Authorship

I enjoy writing. I make no secret of my passion for language, and all of the grandeur and majesty that it can convey. I like to think of myself as being a writer, though most of my work is in the form of short essays and opinion pieces. This evening, I tried my hand at something with which I've always wanted to experiment, but never seriously attempted: starting to write a novel. I think I'm a creative person, and I think I have a firm enough grasp on language to muddle through a first go without screwing it up too badly.

Before I unveil the results, here are some caveats: This has not been proofread in any meaningful way. I am sure it contains numerous grammatical errors. This is the result of two hours of free-flow writing, and most of that done without any idea of exactly what I was writing or why. I still have no overall story planned out for this particular narrative, and I think it shows. But I did include a number of intriguing possibilities and mysteries which I plan on working into the story that is gradually taking shape in my mind as I play with the story I am writing as I write it. With that said, here is the prologue to the book I hope I can look back on in 30 years and call my beginning as a fiction author in my own right:

"Dark Tidings"
[Academian], October 26, 2006
Prologue:

The morning dew hung heavily on the leaves.

“It’s going to be a wonderful day for the hunt,” remarked Alice. “So bright and fair!” John grated his teeth in frustration. Anyone for a half-mile around could have heard her voice in the crisp morning air. It was almost more than he could bear. Against John’s express recommendation, Lord Earling had consented to his daughter’s request to accompany the rangers on a simple sweep of the forest surrounding Earling Manor. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the movement of some of his men. They had much better things to be doing with their time than babysitting spoiled young women.

“A wonderful day for the ‘hunt’ it would be,” whispered John, a little too loudly, “if pampered gentry stayed safe behind the walls of their estates.” Eyeing Lady Alice, John could barely contain his disgust. Lord Earling had given John and his rangers the task of bringing to justice a band of local brigands who’d taken to robbing merchants traveling between Stockton and Larathan. The thieves hadn’t shown any compunction about taking life. Two craftsmen on their way to the fair in Stockton had been found in a ditch along the road, each with a half dozen arrows in him. Neither had the thieves hesitated to rob travelers of even paltry belongings. Reports had been trickling in to Lord Earling concerning simple peasants relieved of common sundries, like baskets of berries and a woodsman’s axe.

“You there, ranger,” said Alice, “I heard what you said.” Raising himself up from his crouched position near a bush, John turned around to face her. It still galled him just to think of her in his domain. Unlike the rangers, she did not belong here. Where the rangers moved silently through the brush on foot, the hooves of Lady Alice’s steed could be heard echoing off the rocks and crashing through the leaves. John and his rangers wore dark leather in greens and browns, but they might as well have been in bright fool’s motley for all the good it would do them given the Lady’s pale yellow dress and oversized yellow sunbonnet. “I’ll have you know that I have studied Sir Beckott while he gives lessons to the young men-at-arms in the yard. He thought so highly of my observations that he presented me with a weapon at last year’s Mid-Winter Ball.” To emphasize her words, Alice reached into the saddlebags of her white horse, and pulled out a small blade in a leather sheath. As she pulled the blade from its sheath, John snorted in derision. The shortsword was clearly made for show rather than for utility. The blade was inlaid with what appeared to be gold and a green gem the size of a robin’s egg adorned the hilt. The blade would sooner be found sitting in a bed of velvet in a jeweled box than see an actual fight, and knowing Sir Beckott and his constant designs on Lord Earling’s daughters, John had no doubt that there indeed was a jeweled box sitting in Lady Alice’s chambers which was currently missing its cargo.

“My apology, dear Lady,” John protested, his voice dripping with mock concern, “I only meant that milady would be much safer if she were to return to observing Sir Beckott in the yard rather than venturing out here into the wilderness with fighting men.” Turning away from Lady Alice, John again lowered himself through the bushes and began searching the ground for any sign what might have caused the unusual scene before him. How in the world could this be real? It just wasn’t natural.

John loved being outdoors, surrounded by nature. He loved the wilderness, and the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest always appealed to him. Slipping away from the bustle and din of life at the castle into the cool embrace of the wilds always seemed like slipping into a shadowy second skin. Sleeping under the stars, the babbling of unnamed streams bubbling over the stones, and the cool wind whispering through the trees all seemed as familiar to him as the face of his own late mother. ‘Now that was odd,’ thought John. Why had he thought of his mother all of a sudden?

Almost guiltily, John reached for the locket that he wore every day underneath his jerkin. The locket was a small tarnished piece, pitted and scratched with age. At one point, it had obviously had some precious stones around the edge, but these had long since fallen out or been removed, even when it had been his father’s. His father had commissioned a local boy with some skill at art to paint a miniature portrait of John’s mother and father inside the small silver ornament, and when John’s father was dying, he pressed the keepsake into John’s hands and bade him to keep it always, as a memory of what they had done for him. At that thought, John’s fingers unconsciously smoothed down his leathers, as if to cover the angry scars hidden underneath. John needed no locket to remind him of what had been done for him. A cold breeze rustled through the thicket, and John allowed it to sweep away his dark thoughts.

He would feel much better if he were able to take his rangers out away from Stockton and the Earling Estate. The bandits were still on the loose, and wandering through the forest still within sight of the guard towers of the Estate was not likely to get John any closer to bringing them to Lord Earling’s justice. For as many days as Lady Alice desired to accompany them, the company of rangers was to stay near the castle and out of harm’s way. John could have lived with the delay and inconvenience except for Lady Alice’s continual insistence on acting like she was taking part in some grand adventure, as if she were the heroine from one of the tales she loved to have the traveling minstrels sing for her. Adventure was found on the battlefields to the North, where the Ayallic armies clashed with Jerban skirmishers to keep the realm safe. Adventure was found in the darkened reaches of the Western wastes, where entire regiments of soldiers could go missing without a trace. The closest thing to high adventure ever encountered near Stockton or the Earling Estate was when the young men-at-arms became too drunk at the Golden Grape and boasted about the great deeds they would someday achieve. John had work to do, and the naïve prattling of Lady Alice about their exciting ‘hunt’ for the bandits put John in a foul mood. The company would have better luck finding the gang of thieves in the castle courtyard than they would in the woods so close to the Earling Estate. And yet, the trip had not been a complete waste of time. Only a half hour after leaving the estate, the rangers had come upon this sight.

John looked out over the meadow. Most of the rangers could sense it, even if Lady Alice couldn’t. Something was wrong here, and while none of the others had yet voiced their thoughts to him, John could see in their eyes that they knew what it was just as well as he did. Standing in the middle of the meadow was a solitary Oak tree, tall and proud, pleasantly casting a shadow on the cool morning grass. A young squirrel scampered through its branches, and some robins were eyeing the rangers suspiciously from their nest. Everything appeared normal to John with one glaring exception. The tree was new.

For two days already, John’s company had patrolled these woods with young Lady Alice in tow. John had faith in his men, and every man knew these forests like the backs of their own hands. Half of his company even lived in cabins in these woods. They had come through this particular meadow only yesterday, and Lady Alice had wanted to rest for a bit beside a large stone that still sat near the edge of the clearing. The tree had not been there before.

John knew that he wasn’t one of the learned men from the Imperial Court, but it didn’t take patronage by the Ayallic Council to know that fully grown trees did not simply spring into being overnight. And yet, there it was. Perplexed, John approached the tree. At his approach, the robins abandoned their nest and flew to the relative safety of a nearby branch at the edge of the glade and chirped their warnings at the intruder. Hesitantly, he held his hand out toward the bark. John steeled himself and touched the trunk. The bark was rough and coarse, and John could see a small train of ants marching up the trunk from the grass below. The tree certainly seemed real enough.

Suddenly, John heard a slight rustling near the base of the tree on the opposite side of the trunk from himself. Stepping around the wide trunk, John caught a glimpse of something small and dark in the tall grass, hunched down in an effort to remain hidden. Freezing, John felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. As John tentatively spread the grass to get a glimpse of the dark thing, it bolted. Letting out the breath he realized he’d been holding unconsciously, John realized that the shape was only a black rabbit that dashed down a hole near the large boulder at the edge of the meadow. 'What a fool I am,' blustered John silently to himself. 'It was just a damned hare.' As John turned away from the fleeing rabbit toward the tree, he noticed a small glint of light from the grassy hollow in which the hare had been hiding.

When he had been a younger man, John had been hiking in the mountains on the farthest southern reaches of Earling lands. While attempting to navigate Kerthan’s Pass, something told him to turn back. John had never been able to pinpoint exactly what about the scene so alarmed and disconcerted him, but some sound or sight must have alerted him to the danger. Only minutes after clearing the pass, the pass collapsed under the weight of the heavy winter snows. This danger sense had again saved his life within weeks of first swearing his oath to Lord Earling and becoming one of his Lord’s rangers. While tracking down a man suspected of assaulting a local tax collector, John had nearly been killed. The man had waited in ambush behind a tree with an old rusty sword drawn and ready. After John passed by the man’s hiding place, the man had swung his sword at John’s shoulders. If not for that nearly unstoppable command in his mind to duck, John would have ended his life that day a head shorter. That inner voice was present in everyone, John was convinced, but life away from nature and surrounded by artificial contrivances had dulled their ability to listen. Listening to that voice, though, meant the difference between a good ranger and a dead ranger.

As John’s gloved hand reached into the grassy depression to retrieve the object which had reflected the light, a sense of cold warning passed through him, just as it had before the avalanche and moments before the sword passed through the air where his head had been. As John saw the morning light reflected from the small object, his breath hissed through his teeth and he recoiled in horror. He’d seen this object before. John stood up, and called out hoarsely, “Thomas! Mount up with Lady Alice and take her back to the Castle. Now. Ride hard. After you see to Lady Alice’s safety, find that damned scholar from the Imperial Council and bring him back with you. I want two men to follow Thomas and Lady Alice on foot. Inform Sir Reynold that the rangers require as many soldiers as he can spare from patrolling the castle walls and Stockton. Get them here as soon as you can.”

The rangers, seeing John’s pale face and hearing the iron-willed command underneath his call, obeyed without question. “Ranger! What is the meaning of this?” Lady Alice said indignantly as one of John’s men took the reins from her hand. John scarcely heard her. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not after all this time. It just wasn’t possible.

Looking into Thomas’s eyes, John said, “Ride hard, Thomas. Don’t stop until you are both behind the walls. Ride as if the Dark One was behind you…” Thomas nodded and dug his heels into the white mare, taking off through the woods toward the castle as quickly as the terrain would allow. After quietly praying to whatever gods might be listening, John glanced through the trees at his fleeing friend and whispered, “…because he is.”