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| Something else I've been doing... Composing a new mock cover, with fun new fonts! What do you think of this one? |
Greetings! I'm on the home stretch of the inimitable #NaNoWriMo challenge, and "The Last Inkweaver" is going splendidly! I'm in the middle of Chapter 8 right now, at the point in the story that was only Chapter 3 in the first draft!
As a reward and a bit of a check-in for you all, I've taken two excerpts, one from Draft 1 of "The Last Inkweaver", and the approximate scene from Draft 2. One notable difference in the scene is that in the first draft, I thought it would be tantalizing and romantic if the boy she liked would go with her... But in the second draft, it worked out better for her to make the discovery by herself. Enjoy!
Draft 1
I gasped. My first glimpse of the Hill since the Wall grew taller than I was! Everything was quiet and grave. Sparse, gnarled bramble grew over scorched earth. At the top of the Hill was the broken shell of the cottage. Belak glanced at me. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Bathed in the light of the lantern, I felt safe. "Yes."
We stepped over the threshold and into the cottage.
Cold, white ash covered everything. Not even the rains had washed it away, almost as if the Wall had preserved the cottage from Mirrorvale, and not Mirrorvale from the cottage. Blackened stumps and spires bespoke a table, chairs, benches, a bed. I shivered and huddled closer to Belak. He moved forward to examine the heap of stones that once was the hearth. I was left in the corner by the former bed. A large section of roof covered the area, but a small movement in a gust of night wind drew me forward. Was it a whisper I heard? I leaned forward and impulsively pulled at the thing.
A sudden shifting of the rubble, a warning voice, Belak's arms pulling me out of the way—
We stood at the front of the house as the entire back section collapsed right where we had been standing. My arms clasped tightly to my chest, and my dress felt softer than usual. I noticed with alarm that one of the buttons had come undone. I closed the gap before Belak could notice.
He whistled softly. "Good instincts, running to me like that, Shereya."
I sighed with relief. "If you hadn't called when you did..." I trailed off.
Belak looked at me strangely, shining the lantern light on my face.
"I didn't call," he stated. "It must have been the wind."
I blinked; everything within me confirmed there had definitely been a voice that caused me to turn. If Belak hadn't spoken, then who had?
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Draft 2
The hill rose up only a short ways from where I stood, and at the top--exactly like in the dream I would have--stood a small cottage, dark and weathered. I blinked.
The cottage vanished, and in its place, a pile of rubble with only a few burned-out walls left. Had I imagined the cottage just now? I stepped closer. There was no wind, but tiny, pale flakes of what might have been ash still wafted through the air like dust motes. The closer I got, the more the pile of rubble remained, so I knew that this was the real thing.
My vision warped again, the way it did when a flash happened, so I stopped to watch.
The cottage stood, and the path up to it was unobstructed, proving that the scene I watched happened before the construction of The Wall. Night hung over Mirrorvale, and by the state of the tree beside the cottage, I could tell that it was probably the height of Blossoming. From where I stood, in the middle of the hill, I could see a trail of villagers bearing shovels, forks, and torches, marching toward the cottage and yammering angrily. One torch-bearing man--charged up the hill, right past me, and pounded on the door, hard enough that I could see the window panes rattling. He withdrew several paces as the door opened, and a young woman emerged. As with the Wordspinner before, I could not distinguish her face, even as other details stood out to me clearly in this scene.
“Who among you requires my services?” she asked patiently, as if the angry mob before her did not so obviously intend to do her harm.
“Nobody wants you here, witch!” Shouted a man with a pitchfork.
“Away with your sorcery and magic!” cried another.
The man who had knocked pointed at her. Only I was close enough to him to see the way his hand shook, and the fear in his eyes.
“You have worked your vile craft among us long enough.” He declared, “We have seen through your lies, Inkweaver, and we don’t want you here anymore. Take your curses and leave us!”
The Inkweaver stood up straight, her benign smile tightening on her face. “What part of my work is so vile? How have I cursed you? I have only sought to help and to mend, to give what is needed--”
“We decide our own needs!” the man cut her off. “The way you do things is not natural! The stories you tell have been banned by the King himself! You will leave, or we will force you out!”
The crowd cheered at this, and I heard cries of “Burn the witch!” and “Set fire to everything she’s touched!”
The Inkweaver nodded patiently. “I understand,” she said, and the words nearly brought me back to the present, with the way they reminded me of when Matthias said the same thing to me. In this case, however, I felt that the Inkweaver’s understanding was much deeper than that of Matthias.
“I will go,” The Inkweaver continued, “but I have one last message for you all.” She spread her arms wide, as if amplifying her voice with her hands, and said in a clear, strong voice, “Good people! I am leaving now. You say you do not want me, but I know that you have need of me still.”
The mob grew restless, the longer she spoke, but not one of them came a step closer.
“Hear me now!” The Inkweaver’s voice came stronger, filling the hillside and resounding over the whole village below. “You will not see me for a time, but I will return when you search for me!”
Whatever reservations or magic barriers held the crowd back up to this point suddenly broke, and I found myself surrounded by torches and angry, shouting villagers as they converged on the house and the thatched roof before me burst into flames....
There in the corner, a blackened, hollow area with many stones that might have been her cooking fire, a kitchen for her. Beside that, some large stumps and a smaller bits of charcoal that might have been a table and a chair. The side of the house with the one remaining fraction of roof attached was also less harmed than the rest, containing the blackened metal frame that used to be her bed amid the ashes of her mattress and pillows. Here, the whisper seemed to come from everywhere around me, above me, below me—
A breeze swelled, stirring something amid the ash in the corner. I tensed, not dating to so much as breathe. Was the house not as empty as I had so easily assumed? I advanced slowly, step by careful step. Another breeze caught some of the ash and swept it away from something cloth, folded deliberately and distinct from all the dilapidation and destruction around me. As the ash swirled away, I heard a phrase that sounded like “Good luck…” but what would it be wishing me good luck for? I stepped forward as yet another breeze revealed a scrap very much like a piece of fabric, but what sort of fabric could withstand a fire such as the one that devastated the rest of the house?
“Special…” murmured the voice… or was it back to “subtle” again? I pulled my arms close and shivered, but the fabric scrap in the ash heap held my attention. What was it about this scrap of fabric that had preserved it for so many years? According to Mistress Needle, one needed an extensive regimen of maintenance to keep even a simple garment looking fresh for even five years, let alone ten! I bent down. Had the fire that destroyed the Inkweaver’s cottage simply exposed its hiding place, perhaps? But why would an Inkweaver hide this particular piece of cloth?
Once there was a young girl who lived with her mother and father in a village far away…
I winced as the sharp, hissing voice seemed to pierce my head. A heavy gust of wind caused the precarious wall bearing the last section of roof to creak and moan. A small rain of dust sprinkled down from the roof.
“This house could collapse completely at any moment!” I told myself aloud--but my voice sounded strange compared to the whispering echo in my ears. I sounded flat, almost cut off when I spoke in this still, heavy atmosphere. I bent down and reached out toward the piece of cloth. The dry ash came away easily under my fingertips, revealing a wide swath of cloth, at first looking like several different patterns and pieces woven together, but as I picked it up, I realized that it was woven in this manner. A slow rumble built behind me, as a strong gust of wind screamed over the house. I heard a snapping crack, and the wall above me swayed and quaked.
“Look out! Get out of the way!” a voice screamed in my ear, with the same commanding tone as the Inkweaver in the vision I had seen. But as I crouched there on the floor, my body refused to follow the commands of my mind. I could see the wall lean, tilting wildly, but without settling like it had been. Another rumble and a roar, dust falling all around me as I threw my arms over my head--
I sat up in bed, gasping for breath, stifling a scream before it could escape my throat. My heart pounded wildly, and I could not get my breathing to settle. The cloth I gripped in my hands turned out to be the blankets I spread over me. I glanced at the window next to my bed. Twinkling stars shone out of a clear Greyfrost night sky. My heart finally slowed, and I could catch my breath. I looked around my room, for a moment as disoriented as if I was having another vision. Slowly, my brain began to try and piece together the bizarre sequence of events. One moment I had been--where? In the Inkweaver’s cottage? On the other side of The Wall? I rubbed my face. Hadn’t it been almost the middle of the day by the time I had done that? How had I gotten home? Had the entirety of yesterday been a dream?
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What did you think? A bit more engaging the second time around, perhaps? The "vision" she witnesses here is even the scene I had put into a prologue (of all things!) that was basically a thinly-disguised info-dump. All in all, I'm feeling much better about this version! And I'm closing in on the goal of 50,000 words!
Catch You Further Upstream!
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