Lacedaemonian
A Plume of Smoke
A very large extract, I do apologise. I decided to skip the revelation and start my story from earlier in the central character's life. This would seem to be move toward a more classical fantasy style. The grim plots will unfold later as the central character's life falls apart. Please read this, and hopefully enjoy...
Danae lay flat on his stomach, beneath a bush of yellow rose, peering down from his cliff perch into the wood glade pool where swam the most beautiful child he was likely to ever see. The fourteen year old Danae did not understand these feelings. There were very few girls his age in the village, and these few merely irritated him either with their dull girly banter or their stupid attempts to win his affections. His friends, usually fairly sane and intelligent boys, would fall to pieces in the company of said girls. Danae chided them over this, why could they not just ignore them like he did? His mother scolded him for this, stating that he would have to marry one of these girls one day. Danae thought that this was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. That was until now.
A silver eel, golden hair fanning out, she reached the far side of the pool tucked, rolled and kicked away from the rock bank and slid through the water back the way she had came(in one motion). He had visited every morning that he could for nigh on a year. He told his mother that he was laying snares out on Cottontail hill, which he did hurriedly, before sprinting the two and half miles across Shallow meadow to the edge of the reservation.
The first time he saw her he had been out with his dog hunting along the fringe of the reservation, partly because the best game could be sought there and partly because the danger of what lurked there thrilled him beyond any fathomable reason. He had been stalking a young buck all morning, and had visions of returning home with the buck slung across his back to put on the kitchen table. His father would have been so proud, his mother so grateful, his little sister so pleased. Then whilst he flittered through the trees her song reached his hunters ear, such beautiful sorrow and joy in words he could not comprehend. As the young buck continued on his journey into the forest, blissfully unaware of his near scrape with death, the young Danae let his keen ear track down the maker of the song that entranced him so. He reached the edge of a glade and discovered a pool with no obvious source. There by the pool, sat upon a small rock was a naked young girl of wondrous beauty. She raked her waist length golden hair with a long toothed comb and sang a ballad that Danae could only guess at its meaning. She suddenly stood upright and began to play a small blue wooden pipe. She hopped, she skipped and danced around the edge of the pool, all the while her tune hopped, skipped and danced along with her. Danae’s eyes were transfixed on her naked silvered form. He was captivated. Without realising Danae sighed, his legs buckled and he feinted into the grassy undergrowth at his feet.
By the time he had come around, the glade was silent but for the birds and the crickets which chirped, it seemed, for the first time that day. She was gone. The following weeks Danae made discrete inquiries in the outlying villages about the mysterious girl. Nobody knew anything about a golden haired girl, and looked at him strange, for all the girls in the wastes had auburn, brown or black hair as did all of the people of the wastelands. Danae was disturbed by this and began to lose hope of ever seeing the girl again. Then one day ‘old man Jan the tinker man’ came rolling into town with a wagon full of pots, pans, kettles, cutlery as well as various unessential niceties such as jewellery. Danae in his growing despair sought out the old tinker, thinking that by chance the tinker may have seen the girl on his travels. Danae told the old tinker everything leaving out nothing of his encounter with the siren by the wood glade pool. Jan looked deep into Danae’s distressed eyes and as if seeing something there smiled broadly beneath his shaggy greying moustache. “Ah young Danae there are many golden haired beauties in the city, perhaps she is there.”
Danae was devastated. There was no way he would find her if she was in the city, and his mother would never allow him to go to the city anyway. She always said that the place was ‘top to bottom evil’, in that gods fearing way of hers. Even his father, who was usually so fearless, agreed with his mother on this, ‘a bad place, a very bad place son’ his usual comment. This of course only aroused Danae’s curiosity more. ‘Well, when I am constable there I will get rid of all the badness’ was his usual boast, which usually brought a smile from both of his parents. Danae would be a constable one day; his parents had saved since the day he was born to purchase a uniform and passage to the capital. Of Danae passing the stringent academy qualification tests, there never seemed to be any doubt.
Two months later, at the first wispy lights of day, Danae woke and could not find comfort in the quilted folds of his bed. Frustrated he slipped out of bed and donned his mole skin hunting jacket and trousers, slung his hunting bow over his right shoulder with a quiver of arrows, donned his father’s old hard leather boots and stepped out into a damp, dew covered, cool, spring dawn. He gently stretched his legs and loped off toward Cottontail hill, to lay some snares and see if he could find any game.
He checked all of his snares and was surprised to find that they were empty. Disappointed he crossed Shallow meadow at the pace of a snail, shoulders slumped and eyes sore with the want of sleep. When he reached the edge of the reservation he scoured the brush for signs of game. Nothing. Then it dawned on him, ‘The wood glade pool!’ This was sure to be a watering hole for deer and other large game. He wound his way through the wooded area surrounding the pool, not a twig, snapped not a bush rustled. He had hunted all of his life; walking through some brush silently was almost as comfortable as simply walking down the street for Danae.
As he neared the edge of the glade he slumped to the ground and crawled through a clump of heather. He peered through the large green leaves to the glade beyond, and to his absolute delight, a small herd of deer drank at the pool. It mattered not that six deer drank there as he could only bring down one but it meant that he had discovered what all hunters yearn to find. A killing ground. His eyes swept around the clearing. There were umpteen locations from which he could make a kill. How many animals used this drinking hole? He was delirious and had to calm himself. He had to put an arrow through one of the deer’s throats. No mean feat. He strung his bow, notched an arrow and relaxed his mind. He had to visualise the target, there was no great success in aiming the arrow with the eye, it had to be with his minds eye. Just as his fingers eased about to release the chord, the deer parted and she stepped out from the water, naked her skin silvered her hair golden….
A full three seasons later, he lay there again captivated by this wondrous creature he had not yet summoned the courage to speak to.
To be continued....
Danae lay flat on his stomach, beneath a bush of yellow rose, peering down from his cliff perch into the wood glade pool where swam the most beautiful child he was likely to ever see. The fourteen year old Danae did not understand these feelings. There were very few girls his age in the village, and these few merely irritated him either with their dull girly banter or their stupid attempts to win his affections. His friends, usually fairly sane and intelligent boys, would fall to pieces in the company of said girls. Danae chided them over this, why could they not just ignore them like he did? His mother scolded him for this, stating that he would have to marry one of these girls one day. Danae thought that this was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. That was until now.
A silver eel, golden hair fanning out, she reached the far side of the pool tucked, rolled and kicked away from the rock bank and slid through the water back the way she had came(in one motion). He had visited every morning that he could for nigh on a year. He told his mother that he was laying snares out on Cottontail hill, which he did hurriedly, before sprinting the two and half miles across Shallow meadow to the edge of the reservation.
The first time he saw her he had been out with his dog hunting along the fringe of the reservation, partly because the best game could be sought there and partly because the danger of what lurked there thrilled him beyond any fathomable reason. He had been stalking a young buck all morning, and had visions of returning home with the buck slung across his back to put on the kitchen table. His father would have been so proud, his mother so grateful, his little sister so pleased. Then whilst he flittered through the trees her song reached his hunters ear, such beautiful sorrow and joy in words he could not comprehend. As the young buck continued on his journey into the forest, blissfully unaware of his near scrape with death, the young Danae let his keen ear track down the maker of the song that entranced him so. He reached the edge of a glade and discovered a pool with no obvious source. There by the pool, sat upon a small rock was a naked young girl of wondrous beauty. She raked her waist length golden hair with a long toothed comb and sang a ballad that Danae could only guess at its meaning. She suddenly stood upright and began to play a small blue wooden pipe. She hopped, she skipped and danced around the edge of the pool, all the while her tune hopped, skipped and danced along with her. Danae’s eyes were transfixed on her naked silvered form. He was captivated. Without realising Danae sighed, his legs buckled and he feinted into the grassy undergrowth at his feet.
By the time he had come around, the glade was silent but for the birds and the crickets which chirped, it seemed, for the first time that day. She was gone. The following weeks Danae made discrete inquiries in the outlying villages about the mysterious girl. Nobody knew anything about a golden haired girl, and looked at him strange, for all the girls in the wastes had auburn, brown or black hair as did all of the people of the wastelands. Danae was disturbed by this and began to lose hope of ever seeing the girl again. Then one day ‘old man Jan the tinker man’ came rolling into town with a wagon full of pots, pans, kettles, cutlery as well as various unessential niceties such as jewellery. Danae in his growing despair sought out the old tinker, thinking that by chance the tinker may have seen the girl on his travels. Danae told the old tinker everything leaving out nothing of his encounter with the siren by the wood glade pool. Jan looked deep into Danae’s distressed eyes and as if seeing something there smiled broadly beneath his shaggy greying moustache. “Ah young Danae there are many golden haired beauties in the city, perhaps she is there.”
Danae was devastated. There was no way he would find her if she was in the city, and his mother would never allow him to go to the city anyway. She always said that the place was ‘top to bottom evil’, in that gods fearing way of hers. Even his father, who was usually so fearless, agreed with his mother on this, ‘a bad place, a very bad place son’ his usual comment. This of course only aroused Danae’s curiosity more. ‘Well, when I am constable there I will get rid of all the badness’ was his usual boast, which usually brought a smile from both of his parents. Danae would be a constable one day; his parents had saved since the day he was born to purchase a uniform and passage to the capital. Of Danae passing the stringent academy qualification tests, there never seemed to be any doubt.
Two months later, at the first wispy lights of day, Danae woke and could not find comfort in the quilted folds of his bed. Frustrated he slipped out of bed and donned his mole skin hunting jacket and trousers, slung his hunting bow over his right shoulder with a quiver of arrows, donned his father’s old hard leather boots and stepped out into a damp, dew covered, cool, spring dawn. He gently stretched his legs and loped off toward Cottontail hill, to lay some snares and see if he could find any game.
He checked all of his snares and was surprised to find that they were empty. Disappointed he crossed Shallow meadow at the pace of a snail, shoulders slumped and eyes sore with the want of sleep. When he reached the edge of the reservation he scoured the brush for signs of game. Nothing. Then it dawned on him, ‘The wood glade pool!’ This was sure to be a watering hole for deer and other large game. He wound his way through the wooded area surrounding the pool, not a twig, snapped not a bush rustled. He had hunted all of his life; walking through some brush silently was almost as comfortable as simply walking down the street for Danae.
As he neared the edge of the glade he slumped to the ground and crawled through a clump of heather. He peered through the large green leaves to the glade beyond, and to his absolute delight, a small herd of deer drank at the pool. It mattered not that six deer drank there as he could only bring down one but it meant that he had discovered what all hunters yearn to find. A killing ground. His eyes swept around the clearing. There were umpteen locations from which he could make a kill. How many animals used this drinking hole? He was delirious and had to calm himself. He had to put an arrow through one of the deer’s throats. No mean feat. He strung his bow, notched an arrow and relaxed his mind. He had to visualise the target, there was no great success in aiming the arrow with the eye, it had to be with his minds eye. Just as his fingers eased about to release the chord, the deer parted and she stepped out from the water, naked her skin silvered her hair golden….
A full three seasons later, he lay there again captivated by this wondrous creature he had not yet summoned the courage to speak to.
To be continued....
