» Fri Oct 08, 2010 11:52 pm One of the major revisions I made was switching the perspective entirely. I changed from 3rd person perspective to 1st person. I think this really helped me dig into the mind of Baeder. By far the most difficult part of my revision was writing a narrative believable coming through a 12-year-old boy. He obviously doesn't act/think/speak like a full-grown advlt would. I put a lot of effort into this, and I hope it shows. Thank you for reading.
Children of Mirr
I came upon the city at early sunrise, but already Mirr was awake.
The sun and moon hadn’t fully switched places, but already a bunch of people marched in and out of the dark tunneled entrance into the city, their loud voices mixing together and making one loud discussion. Mirr, the capital of the Kingdom of Raen, was alive.
The people themselves were a mixture, too. Some wore fancy robes and silky suits of bright colors. Others wore dull, ripped clothing that barely hung from the very last threads that drooped off of their sagging, depressed skin as they shuffled into the city. I had a lot of respect for those last people. Those people knew what suffering was. They knew what it meant to really have to survive.
Leaning against an unmanned wagon filled with hay, the smell of perfume (both good as well as bad, and trust me when I say I know the difference) floated through the air, mixing with the smell of horse and cow manure from the farms along the plains heading west from the city. It all came together to create a smell I didn’t very much enjoy, but even nasty smells couldn’t take my focus away from what was in front of me.
The city of Mirr was far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
The stone walls of Mirr loomed high above, tall buildings and spiraling towers stretching towards the sky as if wanting to live amongst the clouds. It was kinda pretty, but only ‘cause it was a nice day. It was very hot and the sun was really bright. My teachers back in Redwood woulda told me the sun was angry, but I always thought that was stupid. It was just a sun… how could it be angry or not angry? But I was happy to be away from Redwood. This was my destination. Redwood was a beautiful city as well, but Mirr… Mirr was unlike anything I’d seen before.
But how to get inside? I’d been leaning against the wagon for a couple of hours, and so far nobody had told me to leave. But as I watched the gates from afar, the guards continued turning away those with the most ripped and dirty clothing (some wore little clothing at all); the beggars, the homeless… those kind. While I wasn’t a beggar—neither homeless either, for if you could even call it a home, I had one waiting for me back in Redwood—but I definitely looked it. My faded gray, lightweight shirt was holier than all the bishops of Raen (I got that from a teacher back in Redwood. I think he called it an… emily or something). My pants were cotton and gray as well, and were in just as bad shape. My faded brown leather sandals, cracked and scuffed, were somehow still intact. Not mention my hair, which was a mangled mess of natural brown mixed with dirt brown. Plus, I was in need of a good bath just as my clothes were in need of a good wash. There was no way I’d be able to slip in without being seen.
But there had to be some way in. There was always a way in. Then, turning to my right, my luck finally turned to the brighter side of the coin.
Coming down a dirt road, a path leading from an enormous lake beside the city, was a long string of children led by an old lady—like a mother goose leading her goslings. She kinda even looked like a goose, but I really couldn’t explain why. And I knew exactly who the children were. They had just the right look. Orphans! Just like me!
I could tell by their hand-me-down clothes, not to mention there were twenty-something in all, of all different shapes and sizes and ages. Probably no older than fifteen or so. Neither of them looked like each other, except maybe for a couple of black-skinned Doman boys who probably were brothers. But the best part was that I’d finally found the perfect way into the city! With my short size and young age, I would fit right in! I would just fall in at the back of the line and pretend I was one of them!
But as they neared, I took a look at my clothing and my heart stopped. My clothes were definitely hand-me-downs as well, but mine were filled holes and were covered with mud and dirt and twigs and leaves that hadn’t yet fallen off. I was a mess, surely too noticeable to play the role of an orphan. However, once they were within a few feet I noticed there clothing was the same way! Neither orphan wore clothes with as many holes as mine, but they too were covered with dirt and leaves and all kinds of messy things! I wondered why, but the little old lady answered for me.
“I can’t believe I took you to the lake!” she yelled at the kids. “After that downfall of rain yesterday I should have realized it would be too muddy!” She had a thick set of long, braided gray hair with a blue ribbon at the end that fell just past her hips. She wore a plain white button-down shirt (now stained with dirt and mud), tucked into a black skirt that stretched all the way down to her black silk shoes (why she wore such expensive shoes to the muddy lakeshore I have no idea), completing the look of a woman of the Gods. I could tell she was religious. The lady workers back in Redwood were religious as well. Maybe all orphanages are religious? The old lady even had the little silver moon and sun necklace dangling from her wrinkled neck. I never paid much attention to the classes taught back at my old orphanage, but I kinda remembered them talking a lot about a moon and a sun. And stars, too… I think… or at least something like that anyways. Wearing a pair of black-framed spectacles, she turned around to her children and added, “Why must children play in the mud? What is so wondrous about it?”
No one answered her. They just stared at the ground and kept walking. The old lady was so angry, her face redder than any face I’d ever seen. I guess maybe she was gonna have to wash all their clothes or something. Not sure why she was yelling at the kids. She was apparently the one who had taken them to the muddy lake in the first place. Because she was too busy being angry, and the other children were too busy looking at the ground, no one noticed when I slipped in behind at the back of the line.
I jumped beyond a short and fat little boy who couldn’t have been more than three years old. He didn’t exactly walk… it was more like a waddle. His oversized cotton pants kept falling down, and with mud-covered hands he kept pulling them up. Thankfully he didn’t know I was behind him. He smelled like… I dunno… a mixture of something bad and something worse. I didn’t really wanna know.
The line was eerily straight, as if they’d perfected the art of walking after hours of practice. We walked toward the gate where clouds of people continued their comings and leavings. I had a good plan, but something still felt wrong. If there were such things as butterflies with knives for wings, they lived in my belly. Just quit worrying! I told myself. When you worry you sweat, and if you sweat the guards will think something’s wrong! So just stop, you idiot!
The guards… there were four at the iron gates, two on each side. They held wooden iron-tipped spears and wore a uniform made only of leather, all the way from their helmet to their boots. Back in Redwood, a uniform made only of leather meant the soldier was either very low in rank, or else they were militia, which I was told basically meant “untrained volunteer soldiers.” An officer of the Redwood Guard told us this when he came to visit, but I don’t know why ‘cause nobody really cared. And since the soldiers in front of me now were just guards, they had to be militia. The way they slouched made it look like they didn’t care. They probably didn’t.
We walked past them with ease, a bearded guard on the left smiling at the old lady (who, funnily enough, did not smile back) and nodding. The crowd of people cramming into the unlit tunnel was massive, but our line remained straight. Yeah… they must have practiced this a lot! About two-thirds of the way through the long tunnel, I could see light. Leaning on my tippy toes I could even barely see just above people’s heads at the end of the tunnel. Structures lay in front. It looked like they were made of dark stone, but it was hard to tell with all the people in front of me.
I’m really going to make it! I really, really am!
“Who you?”
I looked down at the boy in front of me and the knife-winged butterflies came back for seconds. He stared at me with big blue eyes, his mouth smeared with dirt and his nose covered with what looked like… well… more dirt. He walked backwards while talking to me, and the only thing I could think about was him running into someone and ruining my entire plan. I was also scared his voice would cause attention, but it was nothing compared to the other voices inside the tunnel. Too many for one little boy’s. Even I could barely hear him.
“A new friend,” I told him, putting on my best smile.
He seemed to buy that, so he turned around and kept walking. This was relieving, but in a matter of seconds he turned back around. Little kids always ask way too many questions!
“But how come I no see you before?”
“Well, I… uhh…” Think fast, you idiot! Think fast! “I’m new,” was all I could come up with. Not a very good comeback, but thankfully the boy wasn’t too bright. He grinned, showing a mouth with a lot of missing teeth. When he nodded, the bangs of his thick set of blonde hair bounced up and down. “But we shouldn’t talk,” I added, thinking of a rule my orphanage had back in Redwood. “We aren’t supposed to talk in line, remember?”
He had a dumb look on his face now, but I couldn’t tell if it was actually a rule or he was just confused. Probably both.
“Oh, dats wight!” he yelled. A little too loud for my comfort, but still no one seemed to hear him. He put a chubby finger to his mouth and went on with his innocent little self, a smile stretching across his even chubbier face. “No talkie! I forgots dat! Thanks, new fwiend!”
“No problem. But quit talking until we get home, alright?”
The smile immediately faded, replaced by a confused frown. “You said no talkie!” the boy yelled, much louder than before. I panicked and put a finger to my mouth, but it didn’t do any good. “Why you talkie, new fwiend!” Then the worst thing that could have happened actually happened. The boy turned around and yelled, as loud as his little lungs would let him, “Miss Oggy! Miss Oggy! My new fwiend keeps tawkin’ to me in wine!”
The line halted. Everyone turned around and now all eyes were on me. The younger kids had a look of curiosity on them and the older kids had more of an irritated look, almost as if they somehow knew I was trying to pose as one of them, wondering why in the world I wanted to be an orphan. I didn’t, of course, but… well… there was no way they could know that.
The old lady’s (whose name was apparently Miss Oggy… a silly name if you ask me) stare was the worst to look at. It was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and anger all mixed into one. It was the way the ladies at the orphanage back in Redwood looked at me. Maybe all religious women hate kids.
“And just who are you, young man?” she asked. She took a few steps toward me and it looked as if her eyes were on fire. She’d already lost her impatience with the kids. “I believe I asked you a question,” she said, her long nose (that’s why she looked like a goose!) twitching as she adjusted her spectacles with long, slender fingers.
Most of the people around us just kept walking. Very few stopped to give even a moment’s glance, either ignorant or uncaring to the scene at hand. I looked for an opening in front of us. Mirr’s entrance was so close! I noticed the four guards at the end of the gate hadn’t yet noticed what was going on, despite us being so close to them. If I could just… just…
Think fast, you idiot! Think fast!
“I… uhh… I…”
“Young man, if I don’t get an answer from you in three seconds I will call for the-” Before she could even finish her sentence I darted from my position and headed for the entrance into the city, dodging bodies left and right, hearing voices demanding that I slow down. Several people even tried to reach out and grab me. I don’t know why, though. It wasn’t any of their business! I wasn’t bothering them at all!
“Guards! Guards! Guards!”
I heard her shrill, nagging voice behind me but I didn’t stop for a second. If I stopped then I would be caught. I saw that finally the guards were aware of my presence, closing in on me at once. But it was too late for them. I was so close to the entrance I could see the buildings. So close, nearly there, just another second…
And then I hit something hard with my left foot. I tripped and tumbled to the ground, landing hard on my right arm and feeling something pop in the upper part of my right shoulder. I rolled a few times before coming to a stop, dirt covering my clothes and entering my mouth. I spat it out, tried to wipe the dirt from my stinging eyes with my right hand, but a sharp pain in my shoulder kept me from doing so. I cried out in pain, and seconds later four guards stood over me.
“Welcome to Mirr, m’boy.”
The man speaking had a beard that probably hadn’t seen a shave in months, though funnily enough, he was completely bald atop his head. His smile had more teeth than his head had hair, but not by much. The stench that came from his mouth would have been unbearable had the pain in my shoulder not taken over any other pain.
I tried to roll to the side and get up to run away (a fool of a move, I know), but the guard who had spoken stamped his left boot onto my injured shoulder. If he didn’t come off as so stupid I woulda thought he did it on purpose. Crying out in pain again, I was stuck. Nowhere to go.
“Oh I’m sowwy,” the guard said in a mocking tone, making a baby face that his fellow guards thought was hilarious. The face made him look uglier than he already was, and his dirty brown eyes didn’t help. “Did that hurt?”
“Let me go!” I yelled. Not that I expected him to listen, of course. People were walking past us, and now they were giving me their attention, wondering why the little boy was being held by the guards. And now the guards were posing for them. I just knew it. All they had to do all day long was guard the gates. Now that they had me they were gonna act like they were tough.
“Ya know what?” the guard said, still grinning for the crowd. “I don’t think I will.”
Gritting my teeth, I did something I knew would have immediate consequences. I spat up at him, hitting him square in the forehead. His buddies beside him stopped laughing altogether (though some of the people around us laughed) and looked on at him to see his reaction. His cheeks were bright red, but I didn’t think it was very funny. At least not now. He only smiled, but the smile was empty of any goodness. The boot on my shoulder dug deeper.
The guard bent down and whispered low into my face, the smell of his putrid breath even stronger. I smelled like a mixture of cheap whiskey and stale fish. “Ya may wanna watch what ya say, boy. We don’t take too kindly to brats. Yer lucky ya don’t find this here boot pressin’ down on yer scrawny little throat ‘stead of yer shoulder.”
“What’s going on here?”
On my back I twisted my head to the right. A man on horseback rode up to us, his brown horse taller than any I’d ever seen. The man wore a full-piece suit of iron armor, complete with a shiny open-faced helmet with a long and thick yellow feather sticking out from the top. His importance was obvious.
All this time… all the traveling I’d done from Redwood to Mirr... all for nothing.
I was caught.
(In the actual chapter and original draft this is roughly ? of the way through, but I wasn’t happy with the latter 1/4 and decided to omit it. For the most part I'm generally happy with what I have here. I really enjoyed writing the 1st person perspective. As for fantasy, though I've been writing it for a year and a half or so, I've REALLY began to seriously write to improve since... I guess January. I'm still trying to find my voice as a writer.)
