Young Writers Society

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7


All right. Here is chapter 4. It's going to take longer to post because this is the 'meet new characters' and 'rewrite all of me' chapter. Basically, this chapter is a royal mess right now.

Okay, so the first scene was actually from chapter 3, but chapter 3 was so long, I moved it.

Chapter 4: How Far

While the sun waxing in the sky cast its rays of light upon the glassy clouds, Creiha lay in the darkening room above Arillo’s house, staring up at the ceiling and sinking into boredom like an overwound spindle. Even as the sun retreated behind the mountains and moon emerged, Creiha could not sleep. Her arms folded behind her head, she watched the wind comb through the strings of beads on the ceiling. The strings bent to the wind’s prevailing stream, jingling dully in the room. Merciful sleep began to coil itself around Creiha when Markus trudged up the stairway and into another room, collapsing on a creaky cot nearby. Creiha stiffened and waited to hear Strick follow, but no sound reached her ears. After waiting another few minutes to ensure Markus was asleep, Creiha rose from her cot and sidled down the stairs, peering into the wreck of Arillo’s first floor. Strick wasn’t in the house either.

Sighing, Creiha picked her way through the debris littering the floor until she stood before the window; she gazed out in the darkness. The valley was still as the matte sky, only the hushed rustle of grass brushing Creiha’s hearing.

Only then did Creiha notice the ruffling sound of pages behind her; she glanced back to see the book she had found earlier today lying open on the ground. She strode over to the book and knelt beside it, lifting it in her arms and allowing the pages to fly by.

Turning her face towards the open front door, Creiha stood and slid the book into the folds of her cloak, walking towards the door and slipping from the house quietly.

She slowed as she neared the tree line. A faint and scattered moonlight glinted upon the canopy of silver leaves above. Fascinated, she pressed on, regarding the forest with a note of awe. A smile had edged its way across her moonlit face when she tripped on a log, falling face first into the mud.

“Ah!” Creiha kicked the log angrily, but her foot sank into the rotting wood. She screeched and tried to step out of the log, but her foot was caught. Wrinkling her nose, she plunged her other foot into it and then lifted both feet out. Creiha glared at the log, resisting the urge to kick it again. Her fascinated trance broken, Creiha marched on and slid down a pile of leaves and into a small clearing. When she finally stood, she ran fingers through her hair vigorously, leaves falling at her feet. Then she saw Strick.

“What are you doing?” Strick asked, an infuriating note of amusement in his voice.

Creiha scowled at him and stomped out of the leaf pile, disgruntled, “I have been falling in logs and sliding down leaf piles looking for you!” she whispered hoarsely.

“Impressive.”

Creiha exhaled. “So, what are you doing?” she asked, moving to stand beside him.

“Nothing in particular.” He didn’t turn his face to look at her.

Creiha bit her lower lip and stared at the forest floor. “Oh.”

“And what are you doing in the middle of the forest?”

Shrugging, Creiha muttered, “Searching for you, I suppose.”

“And why is that?” Strick asked, lifting his head reluctantly. He glimpsed the book which was nearly hanging out of Creiha’s cloak “Creiha,” he addressed her impatiently, “You won’t understand anything in that book.”

Creiha glanced at the book and then at Strick, irritated. “Sorry,” she muttered, “but you sure aren’t going to tell me anything unless I leave my home forever.” Bitterness stagnated like a sour taste in her mouth when she swallowed.

“Creiha.” Strick drew in a deep breath, his face lined with weariness in the shade. “Markus and I are held to secrecy. I won’t force you into anything; you should be allowed to choose whether you want this life.”

“I’m not afraid of pain, Strick,” Creiha whispered, almost feeling the regret she sensed in Strick’s voice.

“Just like you never scream?”

Creiha frowned, “That’s different!” she protested.

“Of course it is.”

“Well, I certainly don’t think it is fair of you not to tell me what danger I may be in if I do follow you!” Creiha pressed. Loneliness swept through Creiha when she realized exactly how alone she was: her entire life remained in Sray-Valom and here she was – in a land she did not know with two mysterious men who were deeply involved in something Creiha could not comprehend.

“It’s a long story I can’t tell you, Creiha.”

Creiha scowled and fought angry tears when she shouted, “I’m tired of all this secrecy. Fine. I’ll go with you if that is what it takes. Yes, I will go with you!” she yelled, “I will follow you to your death, Strick. I will! I’ll even die with you if–”

“Don’t say that!” Strick interrupted, a terrified look crossing his face and his eyes flashing with an emotion Creiha could not read, “Creiha, please don’t say that. I’m begging you, never wish to follow me that far!”

Creiha nodded with wide eyes at his unexpected reaction. Swallowing hard, she whispered “All right.”

Strick did not respond for a moment. He just stared at the ground bizarre interest. An unspoken fear lingered in his eyes; a frightened dread etched in his features as if some terrible fate loomed before his very gaze. “These decisions are not to be taken lightly, Creiha.”

Creiha lowered her eyes.

Sighing, Strick turned to her. “We should return to Arillo’s house– preferably without falling,” he said, a hint of a crooked smile playing upon his features. He stretched one hand out towards her.

Creiha smiled weakly, and took his hand, allowing him to help her up. “Maybe it will be lighter in Arillo’s house,” she remarked with an encouraging smile.

Strick did not reply.
~
Notes: Is the humorous part with Creiha a little too much? Also, I have cut tons of dialogue from the original of this, so if you see any awkward dialogue, please tell me. Sometimes cutting dialogue can prove problematic. Do you think this is all right for the beginning of chapter 4 or should I move it back to end of chapter 3? All crits and comments welcomed. Thanks!

While the sun waxing in the sky cast and rays of light upon the glassy clouds...

its?

Merciful sleep began to coil itself around Creiha when Markus trudged up the stairway and into another room collapsed on a creaky cot nearby.

I think you forgot and.

"Ah!" Creiha kicked the log angrily, but her foot sank into the rotting wood. She screeched and tried to step out of the log, but her foot was caught. Wrinkling her nose, she plunged her other foot into the log and then lifted both feet out. Creiha glared at the log, resisting the urge to kick it again.

It could just be me, but it seems like you repeat 'log' too much.

Turning her face towards the open front door, Creiha stood and slipped the book into her cloak, walking towards the door and slipping from the house quietly

.

Again, it could just be me, but I don't really like the two 'slips' that close together.

I think this is fine as the beginning of chapter four. The dialogue is good too. Great work!

Chapter 4 continued

Captain Sophie Pierce stormed through the jail doors, her doe brown hair spilling onto her shoulders and framing her flushed face. Her two most trusted guards stumbled to keep up with her. “Where are the prisoners?” she faced the king’s appointed jailors, lavender-gray eyes flashing with a challenge.

“Seven cells down on the right,” one of the guards answered sheepishly, jumping out of her way as she marched past. All the guards in the corridor cowered at the sight of her, staring nervously and whispering amongst themselves

Sophie frowned at their fearful stares, but lifted her head a little to hide it. The guards would respect her; the guards would fear her. “How many were there again?” she inquired brusquely, regarding her third-in-command captain with a stony glare.

“Three,” Captain Embel huffed, “One man, one woman and a child. The child is ill, but the other two are in relatively good condition.”

“Good. Has the king summoned a healer for the child?” Sophie did not halt in her steps while she spoke, he head reeling with frustration.

“No, he has forbidden it,” her second-in-command, Captain Traez, answered between surprised gasps.

At that, Sophie halted and whirled around to face the guard. “What? He’s forbidden a healer for the child?” she shouted, her voice ringing in the corridor.

Traez winced visibly and nodded. “He said no care is to be given to any of the prisoners after how the man escaped last time.” A strange smile edged its way across Traez’s lips, and Sophie glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“Of course,” she grumbled, stepping to stand in front of the seventh cell on the right. “You may leave me now,” she informed the guards in a rough, commanding voice, meeting both of her captain’s gazes.

“Are you sure, Captain Pierce? We don’t want him hurting you!” Embel pointed out, bubbling with boyish excitement.

Sophie glared at him, “Swords are sharp. Most sane people do not like sharp things. That is why I have a sword. Now go herd the king’s jailor pigs out of here and make sure they don’t choke on their own tongues!” Embel chuckled softly and strode off with a smile, Traez following him silently. Sophie crouched down before the cell door, pulling off her mail gloves and curling her fingers around the bars. “Gietan!” she hissed,. “Gietan, get over here right now!”

From the corner of the cell emerged a tall man with unkempt blond hair. When he saw her, his blank expression lifted in elation “Sophie?” he whispered in anticipation. “Is it really you?” the man walked over to the bars and crouched on the other side.

“Yes, it’s me,” Sophie confirmed heatedly, glaring at Gietan. “Can’t you stay out of prison for more than two months? As if I don’t have enough problems with the king’s new jailors! I am thoroughly sick of hearing your name by now,” she snapped.

Gietan grinned, “You know it’s all because I want to see you,” he taunted. He crossed his arms. “Besides, I stayed out of jail for two and a half months this time.”

“Ooooh, I’m impressed!” Sophie spat, “Now keep your voice down and tell me what happened!” she glanced down the corridor to be sure no one was watching. The dark puddles that culminated in the cracks of the prison floor oozed through the plates of Sophie’s armor and soaked her legs.

“Well,” Gietan began casually, “I was at Arillo’s place because I needed one of the books from her little library for something I was working on and all of the sudden, these guards attacked and captured me. I don’t know what happened to Arillo.”

“The patrols,” Sophie murmured to herself, “they must have heard rumor of where Arillo lived. Do you still have the book, Gietan?” she asked hopefully, a twinge of fear knotting in her stomach.

“No,” Gietan reddened in embarrassment, “I dropped it.”

“You did what?” Sophie yelled in disbelief

Gietan cringed. “I-I dropped it.”

“You dropped it?” Sophie gripped the bars more tightly and leaned closer to Gietan, heat rushing to her face. “You grabbed some insanely important book from Arillo’s library and dropped it?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Gietan, anyone could have found that book. It might have fallen into the wrong hands! Any hands! Even one of my guards’ hands. You had better hope it’s lost somewhere!” Sophie shouted, irritation simmering in the lavender-gray pools of her eyes. “How can you be so indolent? I work every single day to stifle rumors about you and your crazy friends, and then you go and drop one of Arillo’s books and get dragged back here. I should have given up on you and your band of lunatics a long time ago!”

“Are you here for a reason other than insulting me or do you find pleasure in torturing an imprisoned soul?” Gietan crossed his arms, his mouth twitching with discontent.

“Yes, I am.” Sophie sighed and ran one hand through her long hair, suppressing the anger which scratched at her throat. “My guards said there was a youngster with you.”

“Yes, there’s a little boy in here. He hasn’t spoken much though,” Gietan glanced backwards, eyes scanning the cell for the boy quickly. In the darkness, shadows played upon his handsome face and accented the scars that puckered his right cheek.

“Is he injured?” Sophie pressed her head closer to the cold bars.

“Um, I think so.” Gietan bit his lip in uncertainty. “As I said, he hasn’t talked at all.”

Sophie grimaced. “How badly?” she asked in concern, “How badly is he hurt?” If the king would not help this poor child, she would. I hate juggling loyalties, she thought sadly. After her father’s death, Sophie’s dream had been to follow in his footsteps as captain of the royal guard, and the king had empowered her to do so. Each time the decision lay before her, Sophie was appalled by how she betrayed her king.

Gietan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Gietan, can you bring him here?” Sophie asked more gently this time, “I’d like to see him myself.”

Gietan smiled and obeyed, standing and walking to the back of his cell. Sophie could hear him calling gently to the child. “I won’t hurt you. I have someone who wants to meet you. She might look like intimidating and sound mean, but she’s really not. She’s really just a softy underneath it all. She’s not like the other guards. Her name’s Sophie. Now isn’t that a pretty name?” And with these clumsy but encouraging words, Gietan led the child toward Sophie. “See, here she is.”

“Hello.” Sophie mustered a smile when she looked into the child’s eyes.

“Pwitty name.” The child tried to smile, but couldn’t seem to.

“What’s your name?” Sophie asked in the sweetest voice she could manage, reaching through the bars to touch the child’s face. “I’m sure it’s just as handsome.”

“I-I’m Ristev,” the boy answered shakily.

“Hello, Ristev. Are you hurt?” Sophie asked, eyes roving over the boy’s body and searching for any signs of injury.

Ristev just blinked.

Sophie bit her lip, immediately worried. “Do you feel any pain?” she asked softly, glancing toward the end of the prison corridor uneasily.

“Pain?” Ristev tilted his head to one side.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm herself, Sophie ran one hand through her doe-brown hair, rising to one knee. “I’ll get whatever help I can for the boy, Gietan. You said there was a girl with you?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t talk.”

Sophie stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean she doesn’t talk?”

“I mean she doesn’t talk!”

The rustle of cloth at the back of the cell alarmed Sophie, and she turned her head to see the figure of a woman standing there, matte against the inky darkness of the cell. Around her face hung a black hood that cast a crescent-shaped shadow over her nose and eyes. “She does talk,” a low, rich voice responded. A marble-like mouth moved beneath the hood and when the woman lowered her head a little, two violet eyes glimmered faintly. “Will you be able to help Ristev?”

Disquieted by the intensity of the woman’s violet eyes, Sophie stood slowly and nodded, gaze fixed on the woman. “I will do what I can.”

The hooded woman at the back of the cell acknowledged Sophie with a frown and then turned away.

“Sophie,” Gietan interjected and rose to his feet, hands sliding over the chafing metal bars and when he smiled, “Markus will get me out this mess. I know he will–” Gietan paused for a moment, and Sophie looked into his eyes expectantly. “And I’m going to suggest again that you come with us.”

Bristling, Sophie glared at Gietan vehemently and shook her head. “For the last time, no, Gietan. Your can go on living in your childish fantasy, but, unlike you and your friends, I have a life. I have a life to return to and a life that can be shattered by even the smallest of stones.”

Affronted by Sophie’s attack, Gietan grimaced and stepped away from the bars. “It’s not a childish fantasy, Sophie,” he told her in a dark, angry voice. “You will see in time that it is much more than a fantasy. As long as the flameless dragon flies–”

“The flameless dragon?” Sophie scoffed, slipping her mail gloves back on and rolling her eyes. “Listen, Gietan. I don’t care one bit about Lecräesa or your flameless dragon or the last flame person. I’ve heard it all and I don’t care. Whatever story you think you are weaving, I am not part of it. The only reason I’m helping you is that I’m too soft to let the king kill you and your friends. I am not about to throw my life away and embark on some absurd adventure!”

Silence hung in the wake of Sophie’s loud voice, and Gietan glanced aside, the darkness concealing his expression; guilt tore through Sophie and she lowered her head, scolding herself silently. Finally, Gietan inhaled slowly and reached through the bats to hold both her hands, “The only time I ever see you is when I get myself imprisoned. Thank you for helping me, Sophie. Try not to get yourself in trouble.” He released her hands reluctantly and smiled.

“You try avoiding trouble for once, Gietan and I’ll consider it,” she whispered and managed to return his smile. “And tell Ristev I will do everything in my power to help him.”

Gietan smiled, “I’ll tell him. Oh, and Sophie,” he trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion as he found himself speechless, “Thank you again,” he finished hesitantly.

Sophie nodded at him and turned to leave. “Have a nice stay, Gietan.”

“You could still come with us. Never forget that,” Gietan remarked, glancing away when Sophie stiffened.

Sophie closed her eyes and bit her lip hard. “I’ve already told you I can’t do that, Gietan,” she whispered, concealing her regret skillfully. Sophie trampled her hopes with head forced high when she began to walk away.

She was about to exit and close the door behind her when she heard Gietan’s parting words, “You know you want to see me again, Sophie!”

Sophie froze in her steps. “Ha!” she scoffed severely and walked the remainder of the corridor.
~
Notes: this scene underwent some very heavy cutting, so it seems very abrupt to me at the moment. Sophie is supposed to be an abrupt character, but if it is too abrupt and confusing, I need to slow it down. Was the brief introduce of Traez and Embel too confusing? I don't want to really introduce them yet, but I wanted you to know who they were. Lastly, am I keeping Gietan relatively consistent?
~

Gietan sighed resignedly, leaning against the grimy wall of his cell as he heard the door close. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, hoping the anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach would flow from him as easily as his every breath. A twinge of doubt that Markus would not come for him this time was always present in this cell, the terrible memories of previous times. Senzieda – Gietan’s rescuer– had died in this cell. The place was haunted with his friends’ painful screams, their desperate cries and laborious gasps… but it was also blessed, with an angel wandering in the corridor, always nearby to watch over them and assure them freedom was not impossible. Captain Sophie Pierce had taken pity on them the first time they were captured and fought for their release, and each time since then she had been their most valuable ally. And all the ghosts that lingered in Gietan’s dismal cell could not stifle the light that Sophie brought. No fear could deaden the rush of joy that brought a smile to Gietan’s face when she was near. Gietan was drifting when a voice shattered his dream world.

“Who was that?” the cloaked woman in the corner asked with a hint of disgust, “Angels are nothing but flattering traitors in disguise,” she whispered, emerging from the darkness while she drew a black cloak closer around her trembling shoulders. “Of course. She will do what she can for Ristev. They all do what they can and nothing ever gets done.”

Gietan opened his eyes to glare at her. “Don’t talk to me. You were Arillo’s friend, not mine. You try telling Sophie that, and I’ll be by laughing while she glares you to a sniveling heap.”

“Then you’ll be waiting to laugh for a long time. No one’s coming, Gietan. Arillo’s dead; we may as well wait for the king to come,” the woman said, her words dripping with bitterness.

“No, Arillo is not dead,” Gietan argued vehemently, “Don’t even think it. Markus will come; I know he will.”

“Thinking something doesn’t make it true. It just deceives you,” muttered the woman. Her hood fluttering in the clammy breeze wafting from a barred window, she looked like a dark ghost to Gietan and he inched away from her.

“I don’t need your pessimism, Lusien.” Gietan told her crossly. “What strange friends you have chosen, Arillo,” he murmured to himself, raising his eyes to stare at the ceiling, “Strange friends indeed.”

Lusien sighed and sank to the ground by the wall; she was humming quietly. Her song was soft, but haunting, her voice slow and steady, an eerie tone characterizing her distinctive voice. There was a certain aura about her, an aura of power muted by her violent animosity. She hid, hid deeply within her hood, refusing to show her face to the world, refusing to allow the light to reach her beautiful eyes.

O silver web of fount’s black rain
Where bleeding hearts have often lain
Forget me till my dying day
So I hear not what the dead winds say

Gietan sighed in exasperation. He hated the Svarë. After the Kalinth-Svarë War which had lasted ten years and only recently amounted to a ceasefire, Gietan harbored a deep bitterness toward the dark-haired and dark-eyed Svarë. “Barbarians,” Gietan muttered just loud enough that Lusien could hear.

Lusien’s musical voice faded. “Excuse me?”

“Your people are barbarians.”

Contrary to Gietan’s expectation, Lusien did not object.
~

A restless wind disturbed the anxious silence at the tree line, the poised remains of dead leaves drifting down the hill and into the valley where Arillo’s house settled, joining the dead grass and dead flowers in the mud. It had begun to drizzle, the clouds weeping weakly for their lost ones, small rivulets forming in the thick mud that weighted the dust of day. The air was heavy with the smell of rain, resting upon the skin of the lone person outside the old house.

Strick knelt in the mud, heedless of the muddy water staining the knees of his trousers. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, the thick bandages around his left arm were soaked. Sitting back on his knees, he was small amid the trees above him, small to a raven’s eye above, small to the clouds that hovered over him. The mound that served as Arillo’s grave ran with sickly water, the rain sparing not even a brave woman’s resting place. Creiha was fast asleep in her room high in the house, Markus having fallen to the same rest… and Arillo sleeping peacefully here. Six feet underground and she is finally safe from the world’s cruel sword, finally safe from this rain, safe from Hedjlon who has succeeded in sending her to her final sleep… the words rushed through Strick’s mind, memories bombarding the walls of his self-control. Six feet underground finally at peace. Who could wish for a more honorable death? Strick shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes tightly. Arillo was dead, and it left Strick bewildered. She had done nothing to deserve such cruelty from Hedjlon; she had only existed as Arillo Ezehndoza, daughter of Alieskuh, the recognized heir of the lost Lecräesa.

Strick had never dreamed he would see the day of Arillo’s death. In his earliest days with her he had been naïve enough to think nothing could touch her and later believed he would find his end before she. And now Arillo was no longer with them, no longer under Hedjlon’s death penalty.

She’s gone
What did you expect, Strick? Of course she’s gone.
She wasn’t supposed to leave so early.
She was never supposed to exist
Neither of us was
And yet she did, didn’t she?

Strick pushed away the words desperately, refusing to heed them. It was done… and there had been nothing he could do about it. He had been helpless to stop it. How many more deaths would he watch helplessly occur? Strick stood shakily and opened blue eyes to gaze down at her grave. “Goodbye, Arillo. I doubt we will be parted for long,” he whispered softly and turned away to join Markus in the morning.

She wasn’t supposed to leave so early.
She was never supposed to exist
Neither of us was
And yet she did… didn’t she?

This is great. I think it gets better every chapter!

I'll try to do character impressions.

Lusien - She seems determined that they are doomed and won't succeed but she seems to be fighting for it anyways.

Gietan - He's lighthearted and optimistic, just the opposite of Lusien.

Sophie - She wants to do what is right, even if it means risking her life and dreams. She doesn't want to believe in Lacreasa in case its not real; she doesn't want to lose everything for nothing, like she's afraid to believe in it maybe?

Creiha did not sleep; she only lay on her cot and stared at the tear-streaked window near her, the rippling moonlight casting a pallid hue over her face as the shadows of the raindrops leaking through the glass speckled Creiha’s cheeks. At another rumble of thunder, she heaved a sigh and closed her eyes.

The castle was gray and cold, and Creiha could a violent wall of wind tearing around its perimeter, ripping the stones from their foundations, uncontrolled. They were in a throne room, glittering with frigid marble and echoing with the violent howl outside. Creiha could see her sister, on the ground, inching away from a woman with a sword in hand. The woman was crying, little crystals shimmering on her pale cheeks and the burgundy cloak that covered her shoulders trailing behind her.

No! Creiha tried to scream, but she choked on her own words, unable to stand. The pain her legs was excruciating and when her head struck the marble floor, Creiha wept. Crsicialda shouted something and leapt to her feet, drawing her knife and striking with the crude blade, but the woman lurched aside, her brown hair falling around her grief-stricken face when she cried Criscialda's name. Criscialda froze in her attack and turned slowly, her emerald eyes fastened on Creiha's face. She moved her mouth to say something that Creiha could not hear.

Creiha awoke, gripping the thin sheets that clung to her sweating body and whimpering. When she heard the wind howling unnaturally below, Creiha sat up in her cot, trembling. The first rays of sunlight had begun to penetrate the gray clouds in the sky, and Creiha padded over to the window, staring through a sheet of water down at Arillo’s hump of a grave. Creiha wiped tears from her cheeks and watched as a shadow moved below.

Unlatching the window, Creiha opened it as quietly as possible; water ran off the edge of the window and splashed in the mud below, but the figure standing below did not notice. A faint coil of wind gathered around the lone figure, spinning slowly and nonchalantly; when she leaned out the window, Creiha recognized the figure as Strick and frowned thoughtfully. Who is he? She wondered and moved away from the window. She had ventured with them this far, been dragged from her home, and still Strick would tell her nothing. The wind Creiha thought of her dream, anger churning in the pit of her stomach.

Drawing a blanket around her shoulders, Creiha slipped into her boots and peered into Markus’s room before descending the staircase in silence. The stairs creaked beneath her feet, but this time Creiha was not afraid.

She sprinted across the lower floor of Arillo’s house and pushed the door open. Hearing Creiha, Strick turned slowly to face her, the wind around him dispersing and rustling the tall grass around him. A sheer cloud of light blue cleared in his eyes, and he stared at Creiha with a stony expression.

“What was that?” Creiha whispered, her voice trembling as her anger melted beneath Strick’s gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean!” Creiha raised her voice, and shivered when the morning chill brushed her skin. “The wind thing! I saw you, and I’m tired of your secrets.” When Strick only stared at her blankly, Creiha felt tears well in her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. She was sick of his cold demeanor, his emotionless stare, even the strangely empty smile he cast her now and then. “I said I was going to go with you. I want to know what is happening!” Creiha shouted, choking on her own words.

“Creiha, why are you crying?” Strick’s face twisted in guilt.

“No! You know why I’m crying.” A broken sob escaped Creiha’s lips, and she gazed at Strick through bleary eyes. “You drag me from my hometown and into this mess only to tell me I can never see my family again if I follow you. I agreed to go with you, remember? And still, even though you have taken the only family I ever had from me, you shove me out at arm’s length to flounder alone.”

Running steps could be heard inside the house, and a few moments later Markus burst through the door, bedraggled. His eyes wide with alarm, Markus glanced between Strick and Creiha apprehensively. “Strick–” he began in a quavering voice.

“You can still return to Sray-Valom, Creiha.” Strick’s face was very pale when he spoke, and Creiha could see a jagged pain lurking behind his whirling blue eyes. “We would not trap you here with us.”

“But Strick, Arillo’s dead and what if she’s–” Markus blurted, panic written in the hollows of his face.

“I don’t care if she is the third heir of Lecräesa. She should have a choice,” Strick argued fervently, his voice hoarse and ringing with defiance foreign to Creiha’s ears. “She will have a choice.”

Eyes wide, Markus did not protest; he only swallowed hard and looked Strick in the eyes with an unspoken warning.

Shaken by the confrontation that had just taken place, Creiha retreated a step fearfully, clutching the blanket around her. When Markus turned to face her, his olive eyes blazing, Creiha bit her lower lip.

“Fine. Creiha will have her choice,” Markus whispered in a surprisingly gentle tone, his mouth bending into a frown.

“I want to know,” Creiha answered after a moment’s pause, a single last tear rolling down her cold cheek. “I will never return to Sray-Valom. I will follow you.”

Markus nodded, and turned his back on Creiha, gesturing for her to follow him. “Then come inside.”

Creiha took one step toward the door, but paused, remembering Strick. Her hands shaking, Creiha faced him hesitantly with her head lowered. “I’m sorry that I shouted at you,” she whispered, her golden hair falling around her oval face.

Strick did not respond, and when Creiha lifted her eyes to look up at him, she saw that his face was turned to the side as he stared into the distance. After a moment of silence, he returned to reality and stared down at Creiha with stony eyes, emptied of all emotion and swirling slowly between all shades of blue. “Don’t be,” he whispered and entered the house after Markus.

Pursing her lips, Creiha followed him.
~
Notes: The first scene I literally deleted and started over from scratch. I know there are some character changes in here, but if any are too abrupt, please tell me. Did I foreshadow Creiha's frustration enough? Character impressions are valued as always.
~

Once in Arillo’s house, the atmosphere warmed immediately; Markus sat across from Creiha, twining his fingers together in his lap as he spoke. “Lecräesa was the last realm of the Athondir – a Grand Alliance of sorts that allied with the original inhabitants of this continent, the flame people. When Kalinth settled on this continent, they destroyed the Athondir and only Lecräesa remained. But then the flame people fled this continent. Upon their departure, the flame people left Lecräesa with a great gift – the Speaking Stones of Syldameth, speaking stones that served as last messengers between the flame people and the Lecräesans. Kalinth wanted these stones; Kalinth wanted the power of Lecräesa. Sixty-six years ago, Kalinth attacked Lecräesa. And so, the stricken realm fell. Some say the sun never roes that day; they speculate that she shirked her duty to sob far away as Lecräesa was massacred by the people of Kalinth,” Markus explained, staring at his hands.

“Was Lecräesa truly stricken?” Creiha whispered, absorbing all this information with unquenchable excitement.

Markus smiled strangely, “That is for each and every person to decide for themselves, Creiha. Who can say if one is stricken?”

Creiha eyed the ground, astounded by Markus’s tale

“You see, the speaking stones were the last messengers of the flame people and there are legends, Creiha, legends of the flame people promising that if Lecräesa would call out to the speaking stones in their time of greatest need, a last flame person would arise with such power that she could destroy all in her path in order to save the Lecräesans. There are those of this in this land who still believe the last flame person can be brought forth and that Lecräesa can be restored,” Markus told her, a smile spreading across his face when he looked at Creiha. “We believe the last flame person can be awakened.”

Creiha eyed Markus incredulously, “You said that only the Lecräesans can communicate with the speaking stones. If everyone from Lecräesa is dead, isn’t it impossible to reach them?” she asked, bewildered.

Markus’s smile spread into a broad grin when he said, “Because not everyone from Lecräesa is dead, Creiha.”

“What?!”

“Three young Lecräesans escaped the Lecräesan capital before she was burned to the ground. They journeyed to Oceanstone where they hid the speaking stones. Under Hedjlon’s father, Hialdrin’s reign, he searched for the last three heirs of Lecräesa, but when the war with Svarë began, he could not search any longer.” Markus paused for a moment and glanced at Strick for help to continue. Creiha observed the silent interaction between the two with interest. “Their descendants still live.”

Strick spoke slowly, carefully– apprehensively. “Each of the last Lecräesa took a vow isolation – and each broke it easily. The first Lecräesan heir was a woman named Alieskuh Ezehndoza. She fled to Mirzintyre where she married Keldan Listenzir. However, King Hialdrin found her and killed Alieskuh along with her husband, his family and Mizdon’s family, but Alieskuh’s daughter, Arillo, survived.” Strick trailed off, refusing to meet Creiha’s eyes.

“Arillo was Lecräesan?” Creiha whispered, remembering how distraught Markus and Strick had been when she died..

“Yes, Arillo was Lecräesan. Senzieda Listenzir, Alieskuh’s niece, found her frightened and starving in the forest. Senzieda also saved Mizdon’s son, Markus, and Gietan. Arillo was the first heir of Lecräesa, but now she is dead,” Strick finished and exchanged a meaningful glance with Markus.

Markus nodded, watching Strick leave the room before continuing. “He’s getting everything ready for when we set out to the castle.” He smiled encouragingly at Creiha when they were alone. “The second was a man named Isterick Eszröv. For years, he wandered Kalinth until finally, he was injured in Hiarnim. There he met a half-Svarë girl and married her against her family’s wishes. Isterick’s brother-in-law handed him over to King Hialdrin and the king had him killed.”

Creiha’s face fell, a deep sadness welling behind her yes, “What about his wife?” she croaked.

Here, Markus smiled. “King Hialdrin ordered that she marry Prince Hedjlon, but she refused because she was with child. Hialdrin was going to kill the child when learning this, but Isterick’s wife died fleeing from the castle with her newborn son. For the rest of his life, Hialdrin searched in vain for the child he did not believe drowned in the moat with his mother.” For a moment, Markus’s eyes were far away, clouded with memories and glowing with something Creiha did not understand. When he came back to reality, he continued. “The last heir was a man named Kescren Eszrevel. He married a few years before Isterick’s death. Little is known of his fate except that he died searching for Isterick’s wife. He had two children which his wife hid after Kescren’s death. We have long searched for them.” Markus was staring at Creiha strangely. “No one is sure who the two girls are.”

Creiha blinked in confusion, “Have they been found, Markus?” she asked, uncomfortable under Markus’s judging stare.

“I don’t know yet, Creiha,” Markus whispered with a hint of a smile, his eyes locked in an unnervingly intense stare, “I truly do not know.”
~

Strick leaned on the doorframe, watching Creiha and Markus talk with a grave expression. As long as Creiha’s angry voice rung in his ears, waves of regret torrented through Strick’s mind. He had lost control, opened himself just a little, but even that small crack allowed emotions Strick had banished long ago to leak through. It could never happen again. Strick closed his eyes and listened Markus. You make it sound so casual, so nice, Markus, Strick noted mentally when he heard Markus talking about the last two heirs of Lecräesa. You make it sound so objective. Eyes wandering over Creiha’s features, Strick wondered if Creiha was indeed Senzieda’s dying wish, if at last his hopes were embodied.

“Strick, are we ready to leave?” Markus interrupted Strick’s thoughts abruptly, a smile lighting his merry face. Creiha was also wearing a smile, her green eyes alight with perturbing interest.

“Yes,” Strick answered shortly with a slight nod, Creiha’s eyes on him chilling his spine. Why were the free always fascinated with danger?

Creiha stood with Markus and asked, “How far a walk to Kalinth Castle?”

“Only two days or so Hiarnim and a few more hours to the castle,” Strick replied.

“Two days?” Creiha asked with a dismayed expression.

“Of course we’ll stop at night,” Markus clarified, glancing at Strick for an affirmation. Strick only nodded in half-hearted concurrence.

Creiha glanced between the two until her eyes rested on Strick, “Are you sure?” she asked, pursing her lips apprehensively.

Strick managed to shrug with relative carelessness, still leaning against the doorframe, “Stopping for the night is fine by me.”

Markus’s eyes flickered with concern when he struggled to smile at Creiha. “Well, then we’d better set off. Can we take the main road into Hiarnim this time?” Markus inquired.

“The main road is dangerous.” Strick met Markus’s gaze anxiously. If he and Markus were recognized, all hopes of reaching Hiarnim would be dashed.

“We can revert to the back roads if we see any guards,” Markus added hopefully, “But I didn’t get a chance to show Creiha a market in these parts and I still want to. Besides, we might even be able to stay a night in one of the inns. It’s better than sleeping out in the open!”

“I don’t think we should,” Strick said.

“Strick, the main road is faster,” Markus reminded Strick, eyeing him seriously. “We need to reach Gietan soon, or the king will have him killed.”

In no mood to argue with Markus, Strick assented with a sigh, “Fine.”

Markus grinned, Creiha sighing in relief. “Let me get the rest of my things!” exclaimed an elated Creiha, darting off towards the room she had been staying in.

“She has… things?” Strick blinked, watching her run up the stairs.

Markus chuckled, “Yeah, I told her she could take some of Arillo’s old clothes. She seems so excited. She reminds me of myself on the first journey with Senzieda.” Markus ran his fingers through his hair, smiling fondly. “She’ll be a positive influence on the rest of us.”

Strick shrugged.

Markus noticed his lack of response and looked on in concern. “You know she didn’t mean all that about you dragging her from Sray-Valom. She was just angry. She looks up to you.”

Strick ignored his friend’s remark and picked up his stiff cloak from a chair nearby. “I still don’t like the idea of traveling along the main road to Hiarnim.”

Markus smirked. “Are you ever going to get over your paranoia of guards, Strick? That was more than ten years ago. Besides, we have Sophie now.”

“Yes, but Sophie isn’t the powerful, sword-wielding angel that Gietan makes her out to be. She can’t do anything; she has to maintain her position and she can’t control her guards everywhere. If the king wants us killed, she has to comply,” Strick said, glancing toward the stairwell to Creiha’s room expectantly.

Markus shook his head. “But she’s a powerful ally and influence on the king. She has helped us many times. She saved Arillo’s life more than once.”

"Yes, and there was no one to save Arillo this time,” Strick murmured almost inaudibly, averting his eyes from Markus’s face and staring at the window.

Markus still heard him and rolled his eyes saying, “Strick, you couldn’t have saved her even if you tried.” Markus packed the last of his trinkets in a small bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“I still should have been there,” Strick muttered too softly for Markus to hear.

Creiha came rushing down the stairs, with a small leather bag bulging with whatever she had packed. “All right, I’m ready.” She glanced at Strick hopefully.

Strick nodded and turned toward the door, leading Markus and Creiha outside. He glanced one last time back at Arillo’s house grimly before turning his back on what remained of Arillo and walking toward the forest which would clear into the main road. Within a few minutes, sunlight struck the small group with an uncommon joy. Markus was laughing along with Creiha, the two exchanging some well-earned playful words, Strick smirking ahead of them. And for the first time since Senzieda died, Strick not only saw but felt the warmth of the sun on his face
~
Notes: I think this scene needs another round of editing; some of the sentence structure is bothering me. Anyone have any pointers? Character impressions are very much appreciated!

I didn't think the character changes were too sudden.

Senzieda also saved Mizdon's son, Markus, and Gietan.

The wording here is a bit confusing. At first I thought you meant sons. I think you should say something about who Gietan is, like ... and her something-or-another, Geitan. That way, he's distinguished a bit.

Great job!

Thanks for reading this, Dark Lordess.

Chapter 5 won't be up for a while, because I have promised myself I will reach the turning point of the second book - Tears of Lecraesa - before beginning my work on chapter 5. Hopefully, I will reach the turning point soon.

EDIT:

I feel really uncomfortable with the scene where Creiha blows up at Strick and asks about the wind thing. I am almost certain something is terribly wrong there. Anyone have any insights?

Okay, so I realize that I am wayyy back, but I didn’t really have much time lately. But, lol, it seems that I can’t keep away…


Quote:
While the sun waxing in the sky cast its rays of light upon the glassy cloudsMaybe this is only me, but I had to reread this sentence. I mean, its good from grammar’s point of view and all, but I still had to read it three times to get it.


Oh damn. I got to Ch. 4 through Ch. 5, and I started critiquing the latter. Lol, now I want to go back to Pierce…


Quote:
“I have been falling in logs and sliding down leaf piles looking for you!” she whispered hoarsely.
Too much emphasize in one sentence, I think. But Strick’s answer rocks.

Quote:
Loneliness swept through Creiha when she realized exactly how alone she was:
You use her name a lot, and even though it doesn’t really bother me a lot or draw much attention, here it somehow did. Lol. You’re talking to me, hehe.
I looked down. Yup, a lot of her name.


Woot! Here’s Pierce again! Or hould I say, before? Ok, that didn’t go to well. Guess my career isn’t in translating…


Quote:
“What? He’s forbidden a healer for the child?” she shouted, her voice ringing in the corridor.
Aww, why shouted?

Quote:
“He said no care is to be given to any of the prisoners after how the man escaped last time.”
So I seriously contemplate don this sentence. ‘After how’? Lol, I don’t know. If it is good, then you’ll tell me

Quote:
“Swords are sharp. Most sane people do not like sharp things. That is why I have a sword.


Quote:
“Gietan!” she hissed,.God, I love to be nitpicky. Period without comma.

Quote:
“You did what?”:D

Quote:
Three,” Captain Embel huffed,
Period there? This is a little up.


-> Gietan is indeed relatively consistent
-> The intros where good.

Lol, if you have any Q’s, PM me. I am fully aware that some of my comments have no back-up. Not much help here, hehe, but I loved part two of Ch 4. Either I was way too in in your story or you had almost no mistakes, I found almost none of the latter. Both reasons are good, lol.


Haha, I forgot to post this. Lol, On to the next part…


Quote:
A twinge of doubt that Markus would not come for him this time was always present in this cell, the terrible memories of previous times.
Nitpickiness again, but ‘a replaced with ‘the? Also, maybe because it is really, really late, but what does one have to do to the other. The first part to the second.

Quote”
“Who was that?” the cloaked woman in the corner asked with a hint of disgust,
Period?

Ooh, so this is Lucien? Yay, I finally get to meet her!

Ouchie. -the barbarian part.

The Strick’s thoughts parts - Hm, I’m kind of bewildered here. I gather that this is a dialogue between Strick and Strick, yes? Okay, so maybe I understand it. Or not.
Maybe it’s the punctuation that’s bothering me. Oh, I don’t know. Something is. But if you don’t ee anything wrong, than probably nothing is.

Love the dream.

Quote:
The wind Creiha thought of her dream, anger churning in the pit of her stomach.
Comma up there? Or ‘ ? Or something.

Quote:
However, King Hialdrin found her and killed Alieskuh along with her husband, his family and Mizdon’s family, but Alieskuh’s daughter, Arillo, survived.”
‘However’ and ‘but’ in one sentence didn’t really turn out to good in this case. Split that?

Quote:
“Arillo was Lecräesan?” Creiha whispered, remembering how distraught Markus and Strick had been when she died..
One period

I liked the way the story was told. The facts were given without any info floods, which is really good,. One thing, though (or maybe my memory is not that good) how was Lacreasa destroyed? Again, memory probably not good

Quote:
“She’ll be a positive influence on the rest of us.” :D

Quite random, but: After Arillo, my new favorite is Sohpie. Also, I’m starting to like Markus more.

Quote:
"Yes, and there was no one to save Arillo this time,”
‘But’ instead of ;and’? - Just a suggestion. Random again: I made exactly five typos writing that one short sentence.

Quote:
Markus still heard him and rolled his eyes saying,
Hm, I don’t like this part, mostly because Markus rolled his eyes. He rolled his eyes - I mean, that just looks like he takes Arillo’s death too lightly… I know he doesn’t , but you know what I want to say. Or not.


O lol. Such amounts of text read in such a small amount of time, hehe. Or the time passed quickly. Either way, kudos to you.

Swords are sharp. Most sane people do not like sharp things. That is why I have a sword.
Man, I went and showed that line to at least three seperate people I thought it was so great. Anyway--

I haven't been caught up lately. I'm half asleep right now, so I doubt I can follow through with a full crit. I'll try to get the next one, though. I love the way this is rolling along here, so I'll just let you do your thang and keep writing. I'll try and keep up!

Another awesome chapter! I loved it. And I really like Gietan. I don't have much to say about this chapter that hasn't all ready been said. ^_^ I can't wait to read the next chapter.

Okay. First:

The castle was gray and cold, and Creiha could a violent wall of wind tearing

I think you missing something...

No! Creiha tried to scream, but she choked on her own words, unable to stand. The pain her legs was excruciating and when her head struck the marble floor, Creiha wept. Crsicialda shouted something and leapt to her feet, drawing her knife and striking with the crude blade, but the woman lurched aside, her brown hair falling around her grief-stricken face when she cried Criscialda's name. Criscialda froze in her attack and turned slowly, her emerald eyes fastened on Creiha's face. She moved her mouth to say something that Creiha could not hear.

Is this a prophesy??? If so, COOL! If not, oh well. Cool dream.

Creiha recognized the figure as Strick and frowned thoughtfully. Who is he? She wondered and moved away from the window. She had ventured with them this far, been dragged from her home, and still Strick would tell her nothing. The wind Creiha thought of her dream, anger churning in the pit of her stomach.

I'm confused. What about the wind? I re-read from the beginning to this point three times, and I still don't get it.

Some say the sun never roes that day;

rose

“What?!”

Wait a moment... Isn't that against the rules? I didn't think you were allowed to pair a question mark with an exclamation mark except in comic books. I could very well be wrong.

“Each of the last Lecräesa took a vow isolation – and each broke it easily.

Miss something or is it supposed to be like that?

“Only two days or so Hiarnim and a few more hours to the castle,”

“Only two days or so to Hiarnim and a few more hours to the castle,”

“She has… things?” Strick blinked, watching her run up the stairs.

Haha, funny reaction coming from Strick.

He glanced one last time back at Arillo’s house grimly before turning his back on what remained of Arillo and walking toward the forest...

Hmm... Maybe replace one of them with 'her'?

Okay! I loved it. Possibly my favorite chapters yet. For characters,

Sophia-- I really like her. She seems tough. Not as in harsh, but as in she's strong. As in what your parents tell you to be when someone offers you drugs. She can take care of herself, and has a fierce loyalty to her king. But who's side is she on? Strick's side is against the king, and she doesn't believe in their cause, yet she helps them. Why?

Gietan-- Sounds like he has a sense of humor and when he's not locked up in a cell, he could be hilarious. that's my impression of him. Easy going kind of guy who isn't too fond of the Svare. He doesn't seem to careful as he's apparently been locked up a few times in the past. Likes Sophia. Not sure if it's role model, girlfriend, friend-friend, or wow, you're really awesome type of like, but he likes her.

Lusien-- The world is over, there's no hope, we're going to lose, but I'll still fight with you, even if the prize is impossible to win.


I love this story. Official addict. I now have it bookmarked so I won't have to go searching for it again. I love the stories and the characters. Strick is still and will probably always be my favorite, but Sophia's pretty cool, too. Then again, so are Markus and Creiha...

Okay. I don't have a second favorite. This was pretty awesome. I'm SO happy I have number five at my finger tips!

Hey Dreamer!

*huggles* Thanks so much for finding and reading this! It means a lot to me. And thanks for finding all those typos on my part and picking out that confusing wind part; I'll get to editing this eventually. *hugs again*

Great! Flog me for not reading this before as I said I would. All the teeny-weeny errors I saw have already been pointed out, so there isn't anything else for me to pick out.

I know it's better to tell you what can be improved, but I honestly can't see anything. *thinks* Try not to repeat the characters' names in a sentance. Sometimes you have a name three times in one sentance, so just watch it, friend, just watch it. ( )

Oi, hon. This has been proper critiqued ages ago, it seems. But, I misplaced it. Now, finally, here it is. You know the drill, any questions or if my handwriting is illegible please tell me. Oh, and my impressions are at the end.

Ta,
Cal.

Was the above helpful?

IMPRESSIONS

I really liked the humor you used with Creiha falling. I think you may wan't to emphasize the humor of the situation even more. Though, as I have noted the yelling is a bit much, I think it is actually, probably just me. Maybe perhaps I as a reader need Creiha's shouting to be more believable, I'm not sure. At first, I thought you should tone it down, now, I've convinced myself you know Creiha better, and it just is one of her temperament quirks. I really liked the dialogue. So, I've got this note here, not sure exactly what I meant when I wrote it, maybe it means something to you: Maybe, it's just my wanting to see what Strick is doing while Creiha is there with him.

I love the fact that Gietan and Sophie flirt with each other in jail. I also think you have really improved with your lovely description being all loverly, etc, and not purple-y. Sophie is becoming one of my favorite characters with each scene she barges into, after Strick and Markus, of course. One think I think you should watch out for is Lusien's entrance" mysterious woman in cloak, and the fact that she is extremely cryptic.

About the scene being very abrupt—it doesn't seem that way to me. Traez/Embel entrance wasn't confusing. You could have them alluded to in dialog with Sophie and Gietan if you didn't want to introduce them yet. And, yes, Gietan is consistent.

I like the fact that I have a clear impression of who Arillo is/was by comments/reactions of characters. I think one of the problems is Strick needs his due—I'd like to see more of what he is actually doing, more of his reactions. I know it is probably part of your mysterious character approach, but I'm sure you can draw a better balance.

Watch out for Creiha being too much of a drama queen. I am afraid of her falling into the pit of main characters who readers want to strangle because they whine too much. I think you did a fine job with her frustration, though.

Over all, excellent chapter, m'dear.

Ta,
Cal.