Scavenger (Excerpt)

Note from the Author: This is the beginning of the first chapter to my novel "Scavenger". It has had to be shortened and abridged so it could fit the 1k-3k criteria for entry. I plan for much more to happen. It doesn't have an ending yet, but I hope to add onto it in the future. I hope you enjoy it!

Shadow spills over the wall of black rock that rises in the distance, like water flooding through a doorway. The shadow spreads, jumping over hovels, carts, and cottages, thrusting everything it touches into darkness.

I watch curiously from my window as the shadow creeps closer, crawling toward me, leaping and bounding until it wraps the palace up in a blanket of thick darkness. The night came so quickly that I almost jumped; smiling, I play my fingers through the dark, almost feeling the threads of shadow on my fingertips.

“Aoife my love, are you dressed?” A voice says sweetly as it floats through the half open doorway. I jump from the window and race over to my large four-poster bed. My fingers fumble as I snatch the gown that is draped on the brim of the bed and quickly throw the dress over my under shift.

As soon as the dress is over my shoulders I dash over the ornate golden mirror that stands beside a porcelain wash basin that is half filled with water. I dip my hands into the wash basin and shudder as I splash handfuls of the cold water onto my face.

“Aoife, why didn’t you-” The voice says less sweetly as the door to my chamber opens wider, a ladder of candlelight sweeps through the opening of the door, casting odd shapes onto the dim floor of my chamber.

“You look beautiful my love.” I whip around to see my mother standing in the threshold of the crude wooden door, the hems of her blood red gown barely kissing the cold stone of my room. I smile; though inwardly heaving a sigh of relief, I had barely finished before she had entered.

My mother smiles; the crimson of her lips and the soft brown of her eyes make her look like the very meaning of beauty.

“Thank you.” I say politely as I smooth the silky emerald green fabric of my gown absentmindedly.

“Lord Cormac and Lady Maeve will be at the gates in a moment. You must hurry!” My mother turns from the room leaving with me the rustle of silk and the soft perfume of roses. I hum a frantic tune as I grab my ivory comb and run its stiff bristles through the tangle of my hair; ears tuned and listening for the approaching sound of horse hooves and wheels on cobblestone.

I toss the comb over onto my bed as I grab a golden band and tie it into my hair, wrapping it up into a wavy twist that falls down my back. I look into the mirror and smile as I note how the golden band makes my amber eyes gleam in the candlelight.

Knowing my uncle and aunt are probably approaching the palace I run over to my tall, aspen white wardrobe. Standing on the very tips of my toes I sweep my arm across the top of the wardrobe until my hands bump into something. Fingers fumbling, I finally snatch the container and pull it down from its dusty home.

Unhinging the lid to the little wooden box, my eyes sparkle as I look in at all of the jewel embedded earrings, necklaces, bracelets, combs, and many other beautiful things. Standing in front of my golden mirror I study the soft emerald green colour of my floor length gown.

“Pearls should do.” I say aloud to myself as I select a pair of pearl earrings and a pearl and gold necklace. Snapping the lid to my jewelry box tightly shut I adorn myself in the pearls and place the little wooden box back where I had found it.

Glancing at myself as I leave my chamber, I smile. I really do look lovely. Shutting the large wooden door with a loud creak behind me, I run down the halls of the palace. White marble interlaced with veins of gold filled the palace floor, an occasional vein of ruby red presented itself in the smooth marble floor.

Pillars of black rock lined the hallway, they looked as though they had been hewn from the very Thornes themselves. Though I knew that going anywhere near that mountain range was far too dangerous, I loved to imagine the thought of that magical stone being brought all the way from the Thornes to the palace of Aila.

I am nearing the end of the hallway, and begin to run faster. I can not be late, my father would not have it. I skid to a stop, just before the tall dark wood doors, and clutch my heaving sides until I catch my breath. I smooth my dress, my hair, and am in the middle of re-adjusting my pearl circlets when someone yells my name.

“Aoife! Wait for me!” A young man with mud brown hair rounds the corner and runs up to me, panting, his suit’s silky fabric expanding outward and moving inward with every heaving breath.

I scowl at him and hit him on the head with the back of my hand. It is a known rule that no one is allowed to run in the hallways of the palace.

“Ouch!” He yelps, gingerly rubbing his head with, ruffling his already mousy hair, he frowns at me and then hits me on the head with the back of his hand and tidies his hair, and his suit, a haughty look replacing the pain.

I stare at up him trying to hide the pain shooting from where he hit me, though I can’t stay angry at him, we both burst out laughing despite our throbbing heads.

“Happy anniversary of your birth, brother!” I smile up at him, my stomach sore from all of the laughter.

“Thanks Scavenger, but I think you are just jealous.” His blue eyes sparkle as he uses the nickname he has always called me, Scavenger, for when I was young, I would often sneak into his chamber and go through his things. Though he often likes to deny the fact that he used to go through my things as well, meddling with my jewels or messing with the bristles of my hair brush.

“I think Aunt Maeve and Uncle Cormack are here.” Conall, my older brother says, broadening his shoulders back as he strides over to one of the many windows that line the marble hallway, giving view to the brightly lit palace courtyard below.

“Then we had better hurry and gather at the gates with Father and Mother.” I warn as I stand beside him, my eyes reflecting the light from the fire laden braziers in the palace courtyard below. But I quickly slide my arm into the crook of his as a black, lavish carriage being pulled by a team of six white horses arrives at the iron gates of the palace.

Pulling him by the arm, we walk toward the two towering dark wood doors, as if by magic, the doors swing outward, laying way to a large ballroom, filled to the brim with brightly decorated nobles.

Light bounces from the crystal chandeliers that hang from the alabaster ceilings, casting dancing shapes of light onto the gold laced walls. What seems like hundreds of people mill around the ballroom, skirts and suits are swirls of colour as they spin to the rhythm of the Pavane the orchestra is playing.

Though the music abruptly stops as silence settles upon the crowded ballroom, all eyes turn to me and my brother. Conall smiles calmly as he looks out at all of the visiting noblemen and noblewomen. I nudge him in the side with my elbow as I display a sweet smile, urging him to speak.

Conall clears his throat and then begins to address the crowd,

“Thank you all for attending not only the anniversary of my birth, but the anniversary of the Kingdom of Mortis, and of the wise reign of King Seanan, my father.”

Claps and cheers erupt from the ballroom, reverberating off the golden walls causing the sound to magnify. My brother grins widely as the orchestra strikes up a lovely tune, beautiful women laugh as handsome young men take their hands and whisk them onto the dance floor.

“So,” I say, still mesmerized by the hypnotizing rhythm, of the music, “are you going to dance?” I look up at him, arching my eyebrows with curiosity. To my pure amusement Conall stiffens, a hint of fear hidden behind his fearless brown eyes.

“I-” He begins, not sure what to say. He self consciously adjusts his suit and smooths his curly brown hair.

“You act tough and yet you fear to dance,” I wipe tears of laughter from my eyes as a slight pink tints the tips of his ears, “how am I supposed to learn about romance and gallantry if not from you?”

As Conall struggles to find his words, I survey the ballroom. Elegant dancers cover the floor, though, despite the many avid dancers, clusters of beautifully decorated young women stand engrossed in deep conversation, occasional laughs bounce through the room adding to the excitement of the party.

I smile wickedly as I notice a young woman peek her head out from a cluster of women, her deep blue eyes search the room, until they land on Conall. A deep rose red creeps into her porcelain face as she lets a soft smile play across her face.

I look up at my brother and to my surprise I find him smiling back at her. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow displaying a debonair smile.

“You wanted me to teach you,” Conall winked, “so I shall Scavenger.” I smile as I watch my brother’s strong figure walk across the center of the ballroom. Striking up friendly conversation, Conall takes the young woman’s hand and leads her onto the dance floor, flashing me a wild grin.

I had always known my brother was a divine dancer, and this time proved no different. He glided across the floor, not once stepping the the beautiful you woman’s toes. Music floats through the ballroom, along with the sound of tinkling glasses of bubbly Champaign and laughter. 

Almost as if a cold wind had blown through the room, the candles dancing flames go out. Hushed gasps and whispers of intrigue reach my ears as I turn my head to look for any sign of disturbance.

I hear the sound of leather on marble as my brother runs up behind me, he grabs my arm and whispers into my ear.

“I think this is another one of Aunt Maeve’s,” Conall struggled for words.

“One of her extravagant entrances?” I finish. Conall laughs quietly, but the room suddenly goes perfectly silent as the lavish entrance doors to the ballroom spread wide.

Holding my breath I watch as a young woman and man walk just across the threshold of the door and stand there, watching and waiting.

It seemed like hours of silence until a faraway hissing sound sifts through the room, I gasp as I notice a young soldier carrying a keg of firepowder, pouring its contents in a circle around the two people.

Firepowder, one of the most dangerous weapons known to all of Mortis. It was created eons ago by Aodhan, founder of the Aalish, or the people of fire.  The soldier exits the room and comes back moments later, holding a torch lit with flames of fire. The threads of the flames flick their tails in the air, sending a angry crackle through the room.

With a curt nod from the woman in black the soldier drops the torch, the flames touching the firepowder. Almost instantly, a wave of heat explodes from the powder, singing the tips of my hair. Frantically I feel my fingers across my face, ensuring my eyebrows hadn’t been burnt off.

Oohs and ahhs issue from the crowd as fire gathers around the two in black, forming a sphere of pure flame. I stare in awe, not able to look away as waves of heat vibrate out from the ball of flame. Slowly the ball of flam begins to melt, bits of liquid fire dripping onto the marble floor and disintegrating into bits of embers and ash.

As the last bits of the fire sphere melt away, the two who had been previously dressed in black step from the circle of red hot ash, arrayed in brilliantly designed clothing. The woman’s dress was the design of the firebird, red glowing feathers inlaid with gold onto a black fabric drip down her figure. At once, I realize that my Aunt Maeve had arrived along with our Uncle, Lord Cormack.

Loud cheers and shouts issue from the crowd along with dignified claps. The orchestra strikes up a tune and the room assumes its previous atmosphere, only with a bit more excitement. I smile as I notice women steeling envious glances at Aunt Maeve’s gown, and men’s eyes widening as they look at my beautiful aunt.

“That was some entrance.” My brother says, brushing ash from his hair as we both walk up to our uncle and aunt. Crowds of women cluster around Lady Maeve.

“Those feathers on your gown look positively divine!” A old woman’s shrill voice issues from the center of the crowd.

“Your hair oh your hair, simply beautiful!” Another woman cries, clutching her face with her hands. My brother’s strong hand grasps mine as he pulls me through the group of women.

“Pardon me Madam,” My brother says as women smile and quickly make way for the young prince. Finally I was there, the big warm arms of my uncle around me and the kisses of my aunt on my forehead. I had never realized how much I had dearly missed them until now.