Archives for October 2014

meet gora

Hey there!

Today I would like to introduce you to Gora, the main character in Elira, my novella.

She’s pretty awesome, and I really love her. I hope you will, too!

 

 

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My name is Gorawen Gale, though most people just call me Gora. I prefer Gora, too.

If you saw me passing by, you wouldn’t think much of me. I’m not beautiful, or striking, or elegant. More like strange, odd, and sometimes scarily clumsy. But even though I am clumsy and awkward, I’m still not as clumsy and awkward as my older brother Col was. Thank heaven for that! Col managed to break something every other day, it seemed like. I try to limit myself to once a week.

With my red hair, you might think me Krean, but you would be wrong. Both Durinth Gale, my father, and Malle Gale, my mother, were born in here, in Travaila, Dren, whoch, obviously, makes me Drenian.  My father is most wonderful the captain of the guard, and my mother is a beautiful, strong, and courageous woman who has given birth to seventeen children, though two of them died before reaching adulthood. Col was killed when he was twelve, and Janica died when she was three. Janica was born between My older sister, Gwen, and me; she would be sixteen were she still alive. I don’t remember her much, being only two myself when she died.

Col I do remember.

He was my favorite brother. Not that I didn’t love all my brothers; I did, dearly. And do still.

But Col, well, he was only four years older than me, whereas Hadrian and Merek were five and seven years older. Col was more willing to spend time with us younger children. He and I would have fun in the forest for hours, playing make believe games of dragons and knights, and fairies, and wars. Gwen and Gavin would sometimes join us, but most often it was just Col and me. I remember when he died. I remember every last detail. Even his hand, clutching a little doll that he had picked up. The doll was mine. I had left it in the street, and Col wanted to get it back for me. But as he did so, a wagon, pulled by two panicked horses, barrelled around the corner, and seconds later, he was gone.

I don’t think I have ever forgiven myself for that. Why on Edreayth did I leave the stupid doll in the middle of the road? Why did he have to go get it? Why did he have to die?

 

I have only three older brothers, now. Merek, Hadrian, and Gavin, in that order. I’ve mentioned each of them already, but that doesn’t matter. I loved all three, but never grew as close to any of them as I did Col. Jarrick, my best friend, was a different story.

After Gavin comes Gwen, then me, then Rosa, Brynn, Glory, Elissa, Sybby, Cedany, Alys, Issa, Maria, and Aleida.

Jarrick is the son of Maerwyn, the healer. I’ve lived with them for six years, ever since I was apprenticed to Maerwyn when I was nine.

I love learning that art, the art of healing. I have ever since I was little. Perhaps that is why my favorite book is A History of Herbs.

Soon, in a few months, I will complete my training and become a full-fledged healer. I cannot wait, though it will be bittersweet. I will most likely have to leave Maerwyn’s home, and establish my own. If I was married, it would be different. But most girls here get married when they are seventeen or eighteen. I’m only fifteen. Of course, I will be turning sixteen fairly soon. I was born on December 12, 143 NT.

Growing up, I spent most of my time at Maerwyn’s which I eventually learned to call home.I was able to spend time with my family as well. I would read with the twins Brynn and Rosa,and climb trees with the other twins Elissa and Sybby. I would help Mother and Gwen with the cleaning and cooking, and read to Cedany, sometimes carry her outside so she could enjoy the peaceful days, with the birds singing in the trees, and the brook rippling, and a breeze kissing her skin. As our family grew, I would take care of the younger children. I suppose I do get on well with all my siblings, though some days were hardly peaceful. We were not perfect, and had squabbles and spats just like any other family, but we always made it up again.

If a stranger surveyed me acting as I normally do, he might describe me as silly, flighty, and immature. Gwen tells me I am these, but more, too. In her eyes, I am loving, and brave, and bold. I like it when she tells me these things, for I can never tell myself them.

Somehow, I am not afraid of much. I used to be frightened of everything when I was younger. The dark, spiders, drowning, falling out of a tree and killing myself, being kidnapped, being hurt, dying, being alone, omens, and not being loved.

Now I’m only afraid of losing the ones I hold dear. That, undoubtedly, would be my biggest fear. What on Edreayth would I do without my family? Without Jarrick? Without my father?

the girl

Hi there!

The Girl, which is a tentative title, was a story I just jotted down for fun. There might continuations of the story, and I may change the name at a later date, but for now, please enjoy!

Oh, and please tell me what you think about it in the comments. 🙂

Now, on to The Girl!

 

 

Victorian Lady Image Velvet

The Girl

 

 

I first saw her on a cold, bleak day last fall.

Her hands, red and chapped, clutched her her shawl around her. Long black hair hung down her back in tangles, and her dress was none too clean. I couldn’t blame her. No doubt she wished for a bath, and a clean set of clothes, but in harsh London, she couldn’t even find a place to stay, let alone bathe, as shown by her makeshift home in the alley between two buildings.

A ragged blanket spread on the cobblestones. A huddled figure. A life.

Or, maybe…two lives.

Her swollen belly was a burden, I could tell. An unwanted one.

Her shoulders were hunched, her head hanging, and bitterness surrounded her.

I stepped forward, and my basket hit the wall next to me with a slight thud.

She glanced at me then, a sneer on her lips, before she stood, grabbed a basket held together by a few pieces of thread, and turned away from me.

My curiosity now awakened, I followed her covertly down the narrow street, pulling my cloak tighter around me to keep out the biting cold.

She reached the end of the street, which turned onto a busier road. The woman-the girl- never hesitated, but hurried out into the wave of people. I nearly ran to keep sight of her, wishing my foot didn’t slow me down so much, and hoping to help her, if I could. People shoved me aside, and I was not tall enough or strong enough to force my way through, having a hard enough time trying to keep my heavy skirts from being trampled. The yelling deafened me, and I struggled to make my way through. My toes ached from being tread upon.

By the time I caught up to her, I was desperate to get out of the crowd. This time, not willing to lose her again, I grabbed her arm.

“Whadda’ya want?” she snapped at me, her head high and her eyes dark with anger.

“I…just want…to-” I stumbled over my words, thrown off by her biting tongue.

“I don’t need yer help, if thet’s what yer stutterin’ on about.” She nearly bared her teeth at me.

“Please,” I said. I had, by now, suffered far too much personal harm to fail. “I don’t mean any offence, b-but I was going to give this to my sister, and-well, she had no need of it.” I pulled a small pouch out of my pocket. “And I don’t want to take it home again.”

“What is it?” She asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Just a few coins.” I pressed the pouch into her left had, ignoring the almost unreadable expression on her face, and left, having done all I could.

 

I had forgotten about the note.

I never saw her again. The months passed, and the days grew shorter as winter grew deeper. January, February, March, and finally April came, with hardly any change. Often my thoughts would drift to her, the young mother, lost in the frozen world. I wondered if I had done any good. I wondered if she was dead.

It was on April 30 that it happened. I had returned from a walk in the park, now that it was slightly warmer than it had been lately. As I neared my home, I saw a small bundle on the doorstep. I ran forward, ignoring curious looks from a few passerbys. Kneeling on the cold stone, I bent over the bundle, and gazed down into the face of a new born child. I gasped. The baby’s face was wrinkled, and and nearly blue with cold. I picked up the bundle, and opened the door. Once inside, I lay the baby down on a table.

“Alice!” I called, needing my maid’s assistance.

“Yes, miss?” Alice entered, and, when she saw me, hurried over. “Oh, dear!” She said, aghast.

I began to rub the child, who was barely breathing. My heart began to race and ache. What if the baby died?

“Call Dr. Rolf, Alice.”

***

Two hours later, the child lay in a small basket padded with a cushion and a few small blankets. The little boy was wrapped warmly in a soft cover, the doctor successfully having revived the nearly dead boy. Relief filled me.

“He’ll be all right,” said the doctor, packing up his things.

“Thank-you, Dr. Rolf.” I gazed down at the young child. “Can I hold him?” I asked, turning to the doctor.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “That would be fine. I’ll return this evening to see how he is doing.”

I carefully lifted the little boy, and held him in my arms. He stirred a little, and opened his eyes . They were blue, a bright, radiant blue.

There was a note that had fallen to the floor when I brought him in.

“Please,” it said, “Please keep him safe.”

I didn’t doubt who had brought him.