roads and alleys, arriving back at the prominent home of my master within minutes. The gate to the courtyard still stood open, swinging back and forth in the light breeze. I bit my lip and ducked back through it, latching it softly behind me. I checked the water spot on the stone; I hadn’t yet dried completely. If I got back to my chores and worked diligently, I might be able to avoid a confrontation by the Missus.

"The Living Waters" (Part 2 of 2)

(...continued from the last "installment"...)
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“And how, my lord, did you come to reside in this plated armor?”

I heaved a deep breath. “That is a much more complicated tale, dear girl.”

“I have nowhere that demands my presence at this time.”

“Very well.” I stared into the rippling water. My reflection, a distorted, snaky visage, stared back at me. I shifted my gaze to the reflection of the Child. “About seven years ago, I came upon the chance of a lifetime. A neighboring empire had begun to wage war with us, and had been viciously defeated in the last battle. I grew haughty and determined to add that kingdom onto my own. I knew we could not be defeated.

“I was so swelled with pride. I reveled in the enjoyment of it all for some time, but then I began to grow bored. I wanted some excitement, so I sent a regiment of poorly trained soldiers into a battle so I could make sport of them. I stood at a distance, watching them be slaughtered, giving not a thought to the fact that these men had families—wives, children,” I looked down at my forelegs and a large tear rolled down my snout and stopped, dangling on my chin. I blinked and the tear splashed onto my claws. I looked back up at the Child. “And I sat there on my high horse, laughing.”

The girl bit her lip as tears welled in her own eyes. She looked down at the blossom and twirled it by its stem absentmindedly. I sighed, hot steam rushing from my nostrils. “Finally, near nightfall, I began to grow weary. So I sounded my horn, giving the signal to retreat. The remaining soldiers scurried back, stumbling from exhaustion. As they gathered around me, I counted them. Out of all the men I sent out, at least a hundred, only twenty-three remained. And I didn’t care. I turned and spurred my horse, leaving the men to find their own way home. So what if they never returned? They were expendable, I thought.

“That night I tossed and turned. My mind was restless and would not allow my body to slip into silent repose. I got up and wandered the halls for a while and then lay back down. I had finally calmed down a little and was just beginning to fall asleep, when I sensed that something was amiss. I felt a dampness against my cheek and opened my eyes. A mist had filled the room, thick and white. A ghostly figure stood before me, shrouded in a cloak of fog. He had a kind face, yet his eyes were unbelievably sad. He grasped my hand and pulled me up. I stood before him, dumbstruck. I puzzled over it for a brief moment, then decided that it was simply a dream. I drew myself up and looked him defiantly in the eyes. ‘What do you want, spirit?’ I asked. He simply smiled.” I chuckled, remembering. “I hated that smile. It was full of pity and sorrow. I felt like he was belittling me. I grew furious. I needed no sympathy from others. But before I could protest, he spoke. All he said was, ‘Come.’ His voice was hypnotizing. I was enchanted. Before I realized what was happening, he had pulled my by the hand to the center of the room. He brought his free hand up above our heads and waved it around us both. My room dissolved in a flash of sparkling light. What stood in its place when the light faded was this valley.”

The Child’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Truly, my lord?”

“Truly, dear one. I turned to the man, saying, ‘Where are we?’ ‘The Valley,’ was his reply. ‘Why are we here?’ I asked, prodding him for more information. ‘We are here for you. You actions have been wicked these last years. It is time for you to see that. But remember -- not all men have an opportunity to change in their lives.’ As he was speaking, I remember that my arms and legs had begun to ache terribly. My head swirled and I collapsed to my knees. The man continued speaking. ‘I was sent to you from on High, to show you the errors in your ways. You have allowed the Enemy to capture your mind; his wooing has earned your heart. And now you will see what you have become.’

“Darkness began to emanate from within me. My head throbbed wretchedly and my limbs began to burn. Claws sprouted from my fingertips, from my toes. My skin thickened and scaly, dry patches appeared. Spines shot front my back, tearing my nightshirt. I doubled over, screaming in pain. I writhed on the ground, feeling my body twist and change. As soon as my skull felt as if it was about to explode, it stopped. I just lay there, feeling as if I had the weight of the entire world upon my back. I tried to rise, but I couldn’t move. ‘What have you done to me?!’ I shouted. I retaliated when I heard my own voice. I still do.

“I looked all around for the man, but he was gone. I was sure by now that it was a dream. But, over the next few days, when I still had not awakened, I came to a different conclusion. I don’t know how long ago that was, for I stopped trying to keep track of the time. But over the days and weeks, I began to think more and more about what the man had said. I began to realize what I was. I had taken on the clothing of a crafty serpent, the very image of the Enemy himself.”

I had finished my tale. The Child stood, tucked the lily into the belt of her gown, and stepped lightly around the greenery growing near the edge of the pool. She came close to me and laid her hand upon my brow. Her touch was warming; it felt good on my cool scales. “Dragon,” she said. “I shall now tell you the true reason why you drink of this water.” She kneeled at the edge, her hand now lingering on my jowls. “Look.”

I hesitantly turned my gaze downward. There it was again. That wretched snake. “Ah,” she said. “You do not wish to see the evidence of your sins. Am I correct?”

I grunted. “You are.”

“Yet, you return to this pool, day after day. Why? You know that it will cause you pain.”

“Ah, yes, but if I am to survive, I must endure that pain. I tried forsaking the water once. I shall never attempt that again.”

“So you admit that you need the water? Even if it tells you things you do not wish to be reminded of?”

Was this girl daft? How many times would I have to repeat it? “Yes, Child,” I said, a little more forcefully than I meant to. “Yes, I need the water.”

In the reflection, I saw her smile softly. She began to speak again, yet as if to herself. “In the water, you see who you truly are. When you begin to look through the water, you see other things as they truly are. It is through the water, the Living Water, that all things are.” She turned to me. “Have you ever heard of the Living Water?”

“Living Water? No, never. Will you tell me?” I was humoring her now. I could see, clear as the pool itself, that she wanted more than anything to tell me of this Water.

“Yes,” she said, her face and eyes alive with passion. “The Living Water is the one thing that can truly fill thirsty souls. It quenches not only the body, but also the spirit. Once you partake of this Living Water, once you truly partake of it, your soul will never thirst again. Much like this water in front of us, it will fill you so that the only things you will ever need are manifested in it.”
“A pool where I shall only have to drink once?” I asked, thrilled at this notion. “Please, take me to it! I shall never have to see my reflection again!”

“It is not a physical pool, my lord. But it is real. This Water will not only fill you, but cleanse you, as only the Living Water can. It washes away the stains of your inmost being, turns scarlet sins into radiant righteousness. It calms your guilty conscience, and it will direct you from that point on. And, best of all, all you have to do is accept it. Take the Living Water, and douse your soul from head to foot. It will satisfy. It offers hope, forgiveness, and an eternal home in paradise, if only you will accept it. Drink deeply of this Water, Dragon. Drink, and you shall be enslaved by the Enemy no longer. The Giver of this Water, the Creator of all things, He who set everything in motion, will deny no one. You will shed your scales and splash in the cool fountains of His love, forever.”

I simply stared. Was what she was saying true? Cleansed? Forgiven? Forever? Was it too good to be true? Perhaps. But … it was something. Something that seemed to emanate peace. And peace was what I wanted — needed --, oh, so desperately!

“Child,” I said, with renewed interest. “How can I find this Water?”

“As I said before, my lord, it is not a tangible object. It is a gift, something you must ask of the Giver and then accept. Only then shall you begin to truly see.”

This was no longer a mere conversation. This was a life-changing discovery. I could truly be forgiven! Suddenly, I knew in my heart that all this Child was saying was true. “Yes,” I said reverently. “Yes, and ask I shall.”

It was then, as I closed my eyes and began to pour out my heart to the Giver of this Water, that I did begin to see. I also began to feel—to feel the weight of so many burdens lifted from my shoulders. With tears now running down my cheeks, I lifted my head and let out a long, triumphal cry. I was finally free.

The Child laughed, clapping her hands and dancing around. “Now,” she said. “If you wish, you may dive into the pool. Though your soul has been cleansed by the spiritual water, your physical appearance can be washed away by this water.” The Child motioned to the crystal pool at our feet.

“Is it necessary?”

“No. But it will give you a “proof”, a seal to a covenant, if you will, that your new life has truly begun.”

Without another word I dove headfirst into the water. It engulfed me, and no sooner than I had become completely immersed, I felt my body begin to change once more. But it was not painful. It felt like I was taking off a hot, itchy tunic. The water felt wonderful against my newly bared flesh. My claws disappeared, my spines shrunk and my face smoothed out. Again, this transformation took only a short while. When I felt complete, I broke the surface. I laughed with joy. After so long, trapped in that heavy armor, I now felt extremely light. I looked for the Child. I needed to thank her.

She was gone. I swam to the side of the pool and hoisted myself up over the edge. As I stood, a sudden, glowing radiance caught my eye. I looked down. My entire body was covered in a golden shroud of light. It shimmered and undulated, forming itself around my body. It settled and I felt the sudden weight of fabric against my skin. The light had formed itself into a golden robe. I patted the cloth, feeling its silky smoothness caress my flesh.

“Do you like it?”

I jerked my head up at the sound of the voice. The gentle, hypnotizing, familiar voice. There, before me, stood the man. Then man that had brought me to this place.
My stomach fluttered and my throat caught. I only nodded, for fear that my voice would crack.

He stepped closer to me until we stood eye to eye. “You have repented of your sins, and overcome the test. Well done, my son.” He extended his hand, offering it to me. “Will you come, and set right the wrong you left behind?”

I drew myself up and placed my hand in his. “I will.”

He brought his free hand up and waved it above us. As the valley disintegrated in a falling shower of light, I caught a glimpse of the man’s emerald eyes, chestnut hair, and the lily tucked into the belt of his tunic.

~*~*~

"The Living Waters" (Part 1 of 2)

It was terrible. Yes, after a while I began to get used to it; though, how “used to it” is possible for one who was a human for half of his life and then transformed in a sickening crunching of bones, stretching of skin, and lengthening of limbs into one of the most despised creatures in all of Creation?

Although…I suppose I did deserve it. The slaughter I have caused, the havoc I have wreaked…I am sorry for it now. But alas, I am paying my debt and it is too late to be repentant.

Trapped here in this lonely valley, with only the birds and small animals for company, I have had plenty of time to reconsider and reconcile with myself. I am no longer in denial—I am no longer angry with myself. I understand the reasons.

I hunger not, so I need not trouble myself with hunting. That is a gift, I suppose. I would have not lasted long if I had to hunt to survive. I could not bear having to kill another creature. The reason for this everlasting “fullness”, you ask? The water is my answer-- the sweet, clear pools. Yet every time I dropped my head to take a sip of the filling liquid I was reminded. If for a time, I was able to forget, it was a blessing. But the blessing vanished when I saw my reflection in that pool. Hideous. The reflection of the very creature I, and so many others, now despise.

Serpent. That word, every time it entered my mind, I was pierced. Pierced with arrows to my heart, arrows that, when they destroyed the flesh and blood, allowed the light of day to shine on my darkened soul, forever stained. Ashamed. That was I. Not angry, but ashamed. I had become the very creature I had killed for. Evil itself, with deception as its fuel, I had allowed to enter my heart. I could try to defend my actions with the arguments I had memorized over the years, but because I no longer believed these arguments myself, it would not have been worth it.
So there I was, trapped. Trapped, with only the dark remembrances of my past hate to haunt me.

One morning, as usual, I went to the pool for a drink. As I lowered my head, I closed my eyes. My snout plunged into the cool liquid and I drank deeply of the filling water. Suddenly, a voice, clear and sweet as the water itself, sang out to me. “Dragon,” the feminine voice trilled. “Why do you drink of this water?”

I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Sitting on a rock at the edge of the pool, was a young girl. She was draped in a white gown that flowed gracefully around her slender body. Her shining chestnut hair was sleek and straight and hung about her like a curtain. A wreath of ivy, every bit as green as her emerald-like eyes, encircled the crown of her head. Small white blossoms dotted the foliage. My heart jumped within my armored breast. Not because of her innocent beauty, but because she was human. Another thinking being, one with whom I could converse. “Who, pray tell, asks this question of me?” I winced inwardly at the sound of my own voice. Harsh and rough, yet slithering and snakelike, I had not heard it in ever so long. After raving about my plight for the first several days of my imprisonment, I had vowed to never speak again. There was no need to. That is, until now.

The girl smiled sweetly and dipped her bare feet into the water. She swirled them around, creating little cyclones with her toes. She gazed into my eyes, her own sparkling. “My name is of no importance. You may call me Child.”

“Very well, Child. I shall answer your question, if only for the honor of speaking with you.” I stretched out on the soft turf, folding my legs up below me. “I drink of the water, because it is my sustenance. When I drink, I am filled and do not hunger. Because of this blessing, I am not required to shed another drop of innocent blood for my own profit.”

“Another drop, my lord?”

I sighed and lay my head down on my crossed forelegs. “Yes, Child. I have shed much blood in my lifetime.”

“Your own, my lord?”

“No, Child. The blood of others; of the innocent such as yourself.”

The girl lowered her head and stared into the water for a moment, then looked back up. She cocked her head to the side and knit her light brow. “I sense a sadness in your voice, sir. Tell me, were you always as you are?”

“A scaled deceiver? Yes. Though I only now wear the visible garments of that livelihood. I was once a man, my only natural protection being skin, hardened from many days of heavy labor in the scorching sun. I rose in the ranks from slave to master, fighting my way to the top with lies, thievery, and stealth. I then took out my rage on others, abusing my power, forcing them to work, building my empire. Many died from exhaustion, still others from the wounds inflicted upon them by my orders.” I sighed and closed my eyes once more. “I can still hear the snapping of the whips and the cries of the children in my dreams.”

“But sir, surely, you could not have known. This was how you were raised, was it not? You were told from your youth to look out for yourself and that you had to fight to win the best.”

I chuckled humorlessly. “Aye, Child. Yet, I knew in my heart that something was amiss. I remember one night when I was a mere lad of seventeen. I lay awake in my bed, a hard mat filled with sand, wondering if all I had ever been taught was false. I had very nearly convinced myself that it was. I slipped off to sleep and restlessly tossed and turned the entire night. The next morning, I awoke to the sound of sharp thwacks, followed by heart-wrenching cries. It was a fellow slave, an acquaintance of mine, being beaten. He was a lazy fellow, one who avoided tasks at every turn. He was dead within the hour. My heart was enraged. I dismissed all thoughts that had passed through my mind the last night. I would not allow that to happen to me. I would work and be successful. I did have to fight to win the best. And,” I opened my eyes. “I did. That is, I thought I did.”

The Child nodded sympathetically and plucked a pretty blossom from the water’s edge. “And how, my lord, did you come to reside in this plated armor?”

I heaved a deep breath. “That is a much more complicated tale, dear girl.”

~*~

(to be continued)

"The Divine Rescue" -- Short Story no. 1

I wrote this story several months ago to send into a magazine for a "contest" of sorts. I never heard back from them, so I'm assuming they didn't want it. Oh, well. :-) It is based upon Acts 12:1-17. The story itself will probably seem rather rushed or brief, but that's probably because there was an 800 word limit. Sometimes writing short stories takes more skill than writing really long ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The Divine Rescue"

“No, really! Please, just come and see!”

“Rhoda, that is enough!”

Rhoda groaned and tried one more time. “Please John! You have to believe me! The Apostle Peter is really here! I heard him knocking and ran up to the gate. He told me who he was and I came to get you. Please come!”

“It is simply not possible. You must have been imagining things.”

Rhoda sighed again and went to Mary, John’s mother. “The Apostle Peter has returned! Please ma’am, you must believe me!”

“Come now, Rhoda. We are all tired. It must have been something else.” Mary turned back around and resumed her conversation.

Rhoda furrowed her brow and sank down on a nearby bench. She listened to the hum of voices for a moment, and then suddenly a loud knocking came from the front door. John leapt up from the table and hastened out the room and into the front hall. Rhoda followed close behind, jittering with excitement. The loud knocking sounded again.

“See! I told you!”

“Oh, hush. Who knows who that could be?” John slid aside a tiny window in the door and peeked through it. Letting out a gasp, he swung the door open as fast as possible. “Brother!”

“I wondered when someone was going to answer the door!” Peter stepped through the doorway and wrapped John into a manly embrace. Then he turned to Rhoda. “Well, young lady, I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me!”

Rhoda’s face turned beet red. “Sorry, Sir. I suppose I was too excited to answer the door. Then, when no one would believe me, I guess I…” She laughed nervously. “I guess I forgot you were here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Miss. Now, where are the others? Have I got a story for them!”

“Right this way. We have been praying together all evening.” John stepped back into the light of the room, Rhoda and Peter trailing behind. Astonished gasps greeted their ears, followed by amazed exclamations.

The people swarmed around Peter, all asking questions at once. “Friends, friends, please,” he said, motioning for them all to be quiet. “I must have your ears for a moment. An amazing thing has taken place tonight, a miracle.”

At this, everyone fell silent. Each person took a seat on a bench or on the floor, eyes and ears trained on the apostle standing before them.

“As you may have heard,” he began. “Our fellow disciple, James, that is, the brother of John, has been killed.”

Gasps rose from the group, but Peter rose his hand to quiet them again. They settled down and he began once more. “This was the doing of Herod. He saw that by murdering John, the people became pleased. So he arrested me as well.

“They placed me in prison, surrounded by four squadrons of soldiers. It seemed that Herod planned to bring me out and kill me before the people- sometime near Passover. Escape didn’t seem likely. Yet, I knew that if it was the Lord’s will for me to die, I was content. I prayed continuously, and many others were praying for me as well.

“Tonight, the night before Herod was to bring me out and kill me, I had a vision. At least, I thought it was a vision. I had been bound by two chains, and placed between two soldiers. There were even guards in front of the prison. Suddenly, a bright light shone, and an Angel of the Lord appeared beside me! He struck me on the side and commanded me to arise. The chains fell off my hands. He said to me, ‘Gird yourself and tie on your sandals.’ I obeyed and followed him out of the prison.

“We passed by the first and second guard posts, and then came to the gate leading to the city. It opened all by itself! Once the Angel of the Lord led me down one of the streets, he disappeared. I finally realized that I had not had a vision, but an angel had truly led me out of prison!

“I came to find you, to tell you of this miraculous thing. Go to James, the son Alphaeus, and tell him and the brethren of these things. I must leave you know, and depart to another place. Remember to pray!” With this he turned and left.

Rhoda stared after him in amazement. She had heard of angels appearing in the old days, the days of Moses and the judges, but to hear it directly from someone who had seen it- she was speechless! The people around her began murmuring to each other and she continued to sit in a daze. Mary came up and nudged her.

“Time for bed, dear. We have a big day tomorrow.”

*

Starting Over

I've come to realize that when I started this blog over a year ago, I didn't have much of a plan for it, or much motivation. But I think I now have a plan as well as a little more motivation. So to get this off the ground, I suppose I'll start by telling any unfortunate passerby a little about myself. :-P

My name is MacKenzie, and I am a home-educated, Christian young lady. I have a wonderful family, great friends, and a Mighty Savior, all of whom I love dearly.

I still like to run around outside, dressed like a character from whatever book I happen to be reading (or writing) at the time, and fending off the “bad guys” with a trusty wooden sword. I’ve tried many times to make my brother, “fight” with me, but for some reason, he just isn’t interested. So, alas, I am often forced to complete my quests alone, or with a few even younger siblings taking his place ... and that may be the reason that few of them ever get accomplished. :-)

I also really enjoy “living” these adventures out on paper. Reading and writing stories are two ways I can do this. I’m trying to start making myself read a larger variety of things; I've been leaning more towards the "fantasy" genre lately, and I want to "expand my horizons". Does anyone have any suggestions?

As for writing, that is an interest which has just recently begun to take off. I've written short stories in the past, and even started a few novels, but have never really known what to do "next". So, this year, as part of my English curriculum, I am taking a creative writing course, "One Year Adventure Novel" as it is called. The author of this course, Daniel Schwabauer, teaches story. Not grammer or anythinhg like that, but what it is that makes a story a story. According to him, the five elements of any good story are: Someone to Care About (Main character/Hero), Something to Want (the Story Goal), Something to Dread, Something to Suffer, and Something to Learn. By the time I have completed the course, I (and anyone else who is taking it) will have written a complete, 12-chapter adventure novel! I'm pretty excited about that.

As for this blog, I will probably be posting quite a few short scenes and stories aside from "other things", (Not positive what those "things" will be just yet.) I'd really appreciate any comments, feedback, or critiques that anyone has to offer. Sometimes, you just have to be contradicted in order to learn!

Anyhow, the above is just a brief sampling of some of my interests. For a far more "extensive" list, check out my profile. ;-)