Note - this chapter has recently been edited
Here is a book i have been writing. I never posted it anywhere before but i am desperate for some honest comments. All my friends can tell me is "It's good" and "I really liked it", so i guessed it would be wise to post it somewhere where people can tell me what they REALLY think of it. Be gentle though, i'm quite pround of the story, even though the first chapter's not that good. Tell me if you want to see more!!
The First Bite
Chapter 1
Skye Phantom was awake but he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to move. His bed was too comfortable for him to even think of moving. The sun had risen outside and the robins and thrushes had begun their morning choir practise. Skye wondered vaguely if they were trying to lull him back to sleep or to startle him awake.
He opened his eyes eventually and immediately shut them again. Of course! Today was the day. The mage from Roma would be coming to their village. Their own mage had died when a tree had fallen on top of him. A spindly old man, he probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long anyway. Not that it made Skye feel any better. The mage had been kind and wise. Skye had hoped to become his apprentice one day. Now he would have to get to know a completely different magic-user all over again.
Skye was the favourite to become the new warrior of the village. A hunter, fighter and protector of the community. What could be further from his dreams? Skye wanted desperately to learn the ways of magic, to exorcise ghosts and cure illnesses and help the crops grow. He wanted to perform the rituals and mutter curses against rival villages. Not that he had had any formal training, but he could always dream, couldn’t he?
At this thought, he immediately got out of bed and threw on a dark tunic, some tattered trousers and some boots. Sprinting out of his tent he realised the morning meal had begun. He hastily took his seat at the long table. The whole village was so small that they could gather here in the mornings and all have breakfast together. In fact, it was considered a great offence not to attend.
The smell of eggs and cooking meat came heavy in the air. Sausages and sizzling bacon spat over open fires beside a massive table stretching over several yards. Jelly-like scrambled thrush eggs wobbled in wooden bowls. A couple of the villages looked up, stern and disapproving. “Slept in…” he shrugged. They returned to their meals, shaking their heads and smiling. Nobody could really tell Skye off, they would leave that to Pa.
Skye dragged a bowl of chicken eggs towards him, and at the same time, succeeded in knocking over a jug of water.
“Skye, careful!” hissed Scribe. Skye’s older brother began to mop up the mess. Skye mumbled a distracted apology. Scribe was the oldest Phantom brother, tall and strong, he would have been suited better to become a warrior, if it weren’t for the terrible scar that marred his right eye. There had been a snowball fight the winter before last, and a boy had thrown a huge white blot, which hit Scribe’s eye. Of course no one knew there was a stone lodged in the snowball until it was much to late. The old mage had tried his best but Scribe was now permanently scarred and blinded in one eye. He could never aim a bow properly or fight well half blind. Some of the little kids still made fun of him, taking advantage of his lack of depth perception.
“When is the mage arriving, Kitty?” He asked anyone in particular. His young sister shrugged, but she was saved from answering by the arrival of Finn, another brother, even younger than Kitty. The two Youngest Phantoms were almost identical, though there was more that a year between them. Both had tawny blonde hair and delicate features. Skye and Scribe were the only ones left who really remembered Ma. She had dies just after Finn came, of a fever. Kitty had barely turned one year
“Noon, about four or five hours from now, actually. I’ve been practising my drumming for ages!”
There was to a celebration for the mage when he arrived. There would be music and dancing and a great banquete. Finn had been given the honour of playing for the mage. Kitty would sing and Scribe would play his violin and Skye would strum out the tune on his guitar. They had made an act of it. The villages had made them celebrities actually.
The Phantoms loved music. The lived for it, breathed it, made it. It ruled their lives for the most part. Skye, himself could play over ten or twelve instruments and play them well. He was learning yet another and hoped to master it come next spring.
“Yes, my ears aches for all the practice you’ve indured!” laughed Kitty. Skye managed to turn his snigger into a cough.
“Oh, be quiet, Skye,” snapped Finn, but he could tell he was really enjoying the attention.
Before Skye could finish, the breakfast had been cleared away and some men were already putting up tents for the party. One of them was Skye’s Pa. It was Kitty and Finn who took after him. The only difference between Pa and Finn was the painfully obvious streaks of silvery white through the brown-blonde hair. He smiled at his son but his distraction made him slip on the muddy grass. Skye suppressed a giggle and hurried away before Pa could call him back.
Skye had gathered with the other villagers on the edge of the road, waiting for the mage to arrive. He had pictured a tall dark figure with a hood and cloak and a great staff which would be used for more than just a walking stick. Or maybe a big, bulky man with broad shoulders and a hard face, all cold eyes and thin lips. Or a stooping wanderer wrapped in a shawl. He didn’t expect what he actually saw.
A woman. The most beautiful creature Skye had ever seen. She was tall and lithe, with slow, deliberate movements. Her head was held high and proud. Her eyes stared straight ahead, ice blue and incredibly cold. Pale, cloud soft skin and perfect lips, full and rose coloured. Her hair fell like rippling darkness over pale pointed ears. An elf, then, thought Skye
Their leader, Sioban stepped forward to greet the mage. He bowed to her and kissed her hand. Skye couldn’t help catching the swift look of disgust on her face, but it was gone before he could register it and he soon doubted whether he had seen it at all.
Sioban was a strict and sometimes cruel leader. Effective and respected, but he paled in comparison to this strong and authoritative young woman.
She smiled at the crowd, a fake, almost wooden smile. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was like silk and only lightly accented. “I am pleased with the efforts you have made to make me welcome. Thank you. But, please, let the celebrations begin immediately. For I am weary after such a long journey and I could do with a bit of fun.” She grinned a shark’s grin.
There was a great rush as everyone took his or her places. The party was being held on a field. Skye took up his guitar and tapped out the rhythm with his boot. Finn pounded out a steady beat with the drums and Scribe’s violin sang out beautifully. Kitty sang, the words falling from her lips like liquid magic.
“He came upon the Eve of Saints when saints did ride abroad
He cut a swathe through night’s dark taint and pierced the hallowed fog
Upon the edge of land and sky, the ridge of dreams and thought
In windows rent of truth ‘pon lie in realms that bards have sought
He came upon the Cliffs of Tor and glimpsed a maiden fair
And lost his heart like knights of lore to she of fire hair”
It wasn’t long before people began to dance, twirling and pirouetting gracefully, showing off their fancy dress. Skye smiled to himself, noting how fluent his lyrics sounded. His Pa was the village storyteller, and a very good one. It was he who had told them the Passion of the Thorns on a dark and stormy night and they had put it to music immediately that night.
“ “I swear to you, I will be true,” he whispered to the maid.
“The sun and sky I’ll give to you and never shall I fade.”
She laughed at him. She turned away. “You think I seek fool things?
What use have I for moon and waves. Pray, give your words true ring!
Make this white rose deepest red, like blood on which you’ve sworn
For then I’ll know ye true, all said, by passion bled of thorns.”
All this she bade with solemn eye and pressed into his hand
A blossom white as winters sky that burned him like a brand.
“You ask what is not possible!” Sheer anguish in his cry!
But only silence heard his soul. Alone, he stood and sighed
He clutched the rose and rode away to where he whence had tread
To seek amongst the world a way to turn a white rose red”
He shifted key subtly and his sibling followed him, twisting and weaving the music. Kitty danced and swayed to the music like the ghost from the story. Sky grinned. Maybe they could paint her face white and her eyes dark for the next time, so she would really look like a ghost.
He searched through far and wide and sought the sages of the lands
He chased the heroes who had fought great odds and fierce demands
He asked the poets of their years of trek ‘cross fairy courts
Through lands that most sane men would fear but still it was for naught
To witches, warlocks, did he tell his woeful tale and quest
He prayed to God and then to Hell – Neither came at his behest
At last defeat came to his eye. To Tor he now returned
The rose clutched in one hand and pride the shield no to be spurned
“I bring your rose!” he cried to cliffs. She came like mist from dawn
She took one glance. “You bring my gift but leave my task undone.”
She turned away despite all pleas, his anger, rage and loss
And vanished back unto the seas of mist and sky and moss
He mourned and sighed. His fingers closed upon the thorny bud
They pierced his skin and soaked the rose with perfect silken blood
“Come back,” he breathed. “Your task fulfilled. Your knights now seeking you
She came back, summoned by his will and passion burned anew
In trembling hands, the crimson rose, a tribute to desire
She smiled and tucked it to her clothes, that blazing brand of fire.
The song ended and the siblings stood and took a bows for the dancers who were applauding them heartily. Skye decided they could take a break for a while before the next song. It was Pa’s turn to frighten the little children with tales of far away lands and dragon and elves. Skye had heard all these stories and fairy tales a thousand times over, but he was tempted to sit down with the other villagers and listen with his mouth half-open like he would when he was a child.
He went to the long table. It had been reset with a million dishes. Roast venison and beef and an entire pig squatted in the middle, surrounded by fruits of every colour and grass green salad. The women must have been working their hands to the bone to prepare so much food.
He halved an orange cleanly with a knife and squeezed the juice into a cup. A girl came up to him. She was pretty with black hair and soft brown eyes
“Oh, Hello, Sara.”
“Hello,” she blushed. Skye smiled at her but that only seemed to make her more nervous, twisted her hands in front of her. “Do you mind… if I… err… sit here…?”
“Sure,” he said kindly. He couldn’t think for the life of him why she was so nervous. She had been like this for a while now. As the bakers daughter, she often helped kneed the doe and sell the soft brown bread. Every time Skye had gone to the shop with his silver for groceries, she’d blush and begin silly conversations, causing him to linger a little longer. And when he actually left, he would always find an extra wheat cake in his sack, free of charge.
“I… I liked your playing…” she stuttered hurriedly “But if you don’t mind me saying so, I think you’re better with the drums than Finn.”
“Yes,” he said offhandedly. “But I always play the drums. I thought Finn should have a chance, especially since he has been practising so hard.”
“Skye!” Pa called from the platform. “Come. Bring your guitar and hurry.”
Skye made a face. He looked at his aching fingers, red raw from the wire strings. “Can’t you do it Pa?” he shouted. “I want to rest…”
Pa frowned, but let it go. He must have seen the girl by Skye’s side, because he nodded and took up Skye’s guitar, balancing it on his knee. He was almost as good as Skye, he could play the song alright.
By his side, Sara seemed to get more nervous by the second. Her face was rather red by now. “Can I…” She stammered, stopped and started again in a rush, as if it would be less embarrassing if she got it out quickly. “Do want to dance?”
Oh, so that was it, thought Skye, smiling again. A lot of girls wanted to dance with him at parties. He was just the right age to get married in their village, and many of the young sweet girls made a habit of catching his eye. People said he was handsome, that he looked like his mother. He had to take their word for it. His mother was dead. His father had a broad, grinning, whiskered face like a wolf. Skye, they said, had a softer, bright eyed face.
“Sure,” he said and she gasped with pleasure.
The music began again and Skye was immediately taken under the spell. He moved effortlessly into the dance. He missed no steps. The girl was also good. Better than he had thought, anyway. But halfway through the song, when Skye was thick with the melody, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. The mage was standing behind him, smiling her shark’s smile.
Skye blushed. The mage spoke. “May I cut in?”
Sara looked outraged but the mage stared her down like a haughty cat looking at a mouse. She backed away and let her take Skye’s hand. They began to dance. She was much better that Sara. She matched his moves, step for step. Suddenly he realised that she seemed to be competing with him. But dancing isn’t about competition, he thought. It’s about working together.
“So, boy,” she hissed. “Tell me your name.”
“I am Skye Phantom, Mage. What do I call you?”
“Aleera Web. How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he answered reluctantly. Such a daring question so early in the conversation. He didn’t know what to think. “I’ll be seventeen next month.”
She was strong. Her grip on his hand and shoulder were like stone. No, harder even than that. More like iron. She seemed to be leading more than he was. She was young too. Couldn’t have been more than twenty years.
She smiled at him, treating him to her perfectly white teeth that had been filed to a point. He looked away. Her stare was like ice, cold and unrelenting. She made him feel like he was doing something wrong. Finally, the song ended and she let him go. He felt sad and relieved at the same time. But that wasn’t the end. “Meet me at my new home in five minutes,” she whispered very close to her ear. Then she hurried away, weaving through the applauding dancers.
Skye stared after. She was already walking away from the celebrations. Nobody seemed to notice her leaving. And even if they did, it didn’t look as though they were going to stop her. Intrigued, Skye sat down at the platform and counted the seconds in his head. What was going on? Why did she want to meet him? Was she going to tell him something? Or ask him something?
“What did the mage say to you?” Scribe was behind him, his scarred face frowning.
“Nothing, she just…”
“Whatever she said, don’t do it!” Scribe interrupted. “No, really,” he added as Skye scoffed. “I smell trouble on her…”
“Listen,” said Skye loudly enough for anyone else near him to hear. “I am tired. I may go to bed soon…”
Scribe scowled. “Don’t take any detours, Skye. And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
He had lost count but got up and followed her anyway, away from the field and down the houses below. It was easy to find her house. Skye had been down to it many times when the old mage used to own it. She was waiting for him at the doorway. Her beauty struck him again. Her long, sleek black hair, her glacial blue eyes. His heart beat quickened. He began to sweat. No being on this world could be that heart-stoppingly beautiful. Nothing living anyway.
He suddenly had second thoughts. This woman wasn’t human. How could he trust her? He gestured feebly to the right, the direction of his own house, intending to pass her by, but she spoke a couple of words in a strange language and he froze.
She beckoned to him with one finger and he moved towards her like he was under a spell. He probably was, he didn’t know. He didn’t really care. She touched his cheek, making his skin tingle. Her fingers were so cold. They were very close now, he was standing right in front of her. Warning bells flew off the handle and shivers danced up and down his spine. He really shouldn’t have followed, should’ve gone a different way. Scribe had been right. He tried to take a step back, out of her reach but he couldn’t get his legs to work.
“Mage Web,” he whispered, his voice weak and fluttery. “What…?
“Hush,” she commanded and pulled him forward with unimaginable strength, their lips colliding in a hard, sour kiss. It was more like pain than pleasure. He felt like his very soul was being sucked out through his mouth. His eyes widened and he pulled away, gasping for air. But she drew him back, and he surrendered to the spell.
He knew this was wrong, knew it could only end badly, but he wasn’t himself. He felt like he was outside himself, watching as Aleera rubbed his chest and back and stomach forcefully, her kisses coming hard and fast.
He soon lost himself to her. Lost control. He thrust his head backwards and she kissed his neck, sucking on the skin. His eyes widened as he felt a stab of pain on his neck that stung and jarred his spine. He felt a rushing sensation like adrenaline, but instead of making him stronger, it weakened him. He cried out in pain. It filled his head and blinded him. His mind was numb with pain.
Yet a strange part of him, an animal instinct begged her not to stop, to keep draining his energy so he would be soulless like her. Nothing living could be that beautiful. Her hands were everywhere and he groaned in sick pleasure. When the pain reached a peak, his knees gave way and a dark veil, blurring the world around him, numbing the pain and covering his vision. He was weakening, possibly dying and it felt amazing!
She dropped him without warning and he landed on the cold hard earth feeling a burst of pain in his ankle, but no longer aware of it. He was half awake now, cold and hovering between dreams and reality. She fell on him, her hands trapping his arms but he had no strength left to fight anyway. He floating in a pool of pain and terrible ecstasy, unseeing uncaring, merely being.
His last thought before he passed out was, so this is what it is like to die…
Thanks for bothering to read this! Yes, i wrote the poem myself. If you want to comment on that, please do! Please leave comments (good or bad), they're most welcome!! AS i have said, there is more to come, so if any of you want to see the next chapter, please say and i'll post it if only to please you.
Thank you
Yours
BlackDove
