Writing Samples

Fabelveldians call it an obsidian night, when once in thirty turns, absent of her sun and five moons, the sky becomes a black blanket tucked in at the frozen lakes of Zhamerzshy and pulled down to the rolling dunes of the further provinces. The only relief from the darkness, the white stars pinpricking the sky. 

It was such a night, when you cannot see your breath moving in your chest, that Yu’xim darted across the roof of The Marius Chapel. 

The Ul’hin witch’s eyes fixed onto the stone wall ahead, which shifted with the light from a guard’s torch below. The cold, sharp tiles cut at her feet. Without breaking stride, she took a vial from her pocket and poured the liquid into her mouth. If she timed it right, she hoped, the kemic would kick in midair. Suddenly, a vivid image of her son, smiling with round cheeks and thick dark hair, flashed in her mind.  Her foot dislodged a tile, which skidded into the dark below. She refocussed on the wall. Only a few yards now. 

She leapt off the edge, her legs kicking in mid-air as she flew towards it. As she flew a sudden doubt hit her, perhaps she had taken the kemic too late.

A dull flash interrupted her collision. The light caught the attention of the armoured guard below. His furrowed brow searched upwards, yet found nothing but shadows and stars. If something was there, it had disappeared.

Yu’xim’s already bloody feet splintered the wooden joist as she skidded to a stop on the other side of the wall. She looked through the crisscrossed rafters at the stone floor below, tightened her cloak and climbed down silently.

When close enough, Yu’xim dropped down into a candlelit corridor cushioning her fall with her hands. She breathed sharply catching sight of them on the stone floor. New wrinkles were forming on the pale skin, the sharp edges wilting the hairs to grey. She knew she didn’t have long. Divide blood was cursed in Fabelveld. She pulled her cloak over her nose and mouth, then continued down the dark corridor, taking out a second kemic. 

The uncorked vial rolled along the passageway, plumes of red smoke billowing out of the tiny vessel and filling the space before dissipating quickly to nothing. 

She passed unconscious guards, their dogs slumped at their sides. Around the corner, she spotted one still awake, breathing through his leather chinstrap. Leaping forward, her forearm slammed into the guard’s neck just as he pulled down on the silver chain of the alarm bell. She dampened the ringing with her other hand and delicately returned the chain to its resting place. 

The dead guard lay on his side. She closed his eyelids. “Shy’rine” she whispered. He may be human, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die. She raced down the corridor to the towering metal doors that protected the Sanctum Chamber. 

Under her cloak was a sword, its blade glowing at the hilt. The orange glow of the sword burned as she removed it from its cover, its heat producing sweat on her forehead.  She thrust her sword into the door and started carving an opening. The knife moved freely as if the hard iron of the door was wet clay, occasionally dripping molten metal on the slabs at her feet. Once finished, Yu’xim kicked at the door and the metal slab she had cut out hit the ground with an echoing clonk. She looked back at the hallway behind her, if they hadn’t heard the alarm bell, they would have heard that, she thought. Ducking slightly, she slipped into the Sanctum Chamber.

         The Chamber was in total darkness, lit only by the glow of the burning blade. She raised the sword to make out the tall arched ceiling, then towards the centre where the black granite Cursestone stood tall. She watched it for a moment. It was as if her whole life had led her to this moment. She had trained her whole life for it. To survive even a few hours within the borders of Fabelveld was notable for any Ul’hin, but Yu’xim had been in the land for three days. Surviving on roots and oils and moving when the moons were at their weakest. She didn’t have time to waste, she knew what she needed to do.  

Yu’xim pulled down her hood revealing long locks of black and grey hair and yellow eyes, which punctured the dark like a pair of glowing beads. A necklace hung around her neck, dangling on the end of it was a white shell. She pulled the shell off and pressed her other hand to the centre of the Cursestone. 

“Ar’ik s’un Ul’hin.” 

Suddenly, the cursive shapes and straying dots of her ancient language shone with blue-white light, glowing like a map to the stars. The brightness alone brought tears to her freshly aged eyes. How she would love her family to be there, for the celebrants and the elders to see what she was seeing, for her son to know the beauty of his language. Her’s were the first Ul’hin eyes to gaze on a prophecy for centuries, and perhaps the last, she reminded herself. She brought the shell to her mouth began to read the glowing Ul’hin words into it.

It wasn’t long until the metal clunking of armoured boots sounded from the end of the corridor behind the door. Humans were coming. She looked back through the hole she had made. Some way off, the light of torches shimmered on the guard’s armour as they marched towards her. Narrowing her eyes, she returned to her task. 

The words came out of her mouth as if they were a song she had learned as a child. Each lyric taking its toll, forming lines in her cheeks and along her eyes, her hair now nearly entirely grey. Behind her the noise grew. She worked faster.

The clang of twenty guards colliding with a metal door rang out like a death bell. Everyone faces the end, Yu’xim thought, best if it is for a reason.  She fumbled her pockets and removed a final vial, a clear solution indistinguishable from water but with an odour like rot. 

Uncorking the vial, she brought it to her lips. The stinking liquid could give its drinker, for a short time, the strength of an Oghr. She would need it. She tipped it down. The woman clutched her abdomen, like most Oghr concoctions, it was rancid stuff. 

Just as she began to feel an energy coursing through her muscles, the doors to the Sanctum Chamber flung open and in came a horde of armoured guards.

“Kill her!” came a young piercing voice from behind the soldiers as they ran at her, halberds pointed.

         She threw the flaming sword at the oncoming guards, piercing one through the centre of his armour before exploding and engulfing a group of soldiers in a ball of fire. Still more guards poured over the flames, swords raised.

Spinning, she caught an oncoming blade in her cloak, disarming the pale-faced sentry. She grabbed him by the neck and hurled him into the crowd, knocking down those in his path. 

Beyond the fallen guards, she saw the young Parliamentarian who had ordered her death, dressed in grey and turquoise. She knew who he was and thought to herself how she would love to crush his head in her hands.

Picking up a discarded sword and taking a small dagger from her belt she worked her way through her enemies, dislodging limbs as she did. The power in her body was now such that a glancing elbow was capable of breaking a neck.

“More!” The minister pointed from behind the doors as more and more armoured soldiers entered the hall.

Guards rushed her from the side, trying to tackle her. She lifted them one by one and slammed them into the walls.

Still, they came, one wedging his swords into her leg, another smashing a shield into her nose, causing it to spurt blood. 

“More!” The minister’s eyes were wide with anger. “More!”

She crushed a man’s breastplate and was about to end his life when a swelling ache surged into her hand. Dropping the terrified man, she pulled back, only just deflecting a swinging sword with her dagger.

“Stop!” cried the minister gleefully.

Another guard swiped at her. Dodging, she kicked back, the effort of which caused her to fall in the opposite direction.

“I said STOP!” The minister entered the chamber for the first time glaring at his now silent group of battered soldiers. 

Yu’xim clambered back to the safety of the cursestone. Leaning up against it she brought the shell to her lips but no words came out her dry throat.

“Impressive.” The Parliamentarian stalked up to her. “No one’s made it to the Sanctum Chamber before.” 

Clenching her jaw, she gripped the small dagger tight, raising it towards him.

“You Ul’hin witches really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Even the weight of the dagger was too much for Yu’xim and she buckled. The blade clattered against the ground. 

“That’s better.” The minister turned his attention to the cursestone. It’s blue illuminance catching the angles of his gaunt face. “Fascinating, isn’t it. How something of your people’s own making can cause you so much death.” He lingered on the last word before dropping down and pushing his thumb into her cheek.

The Ul’hin winced in pain. 

“What does it say?” Her face caved under the pressure.

She mustered what little she had left to speak, the foreign words sounding broken in her mouth. “Only an Ul’hin can see.”

“Our skyfire can reach your villages.” he snapped back.

She didn’t flinch.

The Parliamentarian removed a silver coin from his breast pocket and flashed it at the witch, it’s face showing a cracked skull. “Do you wish to leave the fate of your family to chance?”

Still, she didn’t move.

“Very well, I call skulls.” 

Slowly he turned the coin over. On the other side was another identical skull.

Now, the Ul’hin did show anger, her eyes flashed menacingly at the Parliamentarian. She swallowed down her fury like poison, but left in its place was a wallowing pain. A tenderness she had not felt for turns resurfaced. It must be the curse, softening her senses, making her vulnerable, she thought. Or perhaps it was being in this land. Fabelveld, after all, was where her ancestors were born. It didn’t matter, she told herself. But images of her family flooded her mind, her mother, her lover, her son. She was about to lose them forever. “Please,” she said, “no more skyfire.”

“Then speak.” Ungesund waited. His thumb still nestled in her cheek.

“The stone tells me what will come.” Beads of tears rolled along her sunken face, catching in her fresh wrinkles. She smiled. “It speaks of you. It tells that you shall become Prime Minister of Fabelveld.” 

She watched Ungesund’s eyes narrow, a glint of excitement hidden within them.

“What else?”

“That you shall die.”

“Everyone dies.” He replied unfazed. “What does it say of the stone?” He continued, each word mouthed slowly like he was making an incision. 

But the woman fell silent. 

“Tell me!”

The minister clasped the witch’s neck and lifted her weightless body up against the Cursestone. “Will the stone break?” Ungesund could barely fit the words out of his clenched jaw.

“You can’t see.” she said with the remains of her strength. “Everything happens for a reason.” 

“WRONG!” his hand constricted around her neck, and she turned to dust between his fingers.

Minister Ungesund kicked at her remains on the ground, stopping unexpectedly and bending down to pick up the white shell. He had not seen her speak the Ul’hin words into it and so believed it to be a harmless trinket that would fit well as a trophy for his triumph.