Steve S
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Oct 6, 2006
- Messages
- 262
Hello,
Please see attached prologue to my soon to be independently published novel, 'The Map of the Known World'. Any comments/feedback would be gratefully received!
Regards
Steve
PROLOGUE
The waves tossed Vortigern around like a rag doll. Seaweed entangled his legs and salt water blurred his vision. Weighed down by his sodden clothes, he waded the last few yards to the beach. The waves kept pulling him back, reluctant for him to leave their grip. With a huge effort he broke free and collapsed onto the damp sand. There he lay, fighting for breath as the foamy surf lapped around his legs. The sound of the constant wash and drag of the sea filled his ears.
When enough strength had returned to his body, Vortigern stood up. He looked back out to sea. A burning ship drifted on the dark water. The flames illuminated the waves with angry red and yellow reflections. Vortigern had sailed on the Endeavour for six months; now he watched its death throes. Anchored close to it was another vessel. An Ironclad warship.
One hour earlier, the Ironclad had emerged from the mist like a ghost. For the lightly armed Endeavour there had been no escape. Vortigern knew the crew of his ship would be dead by now. He remembered their faces as he prepared to jump overboard; the faces of men who knew they were about to die. He would have stayed and died with them but the captain had insisted, ‘You are the strongest swimmer. You must take the map to Lord Hereward. He will know what to do.’
So he alone had survived. But the Redeemers would soon discover that he had escaped. Vortigern looked around, taking in his surroundings. He stood in a wide cove. Towering cliffs rose in front of him but he spied a steep path that offered an escape from the beach. Digging into his last resources of will and strength he made for the path. His footsteps left a trail across the sand; an easy trail for the Redeemers to follow but he had no time to do anything about it.
He scrambled over the bank of pebbles at the top of the beach. The cold wind pushed his damp clothes against his skin. His teeth chattered violently. Suddenly he became aware of sound and movement from the far side of the beach. He saw a band of men, the flickering of their flaming brands and lamps made their bearded faces resemble those of demons. Scavengers. Wrecks were common on the treacherous southern coastline and there were rich pickings for those who scoured the beaches. They carried pick-axes, hatchets, crowbars and ropes. As they reached the foot of the beach, one of the scavengers noticed Vortigern and bellowed, ‘Look yonder, a survivor!’
Vortigern knew they were Nulled. They were enemies. They would tell the Redeemers that they had seen him.
With a new vigour born of fear, Vortigern ran.
Please see attached prologue to my soon to be independently published novel, 'The Map of the Known World'. Any comments/feedback would be gratefully received!
Regards
Steve
PROLOGUE
The waves tossed Vortigern around like a rag doll. Seaweed entangled his legs and salt water blurred his vision. Weighed down by his sodden clothes, he waded the last few yards to the beach. The waves kept pulling him back, reluctant for him to leave their grip. With a huge effort he broke free and collapsed onto the damp sand. There he lay, fighting for breath as the foamy surf lapped around his legs. The sound of the constant wash and drag of the sea filled his ears.
When enough strength had returned to his body, Vortigern stood up. He looked back out to sea. A burning ship drifted on the dark water. The flames illuminated the waves with angry red and yellow reflections. Vortigern had sailed on the Endeavour for six months; now he watched its death throes. Anchored close to it was another vessel. An Ironclad warship.
One hour earlier, the Ironclad had emerged from the mist like a ghost. For the lightly armed Endeavour there had been no escape. Vortigern knew the crew of his ship would be dead by now. He remembered their faces as he prepared to jump overboard; the faces of men who knew they were about to die. He would have stayed and died with them but the captain had insisted, ‘You are the strongest swimmer. You must take the map to Lord Hereward. He will know what to do.’
So he alone had survived. But the Redeemers would soon discover that he had escaped. Vortigern looked around, taking in his surroundings. He stood in a wide cove. Towering cliffs rose in front of him but he spied a steep path that offered an escape from the beach. Digging into his last resources of will and strength he made for the path. His footsteps left a trail across the sand; an easy trail for the Redeemers to follow but he had no time to do anything about it.
He scrambled over the bank of pebbles at the top of the beach. The cold wind pushed his damp clothes against his skin. His teeth chattered violently. Suddenly he became aware of sound and movement from the far side of the beach. He saw a band of men, the flickering of their flaming brands and lamps made their bearded faces resemble those of demons. Scavengers. Wrecks were common on the treacherous southern coastline and there were rich pickings for those who scoured the beaches. They carried pick-axes, hatchets, crowbars and ropes. As they reached the foot of the beach, one of the scavengers noticed Vortigern and bellowed, ‘Look yonder, a survivor!’
Vortigern knew they were Nulled. They were enemies. They would tell the Redeemers that they had seen him.
With a new vigour born of fear, Vortigern ran.