“Sit farther,” Samantha whispered and Alex scooted the chair away from the table. Immediately, her mother began scrubbing her hair vigorously with the soap and rag, and picking out the chunks of the Stricken by hand. Even through a simple hair washing, Alex could feel how strong her mother was.
“Will I ever be as strong as you?” she found herself asking. Samantha stopped scrubbing for a moment, the soap sinking off of Alex’s crown.
“That is up to you.”
“You’re already strong.”
“I don’t know. You may not…”
Alex nodded as Samantha continued fixing her hair. Samantha noticed that the atmosphere had changed and so she tried to explain further.
“No worries, Alex,” she said. “When I was your age, I made many mistakes. The only reason I am the best is because I never gave up. It isn’t wrong to wish you had my strength, but you have to remember that you’re still a child.”
“How long will it be until I’m not a child anymore?” Alex asked quietly, fidgeting in the chair. Her mother caressed her hair gently. “When I was a child, I had to grow up quickly to survive. You are in a better situation. You can still laugh and play.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t become as good as you,” Alex said. Samantha began parting the strands of Alex’s hair, one by one.
“Then make a choice,” Samantha replied. “Stay a child and play, or take our training seriously and grow. Only you can decide.
“But remember this while you consider your options—out there in the wilderness…children don’t last very long.”
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder: HERE
“No, I’m not,” Alex retorted. “How could a hunter lose one of their most valuable weapons?”
“You mean the dagger?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not your best weapon,” Samantha said, pulling Alex’s hair back over the top of the chair so that she could begin rinsing it into the second basin. “Your mind is. And you are strong, Alexandra. How you handle the Stricken…no one besides me can kill them like you do.”
“Not today,” she said darkly, and Samantha pulled at her hair harder, making her daughter wince.
“If I died right now, I’m sure that you could provide for yourself.”
“I almost died today,” Alex muttered.
“But you didn’t die.”
“It didn’t have to be close.”
“You’re my daughter,” Samantha said, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Alex closed her eyes at the slight pull on her scalp. With the warm water running down each strand, it felt like a tiny massage. Samantha smiled, allowing her a face a momentary reprieve, relaxing her muscles and watching Alex relax for once.
“And because you are my daughter,” Samantha continued. “It means that you are stronger than you think. Even if I hadn’t helped you today, you would have lived…I believe this.”
Alex sighed and became lost in her thoughts as Samantha’s face scrunched up once more. As her eyes lost their luster, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests—back to her childhood, when laughter was paramount. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the laughs to end. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped out.
Children don’t last long in this world, Samantha thought bitterly. Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder: HERE
“If you hadn’t lost your dagger, you would have…” Samantha stopped herself, realizing how fruitless her scolding was. She had just consoled Alex on the dagger incident, but now she was bringing it back up again, instead of leaving it in the past where it belonged.
She looked down at her daughter and saw that her eyes were closed, and she was sure that nothing short of a kind word or an apology would open them. But she just didn’t have it in her. The gates were closed but she didn’t have the key. She rarely had it.
Samantha lifted her head and continued washing Alex’s hair, but with far less vigor and care than before. As her hands went limp and the soap slowly coagulated, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests.
Back to her childhood, when laughter was a luxury and privilege. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped from them in the same location.
Children don’t last long in this world, Samantha thought bitterly. Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder: HERE
“…and you could do a lot better,” Samantha said. “If you had a second dagger, you could have easily handled the dead today.”
“Mm-hmm,” Alex said, resting her head on the back of the chair and allowing the soap and water to fall into the aluminum basin down below. Samantha wanted to say more, but she could already see that Alex had closed her eyes, blocking her voice out. Samantha scowled and continued washing her daughter’s hair, harder than before, but Alex showed no sign of pain.
She looked down at her daughter once more and saw that her eyes were still closed, and she was sure that nothing short of a kind word or an apology would open them. But she just didn’t have it in her. The gates were closed but she didn’t have the key. She rarely had it.
Samantha lifted her head and continued washing Alex’s hair, but with far less vigor and care than before. As her hands went limp and the soap slowly coagulated, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests.
Back to her childhood, when laughter was a luxury and privilege. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped from them in the same location.
Children don’t last long in this world, Samantha thought bitterly. Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder: HERE
“It doesn’t seem like you care about me at all,” Alex’s voice cracked as she shook her shoulders.
Samantha shook her head slowly as she felt an ache in her heart.
“Of course I care.”
“Of course I care,” she said as she tried to hug her.
Alex spun around violently and stormed away from her mother, leaving her alone with the dead. Samantha followed after her daughter like a lost puppy, trying to maintain its master’s stride but unable to express itself in any way except that she wanted companionship.
Alex stormed into the cabin, kicked her boots off her feet—snow and all—and then began rummaging through the room, looking under tables and flipping over piles of dirty clothes. Samantha watched from the corner of her eye as she quietly stepped toward their iron stove. The three room cabin felt colder than usual today, and though the stove hadn’t worked since yesterday, she figured that one more try wouldn’t hurt.
A slide of a chair caught her attention and she cast both eyes to the center of the room.
Alex was sitting in one of their cedar chairs with her head bent low. She was furiously brushing her hair with a bar of goat milk soap, and pouring a pitcher of clean water onto her head and into the rusted aluminum basin at her feet.
She remembered to wash her hair, Samantha thought proudly. Her daughter often forgot her instructions, but here was the fruit of her labor, front and center, manifesting itself before her very eyes.
She wanted to say how proud she was of her, but she could still see the sneer on Alex’s face. Samantha backed down, as she too often did when it came to emotions. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t fight for her relationship with her daughter. Fighting was not foreign to her. It was the fact that she had long forgotten what emotion was proper for which situation.
She was afraid of making it worse.
So instead of speaking, she decided to turn her attention back to the iron stove. Cold to the touch and as dark and empty as the pit in her stomach. She felt nauseous, and flashes of the Stricken r
an through her mind. She shook her head violently, casting the images from her mind. She wanted to leave the dead where they belonged.
Outside in the snow.
And far away from her home.
An excerpt from Julius St. Clair’s latest fantasy series:
Obsidian Sky (Book #1 of the Obsidian Saga)
Chapter 1 – The Day the World Ended
The one room schoolhouse was painfully tiny, and even more so now that nearly half of the village of Lowsunn was beginning to crowd in, each individual clamoring for a coveted seat on one of the few oak pews in the center and consequently, forcing anyone that was late to stand upon their aching feet. The stampede of villagers kicked up a cloud of settled dust and the floorboards creaked under the collective weight. Though there were nearly two hundred in attendance, no one said a word, the only sound being the groaning of the structure itself.
All of the extra desks and chairs had been removed. All unnecessary equipment had been locked away, and even the Elders of Lowsunn were surprised to see just how many students were able to fit into the boxy room. Within minutes, the only part of the floor not occupied by a pair of weary shoes was a meager five foot square space in the front. There the science/history teacher stood with a maniacal smile, causing a few of his colleagues nearby to wince in disgust. Not one member of the excited audience, young or old, cared for teacher politics though, and so they did their best to ignore the exchange. And really, it didn’t matter how much the other teachers hated Mr. Young. Nothing short of a fire was going to make them disperse. For the only time in the entire year, he had the spotlight, he had the goods, and everyone in attendance was there to make sure they were expediently delivered.
Mr. Young surveyed his audience with glee, rubbing his sweaty hands onto his custom red silk shirt as he silently hoped the ancient pews, brought in by his teacher aides, would be able to bear the weight. As the last of the village, a few of the elderly, squeezed in just beyond the double doors in the back, he cleared his throat and surveyed the room. They all waited for him to begin, giving their undivided attention and awe. Since the building only had six windows, three on each side, there was already little light in the room. Faceless bodies now blocked the meager sunlight that fought to enter, and the room was soon cast in a cloak of unsettling shadow. As unidentifiable eyes blinked off rapidly in Mr. Young’s direction, he closed his in satisfaction.
He concentrated.
And then beams of light shot through each of the windows, through the barrier of bodies, and into the room like a flood of water, filling every space in a matter of seconds. After it had maximized its presence in the room, most of it suddenly disappeared, and all that remained was a spotlight over Mr. Young, the source appearing to come from the windowless and moldy flat ceiling above. It was impossible for light to originate from that point, yet it did. The audience gasped in delight. Many had seen this presentation several times, but the moment never ceased to amaze. How Mr. Young was able to call forth the sun to magnify him, even through the solid blockades of both body and object, was a subject of much debate. It had to be magic.
He cleared his throat once more, and a blanket of silence descended upon the audience.
“Ten years ago,” he began. “The Advent came.”
As his sentence ended, both the room and Mr. Young were suddenly cast into utter darkness. The bare wall behind the history teacher came alive, and an animated display of the universe came into view. It spread across the room like an oceanic wave, lapping against the shore, except it never retracted once it splashed against the other side. It trapped the audience in its holographic projection and held them there. Stars twinkled like diamonds, moons orbited around foreign planets and colorful nebulas shot out at the students in 3-D fashion. The audience gasped and awed at the spectacle as space danced around them gracefully, performing a waltz that even the best of them could not imitate. Mr. Young continued.
“We call it Advent because the definition says it all: it was the beginning of something already anticipated…it was the end of the world. We all knew the day would come. We just weren’t sure how. Ten years ago, we received our answer.” The audience gasped in horror.
Mr. Young grinned and scanned the room once more before he proceeded, watching them all witness his power, each one falling under his spell…well, there was one who was uninterested, but there was good reason for that, he supposed.
“Aidan, pay attention,” Mr. Young called out to the young man in the far left corner. Only his short spiked black hair, and half of his bored eyes were visible amongst the sea of silhouetted faces and little lighting.
“Sure,” he replied easily, refocusing his attention to the holographic stars. Satisfied, Mr. Young resumed his presentation. The animation of the universe changed in an instant, and zoomed in on a planet that was familiar to everyone. Amassed by a collection of six large continents and very few bodies of water, they stared at their brown, green and red planet as if it was an old acquaintance. At the other end of the universal map was a comet, half their world’s size, streaking across the black expanse with a red-hot tail, its trajectory directly in line with their home world.
“We don’t know where it came from,” Mr. Young said, stooping down behind their planet. “Or its exact composition. Whether it was a hunk of rock, a ship, or a massive, sentient being. All we know for sure…is how it changed our way of life forever.”
The display flickered and suddenly the comet smashed mercilessly into the side of the planet, creating an explosion that splashed the room in a light so intense, everyone, including Mr. Young, had to avert their eyes for fear of going blind. He kept speaking as the light began to subside.
“The comet impacted the eastern hemisphere with a force that could be heard and felt all over the world, changing the terrain and taking half of our population with it. Millions…died instantly…” He paused to wipe a hand across his sweating forehead. “We all thought it was the end – the apocalypse, and in a sense, one could say that it was. That era had been eradicated in an instant…but it appeared that the survivors were destined for a greater purpose. The World of Obsidian had been altered, not just physically, but also spiritually. The population that had not been annihilated were transformed.”
The universe display vanished and the room was cast in its natural dim light for a moment. It then dimmed into a purple hue. White hot tattoos were revealed from underneath the villagers’ long sleeve shirts. Branded deep into their right forearms, each tattoo depicted a picture of six organ pipes with a long sword in the middle. Most of the village had only one tattoo of the image on their right arm, some had two of the same picture, and even fewer had three.
Aidan pushed his sleeve down further though it made no difference. Even through the fabric, the tattoo burned bright as if it had just been seared into his flesh, as if he had been branded with the signature of the sun.
“Everyone was marked with these seals,” Mr. Young said, one of his own shining beneath the silk of his shirt. “Most were only given one, but others were blessed with two or even three. Each seal…granted the bearer a wish. A wish with no strings attached whatsoever, as long as the Judge approved it. It’s the only reason we were able to rebuild society so quickly…no one regrets being given these gifts, but we must still never forget the lives that were lost. These wishes came at a price, and that makes each of them a beautiful, wonderful curse.”
He paused as the room fell in silence. The purple hue was lifted and the lighting returned to normal. The seals on their right arms no longer visible from under the fabric of their clothes. Aidan sighed wearily as Mr. Young bowed his head.
“I perform this presentation once a year to not only remind you of what happened, but more importantly, to stress how much we need you here in Lowsunn. I know there’s a temptation to use your wishes for your own pleasure, but we ask you to suppress those selfish inclinations. In order to continue restoring our world to its former glory, we hope that all of you will stay pati
ent until it is your time.”
Most nodded at his words. A hand shot up from the left hand corner. Mr. Young took a deep breath and pointed his young pupil.
“Yes, Isaac? You have a question?”
“How long do you think it will be until the world is restored completely?”
“It’s hard to say,” Mr. Young admitted. “Significant damage was done to our way of life. Many wishes were used in the beginning of the 2nd Era to restore the atmosphere, the wildlife and what not.”
“Yet no one has wished for the half of the world that was destroyed to go back to its previous state, or to bring back the countless lives that –“
“We’ve had this discussion before in class,” the middle-aged teacher sighed. “As I’ve explained, we don’t know what happened on that day.”
“So it’s best to leave a hole in our planet?”
“A contained, harmless hole. It’s been handled.”
“There’s no way you could know that.”
“That is the point of our scouting missions, or have you forgotten?”
“Someone from Lowsunn has been there? At the edge of the planet?”
“That will be enough questions from you,” Mr. Young snapped, his eyes darting amongst the other faces for their reactions. Though they appeared squeamish, they kept their focus on him. Isaac raised his hand again.
“I said no questions.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then what is it?”
He smiled through his oasis eyes and ice-breaking smile. “Aidan has one.”
“Can’t Aidan speak for himself?”
“He said you wouldn’t call on him if he raised his hand.”
The audience chuckled and a few of the Elders in the far back began shushing. From the crippling glares they unleashed on Mr. Young afterwards, it was obvious that they were going to intervene if he didn’t take control soon. Why he called on the child in the first place was beyond their comprehension.
The End of the Fantasy (Book #6 of the Sage Saga) Page 24
