Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Prologue







My Mom and I have decided to write a fantasy story. It will be told from the point of view of two girls: Marina and Zoa. The chapters will usually alternate between those two views.


I ain't gonna  give any more away... so here it is!



                                                                       !   


(WE DON'T HAVE A TITLE YET. WE'LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN WE DO.)







PROLOGUE


            Even in sorrow, people have to eat.  So, in the kingdom of Magosia, though heaviness hung in the air and the people walked with tipped heads, the baker still punched down the dough, the butcher still sharpened his knives, the mystical lady brewers still stirred their powerful broiny teas, and the cheese makers still pressed their rounds.
            The conversation was anything but normal on that day though.
            In the baker’s shop, a customer said to no one in particular: “I heard they were tossed in the screeching lake.”
            “No,” the baker countered, “they were swallowed in the pit of thorns.”
            In the town square, the captain of the royal guard was bombarded with questions.
“What will we do without a king and queen?” a crinkled old man wailed.
“They’ve put old man Ghur on the throne as the steward of Magosia,” the captain said in a firm voice that he hoped would calm those around him.
“But he’s so old!” a woman screeched… not calmed at all.
            The captain shook his head again.  “Old, but faithful.”
            “But he’s half blind!"
            “And lame!”
            The captain raised his gloved hands.  “Please.  Do you not trust our faithful steward?  Ghur has been a loyal adviser to two generations of Magosia royalty.  He will take care of our kingdom.”
            No one said anything.  But there were several more wails.
In the Hallowed Hall where the lady brewers stirred their pots of broiny tea, customers sat around tables, breathing in the mystical steam coming off their wide round mugs.
“And what about the girls?” a wife quietly asked her husband.
            “They’re gone,” a lady brewer interjected loudly.  “Disappeared.”
            “Will they go searching for them?” asked another lady, sweating profusely over her hot mug.
            “I guess there are no clues of their whereabouts,” a second lady brewer said.
            “Then I will go looking for them!” the sweating lady said, pounding the table and standing up abruptly.  The broiny tea was clearly taking effect.
            The day passed.  In the evening, a lull fell over the town.  Almost in unison, the people drifted out to the town square.  In the fading light, there were whispers, there were tears, there were hugs.
            And then, after several moments of hush, a lady older than Time, rose up on the statue of the king and queen that marked the center of the square.
            “This day has come and now it’s done,” she squealed in a voice that croaked and lurched like a warped metal wheel.
            Some of the people tried to shush her up and pull her down from the statues.  “Quiet Brenessa.”
            But the lady was strong, and she resisted the pulls.
            “No!  No!  You must hear this!”
            They stopped trying to pull her down.  A silence fell over the square.

            “Time will melt into years and one day
            You’ll realize these fears have gone away.
            But beware, for that is when danger grows,
            And death is near, as the broiny knows.
            For on the day darkness covers all,
            Into her grip the kingdom will surely fall.”
            And the only way to again be free,
            Will be under the power of the three.”

            Without another word, the lady stepped down, walked through the crowd and disappeared into the twilit evening.
            Then the town wailer rose onto the statue, and the wailing began.  The people mourned their dead king and queen, and their lost princesses, and their uncertain future.  And as the wailer led them into louder and louder cries, one chant began to come through all the others:
            “Where are the girls?  Where are the girls?”

3 comments:

  1. holy guacamole...that is fantastic...no joke...I'm in awe...wow...love you, Grandma

    ReplyDelete
  2. !!!
    I like it!
    ( and the word BROINY.)

    ReplyDelete