“Isaac?”
“Yes, mummy?” he replied. The small boy placed his book on his lap and looked up, wriggling his toes underneath the threadbare blanket.
“Are you in bed?”
“Yes.” He paused. “I've said my prayers, as well.”
His mother pushed the door open and peered in through the sliver of light. “Why are you still awake? It's well past time for little boys to be about.”
“I'm worried,” he said, frowning.
“About what, dear?” she asked, moving to his side. She knelt near him, gently stroking his chestnut colored curls.
He hesitated. “I wish father were here.”
“I do as well.” Her eyes wandered across the room to the window. “I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is. It's time to blow out your candle and get to sleep.” She leaned over and gently kissed him on the forehead. “Be a good boy.”
He yawned sleepily. “I'll try. Will you sing me a song?”
His mother began to hum softly. Though her voice was calm, her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes wandered around the room, examining the dark hollows of the room. Shadows of tree branches moved across the window, creating sinister puppets that played in the moonlight.
“Sing the words,” Isaac murmured. He pulled the blanket up to his chin with chubby fingers.
She looked down at him. “I don't know the words, love.”
“Why not?”
“They're in your language. I can't get my tongue around them.”
“My language? The one Papa taught me?” he asked, his little brow furrowing.
“Mmm. I don't even know what it's about.”
Isaac nestled his head in his pillow. “It's about the sea.”
She chuckled. “Doesn't surprise me.”
There was a loud crash from somewhere in the hall. The woman stood, her eyes wide with fright. A man grunted, and the tinkle of broken pottery echoed through the house, raising every hair on her neck.
“They're in the house. God, they're in the house. Isaac, hide,” she said, roughly pulling him out of bed. “Hide and keep quiet. Don't come out, whatever you do.” She pulled a broomstick that had been propped up next to the credenza and rushed into the hall.
Isaac climbed underneath the bed, his tiny frame numb with fear. He could just see into the hall from his vantage point: his mother stood in the doorway, blocking the path of the true intruders. Their long black robes were hooded, covering all but firm jaws and thick necks.
“Where is Eoghan Lynch?” one of them demanded.
“I don't know,” she replied coldly. “Why do you come asking of him?”
Isaac could see her hands trembling.
“Are you sure of your answer, lass?” the man said, slowly drawing a long knife from his rucksack.
“Indeed,” she replied, paying no mind to the metal's glint. “He left here, long ago.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
The night was still, and Isaac could hear the man wetting his lips with his tongue. The air was thick with tension, and the two men exchanged glances.
“Where is your son?” the shorter man broke in. His mouth was twisted with anger.
“I have no son,” she replied. “He died of scarlet fever.”
The taller man quietly surveyed the surroundings. “I suppose those are his cloak and boots by the door, then.”
“We were too heartbroken to be rid of them,” she replied. It was a thin veil for the truth; the man's face reddened.
“Full of lies!” hissed the towering figure. He grasped her firmly by the arm; she struggled against his grip. “Kill her.”
The other man immediately drew his sword and thrust it through the woman's chest. Gasping for her last breaths, she crumpled to the floor, her neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
Isaac's heart sank through the floor. He could feel his chest heaving, and his throat became tight. She wasn't dead. She wasn't. His vision blurred, leaving only nondescript patches of color.
“We should look for the son,” said the shorter man said. The words were foreign, yet familiar. The boy's mind reeled; it was the second language that he had learned as a child. Why did this wicked man speak with his father's words?
“He is here. I heard him move.” The man paused. “How old is he?”
“He would be seven or eight by now, maybe. Shh.” They both paused. “Just there, I heard him again. You take the other side of the bed, quickly.” Two massive arms reached toward Isaac; he shrank away but was unable to avoid the gnarled hands that reached toward him. The man violently dragged Isaac out onto the floor, his limbs flopping about as if he were a cloth doll.
“Don't touch me!” he shrieked, the numbness of his fear beginning to subside. The man easily pinned him to the ground with one hand.
“That's him all right,” the stout man said. “Gods above, looks just like his father. I could kill him just for that.”
“Wouldn't be wise. His eyes are turning already. We could use him.”
“It may be.” He turned to Isaac. “Stay quiet, or I might change my mind.” The boy squirmed under the weight. His captor pulled away his hood, revealing glowering amber eyes and the hard lines of his face.
“Is he a Halerion?”
“I don't know. Let me see.” The man reached over and pulled the neck of Isaac's nightshirt toward his shoulder, revealing the ivory of his collarbone. He pressed his hand against his bare shoulder and his fingers became unbearably hot, searing Isaac's skin. The boy shrieked in pain, writhing on the floor and clutching his shoulder as soon as the man had removed his hand.
“Perhaps. We will watch him.”
“Knock him out, then.”
The tall man stood and raised the butt of his staff, swinging it wildly toward the young boy. It glanced off the side of his head with little impact, but Isaac seized the opportunity to feign unconsciousness, splaying himself out on the floor with eyes closed. The man leaned over him, and Isaac could feel his breath on his cheek, but he held his silence.
“I believe we are finished.”
They turned toward the door, and Isaac dared to half-open his eyes. He just caught a glimpse of his mother's golden hair, fanned out on the hardwood, before the murderers closed the door behind them.
Isaac waited until the footsteps outside the window faded, and he was sure they were gone. He sprang up, his head throbbing in protest, and made his way to the door. He pulled it open, but the familiar scene of the hall was no longer there to greet him. There was only a great black wall, solid as stone, which was unyielding to the boy's kicking, pushing, and angry words.
It would be five hours before the townsmen heard his cries and moved the heavy bookcase that the brigands had used to block the bedroom door.
Isaac sank to the floor. His hands and feet were cold, and the pain in his head was unbearable. He tried to shout for help, but all that emerged were sobs. The oil lamp in the corner slowly flickered out, leaving Isaac in the dark of the night.
Realizing he was alone, he wept.
Very good writing.
I was a little iffy when I read the first few lines, but as I read further I did like it quite a bit. I would like this even better if there was a different hook. It doesn't seem to bother anyone else, but it did for me. I don't know, I'm probably just weird.
Your language was a little odd, also. The people spoke so... what's the word... whimsically? Hmmm. Seemed unrealistic to me.
Other than those couple things, loved it. Keep writing.
Overall, a very good start. The one thing I can suggest is near the beginning where his mother stares out of the window. We already know it's night, but at that brief moment you can put a little more description into that paragraph. Is it raining? Is it snowing? Even if it's something as simple as describing the weather it will help the readers get a better idea of the surrounding environment. Other than that, I don't think I can say anything that someone else hadn't already mentioned.
Oooh…I like. I like very, very much. Good idea, good flow, good pace, good grammar…well done, mate, well done.
Lynlyn wrote:Isaac nestled his head in his pillow. “It’s about the sea.”
She chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
There was a loud crash somewhere from the hall. The woman stood. Her eyes wide with fright.
Lynlyn wrote: She pulled a broomstick that had been propped up next to the credenza and rushed into the hall.
Lynlyn wrote: his mother stood in the doorway, blocking the path of the true intruders.
Lynlyn wrote:The other man immediately drew his sword and thrust it through the woman’s chest. Gasping for her last breaths, she crumpled to the floor, her neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
Lynlyn wrote: The boy’s mind reeled; it was the second language that he had learned as a child.
Lynlyn wrote:It was a thin veil for the truth; the man’s face reddened.
***
His captor pulled away his hood, revealing glowering amber eyes and the hard lines of his face.
Lynlyn wrote:“Knock him out, then.”
The tall man stood and raised the butt of his staff, swinging it wildly toward the young boy. It glanced off the side of his head with little impact, but Isaac seized the opportunity to feign unconsciousness, splaying himself out on the floor with his eyes closed. The man leaned over him, and Isaac could feel his breath on his cheek, but he held his silence.
Hey!
Everybody else got the nit-picks, so I'll just say...I really like this! The little suggestions of something surreal about Isaac really added to it... "His eyes are turning," that kind of thing. Great, great job.
Your story is awesome! This is the first one I've read, and I really like it. I'm sure you've heard this over and over, but I think you should use He less often. Try Isaac or boy or something else. It will add to the story so much.
“Yes, mummy?” he replied. The small boy placed his book on his lap and looked up, wriggling his toes underneath the threadbare blanket.
- I think you can take out “he replied” and just go on with “the small boy…”
“Her eyes wandered around the room, examining the dark hollows of the room. “
- I dislike the repetition of “room” here. I think you can take out the first “the room” and leave the second, and it should be fine.
-
“his mother stood in the doorway, blocking the path of the true intruders.”
- I think you can lose “true” here.
The tall man stood and raised the butt of his staff, swinging it wildly toward the young boy.
- While this allows for him to pretend to be unconscious – I’m not sure about the wild movement, I would have thought they were professional, he’d know not to go about it in a silly manner, ne?
“Isaac waited until the footsteps outside the window faded, and he was sure they were gone. He sprang up, his head throbbing in protest, and made his way to the door. He pulled it open, but the familiar scene of the hall was no longer there to greet him.”
- These are very… disconnected, lacking flow. I think if you started the second with “When he...” and then continue – instead of ending the sentence – with “but pulled it open to see that the familiar…”
I really like this, Lyn. All of the above are merely suggestions, you start of nicely, and I enjoy how the story is progressing. ^^
Nice work.
*Hearts* Le Penguin.
Just a few things I noticed.
“We should look for the son,” said the shorter man said. The words were foreign, yet familiar. The boy's mind reeled; it was the second language that he had learned as a child. Why did this wicked man speak with his father's words?
It would be five hours before the townsmen heard his cries and moved the heavy bookcase that the brigands had used to block the bedroom door.
Hi Lyn!
What I thought about the story: It was sad! But this catches my attention, I want to read the next chapters, I'm curious what will happen. This is a really good first chapter, sad, different, and all that. When the mother was talking to the guys, I was thinking:
Nooooo! Bad lady! Say something else, stay alive!
XD I think you have a good idea with good potential.
Keep this up, and lets say you drop the story, keep the idea in mind for future, maybe you would like to re-write it in future if you were to drop it.
Great Idea, Can't wait to read more.
~Arris
I like this a lot, and it really pulled me in; I haven't moved on to the rest of the story yet, but so far this looks like a good use of a prolouge - okay, yep, skimmed the beginning of the first chapter - because it's not entirely unconnected and it doesn't mince words. Fantasy prolouges can be there because they're obligatory, bestowing upon the poor reader a whole lump of something unnecessary - world building, a mysteirous death - what we don't need for hundreds of pages. So when important and gripping backstory gets put into a prolouge, that makes me happy.
The starker writing of this is nice, and it drives things forward when all hell breaks loose. If you're going to add to this, besides working on the emotion shown by Issac, you might want to slip in a few more details that give a sense of place. Things like the candle and the second language are subtle clues about the story and a few more of those would help set up the tone for what's to come.
Hahha. The start of this was cute. Reminds me of kindy.
This was a good prologue. I like houw you changed from a relaxed situation to suddenly being intense. It was very well done, reminds me of a scene in Jaws the movie.
I like how you portrayed Issac in this chapter. He sounds kind of cute lol. Many questions were raised in this prologue that makes me wonder on what the men want. It really hooks the reader, making them wanting for more.
I'm hooked! lol
Really good prologue! There was only thing that bothered me:
The night was still, and Isaac could hear the man wetting his lips with his tongue.
Yay!! I finally got to read this, Lyn!
This is a really good dramatic prologue. I look forward to reading more! It leaves you in suspense.
I could write more, but I would just be repeating what the other's said!
Good job!
~Rogue Jedi Master and Hidden Leaf Jonin Timea
GREAT prologue! Wonderful "hook" to it - I want to read more, which is the whole point! There isn't much left for me to point out, but I did notice this:
Lynlyn wrote:“I'm worried,” he said, frowning.
I LOVE YOU GUYS FOREVER AND EVER <3
This is seriously awesome feedback.
Looking at this, I realize that a lot of the stuff that you guys are pointing out is occurring where I edited something. I think what I'm doing is reading the piece in its entirety, editing it, and then only reading it sentence-by-sentence to check for mistakes. This is how I'm missing a lot of things like repetition of words ("shoulder" and "replied," etc). So I guess I really need to work on being a better editor.
The bookcase was moved there by magic, but I wasn't sure how to convey that - and I also wasn't sure if I wanted to reveal that, though I guess it doesn't make any sense for me not to. I already feel like I'm hiding too much from the audience in this prologue.
Wow! You're good! (I probably shouldnt sound so surprised, but it's always nice to find a fantasy writer with talent 
) I especially like the dialogue. Very realistic. I definitely want to read more of this!
A few nit-picks:
“Isaac?”
“Yes, mummy?” [s]he replied. [/s]The small boy placed his book on his lap and looked up, wriggling his toes underneath the threadbare blanket.
His mother pushed the door open and peered in through the sliver of light.
Not sure peering in through the sliver of light is quite the right wording somehow...
“Indeed,” she replied, paying no mind to the metal's glint. “He left here, long ago.”
Not sure that "paying no mind to the metal's glint" reads right to me. Perhaps, "ignoring the glinting metal"?
The night was still, and Isaac could hear the man wetting his lips with his tongue. The air was thick with tension, and the two men exchanged glances.
You repeat your sentence structure here, and it loses impact. Try rearranging the last sentence to read simply: "Th etwo men exchanged glances" or something. Convey the tension rather than comment on it.
“Where is your son?” the shorter man broke in.
I realize he's "breaking into" the silence, but it doesnt work. When someone breaks in they tend to be interrupting another person talking. Try using another tag here.
“Full of lies!” hissed the towering figure. He grasped her firmly by the arm; she struggled against his grip. “Kill her.”
I think a simple, "he hissed" is better here - dont stress his height too much.
The man violently dragged Isaac out onto the floor, his limbs flopping about as if he were a cloth doll.
While it's only a personal nitpick, if I were you I'd try to find some other way of describing the same thing, because "rag doll" and "cloth doll" are horribly over-used.
“It may be.” He turned to Isaac. “Stay quiet, or I might change my mind.”
It may be what? A confusing phrase. Perhaps better as, "Maybe,"?
The man reached over and pulled the neck of Isaac's nightshirt toward his shoulder, revealing the ivory of his collarbone. He pressed his hand against his bare shoulder and his fingers became unbearably hot, searing Isaac's skin. The boy shrieked in pain, writhing on the floor and clutching his shoulder as soon as the man had removed his hand.
You repeat shoulder waaaay too much. Either replace it or rearrange the description so that it isnt necessary. "The man reached over and pulled down the neck of Isaac's nightshirt, revealing his ivory collarbone" for example.
Isaac waited until the footsteps outside the window faded, and he was sure they were gone. He sprang up, his head throbbing in protest, and made his way to the door. He pulled it open, but the familiar scene of the hall was no longer there to greet him. There was only a great black wall, solid as stone, which was unyielding to the boy's kicking, pushing, and angry words.
Well described, but - well, how did they get the bookcase there without him hearing scrapes, grunts etc.? Is this deliberate magic or has it simply been left out?
Realizing he was alone, he wept.
I like this ending
Overall a great start to a novel. One thing I think you may need to work on is your tags; I notice you seem to use "he replied" etc. a lot; you might want to try allowing some dialogue to stand alone once in a while
Other than that, though, thoroughly enjoyable! I will definitely look forward to the next installment.
Cheers,
~bubbles
Wonderful prologue. ^_^ It had all the right elements of a good hook...action, conflict, raised questions, all very good stuff. I don't say this a lot, but I do actually want to read more. Also, there were no typos that I could spot, which made it even more pleasurable to read. All in all a fantastic opening to a novel.
But amidst the goodness, there's still some room for improvement.
Two Points:
Firstly, it's the conflict. Awesome conflict. It's really draws the reader in, sucking him into the state of affairs. The way you established the conflict wasn't the problem. The problem was that you didn't play out the conlfict well enough...specifically here:
“Full of lies!” hissed the towering figure. He grasped her firmly by the arm; she struggled against his grip. “Kill her.”
The other man immediately drew his sword and thrust it through the woman's chest. Gasping for her last breaths, she crumpled to the floor, her neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
Realizing he was alone, he wept.
Hi, Lyn!
Very nice, deary. I really want to read more of this.
*note to self: check YWS more!*
So, cool stuff: I couldn't find any typos!
*high fives*
And I really couldn't find much that I would change. A few things though:
Her eyes wandered around the room, examining the dark hollows of the room.
He could just see into the hall from his vantage point: his mother stood in the doorway, blocking the path of the true intruders?. Their long black robes were hooded, covering all but firm jaws and thick necks.
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