Thanks for your review. I didn’t spot that typo, thanks. I’ll have to correct it on an edit. As far as showing instead of telling, I wanted the reader to have a clear picture of the brother before I moved into the exchange between he and the sister. It was merely economy of words to describe him as I did, so I could move on to the dialogue. Thanks for your review.
Novel Treatments / Avenging the Crone - Chapter One
Chapter 1
Another Funeral
Sunshine… Bright, almost blinding, bathing everything it touches in warmth…the sound of birdsong, the scent of spring grass and good, sun-warmed earth…all under a sky of robin’s-egg blue. The sort of day that makes one happy to be alive, and exactly the sort of day that feels innately wrong for a funeral.
Inside the funeral parlor, as barely audible strains of melancholic tunes waft in from the musician in a far room…whispers and gentle sniffles can be heard. Boxes of little, white tissues are passed hand-to-hand to dab away the tears of grief, as memories of the departed soul are shared.
The heavy satin drapes that cover all of the windows in such places somehow keep you isolated from the world outside, until finally, this house of grieving begins to feel like a separate world altogether. Like something from a myth…everyone marooned on an isle of sadness—somewhere in the land of Faerie. Memory fades, and you seem to forget the world you came from, strangely, feeling as though you have always been here. That is, until you step outside again, and become immersed in that golden sunlight. Instinctively, you feel the sudden rush of euphoria that a spring day invariably brings…abruptly followed by a flood of unspeakable guilt, at remembering why you are there.
Thoughts like these were plaguing the mind of Nessa Willowby, as she descended the funeral-house steps and headed toward her car, one of many mourners cueing up for the drive to the cemetery. Of course, her family had insisted she not drive herself today, saying that she should ride with them in one of the lead cars instead. Despite their numerous pleas, she had graciously declined.
Her tactful refusal was more than a simple need for solitude. The fact was, most of the relatives here today were not local; they’d traveled from other places to attend. Being people she rarely saw, also meant they were people she was not particularly close to. In truth, some she barely knew. Not that they weren’t good, or that their grief and concern weren’t genuine; she was sure they were. But as kind or well-meaning as she might think them, she had her own reason for avoiding them. It was that she knew that they were positively brimming with questions for her…that rather unfair habit that people display after the death of someone; expecting those who knew the deceased best to fill them in on anything about the persons life they may have missed. Nessa was simply not up to their inevitable inquiries, or trying to condense a loved one’s life into a few easy sentences.
I’ve attended too many of these, she thought. At twenty-five, she had indeed seen more than her share of Hawthorne family funerals. Occasionally, these solemn gatherings had been for some grandfatherly male relative, the kind with gray hair and wrinkled brow, who had grown old enough for their passing to seem fair somehow, and to have come as no surprise. Occasionally. But today’s funeral had been like most she’d seen, nature at her most unfair, a life cut short, a journey unfulfilled…It was yet another funeral for a woman, and what’s more, a woman gone long before her time.
Today’s gathering of the Hawthorne clan had been especially painful for Nessa because (while all death brings sadness), this tragedy had struck very close to home. The woman who had died was Nessa’s aunt, Kate Hawthorne; an enigmatic and loving woman with whom Nessa shared a home, and who had been like a mother to her. Kate had also been one of the persons who had raised Nessa after the loss of her parents, years before. Kate had been a natural choice, given that she and Nessa’s mother, Ivy Hawthorne, had been sisters.
Losing Aunt Kate had been a crushing blow; something she had certainly not been prepared for. No one was. How could they be? Kate Hawthorne had been only forty-nine years old.
Ah my Goddess, so many of them…one after the other… Nessa thought sadly. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong…all of those sisters …all of those last goodbye’s… year after year. Now there is only one…my poor Aunt Cordelia, she’s all alone…
On Nessa’s particular branch of the family tree, (or more precisely, on her mother‘s branch), there had been eight sisters in all. The thought of it always bewildered Nessa, who could never imagine eight sisters living in one house, regardless of its size. Nor could she fathom the fortitude of a woman like her grandmother, who’d actually been willing to be pregnant eight times. Nessa, who liked children as a rule, (but had never been very fond of actually tending to them), could never decide if her grandmother had been a hopeless masochist, or some sort of saint.
She had casually mentioned this thought once, in the company of some older women. They had all laughed good naturedly, and assured her that whether it is one child or ten, if the child is yours, caring for them seems like the most natural thing in the world. Nessa, having no children of her own, decided she must take them at their word.
Today, she found herself thinking if I ever do have children, let them be boys. They live longer…
#
The funeral house was now empty, with the exception of the Priestess and coffin-bearers, who were just preparing to come outside. The last mourner to leave, a young man now stood alone at the top of the steps. His hand reflexively moved to his brow; an effort to shade his eyes from the sudden sunlight. He was tall, lean, and muscular. His face, clean-shaven and angularly handsome, was framed in dark, chestnut hair, worn long. It fell away from his head in loose curls, stopping just below the top of his shoulders. The resultant look, reminiscent perhaps of the Scotsmen of old, was poetic, and at the same time savage. His clothes were simple and comfortable; soft brown slacks, a white muslin tunic, and brown leather sandals.
He looked left, then right, obviously scanning all of the faces for someone in particular. His hand fell from his eyes as he spotted who he was looking for. Running a hand back through his hair, he let out a long, troubled sigh, and descended the steps.
Nessa, visibly distraught, was leaning against the passenger door of her car. With one hand on her forehead, and the other on her stomach, she looked as though she was unsure whether to wretch or to faint. She watched as six sturdy men began to carry the gleaming wooden box down the steps toward the waiting hearse. The priestess followed, gently waving her hands; her robes gracefully billowing behind her as she moved. Quietly, she intoned the sacred prayers.
Nessa couldn’t help wondering how her grandmother would have felt today, with now seven of her eight beautiful girls gone. Willing herself not to be sick, and determined not to faint, she opted instead to fold her arms tightly across her chest, hoping that this would somehow quell the huge sob that she knew was lurking there, like some wild thing longing to burst from a cage.
“Alright, N`yessa?” came a soothing male voice behind her ear, pronouncing her name in the local dialect. She felt a reassuring arm slide around her middle, and a firm hand grasp her elbow to steady her.
Looking up toward the familiar voice, she met with eyes the color of dark amber, ringed in the deepest brown. It was the sympathetic gaze of her brother, Jack. Despite the fact that he was younger than she, his caring and protective demeanor made him suddenly seem every bit the comforting, big brother.
A quavering “Mm-hmm,” was all the reply she could manage (without freeing the sob from its cage). She turned back just in time to see the men sliding her aunt’s wooden coffin, carved with its intricate designs, into the yawning rear door of the long, black vehicle.
“I don’t want you driving yourself Nes’, not today,” said Jack. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride up there?” he asked, motioning toward several sleek, black cars in line behind the hearse.
“I’m sure. Although I would feel better if you would ride with me Jack. Will you drive? I’m too shaky…”
“Of course I will,” he replied.
“Oh wait, what about the other car? I forgot you drove here too…,” fretted Nessa, worried that she was making things complicated.
He gently moved her away from the vehicle so he could open the passenger door. “Don’t be silly. I can send someone later to pick it up, or it can stay here for all I care. Cars are at the bottom of the worry list today, ok?” he said, gently scruffing the top of her head.
Softly nudging her, and nodding toward the open door, he said in a soothing voice, “Go ahead and get in now ‘Say-sa‘, I think they are ready to go.”
She gave him a weak, but grateful smile, and slid into the passenger seat. Handing her the seatbelt buckle, he gently closed the door. She saw him wave a reassuring gesture to some family members up ahead, one that said ‘It’s ok; I’m going to drive her’.
Nessa watched him walk to the front of the car, where he stopped to exchange a few last-moment directions with one of the men. She saw him pull a small strip of leather from his pocket, and casually gather his brown curls back into a ponytail as he was talking, revealing a strong jaw, and handsome face.
Looking at him, she suddenly felt intensely proud of how mature he had become. His mannerisms bespoke a quiet confidence, approachable, easy-going, yet possessing a self-assuredness that prompted older men to approach him as an equal. And yet, at twenty-three, and a strapping six feet tall, he had just now endearingly called her “Say-sa”… his own private name for her from when he’d been a little boy, still learning to talk…like ‘Nessa’ and ‘sister’ rolled into one. Strangely, hearing it had somehow loosened the band across her chest. The sob grew silent in its cage. Her calm was returning. Looking at Jack, she wondered if he had known that it would. Something told her he did.
Jack got in, and with a small tick-tick, put the key into the ignition. Just then, something caught their attention. A woman passed in front of their car, causing the brother and sister to both look up and watch her through the glass. She slowed her pace for only a instant, just long enough to peer in at the two of them. Her beetle-black eyes quickly darted back and forth between them, and for a fleeting second, an appalling smile slid across her face, almost imperceptible, and utterly chilling.
“Did you see that?” asked Jack.
“You know I did. She is absolutely vile. Drive Jack…please.”
Like a multi-colored serpent, the cars all seamlessly fell into line behind the gleaming black hearse. The ride to the place of burial would not take long. Willow Cove wasn’t that big.
Soon the mourners would be gathered round, listening to the wise-ones chant the ancient prayers. They would speak about the ever-turning wheel of life. They would remind them that all phases of life are transitory, even that of death. All of the sacred rituals would be followed, and together, they would farewell this loving woman, and give honor to the ancestors awaiting her- in the Otherworld.
The cars they had driven today would probably not be touched again for months.
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hypatia reviewed Version 1 -
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Jeshy reviewed Version 1 -
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Fantastically written. The story flowed smoothly and your descriptions were simple and easy to understand, yet detailed enough to make me feel like I was part of the story. You did a great job at portraying the characters making them very easy to relate and sympathize with.
The only thing that I suggest is the places where you used parentheses can be separated with commas instead. The same thing with the ”...” It makes it look a lot less juvenile.
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Merrell reviewed Version 1 -
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Huh. I havent seen a modern fantasy work on this site yet, and its one of my favorite genres. Very nice.
Kels66 reviewed Version 1 -
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Well i will be honest i only found one minor mistake. So before i tell you what that is i will tell you this. Your story was very good. It was easy to fallow and made sense. I think it would be a little better if you showed more then told us what was happening or what people looked like.
The only mistake I found was that, ‘a instant, ’ It should be ‘an instant’ That is because it is A for a constanent and an for a vowel.
Reignman reviewed Version 1 -
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This is an interesting description of a funeral. Having been to a few of them myself, I can relate to how they never seem to fall on weather-appropriate days.
I like the depth you give to the characters, even in this small scene. It seems to have a very small-town feel to it. Very cool.
CanguroArgentino reviewed Version 1 -
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Very impressive writing!
As you said in the notes for reviewer, the characters aren’t fleshed out enough, yet. But placing them in this context made them very relatable. You describe their emotions efficiently and with very great imagery.
I deducted a point for not detailing the relationship Nessa had with her aunt, which would have given us understanding of her withheld crying.
Good Job!
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