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I know most of you are unaware that for 2 1/2 years now I've been working on a book which in proper, writerly, terms, would be called a novella. It's based on the OYAN curriculum form. A marvelous curriculum that has changed my life first and foremost and my writing second. But to get into that of course would be enough for a post all it's own.
So any time you hear me reference my "OYAN novel" taa-daa now you know what it is. :)
The working title is "The Death of Glory." The main character is boy in his teens living in Roman-Britain. Roughly 400-410 AD right before the Romans are pulled out of Britain.
The Saxons are attacking and the "R&B's" have been forced to cooperate (as far as I know this isn't historically accurate, but it's very much something that could have happened).
I thought I might show you guys the last scene I wrote in my novel. :)
-Duer is the main character (it is from his perspective, first person)
-Ator is the primary antagonist, leader of the attacking Saxons (also called Sea Wolves)
-Arlyn and Brean are friends of Duer
I did edit it a bit so that it flowed better and (hopefully) makes more sense but this is still first draft material.
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I find myself face to face with Ator.
Sometimes I wonder if the gods purposely plot out my demise and then throw up their hands in frustration when I escape.
He wouldn’t recognize me. He’s killed too many Romans and Britons for one to stand out. So the riot of battle can cloud even the sea gods gaze. I smile darkly. The sweeping strokes of his sword knock me to the ground within the first few minutes and I gasp in shock. How? I note how he has taken up a Roman sword in one hand, while he doesn’t wield it with grace, his strength more than compensates for skill. In his other hand he grips a spear.
I bring my arms up in submission. When the blade strikes down I fling myself to the side and the blade pierces the earth next to me. Now it is dancing through the air again, ready to plunge deep within me and wrest out my spirit. I’m almost tempted to let it. Such a death would guarantee a glorious afterlife.
A spear with the top of the shaft broken off lies to my left. My fingernails gouge the dirt and I make a fist around the spear to block against Ator’s sword. The shaft is snapped in two from sheer force. My arm tingles.
Again I’m forced to scramble away, having to pause to lurch out reach for a heartbeat from the unrelenting steel, panting and dragging in gulps of air. This is straining my body and my mind. Soon, all too soon, I will give out and be eliminated.
If only I could get onto my feet. In desperation I brace my palms on the ground and surge upwards, twisting to face Ator. He knocks the side of my head with his sword hilt. Everything sways and blurs and I collapse.
The only thing that exists is the sky. Gloriously empty. My head throbs, and I gladly distract myself from it by staring up into the endless depths of pale gray. It hurts too much to think. It takes too much effort to summon any lingering feelings of regret towards my friends or any lingering pity. I can’t bring myself to greet my death. The noise of banging shields and screams are a rough haze… What do I care for their quarrels?
Gray eyes connect with mine. A path links between us for a moment. Gray eyes. Gray sky. Endless. Hate and rage storm through them. Beautiful.
“Duer!”
Ator is shoved into the ground by a large body barreling through. Rough hands jerk me to my feet. Arlyn roars at me. “What are you doing?”
I see Ator recover and bare his teeth like a cornered hound.
“You were just staring.” Brean’s frantic shouts wash over me as he rushes to my side.
The sky vanishes and I blink. “I…”
“Why were you just staring? Staring!” Brean can’t seem to understand what exactly it was I had been doing.
I lick my lips. “I was greeting Death.”
He lets out a yell of frustration. Arlyn half paces, half jogs next to us, weapon held at ready to defend our retreat.
“Arlyn.” I greet him and attempt a wave. “Thanks.”
The dark haired warrior rolls his eyes and proceeds to ignore me.
Later I would wonder, if I were to kill Ator, how would he have felt in the afterlife? I was no one special. Would he be raging in humiliation and swearing revenge on me as he burned in whatever afterlife the Sea Wolves believed in? Or would he resign himself to his fate?
And I have to laugh. What are the odds of me killing Ator?
He is only a man.
He is also a god.
To his people and to some of the Britons, to me even, he is a god.
Who can kill a god?
But now, now this was war and war does not merely think. War is calculating and cruel as she takes lives. Her second in command is Death and he does her bidding.
I shake off another cloud of dizziness along with Brean’s supporting arm and charge yet again.
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