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Sci Fi & Fantasy / Spider's Kiss - Prologue
I was a genius at 18.
I’d unraveled my father’s secret very early on; after all, it’s nearly impossible to keep a secret from a woman. I don’t think he ever really intended for me to be in ignorance. I suspect he just wanted me to be able to answer honestly, when the inevitable happened, that he had never told me anything; treason is, after all, an execution-worthy offense. It comforts me sometimes to think that he knew from the beginning it was doomed. In one of the thousand little ironies of our situation, it brings me hope for myself.
So I knew, when Pavel Pestel came to St. Petersbug, what the tension was about, and why it kept building after he left. I found the spot in the library where Papa hid all the letters, and I coerced River and Vaughn into coming over and eavesdropping with me when he met with members of the Society. Not very lady-like, I know, but I was on a mission, even then. I had to know. The atmosphere alone would have driven me to hysterics otherwise. It was like a forest in winter – no sounds, but the snow keeps piling up, and you know that one of these nights the branches are all going to start to break.
The breaking was more literal than I had expected. The sharp rap against the wood, the whoosh of furious whispers in the entry and in the library – and that was only the prelude. I didn’t recognize the officer who tried to bang our door down, but I knew what he meant. Or I thought I did. Tsar Alexander had been dead since the end of November. Nicholas I was finally to be crowned, and the oaths of allegiance sworn to Konstantin upon the Tsar’s death were to be resworn to his younger brother today. After days of furtive meetings and clandestine arguments it had been decided that this was the chance. For better or worse the Northern Society was making themselves known.
Papa had not officially allied with the society; that might have made getting our information difficult. We had recourse, though—an avenue of our own. Most of the conspirators were barely older than my friends and I, and Papa spoke of them as he spoke of us: as brilliant, precocious children. We traded on that fraternity, winnowing information during dinners, dances, riding expeditions, even chance meetings on the street. Papa had forbidden the topic in my presence, so I didn’t get very far, but my English friends were everyone’s favorite conversationalists. River could probably have managed the whole business on her own. Her entreating face and mellifluous voice could induce a fish to sing. From almost the moment she was introduced she would have man, woman, and child in her dainty palm.
For the last week, all the talk had centered around a daring and dangerous protest exploiting the interregnum. It sounded as though it was already going badly. I heard muffled fighting as I made it to my listening spot. Papa was trying to be quiet, but frustration kept swelling his voice. ”The damn fools are going to get themselves killed! He outmaneuvered you, and he did it before the sun came up! If the Senate is already sworn to him, our only hope is that he reconsiders his father’s plans for Holy Russia. They will not break their oaths of allegiance.”
Nicholas was already swearing in officials? That was unexpected. They had little real power, but the Northern Society had hoped to use them, along with the army, as a voice of the people, to withhold support for the new Tsar and force him to provide the constitution his father had spoken of but never granted. Once the oaths of allegiance were sworn, however, the Tsar alone was the voice of law and governance.
The visitor tried persuasion. “The army is still sworn to Konstantin! Until he formally abdicates, the new oath is a betrayal! The people will see our point. The Petersburg regiments will join us.”
“But Konstantin has abdicated!”
“Not here, not officially. Konstantin remains in Poland; Nicholas himself swore loyalty to his brother. He may want to be Tsar now, but with no army to enforce his claim-”
“And how are we to be sure there will be no enforcement? Did no one wonder why Nicholas has moved so quickly, why the oaths were given so early this morning? Who else has he sworn?”
“We have no knowledge -”
“Precisely. And Nicholas, it seems, does.”
I was sure that would settle the matter, but the officer was not dissuaded. ”Nevertheless, the protest has already begun. The first regiment has formed in the square, calling for Konstantin and constitution.”
“Without a hope of getting either. What will they do, I wonder, when the new Tsar answers their challenge?”
“They are willing to make any sacrifice that is asked to bring freedom to their motherland. They value their country above their lives.”
“If they would live for God and country rather than die for it, it would be of more use. I will not sacrifice my little sons without more advantage than may be gained today.”
“You led them to turn back Napoleon. How is one corrupt emperor different than another?”
“This is different!” Papa’s fist slammed down on his desk, and I cringed instinctively. ”What will you do if it does work, eh? Slaughter the royal family? I know what Pestel plans. I will not countenance the murder of men, women, and children because of an accident of birth, low or high! Pestel and Kakhovsky be damned. This whole idea be damned.” Papa sighed, sounding suddenly tired. ”I share the hope for freedom, I support your brave and foolhardy regiment, but I cannot in clean conscience lead in this —” Papa trailed off, and in my mind I could see his hand waving about as he tried to find a word adequate to describe the protest. He sighed. ”If they were truly my sons I would have taught them better, like my Nadezhda.” A warm little glow of pride welled up in me at his words.
“If Russia’s sons are your sons then stand with them. Leave your own troops if you must, but come to Senate Square yourself. There need not be blood today, if wise heads are willing to take part. They need strong leaders, steady advisors. We have had to move so quietly, and so quickly—”
“And it is much easier to court liberty at your library fireside than to hold her hand before the firing squad. I am aware. Trubetskoy isn’t coming, then.”
“Not yet. His Highness has developed… some doubt as to the efficacy of our stratagem.”
Papa just snorted.
The officer said nothing, and I was afraid they would hear the trembling of my hands against the wall. I wanted to make fists and sit on them to preserve the silence, but my fingers would not move as I desired. Papa’s next words were too quiet for me to make out, but it did not matter. I knew what he would do. I heard the front door shut quietly.
I sat for a moment, restoring myself to calmness and steeling myself for the scene I would face. The protest was already falling apart, its leaders bloodthirsty or cowering. Papa was a fighter, a hero, and he craved a democratic Russia; for all his doubts, he would go. There was no question but that I would follow him. I would collect River and Vaughn, and we would go to the square. What would happen when we arrived… I might know something of that as well.
I remembered the smell of guns: acrid, sulfuric lakes of smoke turning the clean fields around Borodino into my five-year-old imagination of hell, complete with devils and damned souls. After thirteen years I could still smell it. For three days I sat hungry and cold and terrified in an empty house, wondering if my father was ever going to come back. For three days I listened first to the crashing canon of the rifles, then to the screaming cadenza of rifle and sword, and finally to the moans of those left behind, a ceaseless chant of pain and despair. Surely nothing like that would be allowed to happen in St. Petersburg; the Tsar would never sink his own home in the rot of battle. He would not baptize his infant reign in his people’s blood. And if he would, I was not going to leave my Papa alone to face it. I had sworn then that never, ever again would he face danger without help.
I was calm when Papa found me, pretending to read by the fire. ”I’m going out, little one. Be good.”
I kept my face clear, my voice cheerful. ”You shouldn’t go out today, Papa! You’ll freeze! You won’t be away long, will you?”
“It will seem like forever until I am with you again, and then it shall have been no time at all.”
“Be careful, and come home soon to me, then.”
He smiled at me, leaning forward to kiss my hair. ”I love you, Nadinka.”
“I love you, too, Papa.”
It was hard to be patient, not to run to the old house where my friends lived and yell the news to them from the front hall, to wait while they gathered boots and cloaks and such. While I waited, I busied myself at River’s mirror, braiding up the disastrous tangle the wind had made of my dark curls. It was my favorite hairstyle; the only one I knew before River had begun to train me to be a girl. Aunt Katya had known all about being a girl, but all she taught me was how to dress and feed myself before turning me to my father, in a burnt out village in the path of the French invasion, so that she could “stop living my dead sister’s life” with some dashing uniform she had met. After that, Papa hadn’t let anyone take care of me but him.
River, as always, seemed unperturbed, laughing as the breeze pulled at her long honey brown hair, her expression bright and cheerful as though we were going for a leisurely stroll. Vaughn was smoldering along in the intense way he always did, jaw clenched, desperate not to miss any action, night to his sister’s day. Perhaps that was how they managed never to fight; they simply never overlapped enough.
It was bitterly cold; the square was icy, even in the morning sun. A crowd of onlookers had congealed around the mass of soldiers, hemmed about by more soldiers. The soldiers on the outside were mounted. They looked graver, and seemed to have a colder reception from the men and women of the city. Nicholas’ guard, trying to contain the protest. Papa was right; the new Tsar had been busy. To have this many soldiers sworn to him so early in the day he must have been up half the night. As though he knew he would have to be ready. My stomach tightened and flopped inside me.
After all the excitement of the last hour, the actual events at the square were an excruciating mix of boredom and fear. The best place we could find for observing the action was in the scaffolding around the half finished cathedral; it offered a decent view, freedom from the claustrophobic press below, and shelter from my father’s view. I knew if he saw me he would send me home. For the most part, nothing happened. I began to relax. Soldiers stood firm in the square, accepting food and vodka, a lot of vodka, from sympathetic standers-by and occasionally shouting. Twice I thought my heart would beat itself out of my chest as cavalry lined up and charged the rebellion, but the horses couldn’t find proper footing on the icy ground, and the charges unraveled. The Tsar sent emissaries to negotiate with the troops. These were generally turned away quietly, but twice there was gunfire. I leaned forward, straining to see the dead men, and met only Vaughn’s broad chest as he interposed himself. ”It was Kakhovsky doing the shooting, just as your Papa predicted. He will make them all martyrs if he can.”
His words twisted my insides again, but as darkness began to fall I wondered if it all might come to nothing. The troops, protesters and enforcers alike, were worn down from a long day’s waiting. There was some sort of activity at the front of the cathedral; we couldn’t see from where we perched, but that was where the Tsar’s leaders had been. Perhaps they were leaving, and we could all go home. I looked out across the square, toward the Neva river, imagining the whole scene empty and peaceful again. Papa and I would dine together, and he—
A booming crash destroyed my reverie. I jumped, searching for the source. My eyes lit on the Senate building; a large gash snarled in the ornate roof.
I realized too late what was happening. It didn’t stop me from throwing myself over the scaffolding, stretching my arms as far as they would go to get my feet close to the ground in a hurry. I heard Vaughn drop behind me, calling my name, but I was already pushing my way forward, running to reach my father, to throw myself between the man who was my world and those terrible, sinister barrels. When the next volley shook the ground and knocked me to my knees, I was still too far away. I scrambled to my feet again just as Vaughn caught the edge of my cloak.
“Nadia, you can’t! That’s gun fire! You have to—”
I shoved him aside, and, astonished, he lost his grip. I started again to run as another round of thunder billowed smoke and death into the stunned companies. I hit the ground hard this time, with something very heavy on top of me, and cursing, in English and loud enough to drown out the suddenly shrieking crowds, right in my ear. ”You cannot run toward the gunfire, you stupid woman! It is death in that square. I will not let you go!”
I struggled, my hands numb and bleeding, on the dirty ice, but he was too big. He stood, hauling me by my shoulders until I stood beside him. I saw River running toward us, weaving through the panicking crowd, dark eyes huge in her white face. She shook her head at her brother, who immediately started scanning the square for an escape. People were dashing everywhere, trying to get clear of the thousands of mounted troops caging the tiny rebellion. I started to pull again. Luck was with me—Vaughn had instinctively held a hand out to his sister, to draw her to us. His grip was weakened. I tugged myself free and pelted into the panicking mass of uniforms, searching desperately for Papa. The guns still thundered; my dash had moved us from the safety of the unfinished cathedral, behind the cannon, through the line of imperial forces and into the center of the bull’s eye. All I could see was chaos, dust and blood darkening together in the gathering gloom. I needed to see more, I needed a vantage point. My eyes caught on the statue of Peter the Great, his enormous horse rearing over this unexpected battlefield as though ready to lead a countercharge. If I could climb, I could see over the crowd. I could find Papa.
I had my hands on the statue’s base before I was caught again. Vaughn’s fingers were iron shackles on my arms, holding me in place. ”I can’t leave him! I won’t leave him! He needs me, he needs me!” I screamed at him, but he looked grim and held tight. It took a moment for my own panic to clear enough to realize that he was talking to me. ”… over there. Look, Nadia, look! If he survived the volleys, he will be trying to escape home to you. If we can avoid the guns, we can find him. That is where we should be!” I followed his finger, to the best outlet the square now offered us: the frozen Neva river.
“Run, run!” Vaughn was pushing me forward now, as though I needed the incentive. He stayed just behind us, shepherding me with one hand and his sister with the other, balancing us as we stumbled in our haste. In the lull between blasts, I heard hoof beats bearing down on us. ”Run!”
We made it to the Neva. I looked urgently for Papa, but the river ran now with smoke and uniforms; it was impossible to tell if he had made it. The beleaguered companies were trying to reform on the ice, men swirling everywhere. Vaughn was dragging me forward. We were more than half way across; I realized that he didn’t intend to stop and let me search. I tried again to turn back and force my way against the crowd, but his fingers were so strong, and the ice so slick.
“Nadia-” his reprimand stopped abruptly, and I turned to look through the gathering darkness, trying to see what whatever had distracted him. I needn’t have looked. I recognized the sound.
I don’t remember most of the next few hours. I remember sliding across the ice, frigid water splashing up around us. I remember screams as men fell into the jagged holes, the black waters swirling up to stifle their cries. We ran through the Twelve Colleges, Vaughn pulling me by the wrist and River whispering pleadingly at my shoulder. I don’t know what she said. The memory of the cannon blasts, puncturing holes in the thick but treacherous ice, the sounds of the screaming… they deafened me, and didn’t fade.
I don’t know how much later I began to come back. I realized that I was cold. Shivering, in fact, as I stumbled over rough pavement. Parts of my skirt were frozen. That shouldn’t be. I fought against the battle scenes that swathed me, struggling to view my actual surroundings. I had no idea where I was. Nothing looked familiar. I didn’t know what to do about that, so I kept staggering forward. Soft sounds brushed my ear and I snatched at them, pushing the fog aside until I could make sense of the susurrations.
“… longer can we wait?”
“What else can we do? You tried just as I did—she doesn’t even know we’re here!”
“I know. It frightens me. Something is very, very wrong.”
The deeper voice sighed. ”I know. But there’s nothing else to do. If I touch her… we can’t start the screaming again. If nothing else, she’ll wear out soon, and then I can find lodging somewhere for the night. I don’t know how much danger Anatoli Ivanovich invited—if the Tsar knows he was involved, it may be safer for her not to be at home. I don’t know who will be in charge of collecting the dissidents.”
Anatoli Ivanovich. Papa. Vaughn’s words pulled me into the present, and I lurched to a stop, turning to face my best friends. I couldn’t make words come together in my mind, couldn’t get sound from my mouth.
River and Vaughn looked at me curiously, and then River stepped forward slowly, as though I were a bird that might fly away if she startled me. ”Nadia?”
I just nodded. She seemed relieved to see that much. Setting her hand on my shoulder, she spoke to me with relief, but very gently, as to a young child.
“Oh good. Nadinka, we need to get inside. We’re going to freeze to death if we’re out here much longer.”
I waited for her words to filter through the strange nothingness that had replaced the cannon blasts. They coalesced slowly. She was right; it was very, very cold. The thought wandered around my head for a moment, met up with the one that had first snared my attention. Papa. Papa would be cold.
I must have managed to voice that one, because River and Vaughn looked at each other. I couldn’t read their faces. They didn’t seem to understand, so I tried again. ”We have to find Papa. He’ll be cold. We have to bring him home.”
Their faces still looked wrong. I could tell they were talking; one of those silent conversations that I could almost follow when I was more myself. River spoke to me, even more softly.
“Nadinka, your Papa… your Papa isn’t going to come home. I’m so sorry.”
I was surprised to find that I knew already, somewhere deep in me, on the other side of the fog. I had known when I’d seen River’s pale face shaking, when I had seen all the blood in the square, when Vaughn had begun dragging us away. He would no more abandon Papa than I would, if for different reasons. But the fog had held me apart from the knowledge. For the second time in one night I felt my foundation fracture, and rushing, frozen blackness began to suck me down. I did what I had done before. I ran.
“Nadia” I could tell that my friends were pursuing me; I couldn’t let them catch me. They would stop me, and if I stopped… I could never stop. The noise of my pounding feet muffled as I struggled forward. I was no longer running on stone. There were trees rising around me in the darkness, and the wind lessened, though the icy air still cut my throat. I was in a park. I could hear footsteps behind me still. There was something wrong with my eyes, and I ran forward blind…
Something splintered, and frozen earth collided with my body. Blinding pain burned along my right side. Someone collided with my other side, and for a moment I was flying. I landed rolling, bouncing, agony underlining every motion. A few heartbeats later it stopped. I lay for a moment, listening to panting in the dark. Something moved against me, and involuntarily I cried out.
“River?” Vaughn called out to his sister in English, for the first time sounding afraid. ”River, are you hurt?”
“Vaughn?” The voice, at once terrified and hopeful, came from somewhere behind me. ”Vaughn, where are you? I can’t see you. I can’t feel the wind. Where are we?”
I heard footsteps, uncertain but rushed. ”I’m here. It’s alright, I’m here,” he reassured her. ”I don’t know where we are, but I’ll find out in a minute. I think it’s a cave—we dropped quite far. Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so. I’m bruised, but I’ll be fine. Are you hurt?”
“No, just shaken a little.”
“Where is Nadia?”
“It must have been her I brushed. This way, I think. Slowly, now.”
More tentative motion, and someone’s hand found my face.
“Nadia?” Vaughn’s fingers lingered in front of my mouth, feeling the air move in and out with my gasping breaths. He dropped back into Russian. ”Nadia are you hurt?” His hand moved to my shoulder, and I heard myself shriek again. ”I think that means yes.” English, so he was probably not talking to me anymore. That was good; I wasn’t interested in conversation. He went on, sounding shaken. ”I’m not sure she’s conscious.”
River’s hair still smelled nice, even after the gun smoke and the running. It brushed softly against my cheek as she bent to whisper in my ear. ”Nadinka? Nadinka, little one, can you hear me?”
I couldn’t manage more than a moan in response, but she seemed to understand. ”It’s going to be alright, little one, you’re going to be fine. Can you tell me where it hurts?”
Everywhere. My whole body burned with it. I tried to unfold myself, to put the parts in order and take inventory. It was a short lived attempt. The spasmodic movement stopped my breath before I’d made it onto my back.
“Nadia, can I help you?” River sounded anxious. I tried to move more slowly, to break the pain into segments I could bear, but my right arm and leg would not obey me. They lay uselessly across me, throbbing. Slowly, very slowly, I shifted my left hand until it brushed against Vaughn. Instinctively he grabbed it, squeezed. That did not hurt. That was something.
River lay my head on her cloak and began stroking my hair. ”It’s alright, you don’t have to move. You just lie here, we’ll take care of it.”
“I doubt that. She doesn’t have much time left.”
I felt Vaughn rise and whirl to face the speaker, River folding herself down to shield me. I didn’t recognize the voice. It was soft and mildly amused, as though my impending death was a small dog’s trick. I decided I didn’t like him, whoever he was.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Vaughn demanded. He didn’t seem to like the stranger either.
“I should ask you—this is my place. But I already know your purpose here, better than you do. And who you are doesn’t really matter. You won’t be anybody soon.” There was a slight hesitation, and then he added speculatively, “Well, maybe one of you will be.”
I didn’t hear him move, felt hardly a breath of air, but River was no longer beside me. I heard her whimper, somewhere off to my right, and turned toward the sound. My body protested but obeyed. Progress.
“You are a very pretty girl,” I heard the stranger murmur. ”I might find another use for you.”
Vaughn growled and leapt over me in the dark, throwing himself at the stranger. He must have missed. I heard him stumble into the cavern wall. ”What,” the stranger laughed, “you prefer I keep the other one? I suppose she would clean up well.” He sounded slightly out of breath, but unhurt. River’s voice shrieked; the sound was cut distressingly short. Vaughn snarled in rage, and I heard a thud as he hurled his body at the stranger again. This time seemed more successful; there was scuffling, and a guttural Russian curse. Vaughn only swore in English. If I could only stand up…
I made it to my knees and crawled, dragging my body and feeling my way, until I had frozen earth in front of me as well as below. My right hand was still only barely functional, and throbbing; I braced myself with my left and began the excruciating process of getting to my feet. Behind me, the sounds of struggle stopped.
“I’m working up quite an appetite. Nothing like exercise to get the blood flowing, hmm?”
Everything happened at once. Vaughn gasped. There was a deafening bang, and the acrid tang of gunpowder assaulted me. Someone ran past me, cloth brushing my skin in the darkness. I staggered, and someone large threw me back into the invisible wall. My head exploded in light and agony, and then the darkness was inside as well as out. I knew nothing.
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trismugistus reviewed Version 2 -
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I have to admit I found the whole piece rather tough going. It seems to launch into the middle of something with the narrator talking about things as if we already know what’s going on.
You’re also giving us a massive info-dump. That sort of thing should be avoided anyway, but putting one up front is a big turn-off for readers. I would start with the section where she is listening in on them.
Perhaps bits of the info-dump could be interspersed with actual dialogue as explanations your narrator is adding. Or alternatively, if the stuff in the info-dump is really important, some of it could be expanded up to scenes. Certainly, the bits about other characters would be better addressed at the point your narrator encounters them.
It’s all too much to take in in one go.
This also doesn’t feel like a prologue. It’s more like a chapter 1. A good prologue becomes relevant later in the story (giving and “oh, I see” moment) or informs the story in such a way that we the reader know things that other characters don’t, perhaps adding tension or peril. I’d say if this is just the first part of the story then it should be Chapter 1.
You could certainly do with some section breaks. I use a # to indicate where a new section is as urbis does weird things with formatting, but you definitely need to break this up more for the reader—we need something to tell us where time elapses or to separate different events.
The sections where people talking can also be confusing--there are very few indications whose speaking. Even if your narrator can’t see anything like in the first bit, I would have thought they would have recognised their father’s voice. If not give the voices some characteristic--one deep, the other high pitched and then use that to track whose saying what.
What’s said--the dialogue--actually seems very good. And the story as a whole seems well thought out and you seem to have a good grasp of your characters.
I’m not sure about the language you use, though. There are some nice bits, like the startled bird line, but overall it seems overly flowery and a bit obscure “crashing canon of the rifles, then to the screaming cadenza of rifle and sword,” for example is quite convoluted—simpler ‘the crack of rifles; the clash of swords and the screams of the wounded’ type language can convey just as much but be more accessible to readers.
The piece gets a lot better towards the end where things happen—I would tend to focus on getting those upfront to pull readers in, then having the explanatory stuff you need once they’re hooked.
I hope that’s of some use to you.
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Marian reviewed Version 2 -
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The story overall was well done. You developed the characters well. I liked how how you explained the final scene in the end where Nadinka was so injured and weary of what was going on around her. It made it suspenseful and added mystery to the story. You have a great amount of talent and will do very well in writing stories. The story was creative and imaginative and allowed the reader to escape into the story. Keep up the good work.
AlexMadlinger reviewed Version 2 -
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Alright, alright. I’ll be honest. Ready?
Really, I’m a nice guy. I’m really a nice fellow. I love writing. But…
here was my exact thought.
WHAT… THE… CRAP?!
First, you made a mention about how un-lady like something or other was. Then you said “Nicholas I was to be crowned.” I’m confused… was she going to be crowned king? What? I litterally thought that maybe she was a shapeshifter or something.
I understand that there is at least a little historical backround here. Tsar… Nicholas… I think I am familiar with some of the history here. I don’t know if there is really a historical backround or if you are just borrowing names and settings.
However I am really confused. You might want to take a little more care to explain to your readers exactly what the crap is going on. Cause I is… LOST!
The writing was excellent. You did a good job of writing. You just need to make things a little clearer.
Moshi reviewed Version 2 -
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So far not much in terms of fantasy but that’s understandable from your explanation. I thought that this set the scene well and was clear for most of it. There were gaps and the like which you also mention and these provide good openings to draw a reader further to try and fill them in. I like the descriptive language that you use as well. In all an enjoyable piece, even if it isn’t something I’d usually read myself. Keep it up
yesandno reviewed Version 2 -
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Very well done. The writing is very good, and the dialogue excellent. While understated, the descriptions are convincing. I got a feel for Nadia’s character very quickly, and sympathy followed.
“It was soft and mildly amused, as though my impending death was a small dog’s trick.” I liked this line very much. It was vivid and more idiosyncratic, and if you could fit in some more of this style of description I think this chapter would go from something that is very, very good to something that is outstanding. It’s not that your description is ineffective or bland, it’s just not generally as grabbing as that line is.
The suspense is quite effective. I would continue reading, and hope to see the next sections as they come about, despite the fact that I am not particularly interested in vampires. Nadia is sympathetic enough to intrigue me as a character, which sets this aside from a lot of the genre.
The setting is interesting too, and adds a lot to the story.
Curtastrophe reviewed Version 2 -
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I like what’s been done with the first paragraph. It now alludes to something more tangible—that the girl’s father is involved with something that would be considered treason, and he doesn’t want to share the business with her because he fears that if he gets caught, that she’ll be executed too. Is that the gist of it? I suspect it is. Still… “…beginning it was doomed….” Is this a reference to the secret?
“…when he met…” Is “he” Papa? Or Pestel? I suspect it’s Papa, but I think it could be more clear. I’d suggest, “…when Papa…”
So, I gather that although Papa isn’t telling his daughter the secret info, she and her friends are getting it from the conspirators—they happen to be the same age and involved in the same activities.
“Nicholas was…” Nice technique—giving the reader information through the guise of the girl asking herself an honest question. It’s sneaky, but it works.
The dialogue between the conspirator and Papa is rendered well. It also does a good job of progressing the story by providing the reader with pertinent details as to what’s going on whit Nicholas and the political turmoil. Perhaps a few dialogue tags thrown in though wouldn’t hurt and allow the reader to understand who’s speaking.
“A warm little glow…” Great sentence. One of many.
Is there a new scene following, “…something of that as well.”? If so, I’d suggest using a # to indicate a break. Otherwise, the reader’s eyes keep rolling along and they can potentially get lost in the transition.
A suggestion, “I had sworn that never again would he face danger without help.”
Yes, this is all much more clear. It’s obvious now that N goes to the protest or the square and sits on the scaffolding when chaos and violence breaks out. Of course she’s motivated to go save her father, that’s her desire…
“. I think it’s a cave…” Perfect. This makes a lot more sense now.
WOW. Your gift for description and conveying the perception in the 1st person is admirable and quite well done. Kudos. Really good stuff. The dialogue sounds very believable as well—published book quality kind of stuff. I think the first time I read this I kept trying to figure out what was going on and didn’t grasp the beauty of the writing itself. That, or you’ve just done some serious revising. In any case, this second read was far more enjoyable and the experience of N was far more real. Terrifying in some parts. A literary vampire novel? This sounds exciting. Keep up the good work. Thanks for sharing.
-Curt
Maiafay reviewed Version 2 -
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Disclaimer:
-- My reviews are not demands; every author can and should feel free to ignore me. All I ask, is that you consider what I suggest and apply it to your writing as you see fit. --
Word Choices
You need to fine-tune some of your word choices. The difference the right word opposed to the “semi-right” word can be staggering. I think Twain said it best.
The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.
That said, I’ll point out some examples where I think your word choice should be tweaked.
I don’t think he ever really intended for me to be in ignorance.
I think “to remain ignorant” would work better.
So I knew, when Pavel Pestel came to St. Petersbug, what the tension was about, and why it kept building after he left.
I think “mounting” might be better, or remove “kept building” and use “mounted”. I thought you were talking about an actual building when I read it the first time.
I suspect he just wanted me to be able to answer honestly, when the inevitable happened, that he had never told me anything; treason is, after all, an execution-worthy offense.
It did take me a few reads for this, but I understand what you mean here. He wanted her to be blameless for his treason, to know nothing. But all those commas ruin the flow and that last semicolon should be a period. Here is an alternative reword:
I suspect when the inevitable happened, I could answer honestly that he had told me nothing. Treason is, after all, an execution-worthy offense.
Or something more to your liking since this is pretty much in my style.
It was like a forest in winter – no sounds, but the snow keeps piling up, and you know that one of these nights the branches are all going to start to break.
And reworded for brevity (again, my style – you would find a way to do it in yours):
It was like a forest in winter: silence until the tree branches strained beneath the weight of heavy snow; that creak and snap before the wood finally buckled.
No sound = silence
snow keeps piling = heavy snow
Took out the night bit to keep it on track; would it matter if the branch breaks in the night?
Sorry, I’m the brevity queen; any excess word is a hindrance.. I blame William Strunk Jr..
Passive voice:
I’ve noticed you favor the passive voice style, and while that’s not a bad thing, per se (depending on the country. British authors are more inclined to favor the passive voice), active is usually better. Since passive voice obscures the subject and opens the door for “to be” verbs (passive verbs), this style ends up wordier than is should be. And also paves way for the excessive use of the “ing” verbs.
Nits
That very first sentence, I was a genius? Cut it. It seems out of place to me since you then explain the secret part. Start there and then keep reasserting that theme. Secret, what secret? I think this is why the middle bits don’t flow well is because there isn’t anything that ties them to the beginning. More on the mid bits in a second.
On page 3, I lost track of who was saying what; I thought that bore mentioning.
A booming crash destroyed my reverie. I jumped, searching for the source. My eyes lit on the Senate building; a large gash snarled in the ornate roof.
A booming crash should be its own paragraph. It heightens the effect.
The middle parts get very muddy…from page 6 to almost the end I found it hard to visualize what was going on.
These were generally turned away quietly, but twice there was gunfire. I leaned forward, straining to see the dead men, and met only Vaughn’s broad chest as he interposed himself.
It’s as if you skipped the part where the men “fell dead”. I see there is gunfire, but that can mean bullets in the air, misdirected; it doesn’t automatically mean people get shot. I know not everything should be spelled out for the reader, but it’s these ambiguous parts that hurt the visual and sense of place.
The final few pages caught my interest since this is when the vampire (I’m assuming) shows up. Then I wanted to read more :)
Overall, you do have a good sense of your protagonist, who she is, what her motivations are; this sets up conflict and interest for me. However, the beginning doesn’t seem to match the mid-parts or ending.
I think you have a lot of talent though, and if you tighten that mid-section you have a story I would like to follow up on. :)
M
galadriel reviewed Version 2 -
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Your missing some quotation marks on I was sure that would settle the matter, but the officer was not dissuaded. ”Nevertheless, the protest has already begun. The first regiment has formed in the square, calling for Konstantin and constitution.” Shouldn’t it be “I was sure that would settle the matter, but the officer was not dissuaded. Nevertheless, the protest has already begun. The first regiment has formed in the square, calling for Konstantin and constitution.” That’s one I saw.
Ok. There is a part that is very hard to decipher. At the star of paragraph 8 a discussion is started. You should really put the person that is talking for example:
”........” Said papa
”........” said the official.
Another thing is that you did not describe the main character. What does she look like?
You also have a few grammatical mistakes.
Like the idea though.
Hope you continue.
DragonQueen reviewed Version 2 -
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I’d unraveled my father’s secret very early on; after all, it’s nearly impossible to keep a secret from a woman. I don’t think he ever really intended for me to be in ignorance. I suspect he just wanted me to be able to answer honestly, when the inevitable happened, that he had never told me anything; treason is, after all, an execution-worthy offense. It comforts me sometimes to think that he knew from the beginning it was doomed.
You are very clear at this point. You let in some emotion into this beginning and caught my intrest.
It was hard to be patient, not to run to the old house where my friends lived and yell the news to them from the front hall, to wait while they gathered boots and cloaks and such.
I like the wording and emotion put into this.
A booming crash destroyed my reverie. I jumped, searching for the source. My eyes lit on the Senate building; a large gash snarled in the ornate roof. I think you should get rid of one of those periods. With it the way it is it sounds choppy.
Everything happened at once. Vaughn gasped. There was a deafening bang, and the acrid tang of gunpowder assaulted me. Someone ran past me, cloth brushing my skin in the darkness. I staggered, and someone large threw me back into the invisible wall. My head exploded in light and agony, and then the darkness was inside as well as out. I knew nothing.
I just liked this part.
I liked it, and thats saying something when I don’t really go for first person.
In your note you mention its not supposed to be hprror and thats okay. I have know alot of stuff about vampires that weren’t horror. In Truth Vampires are another race. There can be stories about them that isn’t horror.
SoonToBeAuthor115 reviewed Version 2 -
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Your writing style is very unique. I’m not sure if that is a good thing. When I was on the second to last page, I practically became bored with reading the style. It was kind of like reading a book written by somebody who has just recently learned our language and doesn’t know any slang at all.
You are very good with punctuation. You know how to keep me on my toes. Maybe you should try not to use so many descriptive words and instead let the reader think up some of the setting.
Overall, I gave your writing a 7. It’s above average but not quite on the level of being published and turning into a best-seller.