Young Adult / Chapter One - Untitled
Dew clung resolutely to the leaves of the age-old oak, which quivered in the pre-dawn rapture. I stood with my eyes closed and my chin raised and allowed the unearthly strain to wash over me. The notes of the melody poured forth, each one simple and beautiful, and when they came together as one they shimmered in my mind’s eye. I sang from my heart, allowing the melody to lead my voice along unknown paths.
A call in the distance cut through my reverie. I stopped singing abruptly, and soon the vestiges of the magic created by the music faded into the morning. I opened my eyes; the sun was now peering over the horizon and the hills glowed in the new light.
“Maelie? Maelie!” came the call, louder this time.
I sighed, resigned, and turned in the direction of our cottage. I could see a thin woman standing at the open door, wiping her floured hands on her apron. Strands of her graying, wispy hair had escaped the leather cord and fluttered in the breeze. “I’m coming, Mother!”
I lifted my skirts and stepped carefully through the grasses. I wore my only presentable gown, and I wished to keep it so.
“Yes, Mother?” I questioned as I approached. She had a tired, exasperated expression, and I wondered grimly what had caused it. Surely it was nothing I had done, I reasoned with myself, mentally reviewing the last few days.v
“The mice got into the flour last night, Maelie,” Mother said without preamble. “It’s completely ruined.” I blinked in surprise, torn between relief that I was not the cause and dismay at this news. “You’ll have to stop by Derek’s on your way into town and purchase a sack.” Her lips tightened, and I knew it was because of the unforeseen expense. “He’ll likely be open only a few hours this morning.”
“I had better go then, if I’m to have time before the festival begins.”
Mother smiled, but the tension didn’t leave her eyes. Silently I cursed the mice that had infested our most basic supply. Of all the days! Spring festival was the only time of year our family had a chance to relax and simply enjoy ourselves, when we could temporarily forget about the problems of everyday life on a struggling farm. I hoped Mother would be able to put aside the small disaster and enjoy the celebration.
“Yes, you’d better. We’ll meet you at the pavilion in time for the music contest.”
I grinned at the mention of the contest, a thrill of anticipation running through me. “I’ll just go and bid goodbye to Father and Caleb before I go.” I stepped past Mother and into the dimly lit interior of the small cottage. The familiar sight greeted my eyes: the dented brass kettle simmering on the old but serviceable wood stove, the battered trunk, the sturdy wooden table. There sat my father, with his short, graying beard and kind smile, and my small brother, who sat perched on his baby’s chair, tapping his spoon upon the table. Several bowls of porridge sat steaming on the table. Mother sank into a chair and pulled one toward her, wearily dipping a rough pewter spoon beneath the surface.
I moved forward and kissed little Caleb on the top of his head, smoothing his soft baby hair back from his forehead. “Goodbye, Caleb,” I cooed, and was rewarded with a toothy smile and a vigorous wave of his spoon. Flecks of porridge splattered onto the table. I chuckled and straightened. “Goodbye, Father.”
He smiled at me through his whiskers. “I suppose your mother told you we’d meet you later?”
I nodded and turned toward the door. Grabbing a light cloak from its hook next to the door, I wrapped it around my shoulders. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck!” my father called after me, accompanied by a delighted squeal from Caleb.
I smiled fondly as I set out on the winding road into town. Our money might be lacking in abundance, but the love between us was always overflowing.
I had been walking for but a quarter of an hour, humming softly to myself, when I noticed someone strolling toward me over the hill. Her long dress was pressed, her black hair pulled back from her face with a casual elegance I could never achieve. When she caught sight of me, a smile broke out on her lips. She hiked up her skirts and ran the remaining distance between us. Before I could as much as utter a syllable, she threw her arms around me.
“Tira!” I said when I could manage a breath. “What on earth? I thought your parents weren’t allowing you to attend the festival today!”
Tira released me and tucked her arm into mine. Her dark eyes shone with warmth and exhilaration. “They surprised me this morning. Apparently they’re to close the inn for business until this evening!”
“So you’ll be able to hear me sing!”
“Oh,” said Tira, halting suddenly. “I forgot! The whole reason I came out here to surprise you: I’ve a gift for you, for good luck.” She reached into the pocket of her gown and drew out a blue ribbon.
I took it from her proffered hand, fingering its silky smoothness. “It’s beautiful.”
Tira stepped forward and took it back. “Here, then, turn around.” I turned my back and she carefully removed the rough leather cord that held back my hair. Nimbly braiding my long hair down my back, she tied it off with the ribbon.
She rested her chin momentarily on my shoulder. “There. You look beautiful.”
I turned to face her and smiled. “Thank you, Tira. I love it.”
Once again we walked along the road, arm in arm. “So why have you left so early, anyhow?” said Tira. “I meant to surprise you back at the cottage.”
I grimaced. “The mice got into our flour and it’s ruined, all of it. Mother asked me to stop at the mercantile before the festival starts.”
Tira’s dark eyes turned sympathetic. I stopped her before she could say anything. “It’s no matter. Tell me about the guests in the inn.” Our village was along the main road to Crown City; though small, we had multitudes of travelers pass through, and interesting folk often stayed at the Sleeping Dragon. More often than not, Tira had an amusing anecdote to relate.
“There’s a band of minstrels here for the festival.” Tira shot me a sideways look, as if to assess my interest in this piece of news.
One eyebrow shot up. “Minstrels always come for the festival. That’s nothing odd.”
“These were foreign minstrels, from Cauna.”
I only glanced at her, waiting for her to continue.
“They were quite talkative a breakfast this morning. Seems they’re on their way to Crown City.”
I sighed, amused and irritated at her facetious covertness. “Just tell me, Tira. I can see you’re bursting with some wonderful tidings.”
“They’re on their way to free music lessons in Crown City.”
I turned to look at her. “What? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Tira shrugged, grinning. “I only repeat what I’ve heard. Mayhap you should come to the inn tonight and speak to them about it.”
Nodding, I matched her grin, as the idea began to sink in. Free music lessons. I had been singing since I could talk, and had always gazed longingly at the beautifully carved instruments hanging in the window at Derek’s Mercantile. To be able to learn to play them would be a wondrous thing. “That would be marvelous, thank you, Tira!’
Tira waved off my thanks and fluttered her lashes in feigned embarrassment. “’Tis nothing, nothing!”
By now we had reached the outskirts of town. People already bustled through the streets, hurrying to complete their errands before the festival began midmorning. We smiled and waved at familiar faces as we made our way to a building bearing the legend “Derek’s Mercantile.”
A small bell tinkled, announcing our arrival as I pushed the door open. I inhaled a deep breath; I loved the smell of the mercantile: pristine bolts of fabric, freshly-carved tools and toys, barrels of oats, wheat, and corn. Jars lined the counter filled with sweets for the children; the shelves were filled with all manner of items both practical and frivolous, from hatpins to oil lamps.
“Well, hullo there!” Derek, a portly man with a mass of fiercely red hair, hailed us from behind the counter, where he was polishing a brass stewpot. He set the pot on the counter with a thud. “Maelie, Tira. A good morning to you.”
“To you as well.” I said.
“Well, then, what can I help you with this fine morning?”
I quickly explained, and five minutes later we stepped back out onto the street, a large sack of flour slung over my shoulder. Preparations for the first day of the fair were well underway, and signs of festivity were everywhere. Families had decorated their cottages with strings of early flowers and draped colorful cloths over windows and doorframes.
We had no more stepped from the mercantile, admiring the festival decorations, when the sound of a wagon behind us made us turn. My lips turned up in a grin.
Perched on the high seat of the wagon was a young man dressed in his best festival clothes, a hat sitting crooked atop his mop of brown hair. When he caught sight of us, he reined in the nag and nimbly jumped to the ground, grinning broadly. He bowed with a flourish, and his hat fell to the ground. “Would you care for a ride, my ladies?” he asked in his most ridiculous genteel manner.
I swatted him playfully. “Gavyn!”
But he didn’t halt the charade. With a flourish, he swiped his hat from the ground and placed it on his head, then offered his hand to me. I rolled my eyes, but took his hand and allowed him to help me onto the seat, setting the sack beside me. I only shook my head, amused, as he turned to Tira, who took his hand with considerably more grace than I.
Gavyn climbed up next to Tira and clucked at the horse, who flicked at ear at him. He slapped the reins and clucked again, and the nag reluctantly plodded forward.
I glanced behind me; the bed of the wagon was full of golden stalks of wheat. “Off to the miller’s, Gavyn?”
He nodded, and when he spoke, his voice had returned to his normal, lilting tones. “The last of it. We had a good harvest last year, plenty extra to sell.”
“Well, do you think you could drop us by the Sleeping Dragon on your way? Only I’d like to leave this sack there until this evening.” I patted the sack next to me.
Gavyn glanced sideways at it. “No, no, just leave it in the wagon. I’ll drive you home after the festival.” He reverted back into his mock genteel voice. “I’d hate for a little lady like you to have to carry that heavy sack all that way.” He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes again.
“Gavyn, I’m perfectly capable–”
He held up his free hand to halt my words. “Thou dost protest too much. Methinks you do not enjoy my company?”
I sighed, exasperated, and gave in. “Fine, then, I’ll pretend to endure your company so my poor little arms don’t have to carry that cumbersome load.” I couldn’t resist good-naturedly tormenting him in return.
Gavyn pretended to look wounded and addressed Tira, who had sat grinning through the entire exchange, “What have I done to earn her disdain?” His wide were wide and full and feigned sorrow.
Tira elbowed him. “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes! You asked for it, and you know it.”
Gavyn laughed. “Fine, fine, I can never win with the both of you against me! But, Maelie, you will let me drive you home, won’t you?”
“It doesn’t seem I have any choice.” I tried to sound glum. Gavyn glared at me, and I laughed. “Of course you can.”
Tira tutted. “And why haven’t you offered me a ride home, then?”
Gavyn sighed and spoke slowly, as though addressing a child. “Because, Tira, dear, you only live about five steps from the festival.” He shifted over to avoid Tira’s elbow, which moved threateningly, and spoke normally again. “Besides, I’ll probably leave the wagon at the inn during the festival anyhow. That is, if that’s acceptable?” His puppy dog eyes were back.
“Oh, you,” laughed Tira.
By this time we had come through town and were approaching the mill. A tall stone building, it stood on the banks of the Seyn River. The air was filled with the sounds of the river, swollen from the spring run-off, and the creaking of the huge wheel as it turned in the current.
“Ho, there!” called Gavyn, effectively ending our conversation. “Weston!”
An older man, still wearing his coarse, un-dyed work clothes, emerged from the mill, a sour expression on his face.
“No festival clothes, Weston?” said Gavyn lightly. “No decorations either, you’ll be the talk of the town.” He was rewarding with a withering glare.
“What do ye want, Gavyn?” Weston barked.
Gavyn ignored the miller’s hostile tone; he had been doing business with this man for years, and was somehow never fazed by his inhospitable manner. “The last of last summer’s stock.” He gestured at the bed of wheat behind him. “Our surplus from the harvest.”
Weston grunted, and moved forward to examine the wheat with a critical eye. “’Tis decent enough. How much ye askin’ fer it?”
I stopped listening as they began to haggle over the price, instead watching the gigantic wheel spinning on its axis. I loved watching the flow of the water and the dripping wheel as it creaked and groaned. I glanced at Tira; she was watching the men barter with great interest, her eyes lingered on Gavyn as he agreed on a price.
The men shook hands, one congenially, the other as disgruntled as ever, and moved to unload the wheat. I hopped down from the seat to help, hoping to speed the process so we could get to the festival early, and Tira followed my example.
In no time at all, the bed of the wagon was empty, and Gavyn was coaxing the nag to move back towards town. Excitement was growing in me as the start of the festival grew ever nearer. I hardly noticed what Tira and Gavyn were speaking of, for I was going over the song I was to sing in my head and hoping that I wouldn’t forget the words and that my voice wouldn’t crack.
This was my year, I could feel it. I had been singing in the spring festival since I could talk. Always I placed, but never had I won. How thrilling would it be, to take first prize? I could picture it vividly: standing there on the stage when they announced my name, stepping forward to receive the bouquet of flowers, the crowd cheering and congratulating me, my parents beaming with pride at my achievement.
The sound of the approaching festival caught my attention. It was nearly time for opening ceremonies, and the town square was packed with people. Gavyn turned the wagon into the yard of a large, green building; the swinging sign over the door displayed a curled, green dragon with the legend, “Sleeping Dragon.” Gavyn brought the wagon to a halt next to the stable and jumped to the ground. He turned to help us down; not wishing to encourage his antics, I ignored the proffered hand and jumped down on my own, brushing the dust of the road from my green dress.
I glanced sideways to see how he had taken being thus rebuffed, but his head was turned away as he offered his hand to Tira. She accepted it, and he turned and grinned smugly at me. I felt sure that if he had been a little boy, he would have stuck his tongue out. I laughed.
Tira and I waited while Gavyn stabled the horse. He soon rejoined us, and we left the inn yard, entering the crowds of people, all talking excitedly in anticipation of the start of the long awaited and much needed 3-day holiday.
A stage had been erected on one side of the town square. It was draped in colorful cloth and had been painted a festive spring yellow. I looked at it, waiting. The festival was due to begin at any moment.
I had not long to wait. After ten minutes or so, during which the three of us traded tales and reminisced about years of past festivals, the mayor appeared and climbed the few steps to the stage. Immediately the crowd quieted, waiting in hushed expectation, watching the tall man who carried a gong and a mallet. He was dressed in his best tunic and a light, colorful cloak hung around his shoulders and was smiling as broadly as everyone else. He lifted the gong in his hand and gave a smart tap with the mallet. The sound grew in the small square, echoing off the buildings.
“I now declare the spring festival, open!”
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Nice setup. I’m curious what comes next :) Mostly, I’ve pointed out the grammatical stuff. Not all of what I’m pointing out is “errors” but maybe some things to consider or research.
”...notes of the melody poured forth, each one simple and beautiful, and when they came together as one shimmered in my mind’s eye.”—this sentence is a little confusing. Might be a typo, because I get the gist of what you’re saying, but there might be an extra word or two?
“A call in the distance cut through my reverie; I stopped singing abruptly, and soon the vestiges of the magic created by the music faded into the morning.”—period instead of semi-colon. Never underestimate the power of short sentences ;p
“I opened my eyes; the sun was now peering over the horizon and the hills glowed in the new light.”—I know you like past perfect, but I’m pointing this out so you can compare the two and see which fits better. Consider: ”...the sun now peered over the horizon, and the hills glowed in the new light.” (you may not even need “now”)
“I was wearing my only presentable gown, and I wished to keep it so.”—like above, just compare the two: “I wore my only…” but if you decide to keep your version, I think it would sound better as “Wearing my only presentable gown, I wished to keep (it clean?)” play with the last 2 words ;p
“She had an tired, exasperated expression and I wondered grimly what had caused it.”—first the typo (a tired), and also I think you need a comma after expression.
“Spring festival was the only time of year our family had a chance to relax and simply enjoy ourselves, when we could temporarily forget about the problems of everyday life on a struggling farm.”—semi-colon instead of comma. I’m sure you’ve already heard this, but a comma is like half a breath, a semi-colon is a full breath, and a period is a transitional pause. Another way to look at a semi-colon’s use is by comparing the colon. A colon acts as an equal sign, where both sides state the same action or feeling but are worded differently. A semi-colon is like reiterating the same thought. At least that’s how I learned it, whether I’m right or wrong.
“The familiar sight greeted my eyes: the dented brass kettle simmering on the old but serviceable wood stove, the battered trunk, the sturdy wooden table.”—When you use a colon and follow with a list like you are here, there should be semi-colons instead of commas to segregate each item. If it wasn’t a list of items, just a long descriptive sentence that needed a few pauses, THEN you would use commas :)
“Several bowls of porridge sat steaming on the table;”—period instead of semi-colon
”...accompanied by a delighted squeal from Caleb.”—Cute image :)
“When she caught sight of me, a smile broke out on her lips; she hiked up her skirts and ran the remaining distance between us.”—period instead of semi-colon
“Tira released me and tucked in her arm into mine”—typo ;p
“To be able to learn to play them would be a wondrous thing. “That would be wonderful, thank you, Tira!”—Either use a synonym for wondrous or wonderful. Together, they steal the power from the sentence.
“Mayhap you should come to the inn tonight and speak to them about it.”—Isn’t the Inn closed for the day? Maybe I misunderstood?
Exellent storytelling. Your characters are well defined. You didn’t describe much of their surroundings as far as landscape, but from all the other details (cottages, prarie, dresses, festival, porridge, poverty, etc…) you paint a clear picture of the time-period and thus, we are allowed to fill in the blanks :) I’d like to read more :)
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