Today we have a story by my writing friend, Anna. This is a short, but beautiful tale, and I can’t wait to share it with you! Enjoy!
*****
The man stands before the old log house, scowling at his fields and plenty. The snow stretches away before him until the horizon is lost in the grey of the clouds. Cold silences the birds. The snow is silent.
‘All these long years I’ve heard her calling,’ the man mutters to the looming trees. ‘And I haven’t answered her yet.’
As he speaks the voice commences, “Lindorea! Lindorea!”
The man strides from his doorstep. His face is pinched in anger as he shakes one mittened fist at the silent woods. ‘Curse you! Curse you! Curses on your relentless calling!’
Silence falls. Snow sighs softly in the stillness.
“Lindorea! Lindorea!” It is a woman’s voice that beckons.
‘No!’ the man howls into the spying trees. ‘You took her, you took them, and I will never answer your pitiful groaning!’
He hears nothing but his own echo in reply.
Then, “Lindorea! Lindorea!” Is whispered on the air.
“You’ve taken it all, witch of woods!’ The man belows in fury. ‘My wife, my children, you took it all in a hurry!’ His boots crunch in the frozen snow as he takes a step towards the budding trees.
‘Lindorea! Lindorea!’ Drifts with the snow from the sky.
‘I will not, I cannot, I daren’t go forth thither!’ The man protests with a sob. The crunch of his next step is as loud as a gunshot.
‘Lindorea! Lindorea!’ The relentless cry continues.
‘My jewels, my crops, my animals, my friends!’ The man excuses himself in desperation. ‘My home, my land, my loves, my life!’
“Lindorea! Lindorea!” It doesn’t miss a beat.
‘I gain nothing!’ He screams, a mere foot from the trees. The branches look hauntingly down upon him, the snow breaths as it falls between the underbrush. ‘Yet I must or I shall die!’
He steps into the woods.
The man stands before a lake, as wide and as deep as the ocean itself. Warmth floods his senses; his care falls from his shoulders. Green surrounds his passage as he stumbles through the forest, wondering, bewildered. Delighted.
A spring dances at his feet. Birds chorus through the kindly treetops, and a herd of deer watches calmly as he passes them by. Peaceful.
Suddenly, a woman rises before him, tall and gentle. Like the sunrise on the prairies, she is graceful, stern, and stunning. A robe of purple glides down her body and pools at her feet like water, shimmering in the golden light.
The man falls to his knees, hands clasped before him. ‘I beg mercy.’ He pleads. ‘For I did not see until the end.’
‘Mercy is granted, my brother, my friend.’ Grace extends her hand; lifts him to his feet. ‘For here in Lindorea, mercy is neccessary.’
‘My wife, my children?’ The man echoes in a dream. ‘They were right all along, yet I could not see.’ His tears shine like dew upon the teal grass at his feet.
Another beauty, an angel, a myth with auburn hair, runs from the trees and embraces him with care. ‘My love,’ sighs she ‘I knew you’d come, at last. For put all doubt behind you. Behind us, and past.’
Five children race to greet him, scaling up his legs, like little insects or monkeys. ‘Father!’ The cry. ‘Father, you have come! You have seen with your eyes what you know in your heart.’
‘O blessed Lindorea, hidden world of truth. Some think it only possible, to find this land in your youth. Yet I have found otherwise, and this I know is true. In giving up life, one should never fear death’s demise. For through it and Grace, we are given a pledge. If we leap of a cliff, never fear, for He is there. Know this, and know it well, He stands between you and the edge.’
Evandar mounted the stairs. His hand smarted with each step.
Muriel shrank back. He glanced down at the powder in his hand and up at her once-beautiful face. I must do this. It’s my only choice. Now or never.
The Midnight Thorn: A Short Story, Part 3
by Jubilee Anderson
He lunged and grabbed her arm. He flicked his hand. Powder fireworked above her head and fluttered down. It sprinkled her blonde hair. She screamed.
Evandar stepped back and poured the rest of the ash on his own head. Flakes spilled down his sweaty forehead and stuck there. Flakes coated his cheeks and ears. Flakes filled his eyes and nose. He coughed. His eyes burned. His throat burned. His hand burned. He stared at her. She stared back. Ash fluttered around them.
Suddenly the pain in his hand vanished. A torrent of emotions slammed him. Hatred. Black hatred. Each time he caught sight of her face a flame was kindled. Something gnawed inside him, desperate to fly into a rage. Temptation to give into his anger. Why did he hate her? He should love her. But he didn’t love her anymore. Or did he?
Muriel’s vague outline bent over him. Her tears dripped onto his face, but he felt no remorse. Only hatred and pain. Pain. Like his bones were crumbling.
He gripped her shoulders and jolted her. She struggled and squirmed from his grasp. She fled to a corner of the balcony. He clawed at his head, as if to rip out those voices that tempted him into further anger.
“Father! Father!” He cried in a voice that was not his own.
Silence pressed in. Muriel shook him. Hatred enveloped him. He desperately wanted to grab her and throw her against the wall. Wait. He was coming to. If he accepted things. Relaxed in hatred’s grip. He would be free. Free. His head throbbed. The voices whispered and his conscience argued.
But no. How could he throw away the girl he had loved? How could he hate sweet Muriel?
Did it matter? He no longer loved her. He hated her.
“Father!”
A figure towered over him and cackled. “Your father cannot save you now, boy. There is no turning back. Your father doesn’t love you. Your father left you.”
Galdur. His dear friend. He relaxed and then ran the words through his head. Left me?
“No! Father!”
Your father hates you. The wizard’s voice penetrated his head. He has left.
“No. He…loves…me! He’ll come back.”
He betrayed you. Just like Muriel.
Evandar flicked his eyes across the room wildly. Muriel huddled on the balcony, sobbing. Hatred rose in his throat.
You are mine. I am your master now. I shall make you my slave and you shall love me more than you loved Amall.
Evandar cursed and willed the voice to depart.
You are no longer Evandar. Galdur’s voice rattled. You are Elatha. My dark prince.
“No! Father, please.”
Silence. No sound from heaven. No holy warmth filled him. Had his father forsaken him? Was Galdur right? Father had turned away. He had forgotten his son.
“Father.” Evandar sobbed. Disorder and confusion crowded his brain. Father didn’t love him. Father had left. Galdur was more trustworthy than Amall.
Elatha rose to his feet, glaring down at Muriel. Her face filled with terror. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled down the steps. Elatha raised his fist. He tore past Galdur and after her.
Galdur chuckled. He swept down the steps on the other side of the balcony.
Elatha didn’t care. He had to get her. She had betrayed him. He closed in on her. Her hair billowed out behind her.
Suddenly she whirled around. He skidded. Her face was pale, but her eyes were fierce. Something had changed. Her eyes were no longer blue. They were piercing black. Like the eyes of Amall.
“Evandar. Stop!” She raised her hands.
Evandar. The word pierced his soul. He suddenly remembered. It filled him with a strange peace. “Muriel.” He lowered his fist. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s evil!” Muriel jabbed a finger at Galdur. Evandar stared at her blankly.
“Shut up, little girl.” Galdur snapped. “Your friend is going to die. You might as well give him up.”
“You knew this would happen!” she screamed. Her black eyes flamed. “You knew he would help me!”
Father’s words echoed through Evandar’s head. “You are stronger than the curse.You are stronger than the curse.” He was stronger than…. He needed to kill Galdur. Before it was too late. Before he was subdued.
Muriel stood before him, her hands on his shoulders. “Evandar. Evandar!”
Evandar forced himself to kneel beside her. He struggled to speak without flying into a rage. “Muriel. We…must…kill him.”
Lead weighted his feet with each step. Sweat ran down his forehead as he labored towards his dear frie– towards Galdur.
Galdur bent over the stone basin, a wicked curl to his lips. He closed his eyes and uttered a spell.
Not magic. Evander flew towards him.
The wizard’s eyes bolted open. He flung aside his robe revealing a long staff. Ragged hair flowed down, his terrible eyes flashing. He hoisted his weapon above his head and swung. Evandar ducked beneath the flying wood. He dove at Galdur’s neck. He drew his knife. Gripping Galdur in a choke-hold, he raised the blade. The wizard grappled at his throat, trying to wheeze out an incantation. Evandar clenched the hilt.
But his hand was frozen.
How could he kill someone he loved so much? Galdur had made him a prince. He had provided him with a home. He had offered to feed him. To shelter him from Amall who had abandoned him. All he had required was for Evandar to become his servant. Galdur was his dear friend.
Or was he? No. Galdur had tricked them. Lured Muriel into a trap. Turned her into a traitor.
But Evandar didn’t care about Muriel.
Or did he? Once he had loved her. Once he had been willing to sacrifice his life for her.
Gong! A bell tolled from above, shaking the castle.
Gong! Evandar choked on his breath. What time was it? Not midnight. How had time passed so quickly?
Gong!
Death. He was going to die.
Gong!
No! He was too young for this.
Gong!
“My son. Kill him. Kill the curse.”
Gong!
He saw the vague shadow of Muriel gripping his hand, forcing it down.
Gong!
He fought her grip. Galdur was his dear friend. He could not kill him. He could not.
Gong!
He jerked his knife away. It slipped through Muriel’s grasp, slicing her palm. She cried out, clutching her bleeding hand.
Gong!
She grabbed for the knife, blood trickling down her arm. Galdur clawed at his throat. He ripped away.
Gong!
Muriel leapt for Evandar’s arm. She dragged it back. “Hate the evil, Evandar.” Galdur elbowed her in the side but she held on. He lunged for his staff.
Gong!
Evandar thrust his hand down. The blade plunged into Galdur’s chest. Evandar screamed. What had he done? He wrenched the knife out. He bent over Galdur, cradling his face.
“Galdur! Wake up!”
Gong! The midnight bell tolled. The peal wound up the spires of the wizard’s castle and quaked the floor beneath their feet.
Galdur shuddered. His face washed grey. His eyes filmed over, and he fell still.
The ground beneath Evandar’s feet vanished. He plummeted for an instant. Then his head cracked on the ground.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The fog had cleared.
Evandar lifted his head. He felt strangely exhausted. Like he might collapse, or black out. He slumped on the floor. He knew he ought to be thinking about something in particular, but he couldn’t place it.
Until he felt her hand. The familiar rose scent. Muriel bent over him. Her quiet sobs filled his ears. He opened his heavy eyelids. She was smiling. She brushed her tears with her white hand. Her golden hair splashed over her shoulders. Her ocean eyes sparkled.
“Evandar. The curse is dead.”
He stared into her shining face. Suddenly he remembered, like when one wakes up in the morning and recalls a horrid nightmare.
Galdur lay pale a few feet away. Blood leaked from a deep wound in his heart. His hideous eyes were ashen.
Evandar glanced at Muriel. Dead. The curse is dead.
He leapt to his feet and let out a whoop. Joy and strength rushed upon him. He swept Muriel into his arms. He spun in the center of the room, gazing at the castle spires that towered above him. Light shafted from a high window.
He whisked her out the double doors. Mother Earth’s sun rays poured from above. Greenery carpeted the courtyard. Robins and bluebirds flitted from tree to tree.
Evandar laughed.
A single rosebush grew in the center of the courtyard. Dozens of the reddest, most delicate roses bloomed upon it. Beside the rose bush stood a stone bench.
There he set Muriel down, and plunked onto the bench beside her.
“You did it!” Muriel laughed. “You were stronger than the curse.”
Evandar pondered her words. The scene replayed in his head. Muriel had thrown herself in front of him. Her eyes had changed to black. Like the piercing black of the gods. How had that happened? She hadn’t done it to herself.
Evandar looked up and searched the clouds. There on the topmost flurry sat a figure in the likeness of a king. Radiance shone from him.
“Father,” he said aloud.
“Why did you doubt me, my son?”
Amall’s presence glowed around them. Evandar leaned into it. “Thank you.”
“I am always with you.”
“Don’t you see him, Riel? Father’s up in that cloud.” Evandar placed an arm around her shoulder and pointed upward.
“No. I don’t. Where?” Muriel shaded her eyes from the morning sun and peered up. Suddenly, she let out a low gasp. Her cheeks glowed.
“I see!”
She stood in the warmth for a minute, her eyes sparkling in awe like when Evandar had first tucked a rose in her hair.
“I love you, my children.” And Evandar knew Muriel could hear Amall’s voice, too.
His heart felt a tug. A longing to drift upwards to where his father stood. But Amall was fading. Drifting away. Another gust of wind and his figure vanished. Evandar knew Father was still watching, he just couldn’t see.
He found himself staring at Muriel. He stood up, as if with a sudden thought.
“Close your eyes.”
She did so, and smiled. Evandar crept across the garden. He cut the reddest, most delicate rose, and tucked it in her long blonde tresses. Muriel’s cheeks dimpled. A heavenly fragrance hung in the air. He eased onto the stone bench.
“You can open them.”
Her ocean eyes fluttered open. She stroked the rose with her finger. A beam spread across her face. “Your father really takes care of you, doesn’t he?”
Evandar’s heart thumped as she met his gaze.
“Yes. He’ll take care of you, too.” Evandar paused. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “And I’ll take care of you, if you’ll have me.”
Evandar slid off the bench and onto one knee, extending the opened box in his hands. Muriel’s fingers flew to her mouth. Her blue eyes widened. The silver ring glittered. The red gem set in the collet formed the pattern of a rose.
Evandar pounded across the rickety drawbridge. He glanced down. Billows of moat water rose as if by magic and crashed onto the bridge. Evandar slipped, but leapt up. Waves smashed into him. He gripped the flimsy wood as water poured over his head. He slumped on hands and knees, coughing up the bitter liquid. Then he got up and ran, his cloak drenched. Wind chilled his tunic and skin.
Spires towered into the black sky above him. Black birds circled the turrets. Before him, a huge stone gate stood open. Dripping, he stepped off the drawbridge and dragged himself up the rocky path. He halted under the jagged teeth of the portcullis.
Evandar peered in. The courtyard was black and empty. In the center, a single shrub grew with a single red rose. The rest of the roses were white as though life had been sucked from them.
Evandar’s heart thumped as he padded through the gates. The castle’s double doors were cracked open. The inside was black.
“Caw!”
Evandar started. A black crow, chest puffed out, perched on the branch of a skeleton tree. His crows sing by his command. Evandar shuddered.
He crept across the courtyard, past the single red rose, to the double doors. It was like Galdur was expecting him. He gripped the door handle and eased the door open. It creaked. He froze. He slipped inside.
At first he couldn’t make out anything. The blackness strangled him. He strained his eyes. Then he made out a dim glow. A candle. Evandar sensed from the change in the sound of his breathing that he had entered a huge room. A strong, sweet smell suffocated him. His stomach churned. I need fresh air.
An empty throne hunkered at the far end of the room on a dais, and above it was a balcony with a flight of steps on either side. Otherwise, the room was empty. His breath echoed. Was he alone?
Wait. Something stirred in the corner. His heart raced. An evil laugh pealed from one corner of the room.
Evandar started.
A figure stepped towards him from the shadows.
Evandar shrank back.
Galdur bored holes into him with a wicked smile. His ragged hair dangled from his head. A black robe had been thrown over his shoulders. His pale blue eyes gleamed.
“Come in. Come in,” he purred.
Evandar fingered his pocket knife and eyed the sunken face. “Where is Muriel?”
The wizard chuckled until his ragged blonde hair fell in front of his eyes. “Little do you know,” he muttered, then louder, “You do not want to rescue her, boy. It requires a great price.”
“I am willing to pay it.” Evandar squared his shoulders.
The wizard sneered and trod towards Evandar. “Yes, you’re willing to pay a lot, but are you willing to pay your life tonight when the bell tolls? Are you willing to hate her as much as you loved her from the instant you take it on? Nay. She will be mine forever. And if you choose, there is no turning back. Not even Amall can save you from me.”
Evandar squeezed the hilt of his knife. “My father can save me.”
“Your father doesn’t love you. It’s all a lie.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Wait until you are tormented. Then you will know that your father has left.” He whispered the last word so that it hissed up the castle spires.
“I don’t believe you.” He wouldn’t give in. He had to do it. He only had to find out how.
“Come, look into this pool.”
Evandar eyed the wizard’s pale eyes. Galdur’s smirk chilled his skin. Evandar hesitated, and forced a few steps towards a table at the side of the room. He peered over the rim of the basin. Cold stone plastered the bottom. It was empty.
“Did you know this palace used to be as beautiful as yours?”
Evandar glanced up at the desolate spires that mounted dozens of feet above. He stared at Galdur and shook his head.
“Did you know, I once knew a certain girl? She loved me and promised me her hand. But then one day, before we were to marry, she betrayed me.” Galdur closed his eyes and breathed a few silent words. He bent over the basin, moving his hands in a circle.
Evandar let out a low gasp. At first it was a thin swirl. The swirl grew thicker until mist poured from the pit of the basin. It pinwheeled until it rippled like water in a pool, but instead of his own reflection, he saw the reflection of someone else. A golden-haired figure with the black eyes of a goddess. Tall. Slender. Holy.
“Mother Earth.” He stared into his mother’s kind eyes.
“Aye. Your father stole her. When Earth left, she took the beauty from my castle with her new powers.” Galdur bolted upright and threw his fist in the air.
Evandar flinched. His father’s words echoed through his head. “He is a deceiver and a sorcerer. He almost hurt your mother. Flee from him.”
“She should never have promised you anything,” Evandar said. “Father was protecting her.”
Galdur sneered. “You don’t know much about love, do you?”
Evandar gripped his knife again and edged forward. “Tell me, Galdur. Tell me how to break the curse.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.”
“You’re too weak.” Galdur played with the fur border on his robe.
“I can handle it.”
He dropped the robe. “Very well.” he sneered. “Go out to the center of the courtyard, and there you will find a rosebush. Pluck one of the roses and burn it in your hand. You must burn it until it is ashes, and you must not put out the fire until then. Sprinkle some of the dust on her head and the rest of the dust on yours. Then the curse shall be removed from her and transferred to you.”
Evandar glanced through the doors into the courtyard. The little red rose poked up amidst the grey. For some reason he had expected this to be harder. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Your love for her is too strong, boy. You are too foolish to listen to my words.”
Evandar eyed him.
Galdur’s pale eyes flicked across him from time to time. His ragged hair jiggled with each wag of his head. Galdur fingered his black robe.
Evandar had to do it. He couldn’t let Muriel die with hatred in her once-sweet heart.
With one last glance at the wizard, Evandar stepped away from the basin. I must do this for Muriel. His legs carried him out the double doors and across the courtyard. He spotted the bush and strode to it.
He drew his knife. He cut the rose. The reddest, most delicate rose. For Muriel. Heavenly fragrance. Velvety petals. Blushing heart. A piece of Muriel herself.
He knelt, uncurling his fingers. He opened his tinder box and struck the match. Muriel. Remember me when I am gone. The match flared. He prodded the petals with the end of the stick.
Flames licked across the rose petals. He blocked the wind with his other hand, tensing to feel the sting. They licked to the rose’s heart. He blew on it slightly. It burst into flame. At first he felt nothing, but then he felt a sting. The heat burned his hand. He clenched his teeth, holding still. This is for you. I will live through it for you.
The flames scorched. They swallowed the rose. A sickening sweet smell rose up in a trail of smoke. The fire unfurled its red and yellow banners. Blisters broke out on his palm. Evandar gasped in pain.
“You won’t…die tonight, Muriel. You…won’t.” He squeezed tears from his eyes. He wouldn’t blow it out.
The fire burned bright for a few more seconds. Evandar could barely look at the flames in his palm. Then with a poof, it extinguished.
Evandar gritted his teeth. Each fleck of dust pricked his skin. He rose with a thin coat of ashes in his raw, burnt palm. Though the fire was gone, he felt no different. It stung. It scorched. It charred.
He covered his hand so the dust wouldn’t swirl and shuffled across the courtyard. His mind was frozen. He stepped through the double doors into the black room and waited for his eyes to adjust.
Galdur snickered when he came in. “So you did it. Your poor mother is weeping from heaven. Hear her cries for you.”
“Where is Muriel?” Evandar’s voice trembled.
“Up there.”
Evandar raised his eyes. Muriel gripped the rails, glaring down at him from the balcony above the throne. “What do you want with me, Prince?”
Evandar mounted the stairs. His hand smarted with each step.
Muriel shrank back. He glanced down at the powder in his hand and up at her once-beautiful face. I must do this. It’s my only choice. Now or never.
“I have a present for you.” Evandar twirled the grass stem between his fingers and gazed into Muriel’s face.
Muriel leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Close your eyes.”
She did so, smiling. Evandar discarded the grass stem and crept across the garden. He cut the reddest, most delicate rose, and nestled it in her long blonde tresses. Like the shining sea. Muriel’s cheeks dimpled. A heavenly fragrance hung in the air. He eased onto the stone bench. She looks like a rose herself.
“It’s ready.”
She opened her sparkling eyes. Wonder unfurled across her face. Her white fingers stroked the rose. “It’s…like velvet. I’d leave it here forever if it lasted that long.”
Evandar’s eyes twinkled. “Why do you think I planted this garden?”
Muriel beamed and clasped her hands in her gown. She fixed her ocean eyes on the sky. Evandar gazed up, too. High up, a flurry of puffs dappled the deep blue. Lower down, cottony clouds ferried to and fro.
“Does your father really live up there?” Muriel asked.
Evandar nodded and scanned the heavens. On a low cloud towered a king-like figure. His hair was dark and his eyes piercing black. Radiance dazzled him, lighting up the cloud like lightning.
“Father,” Evandar said aloud.
“Hello, son.” The god’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Don’t you see him, Riel? Up in that cloud.” He wrapped one arm around her and pointed.
“No. Where?”
Evandar sighed. Muriel would never see his father. Only he could, because he was half god himself.
Muriel scrunched her thin eyebrows. “Where?”
“Above your head.”
Muriel shaded her eyes from the morning sun and peered up.
Amall smiled from the cloud, and Mother Earth—Evandar’s mother, whom Amall had loved from among the humans—rose up beside him. She waved down, and Evandar waved back.
After a minute, Muriel shook her head. “You’re playing with me.”
“I’m not. He’s really there.”
Evandar propped his elbow on the stone arm of the bench and rested his chin on his knuckles. Would she ever believe him?
“Do not give up hope, my son. One day she shall see me.” Amall’s voice rumbled.
Evandar glanced up, and his heart felt a tug. A longing to drift upwards where his parents stood. But they were fading. Drifting away. Another gust of wind and they vanished. He knew they were still watching him, he just couldn’t see.
He turned his attention to Muriel, and his heart skipped a beat. She gazed back at him. Was now the right time?
“I was going to ask you something.” He paused. He desperately wanted to blurt the words out, but his jaw froze in place. Will you marry me?
But the words didn’t come. “I was going to tell you…”
She stared at him, a crease forming on her gossamer brow.
“I wanted to tell you that you look pretty with that rose.”
She blushed.
How silly. Wasting precious minutes with words she’d heard a hundred times.
At that moment, the castle bells tolled. Supper time. Muriel rose from the bench.
“Come on, Vander!”
Evandar’s heart sank. He had lost his chance. When would he get this over with?
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
He’d been biting his nails over this for months. It was time. Evandar hiked the path to the garden, forcing a few whistled notes from his lips. His stomach clenched as he made out Muriel’s figure at the top of the hill.
Why was he so afraid? He already knew what her answer would be.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, fingering the little box. He shook it gently. The ring clicked against the box’s wooden sides.
Muriel danced amidst the roses, her bare feet pressing perfect footprints in the loam. Sunlight danced in her golden hair. Her blue eyes were cast towards a tall, broad-shouldered man. His cloak was stretched over a bush beside him and he stood before her in his tunic, conversing with her. Dirty blonde hair dangled from his head. Evandar stilled.
The stranger stroked Muriel’s hair. When he removed his hand, Evandar noticed a rose nestled in her golden tresses. A rose the man had given her. Who was he? Why was he touching his maiden? And why was she letting him?
At once, the two figures glanced in his direction. Evandar recognized him.
Galdur. Fear and jealousy edged his heart as Amall’s words rang through his mind. “He’s a deceiver and a sorcerer. He almost hurt your mother. Flee from him.”
Galdur shrunk back and dipped curtly to Muriel. He turned on his heel and strutted out the opposite exit, leaving his cloak sprawled across the bush.
Evandar strode through the gate, his heart thumping. The sky darkened, as though Father himself felt each beat. The strong smell of roses stunned his senses as he stepped into the ring of bushes.
Muriel sat alone on the stone bench, her shoulders slumped. Blonde curls fell over her darkened eyes. A frown slid across her rosy face as he entered.
Evandar edged onto the bench. “Who was that man?”
“Oh. He’s-he’s my friend.”
“Galdur?”
She scuffed her foot in the dirt. “I only see him sometimes.”
Oh.
“I love him.”
Evandar froze. He stared at her eyes which were tainted gray. A dark shadow fell over her beautiful face. The sweet, lovely, faithful Muriel he had known was gone.
His gaze shifted to the black cloak Galdur had discarded. It suffocated the roses beneath it. Thorns pricked through the fabric in places. If only the thorns would tear the cloak to shreds.
How could she?
“But, Muriel, isn’t he a sorcerer?”
Muriel grimaced. “It’s not sorcery. It’s magic. He can make roses bloom more lovely than Mother Earth herself. His crows sing by his command. His castle is spacious. All I had to do was pass his test, and he let me in.”
“Muriel, what if it’s a lie? What if he’s tricking you?”
“He was my family’s friend. I trust him.”
“But your family betrayed you.”
“I want to marry him.”
What?
Suddenly the bench felt hard and cold. The roses’ scent suffocated him. The flowers on the bushes paled. White as Muriel’s cheeks. Her stone face. Her harsh eyes. Her shadowed hair.
How long had this gone on without his knowledge? Her faithfulness was gone. Her beauty had disappeared. She was gone. Gone.
“Muriel, what’s going on?”
“Do not call me Muriel. Call me Mallory.”
Mallory? Cursed. A chill ran down his bones. She was really gone.
Something choked him. He fought it. “But you have a home with me.”
“Be quiet!” she screamed and bounded to her feet. Evandar flinched and gripped the stone bench. She stuck her arms behind her, panting in rage. Her ragged blonde hair hung down her cheeks. She clenched her fists. “I don’t want you! I’ve already given my hand to Galdur.”
Evandar released his clench on the stone and placed his trembling hands in his lap. “I thought you loved me, Riel.”
“No. I hate you.” She whirled around and fled. Her bare feet beat the ground through the spiral of rose bushes.
Evandar sprang to his feet. “Muriel!”
But she kept sprinting. Fleeing the garden. Fleeing the palace. Fleeing him. Her blonde hair fluttered behind her.
Evandar stared after her in horror. What had Galdur done to her? What had she become?
She darted through the gates and down the winding path. Her figure grew smaller and smaller until it vanished around a bend. She never glanced back. Could he have said anything different? Why did she leave?
“Father. Father! Where are you?”
It began as a faint warmth in his battered heart. The warmth swelled until he was sure he could breathe it. Amall did not make himself visible as he usually did, but Evandar knew he stood beside him. My son.
He wanted his father to stroke his hair, to breathe on him, to squeeze him tight. “Father, what has happened to her?”
The air beside him stirred. “Galdur has cursed her. Her life is in danger. When the bells ring tonight at midnight, she will surely die. You alone, my son, can save her.”
“How?”
“Go to Galdur’s fortress. Galdur will tell you. Beware of his trickery. He is trying to lure you in, but you must do as he wants if you love her.”
“Then I will die.”
“You are stronger than the curse. Trust me, Evandar.”
Evandar searched the empty space beside him. The warmth in his heart was fading. The air around him returned to its normal state. “Wait!”
But the warmth vanished. He could not command the gods to go where he wanted. Least of all his own father. Evandar slumped on the bench. He shoved his hand in his pocket and tore out the little box. The ring rattled inside. He clenched it in his fist for a second. Then he hurled it into a bush.
His throat tightened. His dream was dead. Or was it?
Go to Galdur’s fortress. Evandar stared at the little box perched on the thorny branches that sprawled across the garden.
Anger tore his insides. He forced himself to his feet.
A lovely golden face filled his mind. Sparkling ocean eyes. Lips like the reddest rose. Muriel. He couldn’t let her die. He had to save her before it was too late. Evandar picked the little box from the bush and slipped it in his pocket. He fixed his eyes on the gate where the girl who had called herself Mallory fled.
Chink. Chink. Chink. Markus struck the oak doors with his gauntleted fist. A whiff of dampness wafted from the wood. Markus examined the pitted grains in the door. Like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it.
Augustus, his steed, snorted from outside the rubble gate surrounding the manor. Justice and Glory pawed at the ground with their hooves, and the knights who had accompanied Markus straightened in their saddles.
His gaze fell on the garden and he shuddered. Ivy spiraled up the rose bushes, trapping their suffocated flowers. Weeds choked the short grass that used to carpet the garden floor.
A twisted net of ivy stems crawled up the grey ashlar blocks that stacked the manor. The shutters were shut fast like the bars of a prison. Dark gray slate tiles overlapped the pointed roofs of the mansion.
A black cloud billowed over the afternoon sun and a lone wind whistled through the pine leaves.
Welcome home.
He lifted his hand rapped a second time. Where was the paper-crinkled beam of Hadel the butler who should have opened the door by now? Had no one heard him knock?
Markus turned his head and glanced through the broken gate. The two riders stared back. They were supposed to accompany him on the first part of the assignment, but Markus wished he had gone alone. This tarry at his family’s house would be anything but short.
A heavy scrape rolled behind the door. Markus studied the dents in the wood, his heart thumping. Was it Hadel? Or what if a stranger had banished his family from the house and was inhabiting it? The door clicked.
Creaaakkk! A figure moved in the dim light of the open hallway. A curly head poked out.
Markus drew back. “Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel gasped and flung the double doors open. He barreled into Markus before he could open his arms. “Markus!”
Markus pried his arms out of his brother’s bear hug and wrapped them around him. He breathed in the crisp scent of old books that settled in Nathaniel’s hair when he feasted on his library too much.
Markus pulled away and studied his brother.
The makings of a beard stuck out from Nathaniel’s chin. The Trojan horse dangled by a chain around his neck. It had been a year since he’d seen his brother. Things hadn’t gone well at their parting months before, but maybe Nathaniel had forgotten.
Markus smiled. “You haven’t changed a bit!” Unlike Markus. Markus had left for a summer of fun and returned with a load of responsibility.
“Will you be staying for once?” Nathaniel asked. Markus knew his brother had meant to tease him, but the words stung.
Why did every conversation turn out the same way?“I guess not,” he replied.
Nathaniel only shrugged and stared at Augustus’s empty saddle and at the two men who had ridden with Markus from Canater. “You were escorted?”
Markus dipped his head. One of the riders pulled his steed’s left rein in a sharp turn to ride through the gate. “Sire. Shall we come in?”
Markus nodded again. “Take my horse to the stable.” The two riders guided the horses past Markus and around the side of the manor.
Nathaniel took a step back. “Sire? Who are you? Look. You may have secrets but you’re still in our family, Markus.”
Not this again. The last words of Nathaniel from a year ago rang in Markus’s ears. All you care about is yourself! Would this conversation end like the last one? Markus braced himself.
Nathaniel swallowed and his gaze wandered across the hills beyond the manor. “I have something to show you before we get any further with this.”
“Let me go in first and say hello to Mother and–”
“Markus, please.” Nathaniel took a deep breath. “Come.” He brushed past Markus and whipped across the path that led around the manor.
Markus watched his brother’s retreating figure for an instant before hastening after him. Nathaniel kept his brisk pace and stepped onto the grass.
Markus followed him up a steep hill, his heart faltering. Why was Nathaniel acting so strange? Weeds slapped his legs, begging him to turn around. Where were the servants who cut the grass regularly? What was going on?
He glanced at his brother’s downturned face and started in surprise. It was as gray as the manor blocks. Nathaniel’s fingers played with the Trojan horse fastened around his neck. A tear escaped his eyelid and trickled down his cheek. He brushed it away.
“What’s…wrong?” Markus waited for Nathaniel to tell him it was all a joke, to take him back to the house. They would both laugh and the world would go back to normal.
Nathaniel didn’t answer.
They came to a halt at the top of the hill, wind tousling their identical dark hair. Suddenly Markus realized where they were. He could see the slab of stone that had been laid above his father’s grave over the jagged grass. His heart clenched. Emotions slammed into him. He fought to control his breath. Why had Nathaniel brought him here?
Markus followed Nathaniel’s gaze and fixed his eyes on the tall weeds a few feet ahead. He forced himself to take a step. Nathaniel stood, a white statue. Markus searched the grass.
And then he stopped. His heart caught in his throat. Something gray poked above the yellow stems. Something stone. A crooked crack sliced it in two. Another headstone. He took a step. He heard Nathaniel’s quiet sobs behind him.
Markus bent over the stone. A single slab rested on the sunken mound. In the middle, three crude words were etched.
Celestia de Castor
He knelt and reached out a trembling hand, tracing the cold letters with his finger. The wind whispered her name and then shrieked it. Estia. Estia! Markus’s chest tightened. He tried to suck in air. He gripped the stone with both hands as if to pull it from the ground and bent his head over it.
Markus crushed a clump of dirt and looked back to see it crumbled in a boot print of flattened grass like his life a few minutes ago. Another tear streaked his face. He wiped it away. The wind stung his wet cheeks.
“How?” he whispered.
Nathaniel’s voice cut through the quiet. “They came… they wanted to take her to be a maid in Lord Kend’s palace.”
Just like Charlotte. Markus’s heart throbbed remembering his betrothed. The lovely maiden. Charlotte. Nathaniel continued.
“Mother tried to talk to them and they almost… but then— ” He broke down into sobs, and Markus fell silent.
As he passed the manor wall, he flung his hand and beat one of the grey ashlar blocks. His knuckles smarted but he didn’t care. Who were they? Why had they killed her? If he’d been home he could have stopped everything.
Nathaniel mounted the path and jerked the double doors open. They slogged into the house. Nathaniel shut the door behind them. Markus followed him down the hall, the knot in his throat rising. Where was Mother?
Markus’s boots tread across the green and brown mosaic spread across the hallway. Behind him the roots of the tree stretched to the door, and before him, strong green branches sprouted in leaves. Each family member had a branch. Markus pinpointed his own branch. Right in the middle.
Something was different, though. The day after Father had been murdered, Hadel had accidentally dropped a hammer on Father’s branch. A crack ran across that tile. But now Markus noticed another crack. A crack on Estia’s branch. It couldn’t be a mistake. Someone had purposely broken it. He stared at it, desperately trying to keep his tears inside where they belonged.
An arm wrapped around his shoulder and fragile hands pulled him into an embrace. Markus wrapped his arms around his mother. He sucked in his breath, but the tears spilled down his cheeks and into Mother’s hair. He choked them back, burying his face in Mother’s neck.
“Hello, son.” Mother said. He took a deep breath and let it out. Markus lifted his head and brushed the tears away. He stared at her shriveled face. Her shawl seemed too big for her thin frame and her hair was whiter than he remembered. He missed the scent of lemons and roses that used to hover around her.
Poor Mother. Was there anything I could have done? How could I be so selfish?
“We were just having supper, Markus. We don’t have much, but please join us.”
Markus took his mother’s hand and accompanied her down the hall. He stepped into the private dining room his family used when they didn’t have guests. He breathed in the smell of the hundreds of meals eaten there. Red and purple tapestries of heroic deeds done by Markus’s ancestors lined the walls. In the center, above the mantle, a painting had been hung. A painting that had been taken down ten years ago. Father’s painting.
Markus glanced at the table.
No centerpiece. No butter-server or silver plate or knife. Only three bowls and three spoons. Markus stared at his hands. Why would no one explain to him exactly what happened? Why hadn’t he been there to stop it?
But he chose to depart. He chose to go with Grandfather. He chose to abandon Nathaniel to support Mother and Estia alone.
Markus replayed Grandfather’s words in his head. He has risen up again. He has already killed your father, Markus. Beware of him.
He wandered to his seat at the table and rested his hands on his chair. Grandfather had been referring to Lord Kend. Those words had been spoken one day before Grandfather’s own death. Emil, the castle physician, publicly announced that he’d died of old age, but later he came to Markus privately. “Something in his wine was poisoned. Be careful with what you eat, Markus.”
Markus glanced down at his bowl. It was little more than warm water and a diced, shriveled-up carrot. Mother and Nathaniel would never poison him.
“We’re better off than some. We get carrots for supper today.” Nathaniel’s eyes shone.
Carrots? What about velvety soup with noodles and tender meat, heaps of vegetables? Several courses brought by the servants…
Markus pulled his chair out. “Where are the servants?”
Mother lifted her head. “We couldn’t afford to keep them.”
Food taken and taxes raised. That was the only explanation. Whoever did it was a tyrant. Suddenly Markus didn’t feel hungry. He shoved his chair in.
“No one has done anything about this? Who rules this country?” He turned from the table and strode out the door, ignoring Mother and Nathaniel’s stares after him.
Markus broke into the first door he saw, which happened to be the drawing room. He heard Nathaniel’s hurried footfalls behind him, but he flung the door closed. He just needed to get away for a minute. He spanned the room and collapsed on the couch.
Edris must send an army after this man. Why hasn’t he done anything already? Markus sensed Nathaniel easing the door open and tip-toeing to situate himself across from him, but Markus fixed his gaze on the floor.
When Grandfather summoned him to go on the assignment, had he foreseen this? Markus met Nathaniel’s stare. “If Lord Kend did this, then I must ride to the castle at once to inform Edris.”
Nathaniel folded and unfolded his hands in his lap. “I tried informing his Highness already. Only a few days after you left me again.”
I know I was selfish. You don’t have to pound it into me. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything,” Nathaniel pronounced, and stared at the floor, fingering the Trojan horse around his neck.
“What? Edris is a fool if he allowed injustice like this.”
“You call your own friend a fool?”
“Lord Kend killed my sister and my father. Edris is a fool if he can’t stand up for what’s right!”
“King Edris is dead.”
What? Markus met Nathaniel’s eyes, but he envisioned Edris’s face.
“Goodbye,” A younger Markus said.
“I will miss you, friend.” Edris had embraced him with tears in his eyes and then Markus had mounted his horse and cantered away.
My dearest friend….dead? Markus tried to swallow the knot in his throat. Each time someone died, he felt as though pieces of his heart broke off and melted away. Father. Grandfather. Estia. Now Edris. One day his heart would be gone.
A flood of tears threatened to pour down his cheeks but he forced them back. Lord Kend did this. The words echoed around his head until it ached. The tyrant! My family… Edris. Why? And he wasn’t there to save them. Why hadn’t he been home? Why had he chosen to leave? Why was he crying about a choice he could have controlled?
Markus rose from the armchair and shuffled to the bookcase beside the sofa, studying the titles. I never asked you to come in, Nathaniel. Markus tread down the length of the shelf and back again, trying to keep the knot in his throat from escaping. It was his fault.
The quarrels they got into about the situation. Nathaniel’s pleas for him to cancel his trip before he rode off.
Grandfather had offered to train Markus, not Nathaniel, and the opportunity for such a level of training was irresistible. But training is nothing compared to family. Nothing to seeing Estia one last time. Nothing to saving her from death.
Markus jerked his arm across top of the bookshelf. A thud rattled on the floor.
He had to protect their family somehow. He was the head of the household. And he must protect his country and his people. Which meant he must get rid of Lord Kend. The full weight of responsibility entrenched his mind.
Markus dusted his hands and bent to retrieve the item. He froze.
With shaking hands, Markus plucked the toy from the wood tiles and fingered the wood. He remembered its soft feel again and its ridged limbs. Its twig-sword was thrust above its wooden marble head. Father had carved the figure for them, along with the other nineteen.
Tears pricked Markus’ eyes. It was the wooden soldier he’d dropped that fateful night…
“I warned you, Anrew.” Lord Kend tread toward Father, hand clenching his hilt. The grown-ups seemed frozen in place. Mother gripped Father’s shoulder. Young Markus squeezed his shoulders between the bars of the staircase. He clutched one of his twenty polished soldiers with one hand and the rail with the other. When would Father finish with Lord Kend so he could kiss him goodnight?
“Lord Kend. You know I could never do such a loathsome act to Edris himself. The king is merely a lad.”
“But Anrew. It must be done. Edris killed my own brother and stole what was rightfully mine and he will pay for it whether you help me or not. And I believe you have something else I need, as well…”
Markus leaned a little farther, but his sweaty fingers slipped off the edge. He gasped, pulling himself back onto the staircase. The wooden soldier tumbled out of his hand. It thudded on the mosaic floor. He held his breath. No one looked at him.
“Please, Anrew, agree!” Mother whispered frantically. But it was too late. Father paled as Lord Kend unsheathed his sword and drove it into his stomach. Father doubled over and fell on his knees. Blood trickled where the point of the sword stuck out his back.
All that came after was a blur. Screams. His heart breaking, shattering, falling to bits. Goblets clattering on the floor. The shutters swinging in the wind. Realization that Father would never kiss him goodnight again. Anger.
Father’s coffin lowered into the ground. The wooden box at the bottom of the hole. Mother kneeling beside the mound, sobbing, her black dress sweeping the dirt. The neighbors’ empty condolences. Walking away from the gravesite for the last time.
Markus snapped his eyes shut and tore at his hair. Stop! Stop! He couldn’t think of that. Not now, not ever. Markus thrust the wooden figure on the shelf and reached for the arm of his chair to steady himself.
He wanted to kick the chair and smash it to pieces. If he could have run down the stairs and stabbed Lord Kend as he leapt out the window, none of this would have happened.“I’ll march my army.” Markus said to the wall. You won’t live long, Kend. When I’m done with this assignment, I’ll kill you.
The phone is lying in the waterproof phone case. The lid is open. I glance up. The phone’s going to get wet if I don’t close the phone case… I crawl onto the side of the yellow sailboat, barely wide enough for me to kneel on. I edge my way to the front of the boat. One hand at a time. Right forward, then left, right, left…
I peer into the waves. Dark, muddy waves. Don’t fall in. I lift my right hand. I’m reaching for the lid, my hand at its full extent, brushing the edge of the container. Suddenly, my left hand slides off the side of the boat. My fingers rake the little sailboat’s side before I plunge into the water.
I grip the front of my life jacket. My lungs are going to burst. As my bare feet touch the bottom of the lake, I see the earlier accounts of my day fly before me like a tape recorder unwinding.
“Here, Jubi. You can take the rudder. Lay it where those big rocks are.” Daddy deposited the bulky apparatus into my arms. While I toted it to a large flat rock on the edge of Lake Ray Roberts, Daddy hauled the mast out of the truck bed. I peered across the water. Looks a little dark…I wonder what swims in the water? Great whites with rows of sharp teeth? 20 foot killer whales? I’d never been sailing before, and was a little nervous… Okay, to be honest, I was terrified of falling in the water. I shuddered and hurried back to Daddy to assist in unloading.
A few minutes later the various parts of the boat were leaning against the rocks. We assembled the boat and unfurled the sail. Daddy beamed at me, his dimpled grin and dark eyebrows almost convincing me that sailing wasn’t so bad. I cautiously stepped into the boat and sat down so my legs stopped wobbling.
A light warm breeze blew from the south. The air smelled like water and pecan trees. The Texas summer sun beat on our backs, but we didn’t care. In other words, Daddy didn’t care because he was enjoying himself; I didn’t notice because I was staring endlessly at the water and gripping the side of the boat. Sprays of cool water splashed from the stern. It had rained a few days before, so the water was muddy brown, but the sky was bright blue. Our boat made ripples behind it as we sped along. It was indeed the perfect day for enjoying one’s self.
After a while, I loosened my grip on the boat and listened while Daddy showcased various parts of the ship (two different parts, in fact; the rudder, and the boom). Daddy demonstrated steering the boat using the rudder. When you turn the rudder, the boom swings over so the sail can catch the wind.
“You just have to make sure to duck when the boom swings or you’ll get hit in the head,” he warned me.
I grinned. Sailing is effortless! I decided to steer the rudder while Daddy worked the ropes that attached to the boom. Soon, we were reclining in the boat, breathing in the beautiful day.
After a peaceful hour, we steered toward shore. We had sailed only a few hundred yards from the rocky outcrop when Daddy snapped his fingers.
“Oh, shoot! We forgot to take a picture!”
“Huh?”
“We should have taken one back there when we were in the middle of the lake!”
“Oh. Well we can take one now.”
“Guess so.” Daddy fumbled with the waterproof case that held the phone and keys. I leaned over his shoulder. He pulled out the phone and tapped the screen. Large letters appeared across it: OVERHEATED.
“What should we do?” I asked.
“I’ll just leave it open so it can cool off before we get back.”
“But Daddy, you shouldn’t.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“It’ll get wet!”
“We’ll close it in just a minute.”
I sighed. I almost let it go… but what if it got water-logged and damaged? How would we contact Mommy if something happened? And if the key’s battery case was damaged, our vehicle wouldn’t unlock. I didn’t want to be stranded! I forgot my fear of deep water as I made up my mind. I had to close the phone case!
Back to the present, I bobbed to the surface. The boat is already a few yards away. I’m glad for my swimming lessons! Daddy steers the boat towards me. I scoop and kick with all my might. He releases the rudder, extending his hand to help me up. I scramble into the boat, dripping. Whew! I’m back on board!
CRRREEEAAAKKK!
Suddenly, the boom swings towards us. Barely missing Daddy’s head, it flings the boat to one side. We’re both hurled into the water. I hit the waves and bob to the surface.
The boat has rolled over on its side. Daddy reaches up and hangs on the wooden keel. The top side of the boat lowers, then levels with a splash! Daddy and I grip the side of the boat, ready to climb on. And then we remember…
“The phone. And the keys.” Daddy searches the murky waters.
“I told you to close the case!”
“Should I dive for them?”
“No way!” I pause and look up timidly. “Are… are there sharks in the water?” Daddy eyebrows furrow.
“You never know.” He gazes into the distance. “Pretend you’re in a boat and a shark is about to gobble you up. How do you survive?”
I stare blankly at him. “Daddy, stop pretending,” I whimper.
“Exactly!” He laughs. Huh? How does that make… Suddenly I burst out laughing. Relief fills me as I realize: of course, there are no sharks in a lake!
We returned to shore and loaded everything into the truck bed. Then we strolled down the paved country road, laughing about our adventure. So ends our adventure with sailboats and sharks. Or so I thought.
We spotted two ladies swimming in a large blue pool behind a tall black fence. Daddy explained our situation to them, and they gladly allowed our entrance. He borrowed their phone and dialed Mommy’s number to ask her to come pick us up and bring the spare truck key. While he called, I listened to the conversation between the women.
“Did they ever find out what happened to that poor man swimming in the lake?” asked one lady.
“Yeah, they found his body at the bottom. They say the only thing that could have made those bite marks is a shark.” The second lady waded to the edge of the pool.
“My friend told me that her friend said she saw it. She said her friend said it’s nearly fifty feet and it comes out every night!”
The second lady smirked. “What an exaggeration! But then again, more than one person’s gone missing since that man.”
10-Year-Old-Me Writing Comparison: Anda and Philip
Hello writers! I thought it would be fun to compare a story I wrote when I was 10 to the edited version. The version that sounds worse is 10-year-old me’s writing. Enjoy!
* * * * *
EDITED
Technically, no one was supposed to swim in the river. There were signs all along the path leading to it, but when you can jump the back fence and land on the river side…
Besides, nothing bad ever really happened in that tiny cottage home. The scariest moments were probably when the beans burned on the stove and the smoke detector went off, or when the neighbors’ huge bulldog chased the cousins around the yard. So today, today, the cousins had finally convinced their parents to let them go down to the river!
Anda and Philip lived in the last two cottages on Wind River Ln. with their parents and Philp’s little sister, Ella. Though every house on Wind River Ln. was small, the backyards were huge! A gnarled hollow oak hobbled in the gale just outside the back door. In the grass waved poppies and bluebonnets, so that when one stepped onto it, a strong, sweet, outside smell came up. Plum and peach trees dotted the yard in front of the porch, but farther back all kinds of rough-barked oaks, and vines twisted into a jumble. For a hundred yards this mass kept up, until it cleared to reveal a smooth, black, metal-railed fence. There, the wind blew spray from the river, splashing the children on their freckled faces, as if inviting them to play.
And how they wished they could swim in it! The water looked so cool when the sun was egg-frying hot, but their mothers were skeptical. For all 11 years of her life, all Anda had been allowed to do was look.
ORIGINAL
The front of the yard was dotted with fruit trees, but the back was mostly an overgrown mass. There was one hollow, odd-shaped sort of tree in front of the mass that was dead. But the best part was being able to feel the wind-blown water splash on their faces from the river behind the fence. The cousins wished they could swim in it. The water looked so cool on hot summer days, but their mothers thought they weren’t old enough to go in such dangerous water.
EDITED
It all began on a Saturday. Anda and Philip slouched on the couch, tapping their fingers on the table, barely speaking a word.
“Why don’t y’all go outside?” Anda’s dad asked.
“Don’t feel like it.”
“Wanna…read a book?” Philip’s dad suggested.
“Nope.”
“How about helping me fold clothes?” Anda’s mother motioned to the laundry basket piled high.
“Mmmm” Anda groaned. That was the voice her mother used that meant, “Chore time! Everyone, come help out!” She slowly rose from the chair. Uhhhh! Long day!
**********
After what seemed like hours of folding to Anda, the clothes were all put away neatly in the drawers and closets. Sighing, Anda seated herself back on the recliner. The dads were whispering in the corner. The moms were chatting about some club meeting that evening. Anda and Philip stared at nothing in particular.
“Hey kids! Wanna go down to Stonepool River?”
The mom turned from their conversation to stare at the dads. The cousins’ eyes were wide. Even Ella, Philip’s little sister, stopped playing.
“Um, David! Are you sure about this?
“Yeah, sure! The signs are old. Remember when they were doing construction on the bike path? They must’ve forgotten to pull down all the signs. I’ve been down there, and it looks okay. It’ll be fine, honey!” The cousins danced around the living room.
“Hooray, Hooray!”
Before the moms could change their minds, the children whizzed back into the room with their swimsuits, life jackets and toys. Anda had gotten a new, beautiful teal life jacket, and she was excited to try it on. It was a little too big, but Anda hardly noticed. She didn’t want to wear her old life jacket which had a hole in it and a ketchup stain from the time she had her birthday party at the lake. Soon, the cousins were lined up at the door. Well! What can a mom do?
“Alright! But DON’T GO IN ABOVE YOUR WAIST. And ALWAYS STAY IN SIGHT OF AN ADULT! Understand?”
“Okay! Let’s go!” cried Anda.
“No horseplay! Make sure you tighten your life jackets! And don’t forget…”
ORIGINAL
So the day the cousins’ parents told them they were going to swim in Whirlpool River, June 28th, they dressed so fast that the adults sent Philip’s dad, David, to watch Anda and Philip while the others dressed in their swimming gear.
Anda had gotten a new, beautiful teal life jacket, and she was excited to try it on. When she put it on though, it was too big, even at the smallest size. But it was so pretty that Anda didn’t tell her parents. She didn’t want to wear her old life jacket which had a hole in it and a ketchup stain from the time she had her birthday party at the lake.
EDITED
Philip sprinted ahead of Anda who skipped beside her Uncle David.
“Don’t go in the water!” Philip’s dad shouted after him. Philip arrived on the sandy cove long before the others. He kicked off his sandals and immediately began searching for something interesting to add to his collection at home. Philip kept a pile of odd things in his house, which he claimed he was going to make inventions out of. Each day, the pile grew larger one thing at a time. Philip continued to scavenge. He found a few snail shells, but they were common ones, so he threw them into the rushing water. Soon, Philip found a sharp piece of blue glass, and a spool of old, white thread.
ORIGINAL
Philip ran ahead of Anda who walked with her Uncle David.
“Don’t go in the water!” Philip’s dad shouted after him. Philip arrived on the tree-covered sandy beach long before the others, and immediately began searching for something interesting for his collection at the house. Philip kept a pile of odd sorts of things in his house, which he claimed he was going to make inventions out of, but most of them were just sitting in his room. He found a few snail shells, but they were common ones, so he threw them into the rushing water. Soon, Philip found a sharp piece of blue glass, and a spool of old, white thread.
EDITED
Just then, his dad and Anda stepped onto the beach. Anda was already slipping off her shoes. After Philip’s dad made sure Philip’s life jacket was secure (not Anda’s, who insisted hers was tight enough already), Anda wandered off to the far side of the beach.
“Kids!” Glass and thread in hand, Philip turned around.
“Yes?”
“You remember the rules, right?”
“Yes, Dad!” said Philip. Anda didn’t answer. She was gazing along the shore of the river, grinning.
“You may go play in the water now!”
“Hooray!” shouted the cousins.
ORIGINAL
Just then, his dad stepped onto the beach. After he made sure Philip’s life jacket was secure (not Anda’s, who insisted hers was tight enough already), Anda wandered off to the far side of the beach.
“Philip!” Glass and thread in hand, he turned around.
“Yes?”
“Son, stay where you can see us. Do not go out of our sight! If you cannot see us, you are too far! Do you understand?”
“Yes Dad!”
“You may go play in the water now!”
“Hooray!” shouted the cousins.
EDITED
“Philip! Look at that rock! It’s like a rock wall! Come on!” cried Anda
“Anda! Wait!” But Anda had already taken off. She giggled as cold water splashed at her feet. Then she rushed into the water upstream and disappeared behind a pine tree. Philip stuffed glass and thread in his pocket and raced to follow her. She was far ahead of him. He ran faster.
ORIGINAL
“Philip! Race you to that tree!” Anda pointed to a tree, well hidden among the other trees, and not visible by the beach.
“Anda! Wait!” But Anda had already taken off. She giggled as cold water splashed at her feet. Then she rushed into the water and disappeared behind a towering pine. Philip stuffed the glass and thread in his pocket and raced to follow her a hundred yards behind.
EDITED
Meanwhile, water swirled around Anda’s knees as she pushed her way through the water. The water rose higher. The current was strong, but Anda had confidence in her feet firmly planted on the bottom of the river. Anda pushed her leg through the water. She waded a little farther, putting her foot out to take a step, but without warning, the sandy bottom gave way. Anda felt her foot sinking into water. Surely the bottom’s not that far down! Her head went under the water, and her life jacket slipped over her head. The current immediately shoved Anda forward with a force that knocked her breath out.
“Anda!” Philip shouted. He watched helplessly as his cousin was carried downstream. “Dad!”
But no one answered. There was no time. Anda, who had been farther upstream than he was, now came closer and closer. She was in his reach. He held out his hand to grab her arm, but in the same moment, something tugged his foot loose and he was jerked forward into the jaws of Stonepool River. Only One could save them now.
ORIGINAL
“Anda! No! Dad said to stay…” It was too late. Anda slipped and was carried away down the rushing river towards Philip.
“Anda!” Philip glanced around. His dad, who was supposed to be watching the cousins, was distracted finding snail shells on the sand. Even if I do call him, he won’t hear me, thought Philip. Suddenly, a few yards away, he saw Anda. As she whooshed by him, he grabbed her arm, but Philip also lost his footing, and fell into the hands of the current. The water was above their heads in the deepest parts, and stronger than a bull. The current pushed Anda under so long she thought her lungs would burst, but before they did, she bobbed up to the surface.
“Lord! Save me!” cried Anda.
* * * * *
Anda and Philip was the first novel that I completed…at 15K words. To give you context, the average Middle Grade novel contains about 30K words. I hope this encourages you that even if your book sounds really terrible right now, you will improve. You will get better if you keep practicing. See you next time!
Hey, ya’ll! I thought it would be fun to share some of my writing from when I was about 11 years old. It’s been slightly edited for easy read but it’s otherwise mostly the same. 🙂
Backstory: Two cousins who live next door to each other and are practically siblings are going on a road trip to see family for Thanksgiving. Enjoy!
* * * * *
The car made its slow way around the bend in the road in the “wail of the gale” as the cousins had joked a few hours before. The wind wasn’t really that strong, but it still made a howling noise.
Suddenly, the car lurched to a stop. Ezra banged his hand on the steering wheel for the fiftieth time.
“Stuck again! We’ll have to clear out that ice again! Come on David.” The two men opened the passenger door and both disappeared in the freezing wind. When they finally stepped into the SUV again, they were covered in snow and ice, and their noses were red from the cold. Ezra took the wheel again, and they drove off at a very slow pace.
But it was only a few minutes before David cried,
“We’re stuck!”
“Yep! We sure are. Hey kids! Wanna help?”
“Really, Ezra! Are you sure it’s safe?” asked Thea.
“Yeah, sure it is! It’s just a snowstorm, anyway. We’ll get the car moving the faster we get it unstuck.”
“Please, may we help!” pleaded Anda. The mothers glanced at each other and gave in.
“Alright, but promise you’ll be very, very careful, and you must hold onto the car at all times!” Aria warned the children.
“Yes, and obey your fathers.” Thea added.
“Get your coats!”
“Keep your gloves on the whole time!”
So, amidst worries and warnings from their mothers, Anda and Philip slipped out of the van to help David and Ezra. Anda took a deep breath and cold air rushed up her lungs. Then she hobbled over to the other end of the SUV in her heavy jacket to assist her cousin. The two chipped and pounded with their fists, but the snow kept melting into water and freezing the tire into a fixed place on the road.
Anda began to notice the cold. Her hands felt like pins and needles in her gloves. The freezing snow streaked across her stinging face. Not only did she feel the cold, but she also noticed that the wind had begun to pick up. Quickly, quickly! Find out how to detach this car from the ice! thought Anda. Suddenly, she had an idea. “Hey! Maybe we can find a stick in that tree to use!”
“But Anda! Mom said…” But Anda had already taken off. Philip ran after her. With every step, the wind gained strength. Anda reached the tree and grabbed a strong limb firmly in her gloves. Philip grasped the other side of the branch.
“Three, two, one, pull!” Philip shouted over the storm. The two children yanked with all their might, and though the branch did make a slight cracking sound, it didn’t budge.
“Oh great! Now what?” wondered Anda.
“Well, don’t give up so easily!” exclaimed Philip. So the cousins heaved and yanked and pulled and puffed and gasped as the wind grew yet stronger.
“You’re right!” Philip huffed.
“Let’s go ask Dad what to do.” The cousins turned toward the direction of the SUV, but the wind-carried snow made it increasingly difficult to find the van in the whiteness. Anda had to squint to keep snow out of her eyes. The car was nowhere in sight. They walked until Anda was sure they had hit the road.
“If we dig, we can be sure we are standing on the gravel.” Anda realized. So her cousin stuck his hand into the whirling snow and pushed it aside until his hands ached from the freezing wetness. But his fist hit twigs and dirt. The two children peered into the distance. A sound had caught their attention.
“We must be very close to the road. That sounded like a car!” Anda and Philip proceed towards the sound.
Just then, Philip shouted, “Anda! Isn’t that our car?” He pointed to a shadowy appearing object. It was the car! Anda and her cousin stumbled and slipped in the snow towards the shadow, but at that moment, the shadow began to move. Slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster!
“Oh no! The SUV is leaving without us! Run Anda! Mom, Dad, Aunty Thea, Uncle Ezra, wait!” screamed Philip. But the van was long gone. They were lost in the blizzard.
Lord, I don’t understand, but help me to still trust you, Anda prayed.
* * * * *
You may never find out what happens next… *evil cackle*
Hey, friends! Today we have a special guest…. I am so excited to announce that my friend Ali has written a short story! Enjoy reading The Faithful Servant!
By Ali Timmer
Faithful stared out of her window, watching as the Servants Of The King Of Life, the ones who worked at His Palace, hummed merrily on their way to work. Faithful straightened her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, at this time, she would hopefully be joining those Servants. The King had done so much for her, by making this safe nation where she, a widow, could find her refuge. The King had often talked with her, as he tried to do with all of his newcomers.
She hoped for a job as the Head Chef. Faithful was a righteous and kind woman, but when she came to apply for a job in the kitchen at the palace, the officials said
“You must first prove yourself faithful in very little before we can put you in a higher poison.”
So they put her to wash dishes and help clean in the kitchen.
At this time there was also another woman named Dishonor who also applied for a kitchen job at the palace. But when the officials replied to her in the same way they replied to the first woman, she cried,
“I can handle more than a few dishes! Let me be the Head Chef!”
The officials debated whether or not to let the woman even work there. Finally, they allowed Dishonor to be one of the Servants, but they did not give her the title of Head Chef. “Perhaps her attitude will change,” they muttered.
A few days later, Faithful was washing dishes with Dishonor, when Faithful said to Dishonor,
“What a wonderful day!It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?”
“What’s so ‘wonderful’ about it, when we have to stand here, washing other people’s dishes?!” Dishonor snapped.
“I’m sorry you’re not enjoying your day,” said Faithful gently.
“Washing dishes is easy.! It’s just boring! Why, I have the skills of the head of the Palace Kitchens.But no, they had to put me as a dishwasher!” Dishonor threw her soapy hands up in exasperation. Faithful dried her hands on the towel and put a hand on Dishonor’s shoulder.
“You know, I’m sorry you feel that way, but whoever, ‘is faithful in very little, is faithful in very much, and whoever dishonors little, dishonors much.’ Don’t you know that wise saying? Jesus said it.” asked Faithful.
“No. And I don’t care what this Jesus man has to do with anything!” screamed Dishonor. “It’s not fair! I deserve the position more than anyone! I should be Head Chef! Not standing here working!”
When the officials heard what had happened, they fired Dishonor. In time, Faithful was proven righteous before the officials. One week, they made her the Head Chef.
With God’s help, she ruled the kitchen wisely and lovingly.
“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much….”
-Luke 16:10
*****
I hope you enjoyed The Faithful Servant! What’s your favorite short story? Tell me about it here! If you’d like to receive updates on future posts, subscribe to my email list here.
