It's the beginning!

As promised, it's time to start the story, entitled The Rebellious Spy. I know it's shorter than I promised back in post one, but I realized this week that I have two tests next week and I really do need to study for both (Anatomy and Physiology and Modern Europe History.... what a great combination.... ugh). Enough with the intro... Let the conflict begin!

“The war is finally over,” Queen Abigail Santer thought with a sigh a relief. She let her hands rest on her lap, her fingers rubbing the letter from her husband. It had brought the news that all of Aeterna had been waiting for; Venter soldiers had pulled back and a treaty had been signed by War Lord Terk, the Mad General of Venter. She chuckled at the thought. Terk may be mad but he knew a lost cause when he met one. In the year since her Jonathan took the throne, Aeterna had begun winning after three years of continued defeats. Not that she did not mourn when King Bert Santer died, but the illness had taken the old king’s wits away and Aeterna had suffered greatly because of it. It was the opinion of many that Jonathan Santer should have been crowned years before, when it was first discovered of Bert’s ailment.

A shrill of laughter brought her out of her brooding. Looking for the source, Abigail caught sight of her son, two year old Prince Henry. He had escaped her hand maiden and was splashing happily on the pond’s edge. She smiled to see the boy’s simple joy at the end of a long day trapped inside the palace. If she weren’t dressed in her finest for the dinner earlier that evening, she would have been tempted to join him in celebration. It truly was a day to rejoice.

“Henry,” she called out, slipping the letter into her pocket. She stood and walked to the pond’s edge. “Come on out of there.” Her tote-head stood ankle deep in the shallow water as he paused and thought about it.

“No,” he finally said. Then laughing, he splashed farther into the pond on his short chubby legs.

“Henry,” Abigail said firmly, waving a threatening finger. “If you don’t come out now, I won’t read you a bed time story.”

The prince turned around, his expression of dismay and funny run back to shore sent the queen in a peel of laughter. Forgetting her fine dress, she took a step into the water and scooped up her wet child. She smiled as he hugged her back.

“Your Majesty!” her hand maiden said aghast. “Your dress!”

“Dresses can be cleaned or replaced, Mandy.” The queen stepped back onto dry ground, her son sitting on her hip. “But I only have one child and he only has one childhood. A dress is a small price to make him happy.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the maid said, curtsying. “Speaking of bed time…”

“Yes,” Abigail laughed, messing Henry’s light hair. “Time to put you to bed.”

“No,” Henry said, wiggling to escape. Abigail ignored his attempt and began making her way to the palace. She looked up the tall spires of the palace, remembering the first time she looked upon the Jewel of Nacre. Never had she seen a place so infused with magic it looked natural. The soft glow from the blue granite fitted in well with the evening sky; a gentle reminder of the design of it. The palace was to fit in, to blend in with the land and sky. Walking up the ancient carved staircase, she admitted she rarely thought of the gardens and palace as two places, but rather a continuation of both.

Walking through the corridors of the ancient palace, she nodded as dignitary as she could to the passing servants and nobles, despite the wiggling toddler on her hip. Everyone knew how much she and Jonathan loved the young heir; they took any moment they could to spend with their child. That reminded her of the letter in her pocket.

“Henry,” she said, flicking her son’s nose. “Daddy’s coming home.”

“Daddy?” the toddler asked, the blue eyes he inherited from his father shining. “Home?”

“Yes.” She smiled. The war was over. He could finally come home.

They arrived to the prince’s nursery. The boy laughed as she put him down and ran immediately for the small bed where his stuffed toy dog was waiting for him. “Tobby,” he told his toy, “Daddy come home.” Laughing, he hugged it tight.

“His Majesty is coming home?” Mandy asked as she began picking up the toys. She straitened up, hope shining in her eyes. “Does that mean the war is over?”

“At long last,” the queen replied, smiling back. “Terk agreed to pull back.”

Mandy gave a similar sigh of relief. “Thank the Seven Founders.” She went back to cleaning the room, a small smile breaking through her normal trained blank one. Abigail, still smiling, sat down on her son’s bed and pulled out his favorite book. Henry climbed onto her lap, set Tobby down on his, and they began the story. By the time they were done, Mandy had finished cleaning the room and had quietly left them alone.

“Things are going to change when Daddy gets home,” the queen told her son as she tucked him inside his covers. “You’re going to spend more time with us. That means you’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”

“No,” her boy said with a yawn. “Silly.”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “You’re silly. Good night, my little prince.” She kissed him softly on his forehead. “I love you.”

“Love,” he said, his eyes already dropping. She smoothed his fine hair before leaving just as quietly as her maid. At the door, she paused and looked back on her son, smiling. The war was over, her husband was coming home, their son as perfect as any child could be. After years of turmoil, things were finally going right.
*******************

Abigail sat before her vanity, brushing her hair out of the snarl trap her servants had put it in that morning. She grimaced as she worked on a particularly hard knot. Lifting the knot of hair in front of her gray eyes, she studied the entangled mass of fine flaxen hair. She could have ordered servants to attend to her needs, but that was too much to her. She had to have a least a few moments to herself, even if that meant pulling on her own hair at night. Snorting softly, she began to pick at it.

At first, she ignored the dull sounds of palace life outside her door, even the increase of the noise did not bother her. She did pause and frown when she thought she heard screaming.

BANG!

She found herself suddenly on the ground. “What..” she began to ask as she started to stand as another explosion happen, shaking the ground beneath her. She fell down again, her thought scrambled. What was happening? The war was supposed to be over!

“Your Majesty!” Palace guards flew into her room and helped her to her feet. A young man, a sergeant by his strips, bowed respectfully to her as another explosion shook them. “Quickly,” he said as he motioned his guards to hurry her from the room. “Pirates are attacking. We must get you to a safe place!”

“Henry!” she managed to cry as they tried to pull her away. She broke their hold and ran to her son’s room. “Henry!”

She threw herself at his door, trying to yank it open. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized it was locked. “Henry!” she screamed.

“MAMMA!”

She knew the scream of her child. Tears began rolling down her checks as she tried to pry the door open. Inside, she could hear Henry cry and the grunts of men.

“Henry!” she screamed again. Desperate, she threw her body on the door. The wood finally broke and she sprawled into the room. She looked up just in time to see a man dressed in all black jump from the window.

“NO!” she yelled, sprinting to the window. She ran into it and leaned out. Below her, she saw five dark men run across the gardens. “Henry!” She threw one leg over the ledge.

“Your Majesty!” the sergeant said, pulling her back into the room. “Don’t go! Stevens, Lion, go after them!” She stated to bawl and didn’t see as the two guards jumped from the window in pursuit of the kidnappers.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” the sergeant said. “We’ll get them.”
*********************

The dull orange light of the false dawn provided the light over the injured Nacre. The wreckage of bombs were minimal compared to the loss felt all over the city. Queen Abigail sat on Henry’s bed, not hearing the reports of the raid that night.

“As far as we can tell,” one of her husband’s councilors said, flipping through the reports just delivered. “One hundred fifty Aeternans are dead, another two hundred and seventy three are injured, and two hundred and fifteen are missing. Most of the missing are children.”

Abigail didn’t respond. She already knew that figure. In her hands she held Tobby with one ear was missing and the other dangerously close to falling off. The small stuffed animal had half a tail and three legs left. Tears filled her eyes as she brought the damaged toy to her heart.

Henry was still missing.

“What did they want?” she whispered, bending over in sorrow. “Why attack us? Nacre has been strong for so many years…” She sobbed as quietly as she could.

The councilor did not answer immediately. “I think,” he said slowly, “that it was a distraction. I know the war is officially over but… Terk is a sore loser. He probably paid pirates to attack, with the promise of keeping all those they took captive.”

“They took my son.”

“Yes,” he said, the sound of tears in his own voice. “Terk would want Jonathan to suffer, Aeterna to suffer… Taking the crown prince was a low blow, even for him. But cheer up. Maybe they’ll find Henry.”

Abigail sniffed. The lie wasn’t good enough. With a shaky hand, she lifted the necklace from her neck. She stared at the locket with the Santer crest. She could feel the ancient magic within it, older than the magic infused in the palace. The magic that connected her to everything in Aeterna. It connected her to the power of the land and its people. It connected her to the other Santers and their magical connection. She had already searched for the small one belonging to her son.

She had felt nothing. Something within her broke. She cried, everything else was irrelevant to her. The emptiness of what should have been her son meant one thing.

Henry was gone.

(And where, you may ask, is Martin? Hold on. He'll show up. I promise. But the conflict needs to be set up first. Until next week!)

Starting out

Welcome!
For those of you who don't know, the only reason I'm starting this blog is so that I show those who are interested the things I have written. This last year, I participated in the event NaNoWriMo, or known as National Novel Writing Month. It was a challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. And I'm proud to say that I finished (though, not the story itself. I just said I got to 50,000 words, not the end). After telling some people about my success, they said they wanted to read what I have written. Now I had a problem.

First was that I wasn't sure if I wanted anyone to read my first draft (the point of NaNoWriMo was to get some writing down, not to have something ready for print). I warned people that it was a rough draft and that there were things that really needed to be fixed. They said they didn't mind. By this point, I had reached my second problem. There were too many people who wanted to read it. I didn't know how to get it out to everyone. Some people suggested that I just do a large email, or post it on Facebook. Seemed like too much hassle for me, so I decided that I would start a blog instead to showcase my accomplishment.

I've finally gotten around to having a minute to start this, so let me explain how I'm going to work this. I'll try to post something every week (we'll see how far that gets, now won't we?). The posts won't be more than ten pages (maybe longer if it works to stop farther along in the story). The reason I'm not posting it all at once is because I know how busy life can get and I don't want anyone to get wrapped up in it all (it's also an excellent excuse to do some revising and more writing). Also, it might not always be from my NaNowriMo book. I actually have about five different story ideas I'm working on, three of which that have made it to my computer. So, if I'm working non-stop on something else (like school work...) I'll just post something from these other stories. Besides, a little variety never hurts, right? :P

My first post will be a short story I wrote for my creative writing class from last semester. It's my character's debut to the real world. I wanted to see if he could make it outside my imagination. Thankfully, he did. For a disclaimer on future posts, this is a short story and I had to write it so it would be short (the teacher stopped grading at page nine), so his background is different in the actual book than in this short, but the characters are the same.

I hope you enjoy the journey! The floor is yours, Martin!

The Meaning of Success

Martin moved in the shadows cast by the large shipping crates, careful to make sure he wasn’t seen. Glancing up, he saw no one up in the dark rafters of the seaside warehouse, or in the manager’s office built up there. Being seen meant a beating at the hands of enraged thieves. They could kill him. Those angry thugs would reason that no one would miss a stray orphan. Martin narrowed his eyes at the thought.

It had been the same attitude of the rough street gangs of Nacre, the capital of Aeterna. He had been at the bottom of the Street Order. There was no one to stand up for him, no one to vouch for him, a street urchin who couldn’t even remember his parents’ faces or the fire that took their lives. The gangs always thought of him as a possible traitor, someone whose wavering loyalties could be sold for food. Being seen meant a beating to ensure he wouldn’t talk. At times, they almost killed him, but they didn’t care. No one would miss a stray orphan.

And that’s what the spy masters thought when they took him off the streets and into the Aeternan Spy Network. Martin was perfect for the job. He was plain looking enough to pass as most anyone. There was nothing that could tie him to any one place or person. He was also adventurous and feared very little; he had to be to survive. The attitude he had when he was ten had allured the spies enough to take him away. And after five years of harsh training and finally considered old enough to work, he was given his first mission.

Martin checked his surroundings again. He must not been seen by those thieves. The orders for his first mission were simple enough at first glance. Get in, steal back the box, and get out. He was told there would be a distraction large enough to create confusion. In the confusion, he was supposed to get the box; whatever it was. Martin had asked what was in it. The response was sharp. It was not to be left in their hands.

Once he was sure no one was in the rafters or with him among the darkened halls of crates, he crept toward to the dim light casting the shadows he used. Martin strained to hear something other than the sea outside the warehouse. He stopped when he heard the voices.

“The price is too low,” a man grunted. “After all that risk I took, I deserve more!”

“And you will have it,” said a soft voice. Martin shivered. Anyone who talked with that soft confidence was dangerous. “But first, I need to see it.”

Martin risked moving closer; stepping so the wood floor did not groan under his bare feet. He hid himself behind the closest crate before carefully looking around. The light came from a lone lantern hanging from the rafter shining down on the five men standing in a loose circle. The man whose back was to him held a thin box that was not even a foot long, opening just enough to peek inside it. He snapped it shut.

“Good,” the man said in the same soft tone. “Your money will be here once our ship arrives.”

“And when will that be?” the first man snapped. The second man chuckled.

“Soon enough,” he answered smugly, placing the thin box on the crate Martin was hiding behind. “Won’t be too long now.”

“Soon enough? How soon is that?” Martin scowled as he eased himself back into the shadows. He was promised that the distraction would happen before midnight. Now, he wasn’t sure if they were going to make it in time. The plan was in serious jeopardy if it didn’t come soon.

“Get in, steal back the box, and get out.” His orders still stood. That box was not to be left in their hands.

Martin looked around the storehouse again, this time searching for something to help him in this theft. He heard the clinking of bottles. Cautiously looking back out again, he saw the five men sharing a drink, none of them paying any attention to the box. He knew a chance when he saw it.

He moved gradually into the light, trying to keep one eye on the thieves and one eye on the box. He took slow breaths to calm himself just as he was taught. He had to avoid anything that might alert them to his presence. Cautiously, he reached out and grasped the box. His fingers were secure around its grainy texture as he brought it close to him. He flinched as one of the thieves laughed.

“Time to go,” he thought, stuffing it down his shirt. He turned to rejoin the shadows.

“Hey!”

The voice startled him. Looking back, Martin saw one of the thugs pointing at him. The others turned to where he was pointing, their faces contorted with rage.

“GET HIM!”

Martin didn’t waste his breath cursing. He ran. Behind him, the thugs were nosily giving chase, their hard soled boots getting closer. The window he had used to get in was getting close. He wanted to laugh when he saw the open window. A thief suddenly threw himself before him. Martin skidded to a stop, his heels burning.

“Nowhere to hide,” the man sneered, pulling a knife from inside his sleeve.

Martin frantically looked around for an escape. “There!” The stairs leading up to the office. Gritting his teeth, he ran for them and took the steps two at a time. He could hear the thieves yell at his sudden change of direction. He knew he didn’t have much time left before they caught him.

There was a door at the top. Yanking it open, he darted inside and locked the door. Turning around, he saw a window on the opposite side of the office. He dashed to it, ignoring the thieves as they banged on the door. Martin halted at the window. Below, the sea churned in an angry way. He took a step back. It wasn’t because he was afraid of the ocean. The drop to the sea, however, scared him. He never had liked heights.

Martin spun around when the thugs finally broke the door in. He watched warily as they formed a half circle to prevent his escape. The man with the soft voice, his face hidden by the light behind him, took a step forward.

“Be a smart boy,” he said in that calm, dangerous tone. “Give the box back and you won’t be hurt.” Martin hesitated; he had no desire to die.

“It is not to be left in their hands.” His orders still stood. He gritted his teeth again.

“I hate heights,” he muttered. Before he could give himself second thoughts, he jumped through the window, shattering the glass. The fall was as horrible as he knew it would be. He screamed, closing his eyes tight. His limbs waved around him, trying to find something solid but knowing there were none. Those few seconds in the air felt like an eternity.

His scream was cut off as he hit the freezing water, the air forced from his lungs. Martin was submerged for a moment before he broke the water’s surface. Coughing the water from his lungs, he barely heard the yells from the warehouse. He knew he had no time to waste. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the choppy surface again and swam towards land. There was a dock there; he could hide under it.

His hands moved swiftly in the murky waters, fingers grasping at the cold liquid, searching for anything. The longer he swam, the more desperate he became. What if he had went in the wrong direction? Smack! His hand stung at impact but he didn’t care. Taking grasp of the pole, he used it as a guide to the surface above. He tried not to gasp as he found air again. Glancing up, Martin saw the dock he had been looking for. Unfortunately, the thieves were on the dock, cursing as they tried to look for him in the tossing sea.

“You there!” a gruff voice commanded. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s get out of here,” a thief said, his voice scared. The thugs began to run back to shore, the planks groaning under them.

“Stop!” the voice demanded. Several hard boots followed after the retreating thieves.

“There’s my distraction,” Martin muttered, resting his head on the post with a thud. Of course the police would have been tipped about the thieves. The police of Evan’s Stand were harsh when it came to smugglers; the sea port’s prison was full of them. They could deal with the thieves. He could only chuckle at that as he felt his chest for the box. He gasped when his fingers found nothing.

It was gone!

Martin desperately patted himself, shocked. Taking a deep breath, he went under again, despite the fact he could hardly see his hands in front of his face. He only came up when his lungs burned for air. It was hopeless, he knew as he stared out over the murky waters. It was lost to the sea forever. His feelings were worse than the jump and fall. Something he wished he would never have to admit to.

He had failed.

*************************

Martin sat by the side of the road outside of Evan’s Stand, waiting for a spy master to pick him up. He leaned against a tree, shading his eyes with a hand as he checked the sun’s position in the sky. It was almost noon; the spy should have been here already. He was sure it was some sort of punishment for him. He had lost the box. Some of the spy masters thought he was too young, this only proved their point. This was his first mission and he had failed. No doubt they would reduce him back to basic training.

“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight.”

Martin reluctantly sat back up, expecting a harsh lecture. He froze when he saw the man standing before him, his arms folded across his chest. He was an older man, with a short beard and hair graying with age. But Martin knew this man by reputation. He was Doug Suit, the Spy Master.

“Sir,” he said, scrambling to his feet and saluting. “It’s an honor.” He bowed his head in defeat. “I’m sorry.” He felt his stomach drop at what he had to tell the Spy Master. “I failed.”

Suit snorted. “Failed?”

“Yes.” Martin wished he could be anywhere but here admitting his failure. And to the Spy Master himself! “I lost the box.”

“No, Martin,” he said firmly. “You did not fail.”

He finally looked up, confused. “Sir?”

“Your orders were that it was not to be left in their hands,” Suit explained. “You did just that. It is lost, no one will use it. If I had my way, that’s what should have happened to it in the first place.”

Martin blinked in surprise. The Spy Master would not have a casual conversation with any fresh spy. Something else was going on here.

“Come,” Suit said, sharply turning away and walking down the road. Martin followed with a frown. What was happening?

“Where are we going, sir?” he finally managed to ask.

“To begin your training,” the older man said with a grin. “Oh, not the normal training. Something more. You’ve proven yourself here, Martin. You’re a quick thinker when the plan went wrong. You need something more to match your skills. From this day on, your training will be mine alone.”

Martin stopped in his tracks, stunned. No. More than stunned. Shocked. Suit’s grin only widened at the reaction.

“You’ve proven yourself,” he repeated. “Success does not mean just doing a job and giving up at the first signs of trouble, it means doing everything you can to do get the job done. You have great potential and I’m going to make sure you reach it. Come, you have a lot to learn before I’m done with you.”

Martin followed in a daze. He was the Spy Master’s apprentice! An honor most would give their lives for. The implications of it suddenly brightened Martin up. No one could consider him an unfortunate orphan again.

“Sir,” he ventured again, testing his new position. “What was in the box?”

The Spy Master chuckled. “You’re not old enough yet. I’ll tell you, though. Someday.”

“Someday,” Martin mused as he walked behind Suit. Already, he wondered how he could convince the Spy Master that “someday” was sooner than he thought.


(Surprisingly, no one in my class complained that they didn't know what was in the box.)