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the Third Gate: Chapter One (NaNoWriMo 2015)
10 years ago
General
Following is what I wrote in the opening moments of National Novel Writing Month, 2015. It is for a story that, so far, is being called "the Third Gate". It stars a humanoid dragon, so far, named "Adam". These 600 words were written in the first 20 minutes of the annual contest. For now, I need bed. I'll continue this, later.
Aches and pains had been gone for six years, now. Provided the landscape of his life was not a tapestry rewoven by insanity and delusion, Adam hadn’t felt this good in ages. Physically, he never could have run so far, pushed himself for so long, without stopping for rest. And yet, he was in agony. What usually would be called “aches and pains” were replaced by honestly earned agonies of stress, flight, running, and fighting. Unlike his past life, a life spent making columns add up to a predetermined number, his pains had been acquired not by walking up and down stairs or taking an extra-long walk at lunch but by chasing those who had taken Eris. Her absence had spurred in him a rush to action he’d not felt since college. But that was the fact of it, wasn’t it? Here he was, climbing over tumble-down rocks in a tremor-wracked landscape of wind-worn hills and rising peaks, in a body scarcely beyond puberty. But sometime, in the years since arriving in this exploded-view version of a world, he’d crossed the line into fifty.
Halfway there.
His brother would have said he was “halfway there”.
It was what they all said when he’d turned forty. He would have expected his fiftieth birthday to gain him the same joke.
But that would have been a joke for humans in a human world. It would have been a joke to a member of a species that spent the first sixteen, eighteen, twenty years of life coming to grips with adulthood only to die in their seventies, eighties, or nineties. Those rules no longer applied. He was of dragon blood, now, and scarcely into adulthood as far as his body was concerned.
So his ten-day journey in pursuit of Eris and her kidnappers felt like it should be impossible. But his young body made it exactly the opposite. Not only was this chase possible, it was probable.
And Adam hated himself for it.
Northeastern Dorath was sparsely populated. He hadn’t seen anyone since arriving here. The crew of the Amberglass had put up a fight as soon as they had seen him. The cloud cover had been too sparse. But if he hadn’t attacked, hadn’t shredded their sails and ripped the air crystals from its hull, the airship would have been able to get out into the Deep Blue.
Adam wasn’t strong enough a flier to take on that kind of pursuit.
Imperfect cover, scatterings of grey against a dawning day of light rain, had been his only true protection. But they’d known how to handle fliers. The fought back and put three bolts through his left wing.
They went down, too; just later than Adam had.
Yesterday, he had caught up to the torched remains of the ship. They had decided to leave no evidence. To Adam that meant more, though. It meant they were committed. It meant they had another way out. They could afford to put their ship to the torch and not risk being judged for illegal slave trade. In short, they had a “Plan B”.
And with an injured wing, Adam had pursued them on foot.
Why they had come this way, why they pushed so hard to reach the mountains, he didn’t know. But they were getting dangerously close to the edge of Dorath. He could only assume they would meet up with another ship. Eris and the others taken to be sold in far-off lands would be gone to him if he couldn’t get them back.
He wouldn’t let that happen. Eris was the last connection he had.
Aches and pains had been gone for six years, now. Provided the landscape of his life was not a tapestry rewoven by insanity and delusion, Adam hadn’t felt this good in ages. Physically, he never could have run so far, pushed himself for so long, without stopping for rest. And yet, he was in agony. What usually would be called “aches and pains” were replaced by honestly earned agonies of stress, flight, running, and fighting. Unlike his past life, a life spent making columns add up to a predetermined number, his pains had been acquired not by walking up and down stairs or taking an extra-long walk at lunch but by chasing those who had taken Eris. Her absence had spurred in him a rush to action he’d not felt since college. But that was the fact of it, wasn’t it? Here he was, climbing over tumble-down rocks in a tremor-wracked landscape of wind-worn hills and rising peaks, in a body scarcely beyond puberty. But sometime, in the years since arriving in this exploded-view version of a world, he’d crossed the line into fifty.
Halfway there.
His brother would have said he was “halfway there”.
It was what they all said when he’d turned forty. He would have expected his fiftieth birthday to gain him the same joke.
But that would have been a joke for humans in a human world. It would have been a joke to a member of a species that spent the first sixteen, eighteen, twenty years of life coming to grips with adulthood only to die in their seventies, eighties, or nineties. Those rules no longer applied. He was of dragon blood, now, and scarcely into adulthood as far as his body was concerned.
So his ten-day journey in pursuit of Eris and her kidnappers felt like it should be impossible. But his young body made it exactly the opposite. Not only was this chase possible, it was probable.
And Adam hated himself for it.
Northeastern Dorath was sparsely populated. He hadn’t seen anyone since arriving here. The crew of the Amberglass had put up a fight as soon as they had seen him. The cloud cover had been too sparse. But if he hadn’t attacked, hadn’t shredded their sails and ripped the air crystals from its hull, the airship would have been able to get out into the Deep Blue.
Adam wasn’t strong enough a flier to take on that kind of pursuit.
Imperfect cover, scatterings of grey against a dawning day of light rain, had been his only true protection. But they’d known how to handle fliers. The fought back and put three bolts through his left wing.
They went down, too; just later than Adam had.
Yesterday, he had caught up to the torched remains of the ship. They had decided to leave no evidence. To Adam that meant more, though. It meant they were committed. It meant they had another way out. They could afford to put their ship to the torch and not risk being judged for illegal slave trade. In short, they had a “Plan B”.
And with an injured wing, Adam had pursued them on foot.
Why they had come this way, why they pushed so hard to reach the mountains, he didn’t know. But they were getting dangerously close to the edge of Dorath. He could only assume they would meet up with another ship. Eris and the others taken to be sold in far-off lands would be gone to him if he couldn’t get them back.
He wouldn’t let that happen. Eris was the last connection he had.
oswanwolf
~oswanwolf
