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Date Posted: 10:14:24 03/24/10 Wed
Author: 
susiej
Subject: Thanks, Alex>>>
In reply to:
Alex
's message, "Re: in here->>>" on 09:22:28 03/24/10 Wed
I'm going to go back and reread the Jamie parts of V- (what a chore! *grin*)so I can see how DG does it because I don't remember ever having Jamie in first person, only Claire; yet I do know we get a good look into Jamie's thoughts and yes, I love it and its done very well.
Strangely, I've always felt Claire was harder to know even though we are in her head.
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Sorry to be such a pest. I'm slow, but ,I think, I may have finally got it. Is this better?>>>>> -- susiej, 11:23:06 03/24/10 Wed
Chapter One
Dark Roots
The shutters rattled, the latch strained exactly as though someone was trying to get in. Rose longed to throw the shutters wide and let the howling wind carry away the memory of her mother. It had hovered all day beside Aunt Mary, growing stronger with each of Mary’s labored breaths, filling the air until no one in the little farmhouse could breathe easily.
Uncle John and Grandmother blamed their rattled nerves on the storms, but Rose knew different. She loved storms. Whether they blew in from the sea or down from the mountains rumored to rise beyond the forest, the result was the same: even the mightiest oaks bowed down. Not that Rose disliked the trees. She loved them too, but a power that bent the ancient trees, that could rip the dark into glorious flashes of silver, who wouldn’t admire that?
Everyone but you, Rose reminded herself.
She pressed her palm to the trembling shutters feeling the power of the wind. Despite its howling, Rose heard the stifled gasp. Mary wasn’t able to hold back her cries any longer. Rose turned and ran into the hallway intending to yank open her aunt’s door, grab her thin hand and somehow pour all her own strength into Mary.
But before she could get in, the midwife came out wiping her bloody hands across her gory apron while muttering, “A fitting night for the birth of this two-headed monster.”
Seeing Rose, her beady, black eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t one such as you be out enjoying this night? Or is it even more fun to lurk by a childbed, smelling the blood of the mess you’ve made?”
What Rose smelt most was the midwife’s rotten teeth, but that didn’t stop her nostrils from flaring wide as she spoke, “My mother was mortal.”
“Well, that I know ‘cause I saw her, dead. After giving birth to you. Sure didn’t see any sign of a father though. And now, it’s your poor auntie in there, gasping with every breath.”
“Perhaps she’ll do better now, without the stench of yours in her face.” But even as Rose spoke, a gasp came from behind the door followed by Grandmother’s anxious murmur. The gasp had been loud enough for the midwife to hear.
She smiled showing rows of brown teeth. “Ah, no, it aint me making your auntie suffer. I told ‘em! Yes, I told ‘em the minute you opened those, those green eyes and stared at me as you are now. I said, ‘Throw that thing in the Snowborne. Let the faeries save her, if they want her.” Her gray brow lifted. “They sure didn’t seem to want your mother, anymore. Ah, but her folks weren’t listening to me. Just bawling their eyes out over her busted body. No, it was little Mary Wheatly--who I brought into this world myself, mind you. She glared at me! And held you to her breast, bony as it’s always been, and told me I ‘was no longer needed.’ Wasn’t that the truth? That was thirteen years ago, but this, her first time in childbed. And it’s a misery for her. While you stand here looking as fresh and rosy as the day you were bor--”
The midwife finally closed her rotten mouth and took a step back. Rose was tall for her age, and though there was very little light in the hallway, she saw the gleam of her own, narrowed eyes reflected in the midwife's. There was no breeze, yet Rose’s dark curls stirred upon her shoulders.
“Why…don’t you…do some good, now,” sputtered the midwife. “Mary needs your uncle. Go fast, like I know you can, and fetch him.”
Rose blinked, turned and fled out the front door. The wind howled with glee, but Rose heard the midwife’s sigh of relief, “Good riddance.”
Everyone in Willowvale knew the tight rein the Woodman’s kept on Rose, but no family in their right mind would let a son or daughter out on a night such as this, a faerie night, or so the old folk called them. They claimed storms this big tore at the enchantments which kept the two races apart. Those that were wise didn’t disagree with the old folk. They simply stayed on the right side of the door and locked it too.
Rose was barely off the doorstep when she found her uncle pacing back and forth beneath the rowan tree. Gradie stood a few steps beyond staring into the night. The old dog was tense as a readied arrow, but the stab in Rose’s chest came from the sight of her uncle.
His head hung. His broad back slumped. Rose touched him gently on the arm. He spun round, took one look at her face and barreled inside. Gradie darted after him.
Rose didn’t follow.
If Mary died…No. Panic welled up at the thought. Woodman farm without Mary? It couldn’t be. And yet, this must be how Grandmother and Uncle John had felt when Rose’s mother died. Darling Lillie, whom everyone had loved. Except for the man who’d enchanted, impregnated and abandoned her to die giving birth to his odd child.
Would Rose now, somehow, kill sweet Mary too?
No, she would not.
Her hand was steady hand as she shut the front door. The sound of must have alerted Gradie. Rose heard his claws rasp as he jumped against the strong oak planks.
“Sorry.” she whispered. How many times had she lain awake listening to him whine in his sleep and wondering whether he dreamt of chasing the wolves or running with them? But, her family needed him. Perhaps, tonight, they’d be too distracted to notice him barking at the door and her gone. She prayed that soon, they’d have someone to love in her place, someone to brighten the sad shadows of Lillie and her daughter.
Rose turned toward the wind already licking her face, tugging at her clothes. She let it pull her toward the shivering trees, toward the deeper dark beneath them. She didn’t even try to avoid smashing the lily-of-the-valley that grew across her mother’s grave. She felt the fleshy stems beneath her feet and smelt their delicate, earthy scent, but when her foot brushed the stone bearing her mother’s name, something, something big and dark, flew down from the tree and into her face.
She threw up her hands and felt…feathers, though it seemed large for a bird. Something sharp hit her scalp driving her back toward the door. Rose beat at the wide wings. Talons flew at her face but she didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend she couldn’t understand.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Blood will draw them faster. My family’s better off with out me. Without you.” She looked into the woods. “Without them.”
The bird swerved, but its wing knocked her forehead, hard, forcing her to step back or stumble. The howling grew louder. The trees writhed. The bird fought the wind, fought Rose until the front door burst open revealing the familiar shape of her uncle cradling a bundle in his arms.
“Rosie!” John yelled.
She stood still, knowing he couldn’t see her among the shadows. The bird had flown back into the oak.
“Rose!”
She’d never heard such panic, not even the time she’d snuck away from a nap and Grandmother had found her sitting at the forest’s edge listening to the trees. The anguish in her uncle’s voice ripped her heart, but she stood firm and still, until he stepped into the night.
Rose ran as fast as the bird had flown.
Driving her uncle into the farmhouse, she slammed the door behind her. The wind howled and beat against it. Gradie stood across the mat growling low in this chest. Her uncle dropped to one knee. “What in the world were you—never mind. Look.” He held out the bundle.
She looked down into a tiny, pink, and peaceful face. The lids lifted and clear blue eyes, fresh from the otherworld, looked straight into hers.
“Your cousin,” said Uncle John. “And you’ve got another, a sweet girl.”
“Twins! The midwife said it was a-“
“I told you not to listen to that old bat.”
“And Mary?”
“She’ll be all right. Just worn out, that’s all. She’ll be fine. But your grandmother will be very busy, what with caring for her and two--”
“Oh, but I’ll help.”
John smiled. “Then we’ll all do just fine.”
Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood in the hall shaking her head. Rose didn’t care about that, for a tiny hand closed round her finger. It’s reach went straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a fierce and tender love.
*******
The bird stayed low though it was forced to dodge the tossing tree limbs. When it was several furloughs from Woodman farm, it soared above the roiling sea of leaves and shrieked into the night.
The wind caught the cry and hurtled it over the vast forest. When the woods finally gave out, the wind raced across a rising, stony meadow, picking up speed but no single night of wind could blast down the mountains that lined the island’s far shore.
Nestled on the knees of the tallest mountain, built from its white granite bones, an ancient castle stood reflecting the silver streaks that lit up the sky. A young man stood on its walls. The wind pawed at his clothes, nipped at his skin and tousled his dark hair; yet he stood still and straight with only his head slightly cocked to one side.
Finally, the wind brought the cry to his ear. He smiled and sent his own words into the wind. “Creator mind your flight. Guide you to a sheltered roost and keep you safe this night.”
Though rain pelted his pale skin and lightening burst above his head, Edan didn’t turn toward the gardens below and the brightly lit hall in their midst. He stood a while longer, in awe of a power so much greater than his own, greater than any person he had known.
Edan didn’t see one break in the roiling clouds, but he knew the stars were shining bright behind them. “Thank you,” he whispered, believing the storm to be the only power to eclipse his tonight. Edan had seen the effects with his own eyes, seen how Rose had mended the Woodman’s broken hearts, but he’d never felt how powerful a baby’s grip could be.
OK- I just couldn't cut the last sentence entirely. Though I saw your point, Alex.
My excuse is this- I've been told The Seeker's Charm is more of a YA crossover than an adult. Probably true- I hold back on sex scenes since my daughter reads this! And some YA readers need a bit more help than adults especially when talking about something like babies- though many of them have little bros and sisses that they love, they may not remember the baby days.
And honestly, back to Tolkien's telling- most of us who love LOTR first read it young- kids are a little more used to being "told" and as long as it isn't preachy, they'll accept it.
Last edited by author: Wed March 24, 2010 11:33:31
Edited 2 times.
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Re: Sorry to be such a pest. I'm slow, but ,I think, I may have finally got it. Is this better?>>>>> -- Alex, 15:34:40 03/24/10 Wed
Yes! Better.
You could tweak it in places and go after passive sentences, but I'm afraid. Would a full blown crit be too much to handle right now?
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Never too much- full crits are what I love>>> -- susiej, 17:38:22 03/24/10 Wed
but I actually have already gone through it again and tightened some places.
If you want,I can email it to you-it might be be easier to crit and I don't want to hog the boards. I'm at susan.b.james(atsignhere)sbcglobal.net
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Re: Never too much- full crits are what I love>>> -- Alex, 10:56:32 03/25/10 Thu
E-mail sent!
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