Freya's Blade
This is the opener to the novel I am currently polishing. Most of you have not read any of it. It is set in mythic Ireland, when the gods of the land strove with the gods of the Norse invaders. I will most likely continue to post this as i complete the typed version. If any of you offer feedback, drop me a note about the length of the selections. I'm not posting full chapters, I think scenes will be easier to deal with, but let me know if it is too much or too little.
Chapter 1
Moonlit shrouds of grey mist met in tryst about the hill of Taleth Mon, driven up from the clouds in the forest at its feet by the mournful winds. The moon outlined the dark hulk of the hill in silver-green, showing how tall it reared above the trees, the promontory of crumbling stone erupting from its brow brooding silent over the darkened lands.
Deep in the narrow halls beneath that hill, one great light burned. Not the greasy pale yellow of a man’s lamp, nor the warm blue flames of an elf-light, but a light common to them both, the deep-hearted shadow-reds of the furnace and the forge. It burned in a chamber far under the dark earth of the hill, and the smokes of its fire worked their way through many cunning crevices to meld with the mists swirling above it.
A hulking shadow came near enough to the forge-fire that the hard edges of his massive muscles and bristling black beard where highlighted in orange. Large iron prongs thrust into the devouring heat, locked down on a stave of steel, and slid it slowly forth. The burning red blade added its light to the utter darkness of the underground forge, and as the hulking form of the smith laid it on his anvil and began to hammer it with heavy ringing strokes, its showers of sparks lit his face in brilliant and wavering flashes. It was an ageless face, hard curves and tough skin, and eyes blazing like orange coals under thick brows heavy and clenched with anger or worry.
The smith’s eyes rose to meet a second form barely visible in the darkness before him, then after a flash of anger, returned their focus to the pounding of the heavy hammer.
The form in the shadows spoke with the low rumble of thunder.
“Open your mind to me, brother.”
The smith pounded one more stroke, then held his hammer, heaving a weighty sigh at his work. His eyes would not meet his brother’s.
“Arod,” the smith’s voice was deep and soft and grinding, “you agreed you were not to bother me at the forge. My work…”
“You are at the forge merely to avoid my council, Agnor. You have been at the forge for days, but you cannot hide from all the world forever with your smithwork.”
“Damn your arrogance Arod.” Growled the smith, dropping his hammer to the anvil.
“Damn your foolishness, Agnor. If you had not angered the Mori-tan we should not need to fight them.”
“Yet we still do not have to fight them. Gold and gems we have in plenty, and I will pay enough for our lives, for death alone awaits those who fight the Mori-tan.”
“You are a fool, Agnor. Their lust will not be sated with gold and gems alone. Have your eyes not read their hearts? They desire all the steel of our forges, and Freya’s Blade above all. And does not Helmar, the eldest, desire Elwynn our sister with a twisted lust? If once we gave in, and once we paid, they would demand more, and more again, until we have bought our lives with our dearest works and even our beloved sister. What worth will our lives be then? As cowards accursed we shall be. We must deny their claim now, and fight for our own.”
“And you would have us fight against all the powers of the Mori-tan? Their shadows stretch across the land. Even the Heroes of the People tremble.”
“There is no choice, Agnor. We must fight them now, or fight them when they come to demand Freya’s Blade and Elwynn. Then they will come strong, armed with weapons and steel from your own forge, given in fear. They will come long prepared, expecting battle. If we attack them now, they will be at unawares, and we may kill a few before they can gather in strength. I fear them, Agnor, and Helmar the most, but Freya’s Blade has powers we have never seen. That may yet bring us to victory. I will not give freely of the labors of my brother, nor the life of my sister, both of whom I love. My gifts from the gods were not your great gifts of song and smithcraft, nor Elwynn’s gifts of life and healing. My gifts were but of strength and cunning, and I have used them ever to defend you whom I love. I will gladly wager my life for yours, and if I lose it, it will not be before five of those black brothers fall.”
Agnor’s face softened in thought, but his eyes hardened with the stone of truth. His eyes looked down to the blade he had been hammering, and seeing that it was now too cool to work, he lifted it, turning his back on his brother to thrust it deep into the heat of the forge.
Another heavy sigh winded through the curls of the beard about his lips.
“Arod, you speak ever lowly of your warlike gifts, but your wisdom surpasses mine. The time indeed has come to stand, and you will not stand alone, my brother. My strengths are not in war, but two will last longer than one. And you with Freya’s Blade may yet see us through. For Elwynn’s sake, I will fight.”
Arod’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Then come, my brother, we have much to do.”
Chapter 1
Moonlit shrouds of grey mist met in tryst about the hill of Taleth Mon, driven up from the clouds in the forest at its feet by the mournful winds. The moon outlined the dark hulk of the hill in silver-green, showing how tall it reared above the trees, the promontory of crumbling stone erupting from its brow brooding silent over the darkened lands.
Deep in the narrow halls beneath that hill, one great light burned. Not the greasy pale yellow of a man’s lamp, nor the warm blue flames of an elf-light, but a light common to them both, the deep-hearted shadow-reds of the furnace and the forge. It burned in a chamber far under the dark earth of the hill, and the smokes of its fire worked their way through many cunning crevices to meld with the mists swirling above it.
A hulking shadow came near enough to the forge-fire that the hard edges of his massive muscles and bristling black beard where highlighted in orange. Large iron prongs thrust into the devouring heat, locked down on a stave of steel, and slid it slowly forth. The burning red blade added its light to the utter darkness of the underground forge, and as the hulking form of the smith laid it on his anvil and began to hammer it with heavy ringing strokes, its showers of sparks lit his face in brilliant and wavering flashes. It was an ageless face, hard curves and tough skin, and eyes blazing like orange coals under thick brows heavy and clenched with anger or worry.
The smith’s eyes rose to meet a second form barely visible in the darkness before him, then after a flash of anger, returned their focus to the pounding of the heavy hammer.
The form in the shadows spoke with the low rumble of thunder.
“Open your mind to me, brother.”
The smith pounded one more stroke, then held his hammer, heaving a weighty sigh at his work. His eyes would not meet his brother’s.
“Arod,” the smith’s voice was deep and soft and grinding, “you agreed you were not to bother me at the forge. My work…”
“You are at the forge merely to avoid my council, Agnor. You have been at the forge for days, but you cannot hide from all the world forever with your smithwork.”
“Damn your arrogance Arod.” Growled the smith, dropping his hammer to the anvil.
“Damn your foolishness, Agnor. If you had not angered the Mori-tan we should not need to fight them.”
“Yet we still do not have to fight them. Gold and gems we have in plenty, and I will pay enough for our lives, for death alone awaits those who fight the Mori-tan.”
“You are a fool, Agnor. Their lust will not be sated with gold and gems alone. Have your eyes not read their hearts? They desire all the steel of our forges, and Freya’s Blade above all. And does not Helmar, the eldest, desire Elwynn our sister with a twisted lust? If once we gave in, and once we paid, they would demand more, and more again, until we have bought our lives with our dearest works and even our beloved sister. What worth will our lives be then? As cowards accursed we shall be. We must deny their claim now, and fight for our own.”
“And you would have us fight against all the powers of the Mori-tan? Their shadows stretch across the land. Even the Heroes of the People tremble.”
“There is no choice, Agnor. We must fight them now, or fight them when they come to demand Freya’s Blade and Elwynn. Then they will come strong, armed with weapons and steel from your own forge, given in fear. They will come long prepared, expecting battle. If we attack them now, they will be at unawares, and we may kill a few before they can gather in strength. I fear them, Agnor, and Helmar the most, but Freya’s Blade has powers we have never seen. That may yet bring us to victory. I will not give freely of the labors of my brother, nor the life of my sister, both of whom I love. My gifts from the gods were not your great gifts of song and smithcraft, nor Elwynn’s gifts of life and healing. My gifts were but of strength and cunning, and I have used them ever to defend you whom I love. I will gladly wager my life for yours, and if I lose it, it will not be before five of those black brothers fall.”
Agnor’s face softened in thought, but his eyes hardened with the stone of truth. His eyes looked down to the blade he had been hammering, and seeing that it was now too cool to work, he lifted it, turning his back on his brother to thrust it deep into the heat of the forge.
Another heavy sigh winded through the curls of the beard about his lips.
“Arod, you speak ever lowly of your warlike gifts, but your wisdom surpasses mine. The time indeed has come to stand, and you will not stand alone, my brother. My strengths are not in war, but two will last longer than one. And you with Freya’s Blade may yet see us through. For Elwynn’s sake, I will fight.”
Arod’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Then come, my brother, we have much to do.”
Submitted by MythWind at 8:13 PM
10 Comments:
I think the length is just fine. Nice and digestible.
You paint a beautiful picture. I know some people are less fond of the lush, extravagant use of adjectives, but this is some of the best descriptive writing I've seen you do. It's almost poetry, and I think it works very well here for the kind of mood you're trying to set, the kind of world you're building.
I think you've got a really good angle on exposition, using the dialogue of the brothers to reveal what's going on to the reader. I also think it could be even better if a little action were interspersed with the dialogue--even if it's just a pause, here and there, to describe an expression, or a pacing across the room, or an angry hurling of hammers--er, you get the idea. Anything to break up the verbal exposition a little, and paint even more magic into the scene, make it even more interesting with visuals and "dramatic timing."
I guess I'm just saying that you've got such a gift for "showing" with your words, it would be a pity not to use it at every opportunity.
I would have to agree with my sister on this one.
You paint such a beautiful exposition, and then the physical world of their confrontation is abandoned in lieu of dialogue. You're skilled at riding the border of lush imagery and Cooper-esque extravagance, and making it work for your style, that it's a shame you don't explore it more.
Especially at this point in the story, where we are not yet truly invested in these characters or their plights, we need a little something more to grab onto than this floating conversation. The introductory description begins to anchor us so very well, I would suggest continuing that tradition throughout the chapter/intro/this thing.
I've been playing through Warcraft III this weekend... and now I keep picturing that Shan'do Stormrage guy when I read the dialogue. MAN that writing is convoluted in retrospect.
Jake, Summer and Max are right in most aspects here, but I would disagree on one small bone of contention. I would that this piece is poetical, for it taps into so much imagery and knowledge and feels like something more than just what you are describing. It draws on a larger world and becomes much more than just mere descriptions. I would like to see more.
Jacob,
sweet. This is a much more effective intro than the previous one - good call. i agree with Summer & Max's comments about breaking up the dialogue w/ more of your colorful imagery - which i know you have plenty of =)You give a clear layout of what the action of the story is to be about without giving anything away, and we are drawn in by the comeradery of the brothers and their mutual devotion to their sister. i particularly liked the description of the fire and how you differentiated it. Well done - a perfect length too!
Interesting point, my Globbo. But does a poetic aspect to his writing (which undeniably exists in Jacob's work) take the place of perspective? I agree that his form is very stylized, but I don't think that alleviates the responsibility of the author to the work. The point you raise is intriguing, of having tapped into or intoned a world so beyond our understanding that the description of it would be a waste of time... but the initial exposition that is then not carried through during the conversation would waylay that analysis. I would say that, for your statement to be true for this particular piece, we would need more exposition (descriptive) during the conversation, or no physical exposition at all, and have the entire scene play out as two disembodied voices with no setting and no context whatsoever to speak of. In that, it proves itself beyond "mere descriptions," by not using them.
I meant more to comment on the difference between what I see in Jake's work, which admittedly could use some polishing, and "poetry." Summer called it "almost poetry" and I meant to counter that with my response in that it is poetry. Poetry which could use some work on delivery, but oetry nonetheless, and not mere descriptive words to be followed by dialogue or action. The poetry, or magical nature if you will, for me is in the world in invokes, which includes the dialogue. I do not mean that description would be a waste of time, but that a mere description would not capture the atmosphere and sensory details the way his intro does. My point was that it was already poetical and more than just setting the scene for the "real story."
Personally, on a second reading, the stillness of the brothers as they argue seems to fit the stillness outside in the night, and seems to help aid the mythic quality somewhat to me. Describe the scene more as it plays out, but maybe action may be the wrong idea.
Wow, you guys. I can't thank you enough for commenting so much on this one. And fighting nonetheless. Bravo, Bastards. I am nervous about this one, as I am submitting it to my writing class, so all feedback is welcomed.
As far as adding descriptive interjections: this is one thing both my writing teachers and some friends have told me I do far too much of. So far I am pleased with the effect of restraining myself to sparse and vivid despcription, but I did add one bit (per your advice) where I felt the dialogue had gone on too long and the vision may have been lost. If anyone cares, it is as follows.
As cowards accursed we shall be. We must deny their claim now, and fight for our own.”
Agnor’s fists ground into the gleaming surface of his anvil. He glared at them and his shoulders trembled. With sudden violence his left hand lashed out and the forge-fire erupted in red rage. The recesses of the chamber about them glittered silver in shapes of swords and spears, and the intricate knot-work of animals glowed on shields and cuirasses.
Agnor the Smith’s eyes rose to meet his identical brother as the forge-fire died once again.
“You would have us fight against all the powers of the Mori-tan?
There you go. I hardly think more than that is really needed. Although, do "animals" have "knotwork?"
Funny, i actually cut the knotwork animals right after i posted that.
I guess you could say "zoomorphs," but that's not quite as poetic.
Regarding poetry: I think I may have sparked a little battle of semantics. I said "almost poetry" because I have a very particular definition of the word, being a poet by trade (har har har!) - or at least a student of the art. While I agree that the writing here is magical, evocative, beautifully painted, I said "almost" poetry because, formally, it's still prose. Poetic prose, but prose nonetheless. Ja, just clearin dat up. :)
I like the new descriptive interlude in the dialogue, brother-mine. This is coming along very nicely. Try not to be too nervous about your class--if they don't like it, they're Philistines, and by god we'll just have to beat them.
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