What Lies Beneath - Prologue and Chapter 1 beginning

[Martin Gill]

OK here's another one. This is the intro to my complete novel draft. Low fantasy/horror-ish (as in there's no goblins or elves - just ghosts and witches) set in C10/11th pseudo-Scotland. I've had positive proof reads but so far a few rejections from open calls and agents. Before I try any further I'd appreciate comments. Particularly should I kill the prologue? It does serve a narrative purpose but it may also detract from getting into the tension quickly enough.

There's 3 POV characters who leapfrog chapters. Kai is really the main one as the book is essentially her coming of age tale, hence I want to start with her. My previous submitted versions started with a second character, whcih in hindsight I think was an error.

Anyway... here goes...

PROLOGUE

After wood and flame, only death could lay the truth bare. The old man stooped, brushed lank hair from his face, grasped the dirty white goat by one of its horns, and yanked its head back. Eyes rolled. Feeble bleated protests lost to the growing wind.

“Thrice. Let it not be wrong.”

The bronze blade flashed. Wicked sharp, slicing the beast’s belly with a swift, sure cut. Bubbling intestines smeared the dirt. The dying creature kicked, crying in anguish. The old man held firm, a determined strength in his long limbs, wedging the beast’s head against his chest as its spilled guts steamed in the bitter night air.

He counted to nine. Slowly. Deliberately. Quiet words spoken in an old tongue, before he cut the creature’s throat. Its struggles ceased. Easing the goat to the frost-rimed ground, he laid its head down tenderly, stroking it between the eyes. Callused fingers massaged the rough tuft of fur between its curling horns.

“Died well.” He cleaned the knife on the grass.

He turned his attention to the entrails. Squatting, he peered at the bloody ruin. Sinuous shapes. Spirals and loops twisting together. He frowned, scratching his thick beard. He saw shapes and patterns, meanings and portents where most men saw only offal steaming in the autumn night.

A deeper message in the gore.

His third casting, and each one told the same story. First the wood wisdom, sticks scattered on a worn leather skin. Then the inspiration of flame, hours of deep contemplation staring into the white-hot heart of a willow-wood fire. And now blood. All three told the same tale. Subtle whispers of fate that few men could hope to hear. Yet to the last of the Druids, the portent was clear.

Death.

He stood, old bones aching, knees protesting. The gnarled ash staff, worked smooth by his hands, eased his weight. A circle of stones surrounded him, each taller than a man, as old as the hills they were cut from, wrought with carvings worn faint by the biting wind that blew chill off the Frozen Sea. He shuddered, the breeze biting his old flesh, and pulled his ragged cloak tighter round his shoulders. Coarse wool itched his neck.

High on the peak of Carn Toul, where the skin of the world was thin and you could see her bones, he looked out towards the sea. Distant whitecaps pounded rocky shores, glistening in the fleeting moonlight. Coal-black clouds slid across the sky, obscuring the silver sliver of the moon’s new face, smothering the vista of the loch in darkness. The lights of Lachlann town shone in the distance, and beside it, rising from the waters like some beached sea-beast stranded forever in the shallows, Norholm perched on its towering island. A tumbling pile of a fortress, centuries old, worn by wind and war. The spiny back of the high hall, Deirdre’s Tower and the spires of the Three Sisters, the lights of the Fishgate and the quays, Beacon Tor and a constellation of other fires burning in the black night.

A hateful place. Crammed with people and noise. Questions and demands. Gape-eyed fools who muttered behind his back as if they thought he stuffed his ears with moss. Sorcerer. Druid. Worse. They made the sign of the Good Mother and looked away, afraid to meet his gaze, as if he could turn them into a toad with a mere glance. Imbeciles.

But, the castings did not lie. One perhaps, but three? No, he had the truth of it now.

He sighed. Stooping, he picked up a leather bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Putting his fingers to his lips, he whistled, high and shrill. He stood for a while, feeling the wind burn his cheeks and, as the first drops of rain splashed down to wet his forehead, a crow spiraled out of the night sky. The old man smiled, crooked yellow teeth bared in a friendly grin. The bird circled thrice round his head, wingtips almost brushing his wind-swept hair. He rummaged in his bag, fishing out a scrap of meat which he tossed lazily into the air. The crow snatched it, black beak snapping.

“Come on,” said Ullaith. “Time to go and meddle.”






PART 1: HOMECOMING


CHAPTER 1: THE TRAITOR’S GATE

Only the dead lay beyond, cold and uncaring as winter. Folk weren’t welcome, not down there, not beyond the gate. Solid. Unpassable. Looped with thumb-thick links of rusted chain, gnarled and pocked like the bones of a long-dead sea snake. None but the Laird of Lachlann could pass beyond the gate, or so tradition held, and he was far from home beneath the King’s banner waging bloody war on the Francoii.

No good could come of this.

“It’s locked.” Of course it was, yet Kai rattled it anyway, white knuckled, gripping the bars with all her young strength, shaking in frustration. The thing barely moved.

“Let me past.” Grey pushed Kai gently aside, hefting an iron bar.

They sheltered in an archway hewn from the bedrock of Norholm. A steep stair hugged the inside of the seaward wall, plunging into blackness beyond the gate. Rain lashed down, running in quick rivulets over stone. The short sprint across the upper ward had left them drenched. The archway did little to shield them from the foul weather, and less still to hide them from the eyes of the guards that must surely pass by soon.

Kai muttered under her breath. She scanned the ward with a furtive glance, straining into the gloom.

Best be quick. Don’t get caught.

Grey jammed the bar between the gate and the stonework and leant his bulk against it. Ground his teeth. Strength built from years bending metal to his will at the forge. A creak of rusted iron. Grinding stone. The chain popped, snaking off with a jangle and a crash.

“Sshh!” Kai glared at Grey, punching him on the arm. Even the most slack-witted of her father’s guards would surely have heard the racket. “Oaf.”

“This is going to bite me on the arse, isn’t it?” He pushed the gate open with the bar, as if touching it with his hand would compound his guilt. It scraped in protest, an angry iron sound. Unoiled. Unopened for a decade or more. “There’s a reason they keep this thing locked, you know?”

“Don’t worry.” A nervous smile lit Kai’s face, mischief in her eyes, fear in her belly. Grey was right to be worried. “I’m sure my Da will understand. This is important.”

Grey sighed. “I know, but he’ll show us the birch for this if we’re caught. Mark my words.”

Kai peered down the stairwell, straining to see further than a few feet. Moss lined the walls, slick and spongy. Bulbous-headed mushroomy growths oozed from the cracks between vast stone blocks. Grasping tendrils hung from overhead. A stagnant, mold-ridden stench rose from the dark passage.

“Don’t like it.” Grey sniffed the rank air.

“Coward.” But Kai’s nose wrinkled as she strained to lean past Grey.

“Aye, but better a live coward than a dead hero devoured by what lies beyond.”

“Don’t be a milksop.” Kai peered into the gloom. “The dead can’t really walk. You know it’s all just troubadour’s tales to scare the bairns.”

“Well it’s working.” Grey sighed to himself as Kai sparked flint on steel. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

[Dave Barsby]

I like the prologue, think you should keep it. Dialogue is strong, prose is rich and evocative, plot intruguing. Thumbs up from me.

The only two things I'd personally change are: 1. Don't use the druid's name at the end of the prologue. We'll come to know him later I'm sure, and it clashes with his nameless appearance in the rest of the prologue. 2. Some sentences are very short (sometimes one word) while others are long with 3 or 4 commas in them. Either way is good, but together on one page they make the narrative flow a little inconsistent.

Otherwise, sterling work, and even the best stuff gets rejected plenty of times (it seems as much to do with luck as skill) so don't view that as a negative critique on your work.

 

[Brian G Turner]

The prologue doesn't really seem to do much, other than introduce a sacrifice - and then a long paragraph describing setting.

A couple of points also stood out for me - firstly, why did he disembowel the goat, and only later cut its neck? Certainly with Roman augury, the throat was cut first, and then the entrails carefully examined.

Secondly, you use the poetic phrase "old language" - but what language is this? Specifics can help build the realism of a piece - Latin? Chaldean? Something else?

Personally, I think you're missing something from the prologue to justify it - something to provide some sense of plot and character developing, rather than just setting and tone.

You do have a good voice, but IMO you're in danger of over-describing and relying too much on telling. Look at your opening sentences - the first seems to be a character thought, but the second is a distant and objective description. So it may be worth also looking more carefully at your POV use.

Similar happens with the opening to chapter 1 - it's all telling and out of POV. Yet despite trying to set a spooky tone, the characters that follow don't seem in the least bit concerned - certainly at first. Kai is spooked - then not at all? What's Kai's motivation and conflict? I ask because at the moment Kai is in danger of being nothing more than a device for exploring this path, rather than acting like a character in himself.

Which is something you can get in publisher literature, but IMO what you need to make it stronger is all mostly there - just could do with some tightening up: a little more organisation, a little more cutting, a couple of key sentences to anchor your POV.

However, that's simply my immediate personal opinion - I think what you have is good, but isn't yet filling its promised potential to be the best you can do.

Also - Troubadour - In your intro you suggest pre-Norman conquest, but I associate that more with the 12th/13th century. Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II, Richard the Lionheart, etc.

 

[Brian W. Foster]

The prologue is well written in that it flows well and clearly conveys an event. That being said, a description of an event, no matter how well written, doesn't really make me interested in your story. I need to understand why the event is important to the POV character. I need emotion. I need for the scene to revolve around some kind of personal stakes.

None of those things really popped out at me.

I tend to like the author to be very clear with what is happening, so the start of the C1 confused me. Only the dead lay beyond what? The scene hasn't been set yet, so there's nothing that exists to be beyond. And I'm not clearly in anyone's head until the third paragraph. Starting by putting the POV character in the setting would really help clarify things for me.

“Let me past.” Grey pushed Kai gently aside, hefting an iron bar.

This sentence construction indicates that Grey is doing both things at once - hefting an iron bar while pushing Kai gently aside. Not a major big deal, but I don't think that's what you meant to convey.

They sheltered in an archway hewn from the bedrock of Norholm. A steep stair hugged the inside of the seaward wall, plunging into blackness beyond the gate. Rain lashed down, running in quick rivulets over stone. The short sprint across the upper ward had left them drenched. The archway did little to shield them from the foul weather, and less still to hide them from the eyes of the guards that must surely pass by soon.

Man, this scene would start so much better for me if this were the first paragraph ... substituting "Kai and Grey" for "they," of course.

No good could come of this.

Best be quick. Don’t get caught.

Both these quotes seem to be direct thought, yet one is italicized and one isn't.

A nervous smile lit Kai’s face, mischief in her eyes, fear in her belly.

I thought I was in Kai's head, but this clearly isn't from her POV.

My main problem with both the prologue and the chapter, though, is lack of interest. In my experience, the two most common ways to drive reader interest are tension and character voice. Your style doesn't seem to incorporate a strong character voice, so I'd think that tension would be the best way to make it interesting.

Typically, tension is created by:

- Giving the POV character a scene goal
- Creating opposition to that scene goal
- Conveying the personal ramifications to the character if the goal isn't met

In the prologue, the character's scene goal appears to be to determine the portents. There's no real opposition to him accomplishing this goal, however, and there is no clearly indicated ramification should he fail.

In the chapter, the character's goal is to ... get through the gate. There is a bit of opposition in the presence of guards and the dead. The ramifications are indicated to be a minor bit of trouble from the authority figures.

Thus, all the elements are there to create tension, but I'm afraid that they need heightening. The tension is diminished because:

- Though I understand that the character wants to get through the gate, I don't understand why. Thus, the scene goal is weakened by a lack of clarity.
- The opposition is only mentioned, never shown, and the characters express only a little concern over it. Their task needs to be made more difficult. If these were crack troops that were impossible to bypass and we saw the two barely escaping notice, that would help.
- The stakes are extremely low. I'm told it's important, but I have no idea why. As far as I know, the worst thing that's going to happen is a couple of youngsters are going to be mildly punished for their actions. Not exactly compelling me to read on.

Hope this helps.

Brian

 

[Martin Gill]

I've been back over things and made changes. Its now 2000 words long so I'll split the prologue and the chapter out. I've rebuilt the prologue to actually give a bit more foreshadowing on what's going to happen, and to make things a bit harder of the Druid.

Here goes...

PROLOGUE

High on the peak of Carn Toul, where the skin of the world was thin and you could see her bones, an old man stooped, brushed lank hair from his face, grasped a dirty white goat by one of its horns, and yanked its head back. Its eyes rolled, feeble bleated protests lost to the growing wind. Coal-black clouds slid across the sky, obscuring the silver sliver of the moon’s new face, smothering man and struggling beast in shadow.

“After wood and flame, let death be my guide.” Words intoned with ritual precision. “Thrice. Let it not be wrong.”

The bronze blade flashed, wicked sharp, slicing the beast’s belly with a swift, sure cut. Bubbling intestines smeared the dirt. The dying creature kicked, crying in anguish. The old man held firm, a determined strength in his long limbs, wedging the goat’s head against his chest as its spilled guts steamed in the bitter night air.

He counted to nine. Slowly. Deliberately. Quiet words spoken in the old tongue that few but the Cruinthe spoke now. All the while he held the beast with his hands and with his mind. Kicks and yanks, the fluttering panic as the creature’s small life ebbed, the burning pain of the knife, all these things etched onto the old man’s weary mind as if he’d cut his own belly. Teeth gritted, he sank with the goat, dying with it, or close to. Close enough at least for death’s chill breath to brush his neck, close enough to feel oblivion’s call, come rest, sleep forever, lay your burden down, be at peace. His eyes fluttered, his grip waned. The dark night washed to mist, the distant hills now naught but smudges of gray, flimsy as clouds. Even the wind ceased to bite.

He wrenched his mind form the black, gripping the knife tight, cold metal and rough leather an anchor to the world. He blinked, shook his head then cut the creature’s throat, swift and merciful. Its struggles ceased.

Easing the goat to the frost-rimed ground, he laid its head down tenderly, stroking it between the eyes. Callused fingers massaged the rough tuft of fur between its curling horns.

“Died well.” He cleaned the knife on the grass.

He shivered, colder now, and not form the wind. There was a reason he hated the third augury, why he’d shunned the wisdom of blood for a decade or more. That reason wore on him now, like a stone in his gut, like old age gnawing at the marrow of his bones. He’d pay for this tomorrow, the next day and on as the death he’d almost embraced seeped slowly out of him like pine sap oozing from a branch. He bit back bile and turned his attention to the entrails. Squatting, he peered at the bloody ruin. Sinuous shapes. Spirals and loops twisting together. He frowned, scratching his thick beard. He saw shapes and patterns, meanings and portents where most men saw only offal steaming in the autumn night.

A deeper message in the gore.

His third casting, and each one told the same story. First the wood wisdom, sticks scattered on a worn leather skin. Then the inspiration of flame, hours of deep contemplation staring into the white-hot heart of a willow-wood fire. And now blood. All three told the same tale. Subtle whispers of fate that few men could hope to hear. Yet to the last of the Druids, the portent was clear.

Death.

He stood, old bones aching, knees protesting. The gnarled ash staff, worked smooth by his hands, eased his weight. A circle of stones surrounded him, each taller than a man, as old as the hills they were cut from, wrought with carvings worn faint by the biting wind that blew chill off the Frozen Sea. He shuddered, the breeze biting his old flesh, and pulled his ragged cloak tighter round his shoulders, coarse wool itching his neck.



The lights of Lachlann town shone in the distance, and beside it, rising from the waters like some beached sea-beast stranded forever in the shallows, the tumbling fortress of Norholm perched on its towering island, a constellation of fires burning in the black night. A hateful place, crammed with people and noise, questions and demands. Gape-eyed fools who muttered behind his back as if they thought he stuffed his ears with moss. Sorcerer. Druid. Worse. They made the sign of the Good Mother and looked away, afraid to meet his gaze, as if he could turn them into a toad with a mere glance. Imbeciles.

But, the castings did not lie. One perhaps, but three? No, he had the truth of it now. Death stirred beneath Norholm. No, not death, the dead. Young lives would be snuffed out before they’d had a chance to burn. Something awakened. Something older, half-forgotten, best left buried.

“The witch.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but it was iron.

He sighed. Stooping, he picked up a leather bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Putting his fingers to his lips, he whistled, high and shrill. He stood for a while, feeling the wind burn his cheeks and, as the first drops of rain splashed down to wet his forehead, a crow spiraled out of the night sky. The old man smiled, crooked yellow teeth bared in a friendly grin. The bird circled thrice round his head, wingtips almost brushing his wind-swept hair. He rummaged in his bag, fishing out a scrap of meat which he tossed lazily into the air. The crow snatched it, black beak snapping.

“Come on,” said Ullaith. “Time to go and meddle.”






PART 1: HOMECOMING

 

[VinceK]

He wrenched his mind form the black

Typo?

That reason wore on him now, like a stone in his gut, like old age gnawing at the marrow of his bones.

I think one simile would do.

He’d pay for this tomorrow, the next day and on as the death he’d almost embraced seeped slowly out of him like pine sap oozing from a branch.

I didn't think this sentence flowed as well as the others.

Sinuous shapes. Spirals and loops twisting together.

Perhaps just say, "Sinuous spirals and loops twisting together." Especially as you use the word "shapes" again.

old

You have used the word "old" quite a lot.

He sighed. Stooping, he picked up a leather bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Putting his fingers to his lips, he whistled, high and shrill. He stood for a while, feeling the wind burn his cheeks and, as the first drops of rain splashed down to wet his forehead, a crow spiraled out of the night sky. The old man smiled, crooked yellow teeth bared in a friendly grin. The bird circled thrice round his head, wingtips almost brushing his wind-swept hair. He rummaged in his bag, fishing out a scrap of meat which he tossed lazily into the air. The crow snatched it, black beak snapping.

This was my favourite paragraph, I felt it captured the mood perfectly.

Overall, I couldn't see much wrong, speaking as a reader and not an editor. Perhaps the only thing I would say is that the goat's death was slightly protracted.

 

[Brian G Turner]

This is pretty good, and seemed to flow better and more effectively than the first version you posted. A few nit-picks:

High on the peak of Carn Toul, where the skin of the world was thin and you could see her bones, an old man stooped, brushed lank hair from his face, grasped a dirty white goat by one of its horns, and yanked its head back.

This sentence - IMO - would work so much stronger if you made it Third Person Limited instead of omniscient - or at least named the man first, then broke this into at least 2 separate sentences instead of 1 with 6 clauses?

That way, the section about the skin of the world would be a character observation, rather than a narrator tell. And by pushing the reader into the old man's perspective, we're immediately much closer to everything that follows.

struggling

It's a good image - but a calm animal is more suited to augury, and they would often be drugged. A struggling animal can upset the ritual process, and even the portents. But...I accept the image of fighting against death may be more effective for your piece. Edit: However, consider the symbollism of the goat - it could represent those who will suffer the coming death, which means whether it struggles or is surprised can directly reflect what follows.

He saw shapes and patterns, meanings and portents where most men saw only offal steaming in the autumn night.

This is where being specific could add to the realism.

Overall, though, I personally think there's a wonderful sense of voice in this - would be good to see feedback from others who focus on that. It's not my personal cup of tea, because I prefer information fast. However, you're writing horror, and I'm under the impression that creating atmosphere is much more important.

 

[Cathbad]

but a calm animal is more suited to augury, and they would often be drugged. A struggling animal can upset the ritual process,

True, if the ritual aspect is of paramount importance. But an augury is best, if all is as natural as can be.

 

[Martin Gill]

Good feedback. I'm happy with the specifics, or lack there of of the goat and the divination. This isn't a real world piece and I am not trying to faithfully replicate any actual practice. If anything I want a Celtic feel, but I prefer the theme of magic to be forbidden, unpleasant and dangerous, rather than calm.

I appreciate you guys taking the time to read and comment. In hindsight, the first few chapters of this were (obviously) the first I wrote for the book. I think the end is stronger than the start and while I did one revision I don't think I went far enough with the first few chapters. The distance of about a year not looking at this is very insightful.

 

[Zebra Wizard]

I enjoyed the read. Nicely written.

If you had to think of something that was wrong with it or potentially something that would turn someone away from it, is that neither character really grabbed me just from this snippet (you likely sent more this so there could be more to disprove this.) The old man was interesting because of what he was doing, but it was just a prologue so probably not a pov? The two characters in chapter one just seemed rather a vanilla rebellious teen and dutiful guardian combo.

I am looking really hard into this, so don't take any offense. But a possible thing to take another glance over?

 

[The Judge]

Just to say that as the new Prologue and Chap 1 together now come to more than the 1500, I've moved the new extract for Chap 1 over to a new thread of its own -- it's a tad messier that way, but it does mean we don't have to worry about setting precedents for others who might want to push the 1500 envelope.

It's here for everyone who will want to read on! What Lies Beneath - New Chapter 1 beginning

 

[Martin Gill]

Thanks. I was conscious of that and don't want to abuse the rules!

 

[Brian W. Foster]

Put yourself in the place of the reader cruising around Amazon looking for a book. He stumbles across yours. Cover's okay. Pitch is interesting. Goes to check out the Look Inside.

Would this prologue compel him to buy?

Readers tastes vary, and I don't know what the ideal reader of your book is looking for. If I were to encounter this, I'd think, "It's decently written and flows well, but ..."

- No compelling character. I know little about who this guy is or what his motivations are.
- No compelling voice. Like I said earlier, it flows well, but there's no voice that makes me feel like the character/author is speaking to me.
- No tension. The scene describes a guy doing something without telling me why, what opposes him, or giving any indication of the states.
- No hook. I think that you're thinking to yourself, "The old man saw death stirring. Death! And a witch! What more hook do you want than that!?!" The problem is that you don't make any of it seem like a bad thing. Your character, to the extent that we're in his head, is kind of blase about the whole thing. Then, the scene ends with him going to "go and meddle." If your character has no doubt that he'll be able to fix the problem with a wee bit o' meddlin', why should I, as a reader, be interested in the problem?

Note: For me to buy a book, I'm generally looking for at least one of the four things. Again, that's me, though. Your readers may be completely different. You certainly don't need all of the these things in order to hook a reader. Heck, you don't necessarily need any of these things to hook a reader. You do, however, need something to hook a reader. For the life of me, I cannot discern what that something is supposed to be in this scene?

 

[Martin Gill]

Brian can you help me with a bit of context? I'm not saying you are wrong, but which authors do you rate? Who do you think succeeds in what you suggest in the first 2 or 3 pages of any novel?

there's no voice that makes me feel like the character/author is speaking to me

Who do you feel achieves this well when writing third person?

This would help me unpick your comments.

I'm on the fence about the prologue. It serves a minor narrative purpose, but I could lose it. I also have a choice about which chapter comes first. I haven't posted the second chapter but in my original (rejected a couple of times) draft chapter one starts with a different character who is presiding over a troubled birth that's linked. I have three simultaneous threads of the story and have to pick one to intro first. I originally picked the birth as it had the highest level of peril. That didn't get me anywhere, so I switched to the thread that involves the character who really ends up the primary character in the story (she changes the most). That's posted in another thread now.

 

[Brian W. Foster]

Brian can you help me with a bit of context? I'm not saying you are wrong, but which authors do you rate? Who do you think succeeds in what you suggest in the first 2 or 3 pages of any novel?

Honestly, just about everything that I actually purchase, including some books that turned out to be awful.

Unless it's a continuation of a series that I'm already reading, I always look a the sample. If the story doesn't draw me in with something, I move on to the next book.

I'm really, really terrible at finding actual literary examples. Sorry. I have a tendency to read for popcorn purposes, and a day after I finish a novel, I forget it completely. (Okay, so that's an exaggeration, but still ...) I really do wish I could help you ...

This would help me unpick your comments.

As I wrote above, I want the opening of a story to compel me to buy it. Compelling a reader does not happen by accident. It's like the thread on likeable characters - characters don't just become likeable on accident; authors use many and varied techniques to compel the reader to like their characters.

You don't need to unpick my comments; I think you need to put consideration into, "What about this opening will compel a reader to buy it?"

The four things that I mentioned are good places to start, but they are not, by far, a comprehensive list. A horror story might compel a reader by being spooky. A comedic story by being funny.

When I build a scene, I think of the following:

1. What plot purpose is the scene serving?
2. What character development is the scene portraying?
3. How is the scene engaging the reader? (For me, that's usually through tension.)

It seems to me like you might be just hoping the third point falls into place if your writing is clear and clean and you take care of the first two points.

I tend to think that you need to have a strategy going into the scene.

 

[HareBrain]

The hook for me is to wanting to find out what he sees when he actually gets round to examining the entrails. And I think the trouble is that "Death" as an augury is an anticlimax. It's a fantasy story -- of course there's going to be death!

In the next section, you expand on this with the rising of the undead and the witch and so on, but I fear the damage has already been done, and somehow they don't make an impact. I think if you're going to keep the prologue, the augury itself needs to generate the next hook by being a lot more interesting, setting up a mystery the reader needs answered. And the character needs to react to it with something more than a desire to meddle, I think, as Brian F says.