This is a novel I've been working on for a few weeks now. I've made more progress on it than any other attempt at a story in the past, and I have a good feeling about it so please be gentle in your critique. Feel free to comment on any grammar/spelling/consistency mistakes as you read. I'll post the story chapter by chapter, adding them every once in a while. I've already written up to chapter 8, so there's plenty of content coming.
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Chapter One
West of the Cirenthel Mountains, a delicate breeze cut through the scattered clumps of trees laid randomly across the plains of Leuss. Leaves of orange and red detached from their branches, following the lure that was the wind. They flew in all directions, spiralling upwards then gently floating down, only to once again be caught in the swirling current. The color of the trees suggested a change in season. Summer was being left behind, leaving room for fall to make its appearance. An azure sheet had been blanketed across the sky, merging with the bright orange flow radiating from the globe that rested halfway above the horizon.
A series of small hills rose from the earth, forming a crescent shape that encased a quaint house. The breeze bent the grass in waves as it surpassed the hills and met the home behind them. Plain white curtains fluttered softly inside an open window that allowed the cool morning air to penetrate the household. A leaf that had remained captured in the wind was carried through the opening. It came to rest in the hair of a young man who lay asleep.
The invading leaf stirred the youth, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Crow d’Auru yawned, shutting his eyes once more from the sun’s persistent shine. He reached up to his sandy brown hair and retrieved the leaf that had woken him. Still adjusting to the light, he held it before him. When it came into focus, he blinked, as if it were out of place. He had not fully realized until now that autumn was no longer approaching, and now rested outside his home and all over Leuss. The relaxing summer days would not return for another year, he admitted to himself reluctantly.
Letting another yawn escape his lips, Crow swung his legs out from beneath the quilt his father had made him, and sat up on the edge of his bed. He stretched his muscles, shivering despite the fall warmth, partly from the cold boards beneath his feet, and partly from the breeze that left strands of hair strewn over his eyes. After standing, he reviewed his appearance in the mirror across the room. His hair was a mess, and as always, his pale green eyes stared back at him. Those had always caught him a fair bit of attention. Most people were born with blue or brown eyes. Only once every few years had a child been born with green eyes, or so his father had told him. He still wasn’t sure whether he did so to make Crow feel unique or different.
It wasn’t until he began thinking of his father that he realized the usual smell of eggs and bacon he had grown accustomed to each morning was absent. Curious, Crow threw on a clean linen shirt and a pair of faded cotton pants before exiting his room. As he had expected, the house was silent. Nothing in the kitchen had been moved from its place the night before, and the shutters in the den were still shut. He made his way through to the back of the house, not necessarily worried, but still unsettled. When he came to his father’s room, he paused, listening through the thick oak door. For a few moments, it was as silent on the other side as the rest of the house. Finally, Crow heard blankets being ruffled, accompanied by the soft squeaking of a bed. He sighed in relief, unsure of what exactly had had been expecting. His hand found the brass door handle, but before opening, he tapped softly on the hard wood. Again, his father stirred, and he heard a hoarse response that sounded like, “Come in, Crow.”
The door swung open, and crow found himself looking down at a pale, sickly imitation of Balen d’Auru. Despite his appearance, his father was smiling, the same one he wore every day. Whether it was forced or not, Crow was unsure.
“Father, are you alright?” Crow inquired, kneeling next to the bed with a concerned expression. “You don’t look too well.”
Balen dismissed the state with the wave of his hand. “Nonsense. I’ve just caught some bug going around the village. I’ll be up before morning’s done, with a little rest.” His voice sounded strained. “Before that, even, if you’ll ride down to Arren and fetch some herbs from Emlain.” Arren lay less than twenty minutes south on horseback. It could be called Crow and Balen’s home, since they went there every day for food and other supplies. They were friends with the majority of the friendly villagers, partially because Balen was the village’s tailor, and a good one at that.
Crow stood, no longer worried. “Of course. I’ll be back in an hour, less if Emlain doesn’t have to prepare the remedy. What’s ailing you, so I know what to request?”
With a grunt of effort, Balen pushed himself into a sitting position, readjusting his pillow against the headboard. “A bit of a fever, I think, and a terrible headache.” He massaged his temples with his hands as he spoke. “She’ll most likely suggest hare’s breath, or leafsoul. Here,” He reached over to his bedside table and pulled open a drawer, removing three silver coins from a small leather drawstring purse. “This should cover the cost of the medicine, and a little more. See if Allaron has any black thread she can spare, and use what’s left of that to buy a spool or two, if she has. I’ve got to finish Tiemlo’s coat before he leaves for Esereth in a few days.”
Nodding in assent, Crow took the coins. He hugged Balen, then, after donning his boots from his room, left the house and headed for the stable where his nearly all black mare, Artag, was just beginning to feed on a bale of hay. The horse had champion legs and ran like the wind blew. Crow saddled her, and a few minutes later, was trotting down the dirt road that led to Arren.
The air had become more still, and the day’s heat became more evident as Crow made his way south. Each year summer seemed to last longer, carrying its weather late into the season. He did not have to ride long in the warm conditions before he topped a large hill and found himself gazing down at Arren. The village was full of activity. A group of children played a game that only they seemed the understand in a garden at the edge of town; a plump young woman hung dripping clothes from a line to dry; a small collection of elderly folk sat lazily on a porch, smoking pipe tobacco and conversing in cheerful tones. Arren was his home, and had been for as long as he could remember. Balen had once told him how they moved out of Taius to seek a quieter home. Crow had been young, then, and remembered nothing the busy nation his father had described to him.
Heeling Artag on, Crow rode into the village. He passed the tavern and inn, where Tiemlo’s wife, Amerra, leaned over the balcony, admiring the day. She waved to him with a smile, and he called out hello. The general store, a story shorter than the inn but nearly half again as wide, sat next in line, and Crow directed Artag to the front, where he dismounted and tied the reigns firmly to a wooden post. He fed the mare a sugar cube then made his way inside.
The store was quiet in the mornings, usually gathering most of its business late in the afternoon. A dozen or more rows of shelves filled the large structure, supporting various foods and other items that were purchased from Esereth and the other larger cites and towns in Leuss. He found the threads quickly, but could locate the spool Balen required. Hopefully a shipment would arrive that week, or else he would not be able to finish Tiemlo’s coat in time. Crow was about to leave the store when he heard Allaron’s melodious voice from behind. “Couldn’t find what you were looking for?”
Crow turned around to see the tallest woman he believed he would ever see. She stood behind the counter, nearly a head taller than he, and he was considered tall among Leussian men. She was handsome rather than pretty, but she carried a beautiful voice that had pleased more than one Arren resident each festival. Perhaps that was what had managed to persuaded Shael, one of the most attractive men in Arren, to marry her. More than a few girls still felt contempt against her for stealing him away. “Aye,” he approached the counter. “When do you expect the next delivery of thread spools?”
Allaron shrugged. “Next week, I’d say, although I suppose I can manage in three or four days if it’s urgent. For Balen, I assume?”
He nodded, reaching into his pocket for the silver. “It is urgent. Would it be better to pay you now? Or when would be the best time to return?”
The tall woman seemed about to speak, and then paused for a moment. She seemed to be thinking to herself. Finally she spoke, “Does it have to be particularly good quality? Or will any sort do?” The questioning look on Crow’s face hinted that he was unsure. “Well, if not… hold on a moment. She retreated into the back of the store, and returned a few seconds later, wrapping a long black thread around an empty spool. “I was planning on using this for a dress, but I don’t have a time limit like Balen usually does.” When crow tried to pay Allaron for it, she shook her head defiantly. “No charge. It’s not coming out of inventory, and you and Balen have always been loyal customers. Be sure to give my regards to your father.”
As graciously as possible, Crow accepted the gift and with a quick goodbye, left the store. He untied Artag’s reigns and began his ride farther into the village. He passed many houses, greeting several people, including travelers who were just making their way through the town. As he rode past the blacksmith’s forge, Mërth Be’elmin exited the large opening in the front, sweating profusely and breathing hard. The rhythmic sound of a hammer on metal echoed from inside. The blacksmith probably had his apprentice, Loman, working until every muscle in his body ached.
“Hail, Crow!” Mërth called out him through his labored breathing, wiping a thick layer of grime from his forehead and smearing it on his apron. “What brings you back to Arren this early? Surely you and Balen haven’t already eaten through so much of the food you purchased yesterday that you can’t even make breakfast.”
Laughing at the thought, Crow brought Artag to a halt closer to the smith. “No, father’s just grown ill since last night. I’m just here to see Emlain about a remedy.”
“Sick, you say?” The sinewy man stroked his grizzled chin in thought. “If I remember correctly, Jayla and her daughter Elliel have fallen ill, and Tanco as well. Seems to be some sort of sickness spreading through here. My bet would be that it’s from one of those dirty beggars who come through here every so often.”
“Aye, that’s what father said.” Crow looked around the village. People here rarely got sick in masses, and he didn’t want to risk catching anything. Still, he enjoyed speaking with friends, no matter how often he saw them. He gestured with a nod of his head to the forge where the ringing continued its periodic tempo. “What’s got you and Loman working so hard?”
Mërth sighed heavily, looking very tired all of the sudden. “We received an order from Esereth yesterday for fifty new blades.”
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Chapter One
West of the Cirenthel Mountains, a delicate breeze cut through the scattered clumps of trees laid randomly across the plains of Leuss. Leaves of orange and red detached from their branches, following the lure that was the wind. They flew in all directions, spiralling upwards then gently floating down, only to once again be caught in the swirling current. The color of the trees suggested a change in season. Summer was being left behind, leaving room for fall to make its appearance. An azure sheet had been blanketed across the sky, merging with the bright orange flow radiating from the globe that rested halfway above the horizon.
A series of small hills rose from the earth, forming a crescent shape that encased a quaint house. The breeze bent the grass in waves as it surpassed the hills and met the home behind them. Plain white curtains fluttered softly inside an open window that allowed the cool morning air to penetrate the household. A leaf that had remained captured in the wind was carried through the opening. It came to rest in the hair of a young man who lay asleep.
The invading leaf stirred the youth, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Crow d’Auru yawned, shutting his eyes once more from the sun’s persistent shine. He reached up to his sandy brown hair and retrieved the leaf that had woken him. Still adjusting to the light, he held it before him. When it came into focus, he blinked, as if it were out of place. He had not fully realized until now that autumn was no longer approaching, and now rested outside his home and all over Leuss. The relaxing summer days would not return for another year, he admitted to himself reluctantly.
Letting another yawn escape his lips, Crow swung his legs out from beneath the quilt his father had made him, and sat up on the edge of his bed. He stretched his muscles, shivering despite the fall warmth, partly from the cold boards beneath his feet, and partly from the breeze that left strands of hair strewn over his eyes. After standing, he reviewed his appearance in the mirror across the room. His hair was a mess, and as always, his pale green eyes stared back at him. Those had always caught him a fair bit of attention. Most people were born with blue or brown eyes. Only once every few years had a child been born with green eyes, or so his father had told him. He still wasn’t sure whether he did so to make Crow feel unique or different.
It wasn’t until he began thinking of his father that he realized the usual smell of eggs and bacon he had grown accustomed to each morning was absent. Curious, Crow threw on a clean linen shirt and a pair of faded cotton pants before exiting his room. As he had expected, the house was silent. Nothing in the kitchen had been moved from its place the night before, and the shutters in the den were still shut. He made his way through to the back of the house, not necessarily worried, but still unsettled. When he came to his father’s room, he paused, listening through the thick oak door. For a few moments, it was as silent on the other side as the rest of the house. Finally, Crow heard blankets being ruffled, accompanied by the soft squeaking of a bed. He sighed in relief, unsure of what exactly had had been expecting. His hand found the brass door handle, but before opening, he tapped softly on the hard wood. Again, his father stirred, and he heard a hoarse response that sounded like, “Come in, Crow.”
The door swung open, and crow found himself looking down at a pale, sickly imitation of Balen d’Auru. Despite his appearance, his father was smiling, the same one he wore every day. Whether it was forced or not, Crow was unsure.
“Father, are you alright?” Crow inquired, kneeling next to the bed with a concerned expression. “You don’t look too well.”
Balen dismissed the state with the wave of his hand. “Nonsense. I’ve just caught some bug going around the village. I’ll be up before morning’s done, with a little rest.” His voice sounded strained. “Before that, even, if you’ll ride down to Arren and fetch some herbs from Emlain.” Arren lay less than twenty minutes south on horseback. It could be called Crow and Balen’s home, since they went there every day for food and other supplies. They were friends with the majority of the friendly villagers, partially because Balen was the village’s tailor, and a good one at that.
Crow stood, no longer worried. “Of course. I’ll be back in an hour, less if Emlain doesn’t have to prepare the remedy. What’s ailing you, so I know what to request?”
With a grunt of effort, Balen pushed himself into a sitting position, readjusting his pillow against the headboard. “A bit of a fever, I think, and a terrible headache.” He massaged his temples with his hands as he spoke. “She’ll most likely suggest hare’s breath, or leafsoul. Here,” He reached over to his bedside table and pulled open a drawer, removing three silver coins from a small leather drawstring purse. “This should cover the cost of the medicine, and a little more. See if Allaron has any black thread she can spare, and use what’s left of that to buy a spool or two, if she has. I’ve got to finish Tiemlo’s coat before he leaves for Esereth in a few days.”
Nodding in assent, Crow took the coins. He hugged Balen, then, after donning his boots from his room, left the house and headed for the stable where his nearly all black mare, Artag, was just beginning to feed on a bale of hay. The horse had champion legs and ran like the wind blew. Crow saddled her, and a few minutes later, was trotting down the dirt road that led to Arren.
The air had become more still, and the day’s heat became more evident as Crow made his way south. Each year summer seemed to last longer, carrying its weather late into the season. He did not have to ride long in the warm conditions before he topped a large hill and found himself gazing down at Arren. The village was full of activity. A group of children played a game that only they seemed the understand in a garden at the edge of town; a plump young woman hung dripping clothes from a line to dry; a small collection of elderly folk sat lazily on a porch, smoking pipe tobacco and conversing in cheerful tones. Arren was his home, and had been for as long as he could remember. Balen had once told him how they moved out of Taius to seek a quieter home. Crow had been young, then, and remembered nothing the busy nation his father had described to him.
Heeling Artag on, Crow rode into the village. He passed the tavern and inn, where Tiemlo’s wife, Amerra, leaned over the balcony, admiring the day. She waved to him with a smile, and he called out hello. The general store, a story shorter than the inn but nearly half again as wide, sat next in line, and Crow directed Artag to the front, where he dismounted and tied the reigns firmly to a wooden post. He fed the mare a sugar cube then made his way inside.
The store was quiet in the mornings, usually gathering most of its business late in the afternoon. A dozen or more rows of shelves filled the large structure, supporting various foods and other items that were purchased from Esereth and the other larger cites and towns in Leuss. He found the threads quickly, but could locate the spool Balen required. Hopefully a shipment would arrive that week, or else he would not be able to finish Tiemlo’s coat in time. Crow was about to leave the store when he heard Allaron’s melodious voice from behind. “Couldn’t find what you were looking for?”
Crow turned around to see the tallest woman he believed he would ever see. She stood behind the counter, nearly a head taller than he, and he was considered tall among Leussian men. She was handsome rather than pretty, but she carried a beautiful voice that had pleased more than one Arren resident each festival. Perhaps that was what had managed to persuaded Shael, one of the most attractive men in Arren, to marry her. More than a few girls still felt contempt against her for stealing him away. “Aye,” he approached the counter. “When do you expect the next delivery of thread spools?”
Allaron shrugged. “Next week, I’d say, although I suppose I can manage in three or four days if it’s urgent. For Balen, I assume?”
He nodded, reaching into his pocket for the silver. “It is urgent. Would it be better to pay you now? Or when would be the best time to return?”
The tall woman seemed about to speak, and then paused for a moment. She seemed to be thinking to herself. Finally she spoke, “Does it have to be particularly good quality? Or will any sort do?” The questioning look on Crow’s face hinted that he was unsure. “Well, if not… hold on a moment. She retreated into the back of the store, and returned a few seconds later, wrapping a long black thread around an empty spool. “I was planning on using this for a dress, but I don’t have a time limit like Balen usually does.” When crow tried to pay Allaron for it, she shook her head defiantly. “No charge. It’s not coming out of inventory, and you and Balen have always been loyal customers. Be sure to give my regards to your father.”
As graciously as possible, Crow accepted the gift and with a quick goodbye, left the store. He untied Artag’s reigns and began his ride farther into the village. He passed many houses, greeting several people, including travelers who were just making their way through the town. As he rode past the blacksmith’s forge, Mërth Be’elmin exited the large opening in the front, sweating profusely and breathing hard. The rhythmic sound of a hammer on metal echoed from inside. The blacksmith probably had his apprentice, Loman, working until every muscle in his body ached.
“Hail, Crow!” Mërth called out him through his labored breathing, wiping a thick layer of grime from his forehead and smearing it on his apron. “What brings you back to Arren this early? Surely you and Balen haven’t already eaten through so much of the food you purchased yesterday that you can’t even make breakfast.”
Laughing at the thought, Crow brought Artag to a halt closer to the smith. “No, father’s just grown ill since last night. I’m just here to see Emlain about a remedy.”
“Sick, you say?” The sinewy man stroked his grizzled chin in thought. “If I remember correctly, Jayla and her daughter Elliel have fallen ill, and Tanco as well. Seems to be some sort of sickness spreading through here. My bet would be that it’s from one of those dirty beggars who come through here every so often.”
“Aye, that’s what father said.” Crow looked around the village. People here rarely got sick in masses, and he didn’t want to risk catching anything. Still, he enjoyed speaking with friends, no matter how often he saw them. He gestured with a nod of his head to the forge where the ringing continued its periodic tempo. “What’s got you and Loman working so hard?”
Mërth sighed heavily, looking very tired all of the sudden. “We received an order from Esereth yesterday for fifty new blades.”
Here we go…
