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Inspiring the Lost - Part One: A Cat and her Man
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Inspiring the Lost - Part One: A Cat and her Man |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration 
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©2001 Christopher Ward Author’s Note - Most of us have seen (and I’d wager, read) the notes in the back of our favorite books. They’re pieces of the author’s mind in whatever form they chose to share them. Personally, I read them whenever available, enjoying them almost as much as the story I’d just read… occasionally more so. I wonder then, why they felt the need to write about their lives; the reasons they wrote the book, or in the case of Piers Anthony (arguably one of the most prolific in this area) how the current book had an affect on their life. Do they feel the need to share? Are they bragging? Do they feel the need to write something other than the subject matter of their story? Conversely, I wonder at the compulsion that draws us as readers into reading these notes. Is it the need to get into the author’s mind, to find some sense of logic to the fiction they’ve provided us? Are we truly interested in their lives, or perhaps merely looking for clarification of the story itself? In reality, I have a feeling it is a collage of all the above. It’s a way for them to express and a way for us to live through them - to get a feeling of what it is like to create. Perhaps there are some out there who don’t read the notes, content with the book itself. But by the numbers, I gather that there are many more who want to know about them, those who provide new worlds for us – I am one of the latter. *** Of course the above is merely justification for my own sort of author’s note. As always, this will probably be long, and likely boring. If you’re interested in the story itself, feel free to scroll down to the end of this. *** There is rhyme and reason to everything, I believe. What it is though is often difficult to see. In this case I have a reason, though it’s up to you to decide on any rhythm which might exist. This story is actually a small part of a much larger story – my novel complete: Heart of Change. It is a story complete in and of itself with no dependency on Heart of Change with the exception of references made that one who has read the novel will recognize. (I hope!) Heart of Change is my first complete novel. I say complete because there are actually several in the works. I have a tendency to bounce around a lot. This, while good in some ways, can be frustrating because that means I have many incomplete projects. But back to the point at hand: Heart of Change. My “baby,” if you will. 130,000 words and desperately in need of a rewrite, it is still, unquestionably, my first NOVEL! Of course it sucks. Heart of Change was written over a period of three intense months a couple to few years ago and hasn’t really been touched since. The writing is horrid, I can see now. Rewriting it (because I still love the characters and storyline) is something that I’ve seriously considered many times. But it is a daunting project! Taking so much and reforming it is a definite challenge, and I’ve questioned often how best to approach it. This story actually takes place in a period of Heart of Change that I “skipped” over, using writer’s license to cause a large amount of time to pass without clogging the pages with scenes that didn’t really contribute to the story at hand. But there are stories in that time period to be told. There are trials and tribulations, bonding and good times that the characters experienced. In Heart of Change, the characters end one chapter as new acquaintances and begin the next as firm companions. It works there, honestly. But as we all know, life doesn’t work that easily. What were the “ties that bind?” What events molded their dependency on each other, along with their love and friendship? What took a group of people who were unfamiliar with each other and changed them into a tight-knit group functioning precisely under duress? At the time, I simply defined internally what caused this and allowed hints of those events and bindings to cross over into what actually was written. It wasn’t at all difficult and provided a method in which to exercise that license without adversely affecting the work itself. Then, more time - real time/real world - passed and I wanted to consider rewriting the book. But as I said, my style has changed (for the better I believe) and modifying 130,000 words is no menial chore. I needed some way to get back into it without frustrating myself to the point of putting it off for a couple more years. That’s when I happened upon the idea for this story. What better way to jump back into it, than to write about what happened during that time? This would give me the opportunity to meld the characters I still remember well with the style of writing I’ve developed since! Thus we have “Inspiring the Lost.” It is a story, hopefully, more about people and their interaction, rather than their surroundings. Though based in a land different from our, one of magic and mayhem, the intention of this story is to examine how one person’s life (Bran) was influenced by our group from Heart of Change. Alternately, I wanted to offer from the perspective of Bran a partial view of how the group grew together. I really hope I’ve done so here. I honestly believe that stories are about people. I’m not suggesting that environment/imagery is unimportant, nor am I saying that a story should be nothing more than the people. These people need interaction and they need background. But I still believe that they are the driving force of a story, the meat, whereas the rest is gravy. So, I’m breaking this into several parts. As with almost everything I write, it turned out much larger than anticipated – I’m guesstimating approximately 12,000 words all told when it’s done, though don’t hold me to that. And, we all know how well long posts do here in prose. (It’s an irony another moderator once pointed out that while most people would rather read prose in their off-computer time, they have little attention for it while online.) The parts will be broken up by the natural pauses in the story. I know it may seem presumptuous to write this, since I’ve yet to actually be published. But – it’s my prerogative, as it is yours to read it or not. Maybe like others, I just felt like talking to hear myself talk. Either way, I hope you enjoy. Christopher *** Inspiring the Lost – Part One Bran jerked slightly and lifted the straw hat that was covering most of his face. Sleepy brown eyes glanced out across the calm water of his favorite fishing hole. Seeing the normal motion of the cork, he shrugged his slender shoulders. He was asleep before the hat finished sliding back down on his face. Waking with a start several hours later, his chin burned like it had been lit it on fire. He lifted his hat and located the sun with a hand shading his half-lidded eyes. Finding it much farther in the west than he would have liked, he scrambled into a sitting position. He wound the string of his fishing pole in, and confirmed his suspicion that there was nothing on the other end save an empty hook. With a frustrated grunt, he dug into the soil a few paces away and pulled out a worm, threading it on the hook and casting it back into the now still pond. He rubbed gently at his chin, feeling the dry skin – evidence of bad sunburn, and winced internally. His parents were going to hide him for having fallen asleep. His duty today had been to procure the evening’s meal for his family, that meal being enough fish to feed four people: Bran himself, his sister Karen, and his parents. Ostensibly, he was doing just that. The line was in the water, pole in hand, and head pointed in the general direction of the cork bobbing slowly up and down on the surface of the slight waves. The only problem was that his eyes had been closed, his snores matching the hum of the cicadas whenever they became confident enough to call out. His straw hat had hung low over his eyes, shielding them from the light that might have otherwise interrupted his much desired sleep. While he wanted to claim the situation as unfair, mentally he couldn’t disavow responsibility. He, of all people, knew how worthless he was. But contrary to other’s opinions, it wasn’t a malicious laziness. In truth, Bran just didn’t know what he wanted to do. Of course most of his peers had already chosen, or had chosen for them, the rest of their lives. Most would be farmers of course, something Bran definitely did not envy. In fact, he envied none of his friend’s choices. They were all destined to follow in their father’s footsteps, toiling their lives away in order to give their children the same exact thing that had been passed to them. Bran didn’t want that. Sure, being a smithy like his father would be better than being a farmer. But still, it had no future. If he chose to follow that path, it would be one that would go no farther than the hammer and the anvil. No, Bran wanted more – He wanted a chance to see new things, to experience adventure. He wanted to meet people outside the township of Leafwood. Wringing his hands, he played with the slender line, fascinated by the way it shone in the bright light of the day. He watched as a dragonfly lit on the tip of the gently swaying bobber. It paused there on the cork for several moments, its faceted eyes cocked at the young man on the shore. Bran longed to be free like that, to be able to fly from one place to the next, to land for moments then leave to someplace new. He adjusted as the insect flew away and sighed heavily into the summer afternoon. His sigh was so loud that he didn’t hear the rustling in the bushes immediately. When he did, however, he scrambled quickly toward the nearest tree. The forest around Leafwood wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but there were the occasional wild animals to be wary of. Of course, he thought to himself. There are the rumors about the Legion too. Goblins, Wighten and worse, roaming the lands, killing people at random. He trembled slightly as he remembered some of the stories they told town at the tavern – of whole cities being murdered, women and men being raped. The towns plundered then burned into ashes. Some of the descriptions of the atrocities were enough to turn a strong man’s stomach… and Bran wasn’t a strong man. Like most of the others, he wrote the stories off as nothing more than that: Stories. His father had always told him that travelers spun stories, each tale growing with each new telling. Bran knew the truth of that, remembering one of the games he’d played as a child where one person would whisper in another’s ear. That person would whisper to the next, who would whisper to the next. And so on, until the final person would speak out loud what they’d heard. It was never the same as what it started as. Knowing this, though, and believing it in his heart were two different things. Alone in the forest, with no protection and no one to run to for help, the Legion suddenly seemed all too real. It was made all the more real by the sound of voices coming from the cover of the trees. To his paranoid ears it sounded like a small army coming into the clearing. Fear on his back, Bran climbed up the tree so quickly that anyone who knew him would be amazed. Speed was not something that was normally associated with the lethargic young man. Gaining a secure perch in the branches of the tree, he willed himself silent and looked in the direction he thought the voices were coming from. He almost fell out of the tree when he caught his fishing gear out of the corner of his eye. A quick glance at the opposite end of the clearing, then he was jumping out of the tree and racing toward the shore. He slid into his pole, stopping a breath away from falling into the water. He paused in panic, then with a spark of genius threw his rod into the water. It splashed lightly, then floated like another piece of flotsam on the surface. Bran kicked furiously at the ground to obliterate as much of his presence as possible, then picked up his lunch pack and hurled it into the bushes before scrambling back up the tree. All told, it took him less than a minute, such was the sudden fear he’d allowed to take over him. And his ascent was none too soon, either. Out of the trees on the opposite side came several people. The first, a giant man with brown skin and ice blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He seemed to dominate the clearing with his presence. Bran had no experience with the like, but from his perch, he imagined the man carried himself like a noble or a king. There was command in his gait and a surety Bran had never seen before. Behind the large man walked out a woman who wasn’t much smaller than the man, though she held less presence than he seemed to. But she was beautiful! Bran watched with his jaw hanging open as she strolled over toward the water behind the tall man. Two more men came into view, distracting him momentarily from the woman. He recognized immediately that there was something different about the two, but couldn’t quite figure it out… Kalornians! That’s what it was – the two men were smaller, some would say dwarfish, compared to the other man. But then, most people would be, thought Bran. He watched as they filled their water pouches and settled to make lunch, beginning to feel foolish. It was obvious these people weren’t Legion soldiers. In fact, they seemed perfectly human to him. Likely, they were just travelers who’d happened upon the same pond he was using to fish in. He’d almost made up his mind to climb down and introduce himself – especially to the lady, Arianna, he’d overheard her name was – when he saw the foliage rustling where the group had come out moments before. From his vantage point, he could see that the people weren’t aware of the disturbance behind them. Bran found himself torn between his fear for himself and his sense of responsibility. In the end, though he never knew why, his responsibility – of which there had never been any glut – won out. He yelled a warning at the top of his lungs, plunging out of the tree and into the traveler’s direction. Before he was realized, they were all standing in a circle with weapons drawn. The big man had a gold-hilted sword pointed directly at Bran’s chest. The young man pulled up short, waving his hands impatiently. In the back of his mind he was afraid of the sword, but the look on the large man’s face indicated no threat, only curiosity. “Look out!” Bran insisted excitedly, pointing behind the group in the direction of the disturbance. The tall man’s glance followed Bran’s pointed finger. He stared for a moment at the demarcation between the clearing and the trees, and then looked quizzically at Bran. “Behind you,” he answered. “There’s something in the trees behind you, coming from the direction you did!” The tall man considered Bran for a moment, then looked over at one of the Kalornian companions and nodded his head. The smaller man looked like he was hiding a smile as he returned the nod and headed into the forest. “Now,” the man said slowly, sheathing his sword into the scabbard on his back. “You can tell us who you are and how you happened to be able to see something behind us while we ourselves were unaware of it.” It was more command than question, but Bran didn’t hear the tone through the fear that had been steadily growing since thoughts of the Legion had taken hold. For half a moment he debated running home. The thought of plodding through the dark forest though, alone, overwhelmed his panic. No matter who these people were, he’d likely be safer with them than by himself. That settled, he faced the large man again, trying to ignore the terror prying at the strings of reason in his chest. “Sir,” he said slowly. “Jonathan,” the man smiled at him warmly. Instantly Bran felt a heated comfort settle in his mind as he realized that his fear was just that: fear. And it was silly to worry so much about something so insubstantial. Staring back at Jonathan’s smile, all his doubts disappeared. Then Jonathan glanced at the lady, Arianna, and hiss doubts returned. Though not as terrified, the urgency remained. Bran shook his head and tried to remember… “Sir… Jonathan, do you think it’s safe here in the open? Shouldn’t we be heading into town or something like that?” He hoped the tinge of nervousness couldn’t be heard in the high-pitched timbre of his voice. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to walk home by himself. Not now, not with the fears planted in his mind. Jonathan looked at the remaining small man and mouthed the word “town?” The other man walked to a pack near the bank and started ruffling through it, mumbling incoherently. “What’s the name of this town,” Jonathan asked. “Leafwood, sir… Jonathan. It’s only an hour walk that way,” he pointed north toward the general direction of town. “There aren’t many people, but we do well. There’s a tavern and a boarding house if you care to stay the night.” The last was said with a hopeful lilt, leading to the next: “I can lead you there if you’d like. Now.” Jonathan nodded absently. “Koreth? What say you? You’re the one who got us lost in the first place.” Though he had a harsh tone, Bran saw Jonathan look at the lady and roll his eyes with a brief smile. The older man mumbled something under his breath, but continued digging in his pack. Obviously looking for something, he was tossing miscellaneous items on the ground. Some were familiar to Bran, but most were not. The sense of mystery about the group grew even more. “Jonathan!” Bran exclaimed. He nodded his head in the direction of the forest. “We’ll have to leave him alone for a moment,” Jonathan said about the older man, resuming his position by the small fire. He seemed oblivious to Bran’s concern. “But until then, please, sit. And tell us your name. As I’ve said, I am Jonathan. This is Arianna. The grouchy old man there is Koreth, and the one checking out your ghost is Kevin.” He said the last with a slight smile, dismissive of any concern. Pausing, he looked at the young man expectantly. The young man shrugged. If there was some peril, he figured his chances better here than alone. “Bran sir. My parents are Nessan and Kalina of Leafwood. My dad is the smithy for Leafwood and everyone who lives around here.” He adopted a tone of pride. “Even Regent Canton has his steel made here.” None of the two looked impressed at this revelation, so he hurried on. “In reality, it’s not much to speak of other than that. It’s mostly a farming community grown big enough to warrant a few shops and the like.” Jonathan nodded. Arianna smiled at Bran. “Most certainly we will be spending the night then. It sounds too perfect to pass by.” Bran thrilled at her attention, focusing his entire being to stare into the depths of her blue eyes. Thus distracted, he didn’t notice the cat until it was almost upon them. “Jonathan!” He yelled, jumping up and away. But the big man didn’t respond in time. The giant panther jumped and dragged him to the ground. On his back, it snapped its jaws on his neck and started twisting slowly. Bran looked around for anything he could use as a weapon; a tree branch or anything – though in the back of his mind he found it doubtful that anything would be much good against such a large, and terrible predator. The black cat was almost as tall as Jonathan from tail to head and weighed half again as much. Stringy muscles played a symphony of power beneath the sleek, thin fur. Bran, of course, had never seen a panther. But he knew the legends as well as anyone: To stare into a panther’s eyes was to gaze into your own death. It took another panicked moment for him to realize that he was the only one upset and looking to help Jonathan. Koreth, the old man, was still rummaging through his pack, oblivious to the struggle happening not far away from him. Arianna just stood there watching, with a look of exasperation on her face. Bran grabbed onto her arm, insisting that she find some way to help the man, though he knew it to be futile. It was then that she looked at him and beamed another smile. He paused. Arianna then pointed at the large man and the panther. Now Jonathan was on top of the animal, wrestling it to the ground. Bran was dumbfounded. It was impossible to think of any man, even one as large as Jonathan, wrestling such a powerful beast to the ground. But he did, and it seemed he was winning until the panther jumped lithely away and immediately back into the fray. Unable to think of anything else, Bran jumped forward to help in any way he could. He knew instinctively that he was going to die – there was no way to avoid sharp talons and rending teeth. But he hoped in the least to allow Jonathan to escape. A single step, then he pulled up short, staring. Jonathan lay on the ground, panther on his back, with his jaw resting in his hands. Elbows to the ground and eyes rolled to the air, he seemed to be speaking to the panther. “Ok, you win… again. Can I get up now?” The panther released his neck from her jaws, and to Bran’s utter amazement, she smiled, looking straight at him. Staring straight in the eyes of a smiling death, Bran did the only thing he could think of: he passed out. [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 03-03-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 C.G. Ward - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
This is awesome Chris! You to respect a character that has the courage to faint in the face of danger, LOL. I can't wait for the next installment of this. I did find a couple of gramatical errors that stuck out. In the second paragraph, first sentence it says "...his chin burned like it had been lit it on fire." I think that second it was a mistake. Also in the eight paragraph second sentence, "Sure, being a smithy like his father..." and a smithy is a place where a smith works. Bran says his dad is a smithy when he introduces himself too. Abrahm Simons "And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind - is, in the end, Hell" - C.S. Lewis [This message has been edited by Dusk Treader (edited 02-25-2001).] |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Somehow the words won't come to describe this...I too saw a couple of errors (hiss instead of his)..but you know, I was so enthralled with the characters I don't remember any others!! LOL This enchants. That's the only think I can say......(now finish it!) |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
My gosh - Well, I've been sitting here for a while trying to come up with something to say.  I too, have always enjoyed Author's Notes - and was actually quite tickled to see that you'd written one of your own. See - I love to read...or rather, I love how my favorite stories can pull me in. I almost come to know the characters, the story, as if I were there. I love that kind of escape. Reading the author's notes gives me that much more insight into what kind of imagination that author has - lets me know them better, in a way. So, I guess, knowing you like I do - reading yours is that much more interesting, or special (trite, but true). And, having read Heart of Change, well that adds to it even more! It's been a while since I read your novel, but I remember then thinking how different your voice sounded in those pages - in comparison to how it sounded then (or now, for that matter). You know (quite well) how I feel about HOC, but for the sake of this post, I'll reiterate. I loved it. True, it needs a serious re-write...but Chris, it's worth it. Flaws and all, it sucked me in. The story is amazing, and the characters are addicting, charming. When I finished reading it, I was kinda sad - and I think anyone who "gets into" books can relate - that kind of melancholia that you get, knowing the story is over. Reading Inspiring the Lost brought a big smile to my face - it brought back the remembrance of HOC as if I had just read it yesterday. As goofy as this may sound, it was like all of my old friends had returned. The "group" was together again, and travelling - and I wanted to know what trials they'd be going through, again. Of course, all of this could be attributed to the fact that I tend to be a little wacky, but - I honestly don't think so. I think that anyone who enjoys the genre, would equally enjoy reading HOC - and would feel the same way. Thanks for posting this, Chris. And thanks for letting me visit with Jonathan and Arianna again.  |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
Not bad, my friend. Much matured compared to the tale from which it spawned, but I understand that's being overhauled. Only thing I thought was a bit off was the part where Bran, who had scuttled up a tree in response to a rustle in the bushes, brashly attacks a huge panther toward the end in order to protect someone he just met. A bit unlikely, no? Throw a rock? Sure. Charge in? NOT! You know of course that I would not waste my time critiquing if I did not think this had a good deal of potential. So, DEAL WITH IT!! hehe Linda |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Linda - you have a very good point... one which I've addressed in the next couple "parts." But to sum - Fighting a) for oneself and b) by yourself is a while different matter from when you're fighting for someone/thing or and/or with someone. Added to that, Bran's thoughts of the Legion were the main driving force behind his retreat. Many might understand that the fear we concieve in our minds is often much worse than the reality! I do however, go more in-depth with this in the following parts. Thank you as always for your input. Nic - how do you manage to make me blush so often??? Your support has always been wonderful for me! Be careful though, I may come to depend on it!!! Sharon - you too lady, support! Wow! I do have about 3/4 of this done and likely the rest minus edits in a day or two! So no missing pieces!Abe - Kind sir, thank you. Noted and enacted (though in my draft and not on here since i'm really lazy that way... LOL) Thank you for your words! C [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 02-27-2001).] |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Ah...just as I suspected all along...TALENT!!! LOVE YER MIND! (need to talk to you more about this fiction thing...sigh...it baffles me..ouch! that was a secret!) and YES...it took me that long to sober up....dammit...will e ya the rest? I have questions....  [This message has been edited by serenity (edited 03-02-2001).] |
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Dark Angel Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095 |
I must say I enjoyed this very much Christopher. I look forward to Part 2 Maree |
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Romy Senior Member
since 2000-05-28
Posts 1170Plantation, Florida |
I haven't read the novel, but wanted to say that I really enjoyed reading the first chapter of "Inspiring the Lost". I agree there are a few minor errors, but none that couldn't be fixed in your final edit. I like the way you introduced the character Bran, and involved him in immediate conflict early in the story. I got hooked right away and i am eager to read what happens next! Thanks for sharing! Debbie |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Karen - Thank you lady - I'm waiting for those questions... Maree - thank you for your time and comments! Debbie - Yes, though likely I'll be too lazy to fix it here, I am planning on creating a single web page once I'm done completely with the story. For those interested, part two is available here: /pip/Forum15/HTML/001061.html C |
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Irie Senior Member
since 1999-12-01
Posts 1493Washington State |
Chris, I too enjoy reading "the authors notes" and I enjoyed reading yours. I can't not wait to read part II. You know, I'm a HUGE black panther fan, and that makes this story even more exciting fro me to read. Well done Chris, I've really enjoyed this so far Off to part II................... ~Sheri "The things that come to those that wait may be the things left by those who got there first" |
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