I preface this, of course, with the disclaimer that this is a rough draft of what I intend to have as a prologue to my first Loch Raptor novel. Being so, there are most likely spelling errors, grammatical errors, punctuation errors, and all sorts of other malarky going on. Nothing here is final, no element is set in stone, and plenty of changes may make their way into the final draft. With that said, please enjoy this sample!
Shadowy trees loomed tall over Malthais, blotting out the moon. Puddles of darkness oozed around him, changing shapes along with the creeping of the thick fog. In the canopy overhead, leaves suddenly hissed in a breeze that never reached him, and his skin prickled and itched. He wondered again for the umpteenth time why he had even come out here. Spooky treks through the wilderness of the frontier were more along his brother Michael’s tastes than his own. But then, he wouldn’t be out here out at all if weren’t for the haunting visions he kept having of his brother in torment.
Each step across the soft loam of the forest floor stirred up smells of rotted wood and damp leaves. His nose stung from it, and he distracted himself from the urge to sneeze by dragging his fingertips across the scaled bark of the trees he passed under.
Nothing seemed to move, except himself and the pressing dampness. Dampness that stroked the nape of his neck with the tenderness of a familiar lover. Dampness that kissed gently across the curve of his wrists whenever the sleeves of his travel robe shifted as he walked. At each caress of the heavy, damp air he shivered. At each shiver he cursed the gods’ need for drama and his brother’s need for adventure.
Ahead of him the dim gold glow he had been catching glimpses of for the last quarter of an hour began to brighten and demand more of his attention. He was both curious and chilled with nervousness. It was the only illumination in the darkness, and it didn’t belong out here so far from humanity.
He had almost convinced himself that he was creeping up on a campfire kept by some hermit, or a hunter wandered too far abroad, or maybe even fairyfire lit by the rarely seen Fair Ones for some evening revelry. Either way it was probably unwise to approach recklessly. If it truly was some of the Fair Ones caught up in ritual or revelry, he’d do best not to be discovered at all.
From out of a beltpouch he pull a few stems of baby’s breath, invoked a quick incantation designed to muffle his approach from any possible listeners, and watched the baby’s breath disentigrate in a soft puff of dust, used up by the spell. Hopefully much more stealthy, he contiued towards the unusual light with nervous steps.
Yet he found neither campfire nor fairyfire, but fog. Fog infused with an amber glow. It churned behind the black pillars of the trees ahead of him Thick golden bands of it spiraled out among roots and underbrush as if to gather up more of the dampness that weighed on the forest.
“What in the name of…?” The anxiety that had kept Malthais skittish and on tiptoe, had seeped away during his last few steps. Then even his sudden spike of curiosity dulled, overlay with sadness. Only a quiet despair at first, yet with each step closer to the light the sadness began to swell and ache through to his bones. He was overwhelmed by a grief not his own.
He choked back a huge sob, clutched a tree with one arm and curled down to his knees. “Gods!” his grief was so terrible he trembled violently. “Oh, gods, why? Why me!? Just let me be free!”
He had no idea where the sudden wash of emotion came from, nor the thoughts that filled his head. He barely recognized that it couldn’t possibly be his own feelings. He was lost in that moment, the anguish of another flooded through him, and so it was his own burning self-pity and hoplessness that consumed him, and he could not bear it any longer.
Foreign thoughts flashed angrily within in head, yet they were his own, somehow, as well.
He. Could. Not. Bear. It.
She had pushed him too far, had kept him too long, and his pride, his dignity, and his longing for his family would not let him suffer this… this slavery, any longer! By the gods, it had to end!
Malthais found himself, through tear-blurred eyes, casting about anxiously for some means to quickly take his own life before it was too late, before She could stop him. “You’ll not rule me any more!” He sobbed.
She? Who was She? He fought within himself. Some small shard of self-awareness resisted fiercly against this sudden compulsion to kill himself.
At some point he had reached the source of the light. Golden fog churned, wrapping around him. Embracing him. His frantic glance darted in every direction. Death, sweet Oblivion, please! The tree he clung to was one of many moss-festooned trees surrounding the small glen. Yes, the trees! Quickly!
His hands were hastily untying the belt of his robes to use as a noose. Sharp alarm pushed against the flood of invading emotions “What is this!?” Malthais tried to stop himself, tried to not contemplate scrambling up one of the oaks to hang himself. “No! Why would I hang myself?” yet grief surged like a smothering tide against his free will, the compulsion to take his own life pressed heavily.
The glowing fog chugged more urgently. Tight amber bands writhed along his limbs. The tall, dew-laden grasses of the glen nodded heavily to the fog’s rhythms. The moss, too, glowed amber, and tangled thickly among the limbs of all the trees around the glen. Attracted to the light, moths and other insects fluttered around him by the hundreds. Fireflies sparked everywhere.
And there, as his eyes flicked above his head, involuntarily searching for an good strong limb to do the job, he caught sight of something that made his panicked heart leap into his throat. Just above him, near the center of the glen swung the corspse of his brother from a giant oak.
“Michael!” The shock of recognizing the hanging body drove a firm wedge between Malthais’ true thoughts and the despair that sucked at his will to live. A sharp pain of loss stabbed through him at the realization that it was indeed his brother. The wedge of clarity wasn’t near as strong as the compulsion still battering at him, but he was able to slightly separate himself from the intruding emotions.
He could not dispel them though, or the thoughts and images that assailed him. A story, broken, disjointed, and thick with raw grief began to bloom within his mind. What he saw renewed his streaming tears and at the same time shot icy fear down his spine.
“Michael, dear brother, what has happened to you?” collapsed to his knees, Malthais did his best to absorb the truth of what was happening, and to put some sort of coherence into the jumbled story unfolding in his mind’s eye.
His brother was entangled in something, with something of which he could not resist and could not escape even, it seemed, in death. With some thing, or some one? Malthais couldn’t be sure. He could only watch.
His brother Michael… lost in the despair of a heart twice broken, and once crushed. Michael… betrayed, and then enslaved, by a lover he could not deny. Michael… kept forever apart from his cherished wife and child. His brother Michael… at the end of tolerance, choosing death with the last of his strength of will, praying for release in his final moments, grasping at his soul’s only chance at freedom. Michael… successfully falling into the arms of death, yet still tragically denied his freedom.
The swell of Michael’s self-pity and despair suddenly drained away from Malthais. He staggered to his feet, standing dazed, in shock. How could this happen? The idea that his brother’s spirit now haunted this cursed glen was difficult to accept, even after the truth of it had just hammered into his head. His own brother, cursed and trapped eternally as this fragmented reflection of his former self. Unless. Unless Malthais could find a way to set him free. Was it possible? It Must be! He would, he promised himself! He would somehow find a way to free his brother and grant him peace. And while he was at it, he would destroy whoever, whatever, had inflicted these horrors upon Michael.
Boiling rage and hatred poured into Malthais’ thoughts suddenly. Not his own. He groaned and nearly collapsed again. He recognized that he was too weakened to protect himself from further onslaught. Was his brother’s spirit even aware of itself? Aware of its affects on the mortal world? Malthais fled the morbidly haunted glen. On weak legs, with fresh tears streaking his face, he stumbled quickly away.
