Elaina's Writing World: Chapter 1

Showing posts with label Chapter 1. Show all posts

Thursday, December 21, 2023

Chapters 1 - Christmas Tales

Chapter 1: Gabriel

Chapter 1: Ariel's Christmas

Chapter 1: The Photographer

Sunday, November 12, 2023

Chapter 1: Echo - Autumn of the Dragon

CHAPTER 1

TEMPEST, DO THY WORST

Be careful of what you wish for.

~ Truth ~

SEA SPRAY smacked him spitefully in the face, causing him to splutter. An instant later, curse words rolled off his tongue, his usual response to anything that irked him sideways. By the gods great and insignificant, this weather truly tried a man’s resolve, didn’t it? Ha, the fates were testing him. Had he not insisted on adventuring as the ancients did? Well, best put his coin where his mouth had led him, and that meant, damn it, coping with what the elements had in store for this misadventure.

Ancient mariner, my arse, Echayn Valla fumed, and inadvertently swallowed another mouthful of icy ocean. Bloody idiot, what were you thinking?

He had thought to prove his mettle. Right, and as in the past, it had led him directly into the maw of serious trouble. Lifting his waterlogged head to the sails flapping like fishtails on a beach, he grimaced. Either they’d land up in the drink or the air currents would hurtle them into the heavens. No steering available now. Best to hang on. He was not giving in. No sorcery on this trip, he’d promised himself that. Not that one could do anything in this kind of weather; always a storm leeched away power.

Clutching the rail, Echayn watched the heaving ocean threaten to overturn his suddenly too puny ship. The Sea Sprite, pretty as she was, fast and sturdy, had been built with tropical waters in mind. Sparing a glance for the five sailors hunkering near the hatch, he grimaced once more. Old hands, they were, and mortally afraid. He should hark to that, shouldn’t he? He smirked next. It was also true that they were superstitious, and this tempest had the look of portent, didn’t it? Thus, they hunkered instead of acting as sailors should, believing some supernatural force had assumed control. No need to trim sails and what not, then. A mindset he couldn’t fathom.

“Bring the mainsail down!” he hollered, not caring if that was the correct way to say it. He wasn’t the seaman. “MOVE!” Other than rolling their eyes at each other, they didn’t budge. Fine. By the gods, then. Laughing, he threw his hands up. “Let the fates decide!”

Famous last words.

COUGHING and hawking, Echayn rolled onto his stomach. He was still on the Sprite’s deck. Well, there was that, at least. Hadn’t landed up in the drink when a spar broke free overhead and knocked him into the black of oblivion. Rising to all-fours, he gazed blearily around. Of the sailors there was no sign. Now what did that mean? Had they gone overboard? Where …?

He paused there in his thoughts, and in his movements. Silence. There was only silence. No sound of crashing waves. Not even a whisper of the gale that had nearly drowned him in sea spray. Not a creak or a flap of wood and sail. And the ship was motionless.

On his feet in a blur of concerted action, he levelled his sword at the surrounds. “Who did this?” he croaked. “Where are you?”

For, indeed, this silence was unnatural. Sorcery was absolutely in play. The kind able to override a storm, by the gods.

No answer came forth. Turning in every direction, he realised whoever or whatever had achieved this state had absconded … or watched from a distance, choosing not to reveal. Frowning, Echayn shoved his blade home and strode to the hatch that led below deck. Intending to check the bowels of the vessel, he was brought up short instead. In the narrow passage he discovered the five sailors, all unconscious, all unharmed.

Well. It seemed whatever being did this, needed them alive.

Why?

Three were Valleur – golden-haired and eyed – two sailors were Senlu – red-haired with blue eyes both – the latter having never sailed beyond the rocky bays east of Grinwallin’s mountains. Of course, that stretch of sea was for madmen, given its propensity for violent weather. The Valleur, on the other hand, sailed the currents around the Grenle Archipelago where life on the ocean was calm and warm for the most part. The odd tropical storm, of course, but nothing like to the one that had smacked into them here. Old hands, yes, but not that experienced regarding Luvanor’s great watery expanses when one broke it down to brass nails and rope knots.

While every man, woman and child of Valleur and Senlu extraction on Luvanor was capable of deploying magic, there was degree of talent. He, Echayn, chose seamen who were little versed. He wished to reach his destination by wits and sheer grit, not the ease sorcery delivered. He wished for proper challenge … and here it was.

Snorting, aware what he had asked for had been given, and should not a man be so careful of what he wished for, he shook the men. Soon enough, they sat in various poses staring at him. Probably thought he used magic. Ha.

“Not me,” he grunted. “Did anyone see anything?”

“It’s quiet,” Girvin, born and bred to Grinwallin, stated. “Why is it quiet?”

“This is why I’m asking.” Rolling his eyes, Echayn stood and retreated to the hatch. “Join me on deck.” He ducked through.

Beyond what amounted to a bubble of still atmosphere and ocean, the storm they’d landed up in continued to rage, showing no sign of letting up. Massive waves broke with regularity over their air pocket. A sobering sight. Truth was, had they not had their arses saved, this ship would be in the depths.

“Would you have taken us away?” Jaffiel of Kantar, whose name meant ‘loves the water’, the reason he chose a sailor’s life, demanded. “It looked as if you wanted us shipwrecked.”

That was an accusation, and who could blame the man? “I don’t know,” Echayn admitted. Would he have lifted them ship and all to calm waters? Despite his promise to eschew sorcery? Would he have had the power to do so in a storm? Who could tell? Then again, never had he stood aside when another needed saving. “Probably, somehow,” he sighed. “Someone else did this, though. Did you see anything?”

All shook heads.

“Well, we wait it out. Once that tempest blows itself into surrender, we go on. Meanwhile, let’s attend to repairs.” He eyed the sorry lot. They were not happy. “Tell me what to do; I’ll help.”

“Bloody crazy Vallas,” Jaffiel muttered, and swung away.

Leering at the others, Echayn spread his hands. Truth, after all. To the last, his family could not be called ‘normal’.

NIGHTFALL brought no change, and thus they gathered in the small space set aside for meals. Darris, a Senlu from the farms below Grinwallin’s plateau, prepared fresh bread, and soup from the remaining vegetables. Good fare, and his proficiency in the kitchen, or in this case, the galley, was the other reason Echayn had hired him. Pairing the offerings with ale, they sat around the table eating and drinking in silence.

“You misled us,” Jaffiel eventually said, shoving his emptied bowl to the side. “You said we’d be in no danger, an adventure of a lifetime …”

“Shut it, Jaff,” the brothers Ilan and Kelby growled simultaneously.

Young still, with Ilan the oldest, both plied the waters of Grenle, fishing in blissful conditions. Ilan could finger snap for a fire, and Kelby had a nose for bad weather, which was why Echayn brought him in. The two came as a team, and he was happy to accommodate them. Kelby, in fact, revealed at dawn that a storm headed their way. Given his warning, they had tried to outrun it.

“Yes, quiet,” Girvin put in.

“Why?” Jaffiel demanded. “I must watch my mouth because Echayn Valla hired us? You know what happens when you follow a Valla? Chaos!”

Leaning back with his ale, Echayn studied the man. Most of that was bravado. The sailor was afraid. If memory served, his single magical talent was for knots, most suitable in his line of work, but it meant he had not the wherewithal to protect himself. Not magically, anyway. Echayn suspected the man would be handy in a brawl. Before he could formulate a response, Darris did so for him.

“Pal, you agreed to follow this Valla. We all did. Can’t go crying in your soup about it now.” The cook slapped the table. “And don’t go blaming him for the weather. We’re at sea, idiot, and shit goes wrong sometimes.”

“Quit complaining,” Kelby said around a mouthful of ale.

Enough of this. Echayn carefully set his goblet on the worn table. “Truthfully, I should be the one taking the lot of you to task. You did nothing. Did I not hire you to steer this vessel upon oceans calm and stormy? Shit does happen. You hid from your duties, considered your fate another’s rather than make your own. You are Valleur and Senlu, for all gods’ sakes. You do not cower. What has you this terrified?”

They stared at him, with the brothers dropping their gazes first. Jaffiel sniffed as he said, “There’s a reason Senluar was abandoned.”

“Yet you took my coin.”

The man had the grace to appear shamed. “Didn’t think we’d get this far.”

Ah, they thought the crazy Valla would either magick them to their destination or turn the ship around when the going got tough. He’d bet his sword that they hunkered during the storm hoping he’d admit defeat and take them home. With their pockets filled, life would be pretty easy for a time. He’d wager the one who sold him the Sea Sprite had lined his pockets also; this ship was ill-suited to purpose.

“My lord …” Ilan began, only to be cut short.

“Out here I’m not bloody ‘my lord’.” Echayn stood. Reaching for his ale, he slurped the dregs in before slamming the goblet down. “Call me Echo, hear? That is who I am out here. Echo.” He marched away before he slapped someone.

COMING SOON!

Sunday, July 2, 2023

Chapters 1 & 10: ANCIENT TERRA

Ancient Terra's links, along with AI images to showcase each book.

Sunday, June 25, 2023

Lore of Sanctum: Chapters 1 & 10

Here's all the links to chapters 1 & 10 for the final four books in the LORE series, along with AI images that focus on a scene or events in each book.

Master Mech Chapter 1

Master Mech Chapter 10

Sunday, June 18, 2023

Lore of Reaume: Chapter 1 & 10

Below I've listed all the chapters 1 and 10 shared for Lore of Reaume, along with AI images to showcase each book. Happy clicking!

Sunday, June 11, 2023

Lore of Arcana: Chapters 1 & 10

Given that all the Lore Book chapters have been shared and before I do the 10s for my standalone books, thought I'd make it easy for you to navigate the excerpts, starting with Lore of Arcana. Below are AI images to showcase each book :)

Monday, April 10, 2023

Chapter 1: The Follower

Part 1

MINDFULNESS

OTHER THAN RAIN filled footprints in the mud, there was no trace of the one tracking her, and even those vanished when rock replaced mud underfoot. Part of her desired to hug the river, for then she would be certain she was still being followed. The other, greater part of her wanted to vanish into boulder territory higher up. She would then leave no footprints to shadow.

She caught sight of the tracks by accident on the first day. Having realized she left her water bottle behind when she briefly rested as dawn arrived, she retraced her path … and discovered the prints. Fresh, and clearly stepping alongside those she herself made. No sight of the one making them, but every time she looked back, there they were. It felt as if a ghost tracked her, for whoever it was, was good at hiding in plain sight.

This hunter and prey game began two nights ago when she fled her home and the man who intended to make her life hell on earth. Her older brother, point of fact. It wasn’t him behind her, that she knew. Colum would never wait this long; no, he preferred the direct approach. Someone saw her leave in the dead of night, and that someone now tracked her. Who? And why? Was it the man Colum said she had to marry?

Here in the steppes, one needed a car to reach the nearest town. On foot as she was, it meant days of walking, which she was more than prepared to do if it meant escaping her personal monster. She dared flag no passing vehicle, for Colum had eyes everywhere. She loved her brother, but truth was, since he took over the business, she’d seen him become almost ruthless. He’d find her in no time if she hitched a ride. In fact, she stayed away from all paths and roads. Thus, she walked, using the river to guide her, sometimes along the bank, other times inland with the watery glints in the distance her compass.

Seriously, in the 21st century someone – her own brother! – sought to dictate to her who she would spend the rest of her life with. He became obsessed with success when their parents died, throwing himself into the family business, a travel agency that went fully online recently, one that apparently needed investment from a wealthy entrepreneur, and he found one, one looking for a wife, or more precisely, a stepmother for his two boys. She, Chloe, fit that bill. Quid pro quo, according to Colum. Both of them won. The business would flourish, and she would live a life of luxury.

No, she’d be a caregiver. She didn’t mind that, but then pay for her services, no need to marry her. Which meant the man had a hidden motive, and she wanted nothing to do with it. Colum was adamant, and so was she. She left during the night, the one preceding the signing of contracts in the morning. The man was about to pay a visit and seal her fate. Well, she had now chosen a different fate.

Was it him tracking her?

Part of her hoped so, for she could talk her way out of a situation her brother had engineered. Creepy would be the kindest word for him, though, if he was following. That hidden motive had to be quite something then.

Part of her hoped it was another, but that also scared her. The unknown was a monster in its own right, after all. And, horror, it might be a monster, the kind one read about in the news, preying on women and children.

A small, inner voice spoke of a ghost, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside. Nope. 21st Century and all.

Darkness would catch her soon. She needed somewhere to wait for daylight. Falling around in the dark invited only trouble, no matter how much she wished to speed her journey. Tomorrow she would reach town, which was soon enough, and she simply needed to remain patient a while longer and to get through this one night. Maybe when she reached town this hunter and prey game would end. Maybe it was a manifestation of her own fear of being caught before she attained freedom.

Earlier, she marked in the distance ahead what looked like a small cave from the river’s edge and had been walking towards it for the last two hours. Better shelter than the bushes last night. Now, as Chloe approached, she saw it was no more than an overhang. Good enough for her purpose, but she would be in full view of whoever followed her.

As luck would have it, the rain reappeared then, having threatened to offer more than the periodic shower all day, and it came in torrents and drumming sound. Shivering, she hastened for the overhang. No other choice was now available to her. A cold, wet night lay ahead. Hopefully it would send her stalker into some kind of shelter also.

Hopefully.

THE FOLLOWER

Saturday, March 18, 2023

Live: The Potter (& Chapter 1)

Quicker than expected, the Potter is live! Below is a link and also Chapter 1 :)

CHAPTER 1

CLAY

RIGHT. Clay chosen. Earthenware this time because it means my kiln fire doesn’t need to be as hot. I’m hoping less heat equals more success. Sure, the end product is not as durable, but hey, I’m reaching for something else here.

Wheel is spinning. Check. Tools to hand. Check.

Sparing a glance for the shattered remains of recent attempts that went, well, wrong, I toss the wedged piece of clay upon the wheel, and lean in. Didn’t allow the others to dry long enough before firing, I muse for the umpteenth time. Or maybe air remained in the clay, which means I didn’t wedge as well as I know how to … argh, stop it. deflecting with excuses doesn’t help. Focus on this new project.

Gradually the planter I have in mind takes shape, the walls assuming a quarter of an inch thickness. The latter is all about feel, not measurement. One eventually ‘feels’ when the optimum breadth is reached. Takes much trial and error to attain that kind of instinct, though, but once you know, you know. I grunt my amusement. Sometimes the chatterbox is in overdrive while leaning over the wheel. It’s not always zen, trust me.

Lately nothing in my life has been zen.

Focus.

As the wheel ceases its spin, I study the ovoid vessel I have created. Smooth, with textured lines at intervals. When the clay has hardened somewhat, I’ll engrave the design I have in mind to wrap around it.

Deflating puffed cheeks, I acknowledge that creating a few more this day doesn’t sit right. This one is a test, I feel it in my bones, so best not hedge bets now in making others. Right? Too right. Time to walk away with fingers crossed.

So far, all is as it should be … and so had the others been at this point. All the others will go just great as well, I know already, for I’ve been creating vessels for years now and am more than comfortable in my chosen craft. It’s the firing that has become the issue, and I won’t know how this one performs until it’s dry. Given the inclement weather, with the promise of a proper unleashing within hours, that may be weeks away. Only then dare I offer it to the god of fire in my blackened brick oven out back.

Seven vessels are currently ready for the furnace, and four more will be in a few days, but as I’m low on sawdust at the moment, I can walk away this day.

Right. I do exactly that.

Can’t believe how relieved I feel.

THE POTTER