Hello Everyone! I promised that I would give you all an update on my book after I reached another milestone. I have recently reached the 15,000 word mark, which is twice as much as I had on my last post! There isn't much more to say, so here is the next installment of my prologue! Hope you enjoy! The night sky was, on any normal occasion, a beautiful sight to see from any point on the Great Mountain. Its enormous size, which was unchallenged by the plethora of lesser mountains surrounding the base of the peaceful giant, allowed for any stargazer to have an unhindered view of the millions of twinkling gems that took up their residence in the sky overhead. Tonight, however, the typical sight of the beautiful sea of celestial lights was shrouded by veil of ominous clouds. The uninvited guests covering the night sky brought with them cold and bitter wind that was enough to chill the bones of even the heartiest of the beasts that wandered the frozen northern landscape. As if a harbinger of the misfortune to come, the wind preceded a wall of white snowfall that soon consumed the mountain in its frigid embrace. Outside of the hill that the Fortis family had called home for generations, the relentless storm raged on through the night. The ancestors of the homely abode's current denizens had endured many hardships during past winters, and because of decades worth of modifications, the hill was, in its current state, immune to the infectious cold that dominated the outside world. The home, heated by the warmth of the earth and a crackling fire in the chimney, was small compared to most, but comfortable for the number of residents that occupied it on any regular occasion. A young boy, too old to sit by the fire and play with his wooden blocks, yet too young to fend for himself in combat, sat on an old stool in one corner of the room with a small piece of cloth, polishing his father’s ancient blade. The boy held the jewel encrusted golden hilt as he moved the cloth across the blade with as much care as a mother who was running her hand across the forehead of her newborn child. The heirloom was of great significance to the family; it had hung on the mantel above the fire during times of extended peace for longer than anyone could possibly remember. The child stared at the cold, reflective surface of the blade, lost in daydreams of heroically earning himself and his ancestors honor and glory with the very weapon he held within his grasp. In the center of the room, in front of the fire where the boy played with his blocks not many years ago, the boy’s father sat in a rocking chair that had become enfeebled with age. The man, although having been on this earth for little more than four decades, was very old. The stresses of a lifetime of perpetual war and the burden of ancient knowledge and profound responsibility had aged him well beyond his better years. The old man, who had unwillingly experienced a lifetime of action on the battlefield, now rested in his rocking chair with such a perfect stillness that any onlooker, besides the boy, might think him to have long departed from this world. Many years ago, the boy was himself unaccustomed to his father’s unnatural tendency to meditate for hours on end without any noticeable vital signs. Since his birth, the boy shared a special connection with his mother. No matter how much he tried to communicate or interact with the old man who now rests in the chair, the boy was unable to develop a deep connection with his father who always seemed to be mentally detached from the world around him. The boy regularly asked his mother why his father did not seem to love and care for him as she did, but the only response she could give was that he was not yet of an age where he could understand the burden facing his distant parent. The boy remembered his mother now as he held his family’s sword in his grasp and stared at his unmoving father. He cringed as the sight reminded him of the first time his father entered this state. The first occurrence, at least the first that the boy could remember, happened on the day following the death of the boy’s mother. ***** It was a cold day when she passed, a day very much like today. The boy’s mother laid resting in the only bedroom within the home. The bedroom, very much like the main room of the small household, was ornately decorated. The bed on which the mother lay was so elegant that it was hard, even for a person who slept within its covers for decades, not to stop and admire its beauty from time to time. But none of that mattered to the small child that stood next to the bed beside his mother. She had been sick all her life, but she concealed it for the sake of her only child. She knew that besides one childhood friend whom he seldom saw, she was the only one that had ever cared for him, and she did not want him to live the rest of his youthful days alone. The power of will is perhaps one of the strongest forces in the universe. The will power of the boy’s mother had allowed her to battle her ailment for a dozen years, but sometimes, when persistent adversity becomes too much, will is not enough. The mother’s disease had worn away at her like waves wear away the mighty rocks on the shore. Her disease had reached its pinnacle, and she knew that her time was coming to an end. The boy, young and innocent, was unaware of the pain his mother had endured through her life and how much it made her suffer to know that she would be leaving her child without a suitable parent. “Mommy?” asked the young boy as he pulled at the sleeve of her gown. “Are you okay?” His mother looked at him, her deep blue eyes were watery and clouded. She tried to calm herself, but her voice trembled as she spoke. “This world is such a cruel place,” she said so softly that the boy strained to hear her words. “It pains me to leave you here all alone, but I know you are strong enough. I…” Her words were interrupted by a fit of violent coughing. Her time was fast approaching and she had only but a few moments to say farewell to her child. “Mommy? Should I go get daddy?” the boy asked as he pulled harder at his mother’s gown, not knowing that he was causing her pain. His face was filled with confusion and tears began to run from his eyes. He wanted to help his mother, but he did not know what was wrong. “Come close, my child,” she whispered. “ Look into my eyes.” She moaned as she shifted to face her son. The boy obediently moved in closer and looked through his tears at the only person he had ever loved. She saw his concern and a tear rolled down her cheek. She struggled to put her hand on the side of his face so that she may feel his smooth skin one last time. “I love you.” she said. “You will accomplish wonders.” As she said this, a final tear rolled down her cheek. Her hand fell from her son’s tear-stained face and she shut her eyes for the last time. “Mommy? Mommy!” the boy cried as he put his hands on his mother’s face. “Mommy wake up!” He had not known of death or loss, his mother had ensured that he was protected from that during her lifetime. The boy sat on his knees with his face pressed against his mother’s motionless form, weeping at his loss. He remained in this position until he fell asleep late in the night. The next morning the boy awoke in the same spot he had fallen asleep. He was scared, for he thought he had just had a terrible nightmare. He looked around for his mother, hoping that she would comfort him. When he saw her, he was hit by the realization that what he witnessed the previous night was no dream. His mother was gone. He had nobody left that cared for him. Seemingly lost, the boy made his way to the main room of the household where his father sat in a rocking chair by the dying embers of last night’s fire. The boy’s father sat unmoving, with such a stillness that resembled his mother in the other room. The boy looked upon his father and feared the worst, for that is all he could do. The anguish he felt for the loss of his mother remained, but he did not share these feelings for the man in the chair before him. The unmoving man in the chair never showed any love for the boy. They seldom spoke. The boy only feared because now there was nobody. He was truly alone in a house on the side of the mountain. The boy moved toward the rocking chair and placed his hand on his father. The old man jumped with a start as if the boy had somehow returned his father’s soul to his body.
I...I... I am speechless. I... I... I don't know what to say! Uummm.... keep up the good work! Just by reading the first section, I am willing to buy it if you ever publish it. ;-) :-D
