"The Queen's Burden" Novel Prologue

Prologue: Blueberries and Mutton

 

Plumes of smoke billowed and rose into the air, drifting and spiraling violently toward the clouds like many writhing worms emerging from nooks of dirt. The suffocating stench of death that came with the smoke permeated throughout the very air along with the smell of burning oak and wood as the forest itself was put to the torch. Above, between pillows of rising smoke, trees one by one became enveloped in orange as flames licked away at their coat of leaves, turning them into dead husks with burning twigs, before the flames spread to the adjoining tree and the process repeated itself.

Edric the miller had not seen such a horrid spectacle of flames in his fifty years of life.

The tall, burly miller stood back, watching flames scorch away a large blueberry bush where he’d gathered blueberries for his youngest daughter only the week prior. For just a brief moment, Edric pictured his daughter screaming and burning amid those leaves and berries just as the flames destroyed one of the meager things that had always brought her joy. The orange flames mirrored themselves upon the older man’s glistening grey eyes as he watched the bush die in fire, but the resilient miller willed himself not to let tears be shown.

The man who’d set the blueberry bushes on fire stepped back, pulling away his torch. The gaunt, grinning man with a stormcrow emblem upon his tabard turned to Edric, waving his torch nonchalantly while his other hand rested upon the hilt of the sword at his hip. The man’s grin showed thin, chiseled lips and highlighted his sunken-in, skeleton-like cheeks.

The armed man licked cracked lips. “Smell that, miller?”

The Queen's Burden - Opening Scene

This is the opening scene of a fantasy screenplay that I wrote. I still have some editing and revising to do before I'm fully finished. This may not be reproduced without the author's permission.

EXT. CENTER OF AMELIA’S CAMP – DAY

 

Two swords clash together as sparks fly upon first impact. Zoom out as two armored figures sidestep each other and trade another series of blows at each other. The first fighter is slightly thinner than the other but the fighter’s overall physical appearance is otherwise obscured by chainmail armor and a helm. The other figure has more bulk and is taller by a scant couple inches. This figure wears heavier armor and no helm but is clearly a young man as evidenced by the short brown hair and burly build.

 

The two trade more blows. The thinner, helmed opponent throws its sword down onto the male figure in a flurry of blows. The male fighter remains steady and deflects each blow without losing his footing.

 

The larger male opponent is now on the offensive. He pushes forward, thrusting and swinging his sword forward repeatedly with less speed but more power and focused force than his thinner opponent. The opponent parries the blows repeatedly and the two end up grappling with their swords pressing against each other.

 

The male fighter grits his teeth with exertion while attempting to break the grapple. He smiles through his teeth at his opponent.

JASUN

Must you always wear the helm while training, Amelia?

 

The other fighter shoves him back with a grunt. The fighter removes the helm and tosses it to the side. Underneath is a stern-faced, muscular, yet fairly attractive young woman in her early twenties, about equal age to the male opponent. Her blond hair is somewhat short save for the pony tail that her hair is tied back into. Her face is moderately dirty and sweaty from the recent training bouts. Her striking blue eyes glare back at the male opponent.

 

She makes a motion to her pony tail with the tip of her sword.

 

AMELIA

I don’t want you having something to grab onto during the fight, Jasun.

Sci-fi Excerpt: "Incognito"

This is a stand-alone chapter for my sci-fi novel and, again, from the POV of Areya.

Areya watched the various people of the neighborhood go about their business, frowning and muttering words of condemnation for each of their seemingly trivial actions and behaviors as she crossed her arms and meekly observed. None of what these human beings were doing seemed to make sense to her.

She thought back to such occurrences that she’d witnessed since she’d landed here forty-eight lunar rotations earlier…

“Why throw the orange ball into the hoop? Why park the wheeled vehicle between the white lines? Why settle down in huddled groups to watch such preposterous images play across a televised screen? Why gather around the table to eat meals as a family unit rather than doing so of one’s own accord?” she pondered to herself.

It all seemed so utterly pointless. Why did such actions encompass their entire lives when these humans could potentially be invaded by enemies at any given moment?!

Many years ago, as a youngling, Areya had asked her mother and father –two of Clan Varsoloth’s finest military dignitaries- why her own species chose to reject intimate family gatherings. At the time, they had scolded her for spouting such blasphemous notions and showed her the error of her thinking by giving her ten lashes across her olive-skinned face. Afterward, they had then sternly explained to her that their species prided themselves on strength. Family togetherness only increased a youngling’s dependency for its parents; it was a sign of weakness and personal instability.  

Ralph the Central Park Unicorn

“Taxi! Hey, taxi!”

Richard Samson stepped out precariously into the road, waving his hand over his head in an attempt to hail the flashing yellow forms of the cabs zooming by him. He suddenly stepped out precariously close to one of the passing taxi cabs. The cabbie blared his horn and shouted an obscenity out his window as the hurried businessman clipped his right mirror with his briefcase.

Richard cursed and jumped back onto the sidewalk as his black briefcase rebounded off the side of the taxi like rubber, flinging into a nearby puddle of water. His flustered, mustached face looked back in the direction of the fleeing taxi cab. At the last second before it rounded the corner, the cabbie’s hairy arm rose from the window, pronouncing his unceremonious farewell with a middle finger pointed in Richard’s direction.

He rubbed his veiny temples, muttering disdainful words about his job, New York City traffic, the colorful and wonderful cabby that had nearly taken his arm off, and other things that annoyed him in that moment. He gave a grimace as his nimble fingers grasped the handle of his fallen briefcase. He spastically shook the excess mucky water from its leather surface like a dog shaking water out of its fur.

Richard took a deep breath and saw ever more taxis passing by him like a yellow bull rush, obviously oblivious to this working man’s need to hitch a ride home. Across from him, on the other side of the street, something else caught his eye amid the rushing traffic and various street vendors boisterously soliciting their wares.

Untitled Sci-fi Novel Excerpt: Chapter 4- "Natural Born Killers"

This is another chapter of my untitled sci-fi novel. It is a flashback sequence from one of the main characters, Areya.

            833 days before arrival on Earth

The memory was as vivid and clear as Lictor’s face had been only minutes before. In this distasteful recollection, Areya, the young recruit merely five Varsolothian orbits old, stood in line amongst an eager yet firm battalion of green-skinned troops.

            The leader of the battalion, Force Commander Ackron, shouted out various names to the ensemble for roll call.

            “Septis, shock; Meegan, vanguard; Vicero, shock; Civilin, shock; Rhegon, scout; Necro, vanguard; Areya,” the commander recited. Time had seemed to stop as Areya’s name had been finally been called. “Scout.”

            Areya grimaced, gritting her teeth as she reluctantly saluted to the Force Commander Archon. “Scout duty…for her?!” she had thought at the time. She, like any trainee, knew full well that the shock and vanguard troops always had the up-close-and-personal blunt of the action while scouts were generally reduced to spotting targets and shooting out enemies from afar.

            Foolish spawn of an Orug! I am the most efficient combatant in this entire band of witless recruits and here I am being limited to killing Terestroicans from a thousand yards away…like a coward?! I want to go charging in with blade swinging and pistol blazing! I want to see the fear seep out of my enemies just before my blade meets their throat! I want those cowards, in their last moments, to know that they’ve just been slain by Areya, daughter of Veger, faithful servant of Varsoloth!

            After her battalion had been given their frontline duties for the coming battle, Ackron stood at the front of the battle-ready Varsolothian horde. In perfect unison, the unit clicked their heels together and gave the traditional military salute of crossing their right arm to their left shoulder-blade. The tall, muscled, green-skinned officer with a collage of battle ribbons pinned to his black armor plating began to speak to his loyal underlings.

Moonchaser Prologue: "Moonlight Ultimatum"

This is the prologue and an excerpt from my first sci-fi/fantasy novel called "Moonchaser"

Victor Carnassus bounded through the darkest vestiges of the forest, belching a hoarse pant as each thud upon a stick or a patch of dirt sapped more of his energy.

A short distance behind him, the shouts of his pursuers rang through the trees. This seemed to immediately quicken his pace and put a broadening gap between himself and the bloodthirsty huntsmen grasping at his heels. The miles of endless running through the trees was beginning to take its toll on Carnassus and even the strenuous breathing and throbbing pressure in his head failed to drown out the voices of his pursuers.

Finally, the frantic flight across miles of thicket became too much for him and with a burst of air from his lungs, he dove headfirst into a nearby tree trunk to grab a needed drink of air from the atmosphere.

Hunching his back against the tree, he made a quick dab of his fingers to the trails of minor flesh wounds darting over his skin from the countless whipping of tree vines and branches against his torso. He made a series of glances between the row of trees that he just ran through and the path which would lead him further away from the huntsmen. As he stared off behind him he began to see the blurred fluorescence of torchlight drawing nearer to the tree that he rested against.

The renewed sound of voices and the ever-nearing presence of torchlight shook Carnassus from his sitting position and got his feet moving in the opposite direction of the huntsmen once again. One of the hunters shouted out something incomprehensible to his ears; making it clear that he had finally been spotted.

Carnassus knew now based on his growing lethargy combined with the quickened pace of his pursuers that it would eventually come down to direct confrontation with the hunters very soon. He quickly banked to the right and darted for a small exposed area of the woods with which to lure the hunters to. Carnassus stood in the center of the circle of trees, alone and weaponless. He sluggishly reared to face his outnumbering foes as they quickly converged on the clearing.

Untitled Sci-fi Novel Excerpt: Chapter 1- "Souvenirs"

This is the first chapter of my ongoing sci-fi novel (I do not yet have a title for the novel). The chapter is called, "Souvenirs."

1 day after arrival on Earth

Areya sifted through the dumpster, tossing aside broken electronic devices, half-eaten food scraps and other mundane objects as she sought out clothing in particular. Lictor’s alert grey eyes scanned both ends of the alleyway for unwelcome guests; fists clenched as if he were readying himself for combat. Neither of them wanted that to happen however; the last thing they needed was to have their cover blown after having only just landed several hours before.

            Areya suddenly gasped as she made a discovery. Lictor grew alert and narrowed himself out as he approached the dumpster warily.

            “What is it, cousin?” he asked mildly, although he was eager to see what his older cousin had found.

            She raised her arm up from inside the dumpster, revealing a small item hooked between her long thumb and forefinger. “It’s a headpiece! For little brother!” she exclaimed gleefully. Dangling from her fingers was a winter wool cap, small enough for a toddler to wear. Areya glanced past Lictor and to the miniature green form huddled in his makeshift basket. “Look little brother, a headpiece!” she repeated, this time to the green infant.

            The child didn’t hear her as his little chest continued to rise and fall in calm insentience. Areya threw the small article of clothing to Lictor who abruptly caught it and began to study it incredulously.

Novella Excerpt: "Saved"

Tom Evanson lay sprawled out on the cold, muddy earth as the rain cascaded down on top of him. His backpack and textbooks lie scattered and sunken into a pool of mud several feet away and his glasses shattered and broken at his feet. The eighteen-year-old, wearing a casual polo and jeans, fidgeted and his chest rose and fell in deep intakes of breath as blood oozed forth from the stab-wounds in his abdomen. Thunder and lightning clattered across the night sky above, drowning out the terrified and pained cries for help that the boy shouted through the downpour of rain.

Tom had stayed after school for an hour or so to finish an assignment for his English class. Having done so, he had subsequently missed the school bus home and had to take the long walk back to his house through the woods. His stepdad was away on business and he had been unable to reach his mother at home because his cell phone ran out of battery; therefore, he had little choice but to hike his way back to his home through four miles of forest.

As Tom had walked along the forest trail, listening to his ipod and admiring the simple beauty of the scenic foliage, disaster struck for the high school teen. Three rugged boys a few years older than Tom had been lying in wait along the trail. The largest had sprinted forth from the trees and attempted to tackle Tom to the ground while the other two followed suit. Tom kicked his legs and fought back his three larger, stronger attackers but to no avail; the three burly boys had him firmly pinned into the earth. Two of the boys rummaged his pockets, stealing his ipod, cell phone and wallet while the other had planted Tom’s head against the ground with his kneecap.

Brompton Cocktail

Bernie drew out a clean washcloth from the lower cabinet and began wiping down the countertop. As his eyes darted around the bar, he noted that the last raucous group of patrons had sipped up the last of their drinks and were exiting their booth. As soon as they stepped out of the door, Bernie moved for the stereo system and tweaked the volume to the off position.

After he had finished collecting and disposing of the remaining half-drunk beer bottles, Bernie took notice of one final patron still sipping away at his drink at the far end of the counter. The man was donned in a grey sweatshirt complete with a nexus of beer stains, dirt stains, and other various designs of questionable origin. Bernie threw the last of his bottles into the recycle bin and stepped up to the man on the other side of the counter.

“Hey bud. The name’s Matt, right?” Bernie asked the man. “Think I’ve seen ya here a few nights.”

The man took his final sip of beer, briefly wiping away at his mustache with his sleeve. He didn’t look up at Bernie when the question was asked of him but rather kept his hazel eyes squarely in front of him. Bernie continued to hover over like a vulture, finally gauging a response from him after a few seconds.