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Young Writers Society



The Place Where Good Men Die #3

by Tenyo


Chapter One: The Man Who Came Back

{Part One}

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{Part Three}

Those who didn’t seem to understand what was going on did the same thing as me. They stood back and stayed silent. A woman with a scarlet stained glove muttered something that sounded half like a prayer, half like a curse. In the corner of my eye I saw a soldier with one arm fixed in a sling and the other clutching a blunted knife.

This man had been loyal to Mathius, in another life.

‘Dad?’ Mathius said quietly. Mirdall didn’t show any response. His eyes seemed to be as conscious of his son as a grain of sand is of the hourglass. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Mathius…’ Emilian stepped forward with a long, painful breath. He‘d never been to war, but the smell of battlefield decay was still too familiar to him. He reached out a darkened hand towards Mathius and traced muscles on his neck, the square shape of his jaw, the curve of his nose and soft edges of his cheekbones. I could see it in the blue of his eyes - how many times he‘d had this dream. It‘s an emotionally exhausting feeling to be given what you want more than anything and find that the light of morning steals it away again, and in that I found a painful sense of empathy. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere quieter.’

With arm around Mirdall’s shoulders to usher him forward, and leant his other to Mathius.

On the edge of the camp stood the carriage taking soldiers to and from the city. The pale mare kicked her feet in boredom until the three men arrived, when she jerked her head in protest, but the driver took haste in leaving before the horse took a fresh bite out of another wounded soldier.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked. Bere ruffled his hair vigorously, as he often did when he found himself in the middle of much work and no idea where to place himself.

‘That’s Mathius,’ he said.

‘Who’s Mathius?’

‘A dead man.’

‘What do you mean?’

He meant exactly what he had said, though didn’t continue we had broken from the crowd and the tension in the air had thinned out. ‘Come on, we have work to do.’

We went over to the boiling pots where he had spent most of the day, though without complaint. As the day drew on and the sun paled in the sky, being near the fire and boiling pots wasn’t too bad.

Behind them was a huge pot where bandages were soaked and boiled before he dunked them into another of cooled water and handed them to be to put through the mangle.

Some of them didn’t come clean, some fell apart after too much use, and as supplies diminished and more of the wagons bringing them in got intercepted we were considering having to use of scraps of clothing instead.

‘So who is he?’

‘Mirdall, the old man who now looks more like a creature, he went with his two brothers to Muta Sana. I guess the other two didn’t make it back.’

‘Muta Sana…’ I had heard the phrase before in an old languages lesson. ‘That means, death of virtue, right? Or death of the virtuous. I don’t-’

‘Hush,’ Bere laughed. Bere would have barely any schooling, never mind old languages, so this wasn't quite the answer he was looking for. ‘Muta Sana, is the place where good men die. If you make it through the Gate of Lions, you get to make a wish.’

‘Is it real?’

‘Of course it’s real. That’s why nobody ever comes back- except for Mirdall. They set off up there to try and restore the land to its former glory. Mirdall wanted nothing more than his son back.’

‘Mathius.’

‘He was found dead on the battlefield months ago, at the post on Mayfield. They brought back his War Tag. Mirdall took it with him, some say to remind him of what he was living for.’

I carefully thread the next bandage through the mangle. It was ripped in several places, but it was better than none. ‘So, Mathius is alive because Mirdall made a wish?’

He nodded.

‘Why has nobody wished to end the war?’

The spark in his eyes darkened and he sighed and sat down on the floor next to were I knelt. ‘It takes a good man to go that far for such a selfless cause - and Muta Sana is a place where good men don‘t come back.’

‘Mirdall came back.’

The purposeful silence was enough. It would be immoral to question the integrity of a man who could no longer explain himself, but the connotation was clear.

‘At Muta Sana, you can wish for anything, right?’

‘That’s what stories tell, but there are only few who have returned to prove it.’

I took a few deep breaths. ‘Sorry, Bere.’ I said and jumped up. It took a few moments of calculation, during which time he stared at me expectantly. ‘Can I borrow your coat?’

‘Sure, if it would fit a majesty.’ He flicked his head to the bundle of cloth that lay on the floor near where he sat.

It was dark, with a smell of old dirt lingering to it, and looked more like a cloak with sleeves than a coat. Not that I was about to complain.

I put my arms into the huge trunked sleeved and flipped the hood forward. Bere laughed aloud and folded up the edges of hood and sleeves. He pulled in the edges and pushed through the two large buttons, then adjusted the hood to overshadow my face. Not much could be done for the bottom that trailed along the floor.

I remember the tingle of excitement of going undercover. When I was a small child I would sneak around the kitchens and the servants quarters (the most forbidden place in the castle to me) pretending to be anything except a Prince. When I got older, I played games in which I was a prince in disguise. Some things don’t really leave you.

I walked as steadily across the camp to the hay stack beside which the next carriage would pull up. The two guards who had been placed there to secretly watch over me (and to make sure I didn’t wander off alone,) peered at me momentarily and returned to their daydreams of home. I smiled to myself and waited for the next carriage to come.

I wouldn’t have smiled so much if I realised just how fast I was about to be catapulted into an adventure that was no where near ready to handle.

When playing games of being an undercover prince in a starving land, I was always saved from the clutches of death by the sound of the lunch bell. The darkest rooms were only dark until someone opened the curtains, and right before the most sinister of monsters swiped my head off with their long claws, someone would ruffle my hair and tell me it’s time to study.

I wish I could say that back then I knew what I was doing, and that not thinking about the dangers was a choice of mine. In truth I had no idea what dangers I would face. I was as naïve a little prince as they believed me to be.

I was also yet to meet Fabian.

By my word and honour I swear, if Trouble had an earthly ambassador it would be Fabian.


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Points: 1926
Reviews: 16

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Thu Dec 01, 2011 11:13 pm
Baboon wrote a review...



Ok.

Haven't done a review in a while, and never had the patience/skill to do those line-by-line obsessive analyses that everyone loves :P

BUT here we go.

Good:

Flows well. I say that in all my reviews, but that's because if it's painful to read I give up. Flows well :D
GREAT description. You capture the essence of the setting through what the people are doing rather than blocks of prose. I've always wanted to be able to do that :P

Example of this:

We went over to the boiling pots where he had spent most of the day, though without complaint. As the day drew on and the sun paled in the sky, being near the fire and boiling pots wasn’t too bad.

Behind them was a huge pot where bandages were soaked and boiled before he dunked them into another of cooled water and handed them to be to put through the mangle.

Some of them didn’t come clean, some fell apart after too much use, and as supplies diminished and more of the wagons bringing them in got intercepted we were considering having to use of scraps of clothing instead.
I can just imagine them working quietly through the evening. Love it.
Good characterisation, all your people have a distinct feel.
Overall it's great, but the uniqueness of the idea is definitely what I envy most.
‘Mirdall came back.’

The purposeful silence was enough. It would be immoral to question the integrity of a man who could no longer explain himself, but the connotation was clear.
That sums it up for me. Love the idea that simply by surviving Muta Sana you can become an outcast. Please write more of this :D

Not-so-good
Bere's well characterised but he is slightly obvious as Mr. Exposition. You've got a little bit of a dynamic going on with him and the main character, but it would be nice to see it develop a little more before he spills the beans about Muta Sana and gets dumped.
It's very confusing in places. We're just being dropped into the story here, so for now play it safe and use character names rather than pronouns as much as you can without sounding clumsy.
A few examples of confusing moments:
Emilian stepped forward with a long, painful breath.
...who?? He seems to appear and vanish suddenly.
Bere's entry to the story might need a little more work. Just another throwaway sentence, maybe "He must have been waiting for me" or "I'd wondered where he'd got to" or anything to make his entry a little less sudden and jarring.
I'm used to your style of dialogue now, but when I first read it I had trouble keeping up with who was saying what. I might just be tired though :P

So, all-in-all, great work, fix a few minor things and let me know when the next chapter's up :D

PS
grain of sand is of the hourglass
You used sand earlier for Mathius waking up, can't use it again here :/

PPS Taking the novel as a whole so far, go easy on the cliffhangers. They're great on their own, but seems a little desperate having one on the end of every paragraph :P

Hope that's helpful :D
Babs




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9 Reviews


Points: 788
Reviews: 9

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Sat Nov 19, 2011 3:03 pm
Anoia wrote a review...



Hey :)
Well, this review, such as it shall be, won't be too long, I assure you. There really isn't much for me to say- I just wanted to express how good I think your work is! I genuinely wanted to keep on and keep on reading- so get writing! ;) No, really, it's very good, and despite the unconstuctive nature of this comment, I couldn't resist saying how much I liked this extract :D





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