Young Writers Society

Thanks so much, Dreamer!

You're right about the '?!' thing. I need to go back and edit all of those out. *glares at giant Flames document* Grar. I especially thank you for the character impressions

I only have time to do the first part of chapter five, so forgive me if this is a bit rushed.

“Why can’t I have the nice maids – or even better, no maids at all?!”

“Besides, you and your regiment will be traveling to Hiarnim tonight;

“The child is unimportant. The child will die unimportant.”

“Of course,” Creiha responded with a sigh, “but who do they speak to?”

“I’m sure Strick would know!” Markus blurted, leaning against a tree and grinning.

Strick whirled around in shock. “Markus!”

Quelling the note of satisfaction that tasted sour in the pit of her stomach, Creiha stared at Strick in surprise. “You can talk to the rocks?” she gasped. Heat rushed to Markus’s face, and he nearly choked in surprise. “Would you teach me?” Creiha asked.

“No, I will not teach you how to and I try not to make a habit of talking to rocks often!” Strick announced in frustration.

Markus lowered his eyes sheepishly.

“Why not?” Creiha frowned

“Rocks aren’t as polite as they look.”

“You mean to tell me they’re rude?” Creiha asked, laughing quietly. “Do they ever talk to you?” Creiha inquired, stepping closer to Strick with a smirk on her face.

Strick eyed her fearfully before answering, “Yes, they do and it is often wisest to ignore them.”

“Ignore the rocks?” Creiha chuckled.

“It is not funny,” Strick informed her softly.

Hello,
Guess I’m in a crit mode, hehe. Can’t keep away.


Quote:
“Captain Pierce, the king has requested your presence immediately!” shouted Sophie’s maid, still banging on the door.
Details, but you have ‘shouted’ again The last bit of dialogue up there had the word, too.

Quote:
Pulling her hair into a sloppy pony tail, Sophie made her way towards the door.
I scrolled down a bit - Sophie’s name I repeated a lot. Use more of ‘she’ etc. (Haha, I forgot the English word for these). ‘The maid’ is also used a lot.

Quote:
“I do not wear dresses, especially not for the king,” she yelled.
Lol, a lot of yelling and shouting in this chapter Exclamation mark up there since she screamed?

Quote:
“Yes, your majesty,”
Period here.

Quote:
“No, Traez, don’t get involved in this!” Sophie pleaded.
A much as I liked your dialogue and (enter here every possible compliment), this part here sounded a bit awkward/

I have a strong dislike towards the king.

Oooh, Lusien seems cool. All for character impressions for now, xD

Quote:
“The people in Hiarnim live in the shadow of Kalinth Castle where the royal family resides.
Comma before ‘where’, I think.


Ch. 6 ended so fat, lol. Too bad. Anyway, impressions… I guess I don;t have much to say for now, except that it was (how else?) interesting and well-written. An old cliché, but how true for you.


-Elein

Thanks so much, Dark Lordess!

I toyed with that abrupt part a little - not sure if it made it any better, but I gave it a shot. Really appreciate your comments!

Yae! It's here! And I was quite happy that Strick was somewhat happy for a while in this chapter. Anyways...

I did sorta think Creiha got mad a little too quickly in the rock garden. I had thought she was a calmer person. The first time she gets angry (when shes talking about the Oceanstone) didn't seem too sudden, but the second time (when she tells him he's so alike to speaking stones) I thought it was too sudden.

Character Impressions

Gietan - (He's my favorite.) He is compassionate and tries to make light of their situation to keep his hope up.

Lusien - She has some dark secret. I've got a lot of guesses but don't want to ruin it for other people, even though I'm probably WAY off... She doesn't want people to know anything about her and very much prefers to be by herself.

Sophie - She's getting pretty complex. She's trying to serve a king she thinks is a fool. She seems determined to save Ristev, but unsure of how to do it. She's confused about what she really should do.

Chapter 5 continued

Creiha laughed and pointed to the canopy of tree branches above them, relishing the sunshine on her face and the web-like pattern of shadows cast upon the road. She had missed it for the past few days. The air was light and sheer and the weight of worry had lifted into enjoyment of the journey. Markus walked beside her, the very sight of a grin on his face enough to brighten Creiha’s mood. Strick walked on her right, a little ahead of her stride, but close enough that she could occasionally see his face. The main road was much wider than the small roads Strick had led them through to Arillo’s house.

“Arillo was so angry with all of us; I am still amazed at how irresponsible we all were in those days!” Markus boasted about the first time he met Arillo and how he and Gietan had tormented her.

In light of Markus’s story and the peaceful quiet all around them, Creiha almost forgot that she was leaving her family behind, that she scarcely knew these two men, that they were headed to Hiarnim. She no longer saw ruined courtyards or labyrinths in the eyes of her companions; she no longer felt the coils of fear rising in the pit of her stomach.

“Ah, those were the good days,” Markus reflected with faraway eyes, shaking his head fondly. “Indeed.”

Creiha glanced at him from the corner of her eye and asked, “You make it sound like those days are past.”

Markus’s eyes flashed with a bright confidence, and he grinned at her, “It’s days like these I begin to wonder if they haven’t.”

Creiha smiled and kicked more rocks to the side of the road. She frowned when it occurred to her Strick had spoken all of once the entire walk. “Strick!” she called, wondering if he had been listening to Markus’s story.

“Hmmm?” Strick didn’t slow down so Creiha and Markus could walk in line with him or even look back. He just kept walking, but Creiha noticed the leisurely tone of his voice, the heavy moroseness she had grown accustomed to having dissipated.

“Have you ever been to Hiarnim?” Creiha asked.

“Yes,” Strick answered with a slight nod, slowing just a little so Creiha and Markus could catch up.

“What’s it like there?” Creiha asked with interest.

“The people in Hiarnim live in the shadow of Kalinth Castle where the royal family resides. The castle is their security. The castle is their life,” Strick responded, his eyes still fixed ahead.

“People in Sray-Valom despised Kalinth royalty,” Creiha remarked, wondering what the people of Hiarnim found so endearing about a giant, gray castle glowering down upon them. “But you already know that.” She kicked a few more rocks out of the road.

Strick nodded and smirked.

“Can we take the main road back too?” asked Markus, his olive eyes sparkling with elation. “The forest does not sound very inviting compared to this.”

“With the rate Creiha is kicking rocks, there won’t be much of a road on the way back,” Strick remarked good-naturedly.

“There isn’t much else to do along this road!” Creiha defended herself with a delighted laugh, “If you actually talked, I might not be kicking so many rocks,” Creiha said with a crooked smirk.

Strick smiled.

Markus sparked a new conversation with Creiha, but Creiha was transfixed by the changing scenery; she had never seen so many shades of green, so many sizes of trees, so many types of houses. And when they passed other travelers, Creiha was fascinated by the way they spoke with one another. For a long time, the three traveled uneventfully as Markus pointed out every new bit of landscape and erupted into laughter at Creiha’s gasps.

Shadows materialized ahead, poking out from behind a turn in the road and glittering in the sunlight; they were the king’s patrols, battered armor visible even at a distance. As soon as the patrols came into view, a hush fell over Markus and Strick, and Creiha could see Markus tense beside her. They passed the patrols in silence, and Markus flashed the guards a flattering smile; they only eyed him warily and walked on.

Creiha exhaled slowly when they were out of hearing range and bit her lower lip. “I didn’t know there were patrols on the main road,” she said, her voice squeaking with fear.

“I don’t think they recognized us,” Markus muttered in a hopeful voice and glanced over at Creiha with an enormous grin.

The sound of thundering hooves split the silence that ensued, and Creiha halted in her steps, turning slowly to see five mounted soldiers charging toward them, bent over on their muscular horses; Creiha’s mouth dropped open and her heart lurched forward and caught in her throat. “I don’t–”

“Drat!” Markus shouted and inched closer to the treeline, preparing to leap into the bushes and hide.

Despite her senses which screamed at her to run, Creiha was rooted to the ground where she stood, her eyes fixed on the soldiers who stormed closer with every moment. A breeze stirred around her, and the piercing whistle of wind brushed her hearing. Strick shoved Creiha behind him and shouted something to Markus.

Markus leapt toward the forest crouched in a ditch by the side of the road, his face spattered with mud. “Creiha!” he shouted and grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her down into his hiding place.

A chill creeping through her arms and legs, Creiha swallowed hard and looked up to see Strick still standing in the middle of the road, directly in the soldiers’s path; a pale blue cloud had descended over his eyes as he stood, staring fixedly at the soldiers. Abruptly, a violent blast of wind erupted from behind him at an ineffable speed and struck the soldiers full in the chest, two of the riders falling backwards off their horses while the other horses reared in surprise, stumbling over themselves and slipping on the stones in the road. Creiha could not see Strick through the haze that the wind had sucked into its powerful rush.

Markus squeezed Creiha’s arm tightly and drew her closer to him in the bushes; Creiha looked upon his face to see anxiety settling there. The warmth of Markus’s touch only disquieted Creiha further, and she began to tremble fearfully.

Without warning, the wind dissipated in all directions and hurled the remaining riders into the trees that lined the main road; the soldiers lay unmoving. Creiha cried out in surprise when Strick was suddenly beside her, and Markus clamped one hand over her mouth.

“Good job,” Markus hissed, “we should cross through the forest toward Kilandin before more patrols come.”

Strick nodded silently, his face more pale than usual and his eyes clouded with exhaustion.

Shaking badly, Creiha fell against Markus when he helped her to her feet and felt a few frightened tears escape her eyes. Markus did not notice; he only held Creiha’s hand tightly and led her into the concealment of the trees, Strick following closely behind.

Soon they came upon a clearing pervaded by large, gray stones that glistened in the scant sunlight leaking to the forest floor. Around the stones the grass was silver as if coated with a thick frost. The stones glowed with a thin, almost sickly light, and Creiha’s heart began to race with a sort of terror when Markus released her arm.

“Why are we here?” Creiha whispered hoarsely, her face clammy with sweat.

“This is a speaking stone garden. Few know they exist,” Markus explained, his eyes set on Strick. All traces of calm had vanished from Strick’s expression, and unconcealed fear roiled in his dark eyes as he regarded the speaking stones. His skin was sallow, and he looked as if at any moment he might collapse, but when Creiha followed Markus’s gaze, Strick managed a ghost of a smile.

“A speaking stone garden?” Creiha inquired, her eyes still locked with Strick’s curiously. She thought of the wind and a tremor of fear coursed through her body. What was he?

“Yes, like the speaking stones of Syldameth I told you about. I love these gardens. They are so beautiful,” Markus remarked, casting Creiha lopsided grin and sinking onto a stone leisurely.

“We should… leave this place, Markus,” Strick said breathlessly and drew a ragged breath. Apprehension flashed across his eyes, and he ran one hand through his crow black hair.

“The soldiers won’t find us here,” Markus announced with a strained laugh.

“Markus–”

“Just give Creiha a little time to rest. She might like it here.” Badly shaken by the attack of Kalinth’s soldiers, Markus knotted his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

Strick frowned deeply, but did not respond, and Creiha wiped at a few terrified tears, hiding her face. She ventured toward the rock beside Markus and reached down to lower herself when pain jolted through her, and she jumped back in surprise.

“What do you think of the stones, Creiha?” Markus asked, smothering the fear in his expression with a giant grin and patting the stone he sat upon.

“They are… beautiful, I suppose,” Creiha answered, choking on her own words and swallowing hard.

Of course she likes the stones; it is better that way. A familiar voice rang in Creiha’s mind, and she started, blinking a few times and rubbing her temples. The voice continued, Like Oceanstone, they are a tragic beauty, but she should never have to see Oceanstone. I would not subject her to that fate. Fear torrenting through her mind, Creiha backed up against a tree and bit back unbidden sobs. What was happening to her? Why had she ever left Sray-Valom? “I hear voices,” she suddenly wept, sinking down against the tree and lowering her head to her knees. “I hear a voice. What is happening to me?”

Markus jumped up from the stone where he sat, his eyes wide with something akin to horror. “What?”

“I’m hearing things,” Creiha sobbed, covering her face with her arms to hide her shameful tears.

His eyes darting over to his friend, Markus whispered in a shaking voice, “Strick?”

Lifting her head just a little, Creiha could see Strick standing in front of her, his expression broken and twisted in her bleary vision. “What are you hearing, Creiha?” he asked, and Creiha could hear the trepidation in his voice.

“Something about Oceanstone, and the speaking stones. It was a voice – a familiar voice. It was – it was.” Creiha closed her eyes tightly and thought of the words, summoning them back to her. Inhaling sharply, Creiha looked up at Strick, and her heart sank within her; she scrambled to her feet and shouted accusingly, “It was you!” Markus bit his lower lip and looked on anxiously, but Strick only stood before Creiha, gazing down into her eyes calmly. “What is going on?” Creiha cried, tears trickling down her cheeks. “First, the wind and now this, and you barely even stop to tell me what is happening! What are you?” Creiha cried, tears tracking down her pale cheeks and her green eyes glittering like broken glass submerged in her fear.

Strick turned to her, his calm expression lined with sharp cracks where emotion leaked through. "What am I?" he said breathlessly.

“Yes! What are you? You’re never joyful, but you’re never distraught; you didn’t shed a single tear when Arillo died. I bet you don’t feel anything anymore, that you are just like one of those stupid rocks, that you’re just some statue Lecräesa accidentally left behind. What are you?” Creiha yelled, her indignation mounting and blotting out all terror; she rose to her feet and stood face to face with Strick, glaring at him furiously, her golden hair plastered to her sweaty forehead and falling in front of her face.

His eyes freezing over with anger, Strick only returned her glare. “You haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about,” he told her in a cold, biting voice.

Creiha shuddered beneath his frigid gaze and cowered; thankfully, Markus intervened and shoved his way between the two, chuckling nervously. “Well, this isn’t very pleasant. How about we move on to a more amiable subject!” Markus clapped one hand on Creiha’s shoulder, but Creiha eyes were still fixed angrily on Strick. Strick’s eyes thawed immediately, and he looked extremely shaken by his own words as he turned his back on Creiha and wandered over to where Markus had dropped his things. “Like how old the rocks are!” Markus suggested.

“Fine. How old are the rocks?” Creiha asked begrudgingly.

“Nobody knows!” Markus answered excitedly, “and that is why they are so fascinating. Do you know why they are called the speaking stones?”

“No, Markus, why are they called the speaking stones?”

“Because they can speak!”

“Of course,” Creiha responded with a sigh, “but who do they speak to?”

“I’m sure Strick would know!” Markus blurted, leaning against a tree and grinning.

Strick whirled around in shock. “Markus!”

Quelling the note of satisfaction that tasted sour in the pit of her stomach, Creiha stared at Strick in surprise. “You can talk to the rocks?” she gasped. Heat rushed to Markus’s face, and he nearly choked in surprise. “Would you teach me?” Creiha asked.

“No, I will not teach you how to and I try not to make a habit of talking to rocks often!” Strick announced in frustration.

Markus lowered his eyes sheepishly.

“Why not?” Creiha frowned

“Rocks aren’t as polite as they look.”

“You mean to tell me they’re rude?” Creiha asked, laughing quietly. “Do they ever talk to you?” Creiha inquired, stepping closer to Strick with a smirk on her face.

Strick eyed her fearfully before answering, “Yes, they do and it is often wisest to ignore them.”

“Ignore the rocks?” Creiha chuckled.

“It is not funny,” Strick informed her softly.

“No?” Sour bitterness crawling into her throat, Creiha glared at Strick and said, “I would think you would be happy to be hard as a stone because stones don't burn,” she spat.

A glaze of pain settling over his whirling blue eyes, Strick glared down at Creiha with disconcerting intensity, and Creiha cowered beneath his gaze. Creiha thought he might strike her and squeezed her eyes shut, but Strick did not. When Creiha opened her eyes reluctantly, Strick had turned abruptly away from her and was walking away without another word. When he was gone, a wave of guilt swept over her when she realized what she had said. Sour bile clawing at her sore throat, Creiha blinked to hold back self-loathing tears.

“Creiha!” Markus shouted, running both hands through his sandy-blond hair, “What did you have to do that for?” He shook his head and stared at the ground.

Creiha closed her eyes tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Well, don’t apologize to me!” Markus yelled and stuffed his traveling things underneath his feet, sighing in exasperation.

Creiha gazed off into the forest where Strick had disappeared and gnawed on her lower lip. Strick? Her mind quested out to find him, but she met only a solid, foreboding wall. Sighing, Creiha sank to the ground beside Markus and buried her face in her hands. What is wrong with me? she thought and swallowed the tears that stung her eyes. What am I?
~
Notes: Very important scene. Does Creiha get too angry too soon? I'm worried about characterization here, so would anyone give character impressions?
~

Captain Sophie Pierce emerged from her room in full armor, hair drawn up into crude ponytail as if nothing had happened. Her guards stared nervously at her from the corners of her eyes, and she held her head high, marching through the corridor and into the barracks. Traez and Embel awaited her there, Embel lounging on a bale of hay and yawning while Traez stood stiffly beside him. When Sophie stormed in, Embel scrambled to his feet and saluted.

“Captain Pierce!” Embel exclaimed, saluting and then dropping his hand to his side, grinning. “We didn’t expect you back so soon.”

Sophie glared at him in distaste, “I didn’t expect to find you sleeping here waiting for me. Shouldn’t you be doing something important?”

Embel shook his head, “King Hedjlon ordered me to await orders from you here!” he said.

“Of course,I should have guessed our kingly majesty would do something of that sort,” she snorted.

“Your orders, Captain Pierce?” Traez asked coldly, his face still as stone. Sophie bit her lip at his expression and fought feelings of regret.

“Yes, orders, sir?” Embel echoed his comrade, placing his hands on hips proudly.

“Embel, gather my regiment. We head to Hiarnim tonight, no delays,” Sophie ordered. “We wouldn’t want anything happening to the king’s sweet little bride, would we?”

Embel whistled and quickly turned to exit the room whispering “Somebody’s in a bad mood,” when he passed Traez. Traez kept the smirk from his face and met Sophie’s gaze reluctantly.

Sophie drew in a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, “Traez…” she began, uncertain of what she could say to heal this breach.

Traez didn’t attempt to aid in her words. He just asked, “Your orders, Captain Pierce?”

“Traez, please just listen to me for a moment. I’m so used to ordering people around I almost can’t… break from it. I’m really sorry. Can we just put this behind us and keep working together?” Sophie pleaded with him, each word chipping at her confidence and building her anxiety.

Traez just stared at her. “Captain Pierce, kindly give your orders,” he responded tartly, a flicker of satisfaction in his eye.

Sophie bit her lower lip, but after a moment of silence, straightened. “Of course, Traez,” she croaked and rummaged through all the papers King Hedjlon’s messenger had sent. King Hedjlon wanted the Third Regiment with them. “Sir, would you rally the Third Regiment and meet me in the stables. And kindly check on Embel to be sure he is not sleeping on the job.” She used the most professional tone she could muster, refusing to meet Traez’s eyes.

“Yes, captain,” Traez nodded, uncertainty edging into his expression. “And-and Sophie?” he swallowed hard.

Sophie’s heart leapt in hope when he used her name, “Yes, Traez?” she looked up expectantly.

“We-We’ll talk in Hiarnim, all right?” Traez reasoned, licking his lips nervously.

“Of course, Traez,” Sophie forced a smile and dismissed him as casually as possible, but when he left, she collapsed on a bale of hay and breathed deeply. She hoped the child Ristev would live until she returned from Hiarnim.
~
Notes: short little scene.