Thanks for the review. I’ve done some work with it since, and will post a new version soon. Pacing is a major area I am trying to fix, so your tips will be very helpful there.
Sci Fi & Fantasy / Oneiroid Pathos - Chapter One
Through frost-covered windows, they peered directly into the fading sun, drawing the curtains around their faces as if the action would hide them from Julia’s view. She could sense them, of course, and they had to know it. Still, they persisted in their feeble attempt to hide themselves.
Julia’s dress gave her station away: she was a Mistress of the Lord’s Castle. And that she was a Mistress meant that she was Mara. These people were food to her, and so they locked theirs doors and prayed, even though she kept her eyes on the road ahead. Had her message been less important, she might have taken a longer route and avoided the Ephemeral Lands altogether. But the Lord had stressed urgency. It was her first important task in service to the Great Castle, and she was determined that Lord Vehoos be satisfied with her performance of it.
Like all Mara, Julia could sense emotion from her Ephemeral cousins. What she felt coming from these people holed up in their houses was the kind of hatred that only pure fear could evoke. Was it possible she really had been born of this race? Clearly, she had never been meant to stay among them. These Ephemera shutting their windows in fear had nothing in common with Julia. They were average, ungraceful and uninteresting. Mara were always superior, in body and mind, always graceful, always interesting. Clearly, Julia belonged among them. Her taker had done her a great service when he’d found her wandering in dreams as a child, eyes tear-streaked in search of the subconscious symbol of her mother. By feeding on her then, he had brought her into her true destiny.
Even the Stigovi had said it, when they read her fortune on her tenth birthday, just before the young Mara had taken her: “You are destined for something much greater than this, my child.” And the Mara who brought her into the dreaming had proven it true.
*
On the farthest edge of the Mara Lands stood an unimposing structure of shiny obsidian. It was the last haven before the Champaign, with its infamous sudden burning rainstorms. The castle’s location made it obvious that whoever lived within was outcast; not many would choose this area, with its seasonal extremes, to make their home. The stone no doubt helped keep out the freezing cold of the Southeast winter, and the greenish-black hue of the sun’s reflection off the translucent emerald roof gave the interior a breath-catching hue at sunset. But such views were not uncommon among Mara abodes, and numerous castles more beautiful yet could be found in more agreeable climes.
The castle’s current sole occupant sat at a piano inside trying to finish a composition she’d begun twenty years earlier, on the day she had learned of the death of her parents. The song was never right, never finished, and she felt keenly that the song somehow represented herself: until she could name the last chord, she could not truly say she knew herself.
She was now at age of conclusion, when she would stop aging until death took her centuries in the future. By now, most of her kind would have etched out a place for themselves within society, found their eternal mate and settled down to a life determined by fate. But she had accomplished none of this, and inside she still felt that five-year-old orphan who had first begun the song she now sought to end.
Already an outcast for having been a ward of the Stigovi since her parents died, a deed committed in her youth had sent Aethier into outright exile. It was not a particularly painful exile, for she had no friends of her own kind and no lovers to leave behind. Her foster parents, themselves Stigovi of the Elder Council, had strictly forbidden her the companionship of another. She was meant for something greater, they told her. The Stigovi warned her to be patient, for her fate awaited her, and with it the one for whom she was intended. But Aethier was not told when she might meet this one, how they might know each other, or what she should do in the meantime to quell the almost unbearable need for companionship that was common to her race. A passionate people, the Mara were the masters of many emotions, but loneliness was not among them.
Aethier had been foolish in her youth. Seeking companionship, she had taken one of the Ephemera as her mate, forcing him into the ways of her kind. It was a sin to make victims of Ephemera who had not yet reached their twenty-fifth year, for they would be changed and become Mara themselves. This was considered an act against nature, for the Ephemera were victims of the Mara, and they did not take well to becoming the murderers of their own race. It was not easy for them to learn the ways of those they had been taught to despise.
She had thought that a taken young Ephemeral victim would provide the companionship for which she yearned, without the responsibility of intimacy. An Ephemeral man would have to obey her, or be lost in an ocean of new needs he knew not how to fulfill. It would be easy to distance herself from him physically, as was required by her fate, but still have the companionship she craved. That was what she had thought, but the union had not reaped the benefits Aethier expected. Instead of being merely dependent, her mate had been confused and angry. To Mordel, the Mara embodied cruelty and evil, and so he became what he expected of them.
Aethier’s crime might have warranted punishment much stronger than exile, had she not taken the victim in and trained him herself. She was barely a memory to her own people as it was, and this transgression had served merely to widen the already existent chasm between she and her kind. They had mostly forgotten her at the time of her exile, and by now she suspected that she was not even a vague memory to them. She was likely little more than the mysterious Mistress of that castle on the Southeast corner of the Mara Lands.
The clang of the doorbell as it rang vibrated in Aethier ’s fingers and echoed through the piano keys. She stopped on C minor, stood, and stepped into the hall. Reaching toward the door, she stopped a moment and took a breath, bracing herself for Mordel. But then, why would he ring the bell? So she opened the door.
Before her stood a child-Mistress of the Lord’s Castle, identifiable by the tight fitting long red dress she wore. Though she had never met the Lord of her Land, Aethier was certain he was stuffy and power-crazed. What kind of man assigned his Mistresses uniforms such as these? Even Mordel was not that controlling. She wondered if this girl had grown tired of Curtea’s conceit and fled the Great Castle. Or perhaps she was just one of Mordel’s lovers; he quite liked these girls, and why not, for it was rumored that only the most beautiful children were chosen to become brides. This girl lived up to it, with her long golden hair and big, innocent green eyes.
“Yes?” Aethier prompted.
The girl shrank back from the voice at first, and then straightened abruptly, as though suddenly remembering some specially ordained self-importance.
“I am a Mistress of the Great Castle of our Lord,” she explained in a voice full of girlish hauteur.
“So I see,” replied Aethier impatiently. She wanted to get back to her chords before Mordel returned.
“I am the Mistress Julia,” continued the girl, “and I have been sent with a message directly from our Lord Vehoos Curtea for the Mistress Aethier. Am I speaking with the Mistress’ service woman?”
Aethier smiled, amused at the girl’s haughtiness. “No, you’re speaking with the Mistress. I have no service woman. Your message please?”
Though the words had not been spoken harshly, they seemed to chase away the child’s confidence. “Yes, of course,” she stammered. “Our Lord Curtea would like to see the Mistress Aethier at his Castle on the sixth day of the third week.”
“Am I to bring the Master Mordel?”
“You are to bring your mate.”
“What is the nature of this call?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t told.”
“I understand,” said Aethier. “Tell your Lord that I shall attend.”
The girl nodded and backed off the stone steps slowly, her mouth open slightly as though preparing to speak. Aethier didn’t wait for her to find her voice, but quickly closed the door and stepped back into into her castle. She was curious what this summons from Lord Curtea was all about and did not look forward to telling her mate of it when he returned from feeding.
Pouring herself a glass of wine, she sat on the black satin sofa to watch the liquid settle in the glass. After a moment, she took a sip. This sudden interest in her was concerning. For years, none of her people had paid her the slightest attention, and now the most powerful of them was requesting an audience with her in less than a week. She wished she knew what the Lord wanted of her. Was it possible that she was to be punished for her crime so long after the fact? Surely her people now merely viewed she and Mordel as an oddly reclusive couple, with no remembrance of the reason behind their seclusion.
On the other hand, this was the Lord of the Land. It was doubtful that he would have forgotten. It would be his duty to remember such things. Still, if there were to be further actions taken, certainly they would have happened long before now. Then it had to be something else. Something having to do with Mordel, she expected – but what?
When her mate returned, Aethier was still on the sofa trying to guess at the meaning of this new turn of fate. Mordel walked into the room wordlessly and sat in a chair across from her. Brown-red eyes swept over her coldly, beholding her with a hint of bitterness well hidden by anger. Her eyes met his and she smiled, though it took some effort. He shook his head in apparent disapproval.
“Did you finish your music?” he asked
She nodded. “For now.” It was obvious that he was in the mood for a fight, so she smiled again – an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. But the more she smiled, the angrier he seemed to become.
He shook his head again, eyes still locked coldly on hers. “I can’t understand why you’re in such a hurry to finish this music of yours,” he said, frowning. “You’ve at least three centuries to work on it. It seems rather petty to me.”
It was an odd diatribe, for he knew very well that music wasn’t something one ‘finished’. All forms of creativity evolved and grew, and a song begun in childhood would not be complete until the composer’s final breath. Though Mordel had not been born Mara, he was Mara now. He felt the same creative push, and was bound to the same creative laws. It was evident in the poetry he had begun to write within a year after Aethier had taken him. He had tried to hide the ever-changing poem from her, and the truth was she did not have need to see it in order to know what he was doing. That he was secretive about the practice just made him that much more Mara.
Catching herself in a momentary frown, she tried to force another smile. The grimace became an emotionless expression as she watched him, wondering sadly why he had made himself into this monster. This wasn’t really who he was and she knew it. It was what he saw her people as, and he was trying to be one of them; or perhaps it was his bitterness at having been taken from his own people. Maybe hatred had set in and he really had become the monster he once dreaded.
Even his physical appearance had changed. He had been slim when she’d taken him, yes, but now he appeared skeletal. As a young Ephemeral, his fiery red hair and nearly matching eyes had complimented each other, combining with slightly tanned skin to give him an unusual attractiveness. Now his hair was dull and unkempt, like the mane of a sickly animal. His eyes, which had once been large and round with youthful curiosity, now seemed to have acquired a permanent squint. The fire that once filled those eyes had been replaced by bitterness. The whole coalesced in a look of death and meanness.
Aethier realized she had been staring blankly at him for moments, an action that was not likely to bring peace. “I gather you’ve fed,” she asked quickly, hoping the change of subject might avoid the fight he was aiming for.
He nodded. “I found a little girl sleeping in the Ephemeral Lands.” And frowned. “They dream of the strangest things.” For a moment, he seemed thoughtful, and the bitterness slipped from his face as his eyes drifted above her head and out the window. “She was dreaming of white fields when I came upon her. I don’t recall ever having dreamt of such pure things. Do you suppose I did, Aethier?” His eyes rested squarely on hers again. They were honest and free of hatred for just a moment, but the bitterness returned to them as he watched her. “What dreams did you steal from me that night, to replace with these nightmares I’ve become so acquainted with now?”
“Do you really find them so bad?”
He shrugged. “I don’t recall any other kind, I suppose. But, certainly they are horror compared with what I steal from the Ephemera to keep me alive. That girl, for instance: her white fields were covered in blood after I stole them from her. She died screaming out in her sleep. She had a pretty scream; it’s a shame I was the only one around to hear it.”
Aethier grimaced, biting her lip against words she couldn’t force back. “Why must you put your victims through pain?” she asked, keeping her voice steady and calm. “It isn’t necessary, you know. There are ways to make the experience seem just another part of the same dreams they always have.” She could see from his frown that questioning him was going to prove a mistake.
But, she had already gone this far, so she added: “If you would choose adult victims, you would not need to kill them, either.”
“Why must you always ask such questions?” he spat sarcastically. “It is our nature, you know, to cause pain. And you didn’t make it a familiar dream for me.”
Aethier took a deep breath, reminding herself to keep calm and not take his comments to heart. It was no use trying to avoid a fight, so why continue to hold back the news, waiting for a ‘right’ moment that would never arrive?
“We’ve been asked to attend the Lord’s Castle,” she said.
Mordel’s eyes hardened even more and his face took on a defensive aura. “What does he want with us?”
Aethier shook her head, wondering if his response indicated he’d done something he knew might bring trouble with the Lord. “The messenger girl didn’t know. But, it was straight from Curtea himself.”
He raised his eyebrows curiously. The defensiveness was draining from his face, being replaced by a boyish curiosity than bordered on awe. “Are we to attend in the company of the Lord?”
She nodded. “Seems that way.”
“Maybe he’s decided to take you as a Mistress.”
It was difficult to tell if his voice was laced with sarcasm or a mixture of resentment and fear.
“He can’t,” Aethier retorted quickly. “I have a mate.”
“Yes,” he taunted, with a wicked smile, “but he rules us all, my dear.”
Aethier shook her head. “One must be with their proper mate, certainly he knows that.”
He chortled, the sarcasm quite clear now. “That may be true, but you don’t seem to believe that I am yours.” He watched her in silence for a moment, then added quietly: ”Perhaps he is the one you have been waiting for.”
She was silent for a moment, saddened by his lack of empathy for her situation, and filled with guilt for her inability to comfort him in his own loneliness. At first, she had tried to make him understand how she knew he was not her true mate and why she had to wait. After several years of meeting with doubt and suspicion, she had finally stopped trying.
Searching for words, she looked down at the floor. “You will never understand our ways, will you Mordel?” she said quietly, thinking with a pang of guilt that she herself hardly comprehended the ways of her own people. Perhaps if she had understood these things better, they would not be in this predicament now.
“How can I?” he answered, just as quietly. “I was initiated into this life against my will. Oh, the transformation gave me the haunted look you people all seem to have, endowed me with the ability to suck the life out of my own kind through their dreams, drive them to exhaustion and replace their innocent visions with the nightmarish ones of what is now to be called ‘my kind’. And, of course, your attentions blessed me with that extended life span of yours, and its very specific price. Should I thank you for that, my darling? Is having to feed on the vitality of the less fortunate a worthwhile price to pay for centuries more of the nightmares that make us what we are? You would know, having been born to these ways. So share the secret with me, will you?”
She closed her eyes and yearned to disappear. If only she did have some remembrance of a connection with her kind that might offer knowledge and truth. Drifting, she tried to conjure it, or a memory of it, knowing that the visions would take over and she would not know memory from nightmare, at any rate. Still, she let the thoughts flood her, trying to discern the real from the imagined.
It was a small child she saw: herself. Wide eyes of ocean blue stared innocently, expectantly, up into the face of a beautiful black-haired woman. Milk white skin stroked blue/black hair as the woman leaned forward and touched the child’s head.
“My daughter…” The words trailed off. The woman’s voice was deep with tears, though she did not betray the feeling in her expression. The child Aethier looked pleadingly into the woman’s face, a mirror of her own, as a firm hand came around her waist from behind and scooped her up. The hand that had touched her hair remained outstretched, but the woman did not move. Every muscle in her face was firm; no tears, no sign on her face of the anguish that Aethier could read so clearly in her eyes.
“I am dead, my child,” the woman said, so quietly that it could have been a murmur. Then the child Aethier closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was her mate who sat before her, and the woman was gone forever. What did it mean, this memory? Or was it just another of the dreams?
Mordel was staring at her expectantly, awaiting a response. She struggled to find words that might make him understand. They were not so different, really, both of them outcasts with little true knowledge of the ways of their kind.
“I only know what I was told by the Elders,” she told him softly, looking down into her lap as though offering submission.
He laughed. “Oh yes, of course, only your eternal mate has rights to your blood and body. I remember this story well.”
Her head came up sharply, blue-black braids flying with the motion. When she looked at him this time, there was an icy coldness in her eyes that he had not seen before. Her frustration was obvious, and it frightened him just a little.
“There is more to it than that and you know it!” she exclaimed. “What, you conveniently forget that there is punishment for he who would deny my fate? Did you forget the eternal half-death state my premature lover would endure? Why would I wish to avoid it, Mordel? I get magical abilities out of the union, but you would get punishment and pain! I get the sweet part of the deal.”
Standing, she bore down on him angrily, and he shrank back slightly. “Power is fun if nothing else, no? But torture is never fun, Mordel. Not when you’re on the receiving end of it, anyway.”
Quickly she reached out, and with long thin fingers, gripped the side of his face, pulling him up toward her. Her eyes were burning as she stared into his face. “I am told that this particular punishment is especially uninviting. It allows no convenient escape into death. How about it, darling? Would you like to be stuck here, forever, afflicted by pain and torture, with no hope of escape? Do you suppose sharing my bed would be worth that, after all?”
She kissed him hard. As he tried to pull away, she bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood with the cutting edge of her upper teeth. It was a convenient, though unnecessary, way to feed, for dreams traveled through blood. As his trickled into her mouth, they shared a memory: he in a bed with her hands pressed tightly against his head, drawing in the visions of his sleep – the last day of his life as an Ephemeral. She had not used the blood then. She rarely did – it seemed an unnecessarily violent way to feed.
Roughly she pulled away, but held his eyes with her own, as he slipped back into the chair. “I do not wish to put you through the ravages of that punishment, Mordel, despite what you have become.”
She stood there, arms on her hips, and continued staring down on him with angry blue eyes. He was silent for a long time, merely staring back at her. When he did speak, it was softly. “Have you ever thought that I might want my true mate as badly as you do yours?” he asked.
“Of course,” she answered. “But how can I comfort you in that when you think that I am your true mate?”
“How can you be so sure that I am not?”
She looked at him squarely. “You aren’t who I’m waiting for, Mordel. I know that.”
He shook his head, the anger giving way to sadness on his face. “Then I don’t think you’ll
find him, Aethier.”
His words stung her. She wanted very much to hurt him, force him to endure a physical pain as great as the emotional pain he brought upon her. He would never understand, much less accept, her fear. He didn’t have the empathy inherent to her race. She herself was quickly losing that empathy, wanting to wreak violence against her own mate. They could not continue like this. Something had to be done.
She sat back down, her vision blurring with tears, as Mordel turned and left the castle without another word. Slowly, her hatred became sorrow, and finally pity. How could she really blame him for wanting closeness with his mate? Whether or not she was his true and eternal mate, she was, at least, his mate. And it must frighten him to consider what might happen when she did find the one for whom she waited. After all, there would be little place in her life for him then. He was a stranger to the others of her kind and a monster to his own. He had every right to be frightened, even angry.
She stood, moved toward the stairs, and climbed to the top slowly and silently. The sun had fully set now and her room was cold with the evening frost, so Aethier lit a log in the fireplace before replacing the black velvet dress she was wearing with a melon colored silk gown. It was completely dark now, except for the glow of the fire, as she slid into red satin sheets alone.
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SFeigley reviewed Version 3 -
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This was very interesting work. I wasnt sure what to expect based on the name but it turned out to be very enjoyable. I appreciate all your obvious time put into this and the attntion to detail that you have given it. I think you are doing a fantastic job and hope you keep it up.
Good luck to you on this and any other future projects.
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Gavinswar reviewed Version 2 -
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This is a good piece of work, it’s not without flaws but the overall feeling is good.
The pace is a bit slow; it takes to long to get to the point and then still is really never does. The conversations seem overly detailed and could be cut down a bit, and still draw the same effect.
I like the vampiric type storyline, and the dark and brooding nature of the Aethier her empathy towards her mate. He does seem overly hateful towards her, I get that she robbed him of many things but being a man you think he would find what he desired outside of their ‘marriage’.
The beginning of the story should have been in prologue as its not really story so much as history and setup.
So aside from pacing it s good story, it needs work to be great, but the characters have potential and are frightening enough to like. One thing being what they are, would they fear mortals even a king? I would assume they are significantly more powerful then humans could even comprehend.
Good luck Hope this helped
Gavinswar
davet reviewed Version 2 -
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You’re right, it does show signs of immaturity, some of it is very shallow; BUT other bits are quite good. Have you done some revision? If not then for 13 it isn’t immature.
I am intrigued by the idea that Ephemerals are forbidden to be taken young – before 25; and that Aethier was exiled for this. It seems this is exactly what happened to Julia. She was born Ephemeral, and “taken” as a child, turned into Mara.
There is clearly a lot going on here, and the plot is set up well. If your question is “is it worth continuing?” then I would say yes, but it does need revision to give it more depth and colour.
bravis reviewed Version 2 -
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You wrote this when you were 13?!? Well I may as well pack up now and go home really. I REALLY liked this. A very original take on the vampire idea. The chapter flowed well and introduced the character very well. I feel I now know her background, and her thoughts, and her present situation, AND I also have a vague idea of where the story is going. I got some good visuals of the location too without becoming bored by it. At first the names thrown in early on were confusing, but you resolve this fairly quickly and by the end I also know who all those people are and how they are connected.
As for how to improve it for a more adult audience… I’m at a loss really. I’m 31 and I thought it was plenty adult enough. It didn’t sound immature at all. Are you sure you haven’t tinkered with it at all before posting?!
For the first time I can write the immortal (!) line: ”I’d like to read more” on an Urbis review! Is there anymore? I will have a look now…
stygmarsh reviewed Version 2 -
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If this hasnt been altered since you were 13 its damn good! Here are some suggestions on the piece with an overview at the end
I like “their feeble attempt to hide themselves.” And suggest you follow it with something about them having to look anyway out of curiosity?
“What she felt … was pure hatred” – I presume she senses the fear also!
“Clearly, Julia belonged among them” i.e. the Mara
“keep out the freezing cold” maybe cold winds?
“It was not a particularly painful exile, for she had made no friends,.. etc” is a bit at odds with “..the almost unbearable need for companionship.” Later?
I liked the intensity of the relationship between Mordel and Aethier its quite sad to be caught up in such a web for both of them.
Overview; The character interaction was very good and suitably ‘inhuman’ to convince. Its an intriguing storyline.
THOTHGUARD51 reviewed Version 2 -
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AS to the story…it is worth keeping and working with. There is a lot of orginal thought showing here.
The opening section. Nicely done and kept in one POV.
The next sections seems to be more back story and slowed the read a bit. Again, nicely writen, but its still back story and slows the pace of the opening. Also, I am not sure who’s POV your solely in. You start out in one but after the dialog starts, you drift into another, thus, confusing the reader. If your going to shift POVs, you need transitions and line breaks. We readers confuse easily. lol.
After the next section/transition, you seem to stay in the POV better, but again, you giving a bit too much back story in places and slowing the opening chapter of your book.
This maybe a mater of taste vs substance, but as with any opening, you want to grab the reader by the short hairs and hold them, forcing them to turn pages. Anything that slows this down can turn a reader off from even the best writen work. Yes, we readers are a finicky lot aren’t we.
I think your style and most of your grammar usage and choices are very well done. I would just think about maybe shortening the amount of back story, maybe add a little more up front story. Again, maybe a personal matter of taste over substance.
Very well done…
Wish you and your words the best.
Nick.
December 31, 2006
Deleted User
Review of Version 2 -
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You might want to consider how much you like it and whether or not you are truly inspired to do a rewrite. I’m not trying to insult, but you might want to take the idea and start over completely fresh, without this in the background to distract you.
I’ll just say that it is good for what it is, and could be a very interesting full-blown story.
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