The Scarlet Ring - First Draft Excerpt

So this is just an excerpt of a rough scene early in the novel. I'm sharing it because it has the first appearance of a lute player Tomorillo, who was inspired by Tom Dickins and his music.

The three acolytes sat at a table across from the hearth, warming themselves from the twilight chill and waiting for more people to come in. Hanissa sighed; it didn’t feel right to be here, doing nothing. Darian had made the plan, go to the inn where Calestra had been last seen, ask people who had seen her if they knew where she’d gone; simple enough. She knew it was logical, and Alisan certainly liked the idea, but ... it meant being here, in the village, surrounded by people.

“Cheer up lil’ sis,” Alisan gave her a nudge with a tankard of ale, “it’s just one night. We’ll find where she’s gone and be on our way.”

“On our way where?” Darian said. “Chances are we’re going to be in villages for a while, maybe even Esst, if not some other city. You’re going to have to come to grips with it Han, I’m sorry.”

Hanissa sighed again, as melodramatically as she could to try to hide the genuine pain behind it. “I know,” she murmured, twirling a strand of her hair in her fingers, “I’ll be fine.”

“Course you will,” Alisan put her arm around her, “you’ve got us to watch out for you.” Hanissa looked up at her friend’s smiling face, framed by flaming auburn hair, and smiled back, still not sure how she felt – about more things than she cared to admit.

The sun set and the locals began to drop by the tavern for an evening meal or just a taste of the ale. They were barley farmers for the most part so they took pride in a good drop. At least we know the ale’s fresh, Hanissa thought as she tried another mouthful of the stew. The landlord insisted it was cooked today from a freshly butchered cow, but she seriously doubted the man’s honesty on that score.

Her mind wasn’t really on the food however, she was watching Alisan chatting to locals she’d befriended the night before. Ostensibly Hanissa was watching for trouble but really she was enthralled. The casual way Alisan could handle people, charming them all without even knowing it – at least the young men. She wasn’t jealous exactly, just fascinated.

“Stop staring,” Darian nudged her with his fork while mopping up his gravy with a hunk of day-old bread. “This is good isn’t it?”

Hanissa raised an eyebrow and took to staring out the window. The man walked by so quickly and suddenly she couldn’t be sure of what she’d seen. Were those wings? She looked to Darian but he had his whole attention on getting the last dregs of stew from his bowl. Surely she hadn’t seen a winged man ...

The door opened and there he was – complete with wings. He wasn’t the tallest or bulkiest of men, but lean with tussled blonde hair and a roguish beard. The wings were jet black and as he walked in she could see they were elaborate constructions with carefully placed down and wing feathers, she guessed from crows. She also noticed they were upside down as if the man would fly feet first or perhaps, downward instead of heavenward. The enigma smiled and waved and many of the locals who hailed him as he walked towards the hearth. His eyes twinkled and Hanissa noticed he had a pair of tattooed wings sprouting from his brows.

So mystified by his sudden and strange appearance, Hanissa didn’t notice he carried a lute until he strummed his first chord. “That’s Tomorillo,” Alisan said, suddenly seating back down beside her, “you’re going to love this lil’ sis.” Darian glanced up from his now empty stew bowl, grunted and started on Hanissa’s half-eaten meal.

Tomorillo began to sing and the room fell hush save for some muttered conversation in the corners from the older and more slovenly looking patrons. He sang a tale of broken hearts and battered lives, of losing hope and feeling only pain. It was a personal song, detailed and told from his own point of view. Hanissa could tell he sang truth, but for all that he sang of his own specific experience she knew it was hers too. The words weren’t hers but the music ... that was shared. She felt a chill go over her, tears welled in her eyes, but the song took a turn, his pain is but a moment, he’s felt it but now he’s standing here – he’s singing to these people, to me, she thought, and his hope is not gone completely and the pain will fade, one day.

The final chord faded and was lost to the crash of breaking plates as a barmaid dropped her bundle. People clapped and cheered; Tomorillo smiled at them all, almost embarrassed by their applause but clearly grateful. “Thank you my dears,” he said in a gentle voice. “If I might trouble one of you for an ale I’ll begin the next song.” A local lass jumped to her feet and rushed to the bar.

“What did you think?” Alisan asked with a gentle nudge to Hanissa’s arm. Her reply was a look of astonishment. Never had she heard music so personal and ... real before.

“Not bad,” Darian replied unwittingly, putting Hanissa’s now empty bowl beside his own. Alisan laughed and punched him playfully in the arm and Hanissa smiled for the first time all day.

Reading Round-up

I thought it might be worthwhile to cast a reflective eye over some of the things I read during the first half of the year. A number of things really don’t require much discussion; I was just catching up with what many people already know. I finally caught up with the first two Discworld novels for instance, although I’m loathe to admit I actually expected a bit more from them – possibly the vice of too much success. I also read Game of Thrones, in some ways bowing to peer pressure but seriously, it’s right up my alley anyway. It truly is epic in scope, while remaining character-orientated and is just generally beautiful fantasy. I was less impressed with the TV series I hate to say, I enjoy it but it just skips too quickly over things and doesn’t give the depth that makes the book so good.
Very recently I read Marianne de Pierre’s YA novel Burn Bright, and I didn’t waste much time finding, buying and starting its sequel Angel Arias. This is undeniably YA but that really doesn’t matter when it’s written so well. It’s dark and strangely seductive, with an ominous atmosphere that lures you in. The only problem is the third book isn’t out yet.
In terms of the 50 Plays in 2012 plan, I’ve only managed two full length ones and two short ones; so not going quite to plan. I’m downgrading the target to 15-20 and will publish my responses to them on my website when I’m done. Don’t hold your breath but it will happen.
I have read a lot of short stories lately, both on my e-reader and in anthologies. I think they’re really good ways to discover writers and series. You get a taste without having to set aside huge amounts of time – there are authors who probably just need to cut it down a bit, sure epic is good but a lot of epics suffer from mid-book drag I find – and of course they have their own traits which make for intriguing reading.
Two of the anthologies I read bring me to a decision/realisation I made about what I read and how to think of it. They were The Best of the Realms Vol 1 and Heroes of the Space Marines. Already there will be some who read that who scoff, frown, smirk or in some way look down upon these books and their like. They’re not “serious” literature or even “serious SF”; they’re mass-market, escapist guff; at worst they’re just commercialised tie-ins with no “creative merit”. Firstly, I didn’t think all those things, but I was aware of the disdain they’re held in. Check Goodreads reviews of titles from this ilk and you’ll find people admitting to their ‘guilty’ pleasure in reading them, or generally panning them – but hey, you read them people.
Now, it’s difficult to actually define this ‘type’ of book; it’s not a specific sub-genre, but you can hopefully see what I mean. These are book written to entertain yes, they are filled with adventure and action and don’t weigh themselves down with introspection or literary cleverness. I guess what I’m talking about are in many ways the ancestors of pulp SF, sword and sorcery etc. I have read a lot of them in the past and have more of them to read, part of me felt the scorn and thought to myself, if I want to be a writer I’m meant to read the ‘high-end’ stuff. Reading The Best of the Realms, I thought, wait a minute, who defines high-end? Why should I be bothered by people’s prejudices? And, if I’m honest, isn’t this the sort of book The Scarlet Ring is?
Which is all a way of me saying I’ve decided to read what I want and to ignore all the ridiculous notions out there about ‘serious’ anything. I won’t feel bad for reading something or think of how I need to get back to ‘worthier’ books – a phrase I recently saw go to print by someone currently reading Game of Thrones (I dread to think what she’d make Heroes of the Space Marines). Judge not by prejudice, judge by content and what you enjoy.

Read on and keep dreaming!