By sophomore year, I'd fleshed out the idea quite a bit; main characters, the main plot, etc. Over the next year, I put more work into Age of Shadow than I have anything else since: I filled up notebook after notebook with ideas, notes, and rough drafts. I created an entire world, wrote back stories for all the characters, developed an economy, a theology, a geography...everything. It was a painstakingly planned out epic fantasy. I started the book out with 6 main characters: Gane, Corik, Syndei, Thyen, Scrym, and Torulath. All of their plots were interwoven, and I tried to weave a delicate balance between them, winding in and out of one another to (what I thought was) a dramatic conclusion.
By the time I burned out (May 2005), I'd done a colossal amount of work. 185,000 words on the manuscript alone, and probably half that much again on side stories, notes, and so on. I'd lost three characters (though they still were in the book to varying extents--the just weren't main characters with their own PoV's.)---Thyen, Syndei, and Scrym---and had created a new one, Kyrae. Gane had started out as the main character, now he'd just become one of three; Torulath was the villain.
I love those characters. I know them better than I know myself sometimes; I know all of their entire lives, their personalities, everything. I've done way too much work on them (and Age of Shadow) to ever really quit--one day, I AM going to finish (probably within 2 years; there's a new writing project I recently started working on that I need to finish first.).
The plot, I'll go into more detail in in later posts. It was an epic fantasy, though I think in many ways the story (and especially the characters) were pretty original and enjoyable.
The prologue, anyways, was one of my favorite parts of the book. Essentially, each chapter is from the perspective of one of the characters. The prologue is different. It has a short (not chapter length) PoV (point of view) from each of the main characters (I think Thyen and Scrym still have a part in the prologue, though not as main characters in the main book.)
Anyway, as I mentioned, Kyrae was one of the later characters I developed for the book. Once I did, though, it was hard to believe I'd ever intended to write Age of Shadow without her in it. Writing her chapters was truly a blast, and even though I only started work on her chapters in the last month or two of a whole school-year of work on Age of Shadow, I wrote as much material for her as any of the characters.
Recently I've been going through my old Age of Shadow stuff; chapters, drafts, notes, and am reworking and refining the plot to prepare for (one day) finishing (and rewriting quite a bit) Age of Shadow.
Like I said, I really enjoyed the prologue, and reading it now, years later, that still holds true. I figured I'd take out a section of the prologue---Kyrae's---and post it up here. I'll probably post the full prologue (edited) sooner or later.
It takes place 17 years before the events of the book; Kyrae is a twenty-something woman in Age of Shadow. In the prologue, however, she's just a girl. Still, she's the same character (in most ways) that you get for most of the book.
So, just for fun, here' s Kyrae's section of the prologue to Age of Shadow. Oh, by the way, her real name is Kyralin Lilya (luh-LIE-ya) T'Geist; she goes by Kyrae Geiswerth in Age of Shadow (it's 17 years later; she has good reason for this. Why? Guess you'll have to read the book. So, yeah, don't hold your breath; it'll be a year or two.)
Some more quick setup: Arston (of the world of Nevaryn) is the continent Age of Shadow takes place in. It's essentially divided into three subsections: the North (Ejanthu, Carjiston, and Narpas), the Middle Lands, (Lospor, Ayamar, and Catheos), and the South (Uthlin and Istaloe). Torulath Vicien is an invader from the Western Lands who has, with startling skill and speed, conquered most of the the North in the last year---all except for Ejanthu (which is captured in the prologue.). Of course, he's much more than a simple warlord, as you'll see in...well, yeah, the book itself. Sorry.
Kyrae (Kyralin, rather) lives in Etador, the capital of Lospor. I'll try and put up a map of Arston later.
Enjoy; any questions, just leave 'em in a comment.
--Luke
PS---I wrote this halfway through my sophomore year in high school, so don't be too harsh.
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Kyralin Lilya T’Geist rapped her hand on the ramshackle door a second time, louder. All around her, the slums of Etador bustled and thrived. Black oil vats over noxious coal fires bubbled and belched thick grey smoke. Old crones sat on crumbling doorsteps and called out to passers-by, offering to tell fortunes for a penny. Kyralin shuddered and wrapped her hood around her tighter. They’re not staring at me, Kyralin reassured herself, None of them know who I am, and there’s no reason for them to stare.
But, as her mother often criticized, she had an overactive imagination, and it wasn’t hard to perceive the crone’s curious glances as shady stares.
It was something a relief when the door of shack’s door finally creaked open. Ignoring the fact that it was falling off of its hinges, Kyralin hurried inside, away from the questioning stares.
Wuna closed the door behind her, chuckling, a sixty year old assembly of bone and over-wrinkled flesh.
Kyralin gave him the distant stare her mother used when she was mad at her. “It took you long enough,” she said crossly.
Wuna grinned in the way that reminded Kyralin of a goat. “And who’s giving who illicit lessons for no other reason than sympathy?” He spoke in jest, of course. “I’m going to the back room. You fix these old bones a cup of tea. Then we’ll see if I can’t teach you something new.”
Wordlessly Kyrae hurried off to the small stove in the right side of the Frontroom to comply. There were only two rooms in the entire house: the sensibly named Front room, with the kitchen and the door, and the Back room, where Wuna slept and entertained gusts. Not that he ever had any guests besides her that Kyralin knew of.
She drew some water out of the barrel where Wuna kept it, using the chipped clay pot that also served to boil the water in, not to mention cook food, catch rain, or anything else Wuna felt like. Kyralin set it on the squat black stove’s single burner, fanned the brazier, and waited for it to boil.
There was a red cup with a small crack down one side on a shelf nearby; she drew it down and sat it next to the stove in anticipation of pouring the tea. Sometimes she wondered if all of Wuna’s stories about leading armies and training legends were true--if they were true, how would somebody like him end up living in this dirty part of Etador?
The water was bubbling now, she drew it off and quickly poured a suitable amount in the cup, dropping it back onto the stove before the hot edges of the pot scalded her. The tea. She always forgot the tea. Kyralin grabbed a fistful of leaves from a frayed wicker basket and dropped them in the water, and watched in disconnected interest as the water muddied from a steamy clear to a murky brown.
She hurried to the back room with it before it had a chance to get cold. Wuna liked his tea hot--very hot.
He was sitting on his pallet, leaning back against one of the parts of the wall that had no holes in it, humming some bawdy tune that her parents would have a fit over.
“Tea?”
He grunted. Kyralin nodded and handed him the cup. He accepted it with a gracious nod, then tipped the drink up and drained it, tea leaves and all. Kyralin’s throat hurt just thinking of drinking something that hot.
He smacked his lips and sat the cup on his pallet. “Now,” Wuna said, chewing on the leftover leaves, “do you remember what I told you last time?”
Kyralin nodded eagerly. “Of course I do.”
“Then, go on. Tell me what it was.”
“You were talking about coming up with fake identities. A made up name, a made up past, made up everything.”
Wunna nodded, and his snowy mustache bristled as he tightened his lips. “Ever told you what a good mind you have, for a ten year old girl?”
“Mm-hm. That’s why you’re teaching me, remember? And I’m almost eleven, not ten.”
Wuna’s eyes crinkled at their borders. “As you’ll have it. The identity--did you come up with one?”
That had been fun. Usually Wuna made her research books or write about dead famous people, but this week it had almost been like a game. It wasn’t often she had a reason to let her imagination run rampant.“Mh.Hm. My made up name is Kyrae Geiswirth, and I’ll still be a noble, just a low ranked one. I’ll be mean and I’ll hate most everybody, and I’ll talk to everybody like I’m smarter than them, and like I think they’re a little funny.”
“Hmmm. Frighteningly close to the truth, but convincing enough. Do you know why I asked you to do this?”
Kyralin racked her brains, but wasn’t able to come up with anything. She gave a small frown and a pout, just like she always did when she didn’t know the answer to a question. “Nope. You never told me.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell now,” Wuna said, and he sounded very serious. “Sometimes, you’ll realize that you can’t stay in the life that you’re living. Could be you’re bored with the one you’re living. Or maybe it’s just time to move on.” His voice grew softer. “Or sometimes---your life could be in danger.”
“That’s when you’ll need all that--a new identity, to protect yourself. To hide yourself away from the people who’d do you harm. If you’re aren’t the person being looked for, it’s awful hard to be found.”
There was a solemn edge to Wuna’s voice that Kyrae rarely heard. Something suddenly occurred to Kyralin. “Master Wuna,” she said sharply, “your name isn’t really Wuna, is it?”
For a half moment, he looked stunned, almost afraid. Then he melted, chuckling. “Should have known,” he chortled into his hand. “Should have somebody would have figured it out. Just didn’t expect it to be a ten year old girl. Even one who’s got the potential to be as good a military commander as Reyde himself.”
Kyralin thrived on praise, usually, but this time it washed over her. “Almost eleven,” she corrected pointedly, then continued, “but then, who are you?”
Wuna evaded the question. “I ever tell you what an amazing mind you have for a ten year old girl?”
Wuna said that at least three times ever visit, but this time Kyralin didn’t even correct him about her age. “Wuna. I’m not that stupid. Who are you really?”
He chuckled and lowered his gaze to his empty teacup. “Let’s say that if I told you my real name, and you told somebody else, I’d have half of Arston here at my doorstep, and you wouldn’t be able to learn with me anymore. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Kyralin shook her head fiercely, and her short copper hair flailed in front of her eyes. “Not at all.”
Wuna patted her on the shoulder. “There’s my Kyralin. Sharp as a sickle. Now, it’s time we got to business.” He stood up, and ambled over to the Trunk. Just as she did every time he opened it, Kyrae felt a thrill of excitement. He never let her look at what was inside, but he almost always brought at least one thing out each time they met. And it was invariably fascinating. Ancient stories from the first age. A shard that was supposedly from Reyde’s sword itself. A model of the whole world, a round model, not flat--a globe, he’d called that.
So Kyralin was a bit disappointed when it only turned out to be some dusty old map.
Wuna saw the disinterest in her eyes and tutted. “I thought you wanted to grow up to command a hundred thousand men in battle, and be the greatest strategist in Arston.” he chastised.
“That or be an obedient wife to a brave and noble lord,” Kyralin added.
The joke was so overused that neither of them even laughed, and their smiles were forced. “Not you, Kyralin. You know it, I know it, you’ve got a mind like the realm’s never seen before. Military or otherwise, your name will be remembered an age from now.”
Kyralin blushed at the complement. “Thank you.”
“But you’ll just be a failed strategist, no matter how smart you are,” Wuna tacked on ruthlessly, “unless you learn to comprehend and effectively used maps.” He rolled out the great big scroll. On it was drawn the largest depiction of Arston Kyralin had ever seen.
“Look,” she said, delighted, walking over to the western Middle Land, “Look, Ayamar’s so big that I can stand on it! I’m standing on myself!” Despite herself, she giggled.
Wuna frowned. “Don’t stand on this map. It’s old. And don’t giggle. You’re a woman, and if---”
“If a woman hopes to achieve an academic position, she needs to show she’s not ditzy and swoony,” Kyralin finished. “I know, I know. I am only ten.”
“Almost eleven,” Wuna corrected.
They smiled at each other. “Now,” said Wuna, “see here.” he pointed to the top right of the map, “that’s where Torulath landed.”
Kyralin made a face. “He’s bad. He’s very bad.”
Wuna nodded vehemently. “He certainly is. Don’t ever forget it. Worst thing a man could ever do, help that fool. Now,” he drew a pinch white pebbles out of his pocket and strew them on the map, “these are where Narpas’s forces are.” He scattered a fistful of black pebbles next to them. “And here’s Torulath. Tell me, Kyralin, if you were that outnumbered like that, what would you do?”
Kyralin squinted, considering the problem. She put her hands behind her back, like Wuna did when he was thinking--earning her a soft chuckle--and squinted at the map.
“Nothing,” she shrugged at last. “There’s nothing I could do. Not without special circumstances. Unless,” she brightened, “unless I could get help.”
“Exactly.” He patted her on her head, his worn hand a few shades darker than her brown gold hair. “There’s not always a straight-and-simple way to win every battle. No matter how foolish your opponent, and how clever you were, you’d loose with those odds. You’d need an outside factor---or, as you put it, help.”
Wuna suddenly sighed and sat back. “But it seems that a king can’t see what a child can. Narpas, Carjiston, both fallen, and all because they were too damn stubborn to ask for help. That Torulath--he’s almost taken the whole north from us, Kyralin.”
Kyrae felt bad for the old man. He never said so, but she thought there was somebody he cared about, fighting up north. “But Ejanthu is still okay,” she reminded him. “He can’t beat Ejanthu.”
“That’s right. And you know why?”
Kyralin knew this answer without thinking. “The wall.”
“That’s right. The Greystone wall, protecting Janthia, the king, and half of Ejanthu’s knights. So long as the Greystone endures, Torulath will find it near impossible to win Ejanthu. And the wall will not fall.”
“So he’ll lose?” Kyralin persisted.
Wuna shrugged his bony old shoulders. “We can only hope.” An intrigued expression came over his face, and he turned to lock gazes with Kyralin. “I wonder if---Kyralin, if you had to get over as big a wall as the Greystone, what would you do?”
Kyralin didn’t put her hands behind her back this time, because she only did that when she thought to do it. And if she was thinking about a really hard of a problem, like she was now, she couldn’t think of anything else. “Exactly how big is it?” she questioned.
Wuna laughed and took a sip of his empty tea mug before he realized he’d already drained the contents. “That’s my Kyralin. Always has to have all of the facts right away. It’s big, Kyrae. Bigger than big. It’s not just tall, either; its thick.”
“As thick as the palace walls?” Kyralin wondered.
Wuna smiled. “As thick as the palace. And five times as high, probably. If you ever go to the North, child, go to the wall. Look at it yourself. Climb up to the top and look down. You’ll see things you never notice before. It’s cold up at the top, its dangerous, but child, you can’t help but love it. There‘s nothing like it in our entire world. Not that I know of.”
Kyralin zoned him out; she had to when he rambled. “It’s impossible,” she gave up at last. “I don’t think Torulath could get over the wall. At least--not without an-an outside factor.”
Wuna’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I always forget what a good memory you have. Think so quick, too. But you’re right. All Torulath needs is the right outside factor to help him, and he’ll win. The good thing is, he hasn’t been able to find any outside factors. Yet. I‘ve thought on it, and, honestly, neither have I. I just thought, that you, maybe---”
The knock came like a stone hurled in a still pool, and Kyralin and Wuna behaved as fish might have. They leapt up, staring at each other, each as shocked as the other. In her years of being taught by Wuna, Kyrae had never heard anybody knock. And from the look on the old tactician’s face, he was just as surprised.
“I’ll see who it is.” Wuna said after a breathless moment. “Kyralin, you stay here.” He stood up, his loose robes rustling like dry leaves against his bony frame. He walked quickly into the Front Room.
Kyralin gave him just enough time to reach the door, and then she scurried after him. He was unlatching the door when she came in the Front room. Before he could notice her and get mad, she crawled behind a large, mounted canvas propped against the wall. From here, she could just see the bottom of the door, but nobody would see her unless they came over and peered behind the painting.
The door rattled open. “Meska’s sword, man! What’s driven you to bother a poor man who wants nothing more than to wallow in memories and tea?”
That was Wuna, of course. Even if she didn’t know Wuna’s voice as well as her own, Kyralin would have known him from the manner of his words. As crabby as ever.
“There are simple old men,” the replying, gravelly voice said, “and then there are those that aren’t quite what they seem.” Kyralin didn’t like how this man sounded very much. “Wuna. A clever name, really.”
“A clever name?” Wuna mused. “Tell my ancestors, not me. They gave it to me.”
“Don’t fool around,” the new voice snarled. “Lord Torulath knows exactly who you are. Had a good source.”
Wuna’s voice suddenly became cold and guarded. He sounded….dangerous. He had never sounded like this before. Kyralin shivered and hoped they wouldn’t hear her breathing behind the painting. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?”
“Quite simple. Lord Vicien knows who you really are, and he’s interested in you. Thinks that your talents might be useful.”
Wuna snorted. “If that’s all, then you can go running back to your bastard of an emperor. I’ll never serve him. No man with a conscious would. No true man could.”
“No?” The mean voice sounded like it thought something was funny. Kyralin liked it even less. “How do you think we knew where you were, old man?”
“Luck.” Wuna said dismissively.
“Hardly. Torulath’s newest general told us. Told Torulath a lot, he did. And helped him a lot, too. Ejanthu’s fallen. It’s foolery not to help us, old man.”
“Ejanthu hasn’t fallen,” Wuna said brashly, but Kyralin could hear the worry in her teacher’s voice.
“You mean you haven’t heard yet?” The visitor laughed softly. It made Kyralin shiver like spiders were crawling all over her. “Ejanthu’s head general was sent out to stop Lord Vicien, but he betrayed Cemrinn. Tricked him into opening the wall for him.”
“And who is this treacherous head general?” Wuna asked, not sounding confident at all anymore. “I’ve been a bit out of the mainstream the past few years. Last I knew it was Arlyn Raster, but he was old, and that was ten years ago.”
“I’m sure you know the man.” There was a pause. “Scrym Uvia.”
There was a much longer pause, so long that Kyralin began to worry that something had happened. “Not Scrym,” Wuna said flatly, at last. “Never Scrym. I know that boy. I raised that boy, taught him, trained him, and he’d never do anything like that.”
“How do you think we knew where to find you? Actually, he was under the impression that you’d be proud of him. Said that you’d always told him to forget honor, and put himself first.”
“Boy never could interpret Yutan right,” Wuna muttered submissively. He sounded infinitely sad and bitter. “Very well. I’ll go. You‘ll get no help from me, but I‘ll come.”
Kyralin almost cried out, but she bit her lip and stayed quiet. No, she thought, Torulath is the most evil man in the world!
“Glad you’ve come to your senses.”
“Good thing I don’t have a daughter,” Wuna said loudly. “If I did, I’d have to leave without saying goodbye to her. And she’d have to forget about me and not worry about me.”
What is he talking about? Kyralin wondered. Of course he doesn’t have a daughter.And then it hit her. He couldn’t talk to her, directly, with this bad man here, so he was talking like this.
“Stop this nonsense,” Torulath’s man said. “We’re going.”
“Yes, a very good thing,” Wuna went on. “If I had a daughter, I’d have to give her some last words. I’d have to tell her to be patient, that after a few years she’ll be able to leave home. And I’d have to hope that she’d go out into the world, and see as much of it as she could, and learn all she could. I’d also have to say that she’s brilliant. That’s she’s the best student I’d ever had---even better than Scrym. And I’d tell her that she needs to study, and read as much as she can, to keep her mind sharp, and that she’s been nicer to an old man than he ever could have hoped.” Wuna’s voice tremored just a little bit. “And I’d tell her to use that brilliant military mind of hers to one day rid this land of Torulath Vicien. To do the opposite of that fool boy. And, I’d tell her goodbye, and that, I suppose, I loved her.”
“Enough inane ramblings, Wuna. Come on.” There was a sound of dragging feet, and then the door scraped close. Kyralin saw two sets of feet go down the stairs, and then disappear.
After five minutes she crawled out, feeling empty and lost. She blew out all of the lamps, knowing that this was the last time she’d come hear to learn about being a strategist. The house seemed sad empty and she left it in a hurry.
Nobody’s stares bothered her on the way home. She didn’t even notice them. Kyralin wasn’t even sure of what had happened; only that because of Torulath, her best friend was gone. And Wuna said I was the best student he ever had. Feeling like a part of her had been cut off, Kyralin took the long way home so she could be alone for awhile.
The whole way back, all she could think of was how much she hated Torulath Vicien.
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