Whoa, yes, I'm writing again, because my lovely friend inspired me, and I had some fun with drawing my characters out on photoshop. So,
“You have a halo of fire.”
Those were the first words he spoke to me, that shadowy figure I saw as I turned from the window, surprised at hearing his voice.
“What?” I said, unnerved, as I should be; the last maid to take his dinner up had quit, thrown her apron on the floor this morning and stormed out of the castle, driven to her wits end by the madman in the tower.
The figure sighed and leant forward into the sunlight that was steaming through the window behind me. “Your hair,” he said matter-of factly.
“Oh,” I unconsciously reached up a hand to touch it. It always got me noticed, mainly because its unusual colour. If you wanted to keep on my good side, you would call it copper. Not ginger. “Um…thank you?”
“It was more a statement than a compliment,” the man who sat opposite me shrugged in a nonchalant way that wasn’t typical of a prisoner. Unless he had just accepted his fate. Or maybe he was mad. “I presume you come bearing something that could loosely be described as food. What happened to that last maid? She was rather amusing.”
“She resigned.” I replied, and set the tray I was carrying down on the little table in the room. The tower room didn’t actually look like a prison at all to me, the furnishings included a four poster bed and a well made table and chair for meals. It also boasted an amazing view over the city, stretching up to the mountains in the distance, their peaks capped with mist and snow.
When I turned around he was standing right behind me. I hadn’t heard him move. I frowned. “Your games won’t work with me,” I said, “I’ve heard about you. I'm just going to give you this dinner and go.” I walked past him, almost brushing his shoulder with mine and reached out to knock on the door, to signify to the guard that I wanted to leave. Many maids had pounded upon this old oak, desperate to get out. I didn’t really want to find out why.
“Tsk, you have your mother’s temperament.”
My hand froze, hanging in mid air before my eyes. I turned slowly, and looked at this man. He was leaning against the windowsill, staring out into the open air as if he had never said a thing. My eyes narrowed, scrutinising him, noting everything from his scruffy dress to the highlights the sunlight made in his fair hair. He gave nothing away. Had I imagined that last comment? I turned back to the door.
“You have her hair too, but I suppose you know that.” When I turned once more to face him he was looking at me, a wry smile on his face.
“Would you quit using my mother against me? She’s dead; leave her out of your stupid jokes!” I slammed my fist against an old cabinet. The door creaked open.
“I wasn’t joking,” he said, walking up to me and shutting the cabinet door. “I thought you might like to know. You should be proud to be like her.” His eyes looked sharply into mine, making each word he said slam into my mind. “I admired her very much. She fought me, you know.”
“What? You better not be the sorcerer who killed her! I’ll, I’ll…” strangle you with your own bed sheets, rip your heart out, and break your body until you can’t move a limb for leaving me without a mother throughout most of my life.
Even though my rage must have shown upon my face, he calmly lifted a hand. “No, it wasn’t me. I was put away a few years before her…unfortunate demise.” With his lifted hand he knocked upon the door. “I’ll see you early morning with my breakfast, shall I?”
He door opened and the guard looked at me expectantly. I stepped out, a dozen questions on my lips. Who was this man? Why did he fight my mother? What crime did he commit? What did he know? Though curiosity overwhelmed me, I couldn’t help but hate him for manipulating me so easily. He knew I’d come back to beg for information, and I was sure that he’s dangle it under my nose as a carrot is offered to a donkey, leading me along a road of his choosing step by blind step, purely for his own amusement.
But I knew I’d have to go back.
I left the room, slipped past the guard in the narrow tower space and hurried down the stairs. That madman had cut into the five minutes of free time that I had today, and I needed to reach the library. I reached the last few steps, jumped down them as was my habit from childhood and walked swiftly down the corridors, my surroundings growing richer as a walked. Tapestries hung from the walls, gold thread woven into the design to impress the castle guests. I kept my hands away from them; I had been reprimanded many a time for playing with loose threads.
Finally I reached the tall oak doors that contained the library. I gently pushed one open and slipped into the space beyond. As I walked along the corridors formed by the rows of bookcases, I ran a finger along the shelves, trailing dust thrown up by the disturbance. The library was so vast that it couldn’t be properly cleaned, even by the vast army of maids in the castle. Finally I reached the section I was after, and looked up toward the stone arches that held the great library roof up, my eyes travelling past row after row of spines in different colours and bindings. Inside I felt a deep ache of longing, to read each and every book in here, but with only a couple of minutes truly free during the day it would take my lifetime and some more.
I shook myself from this unreachable dream and carefully slid a book from the shelf in front of me, sat down cross-legged on the floor and opened it where I had left off yesterday.
In the third year of the reign of our good Lord King Rikard II, a wild power came upon the land, wielded in the hands of a young and ambitious Sorcerer. Demon spirits turned restless and a tremor shook the earth the day it began…
“Shianne!” I jerked out of history and into the present. What had I managed to read? Two sentences? It was that prisoner’s fault. Swiftly I ran back to the library door, to see Aryssa standing there, hands on hips. Like me, she was a servant in the castle. Unfortunately she had a knack for finding me, usually when I was reading. “Come on! You’re needed in the kitchen!” I nodded resignedly and followed her down the hallways.
“What was this prisoner like?” she asked.
“Surely you’ve heard the stories, I though everyone had,” I teased her.
“Of course, but they’re always exaggerated. What was he really like?”
“Strange. I’d say mad.” I thought back to what he had said to me. No, I wouldn’t tell her. If I said that he mentioned my mother she’d tell someone and I’d get given a different job, my curiosity left unsatisfied. I had to go back and play his madman’s games.
The next morning I was given the task of bringing up his breakfast. I climbed the rough stone steps up to the tower, pausing for breath when it was needed, and reached the top to face a tired looking guard, slumped in his chair. He looked wearily up at me.
“The bastard does it on purpose. Never lets anyone sleep…” He rested his chin on his hand, attempting to doze. Were guards not supposed to be awake? The ones downstairs around the palace were. Obviously this prisoner wasn’t considered to be dangerous. However, the bolts on the door suggested otherwise. I looked at the guard, whose eyes were closed. How was he supposed to open the door for me if he was asleep?
I turned at the sound of footsteps behind me, to see another guardsman come up the stairs. He gave the first one a prod.
“You’re relieved Mark.” Mark sighed in relief, handed over the keys and trudged downstairs. The new guard opened the door and I stepped into darkness.
I felt my way carefully to the table I’d put the last meal on, hoping he hadn’t decided to move it. Thinking of the prisoner, a prickle ran up my spine. Where in the room was he? Was he watching me? I found the table and placed my tray on it, and then groped toward the window. I touched cloth – tattered curtains – and pushed one aside. The sun lit a bright line across the table and floor. I could see him now, lying on the old bed. He looked to be asleep. I crept tentatively toward him, stepping carefully around dark objects strewn across the floor.
Suddenly he moved and I froze, heart pounding in my chest, waiting for something terrible to happen. Silence. Carefully I approached the bedside and looked down at him. He was in the same clothes that he’d worn the previous day. The sheet that was wrapped around him was torn in places and feathers from the old pillow were scattered over the bedcovers. He was saying something, mouthing some words. I leant closer to hear them…
A scream tore out of his throat, ripping through the air. Startled I stumbled backwards, tripped over something on the floor and landed hard, pain shooting up my back. “That,” I groaned, “would have been comical if it had happened to somebody else.” I stood up unsteadily. “That’s not funny!” Surprisingly, the prisoner wasn’t sat up, looking at me with his mocking gaze. He appeared to be still asleep. I stepped purposely toward him and glared down, hands on hips. Still no response. Could he actually be sleeping? He started tossing and turning in his sleep again, murmuring words that I couldn’t hear. Gingerly I put out a hand and rested it on his forehead, like I could vaguely remember my mother doing when I had nightmares. He was burning hot.
As soon as I touched him he stopped moving, his entire body relaxed, and the tightness is his face disappeared. Perhaps there was something to my mother’s technique after all. I wasn’t sure what to do now though. I had to take him his breakfast, and then take all of the cutlery, dishes and tray back, so he couldn’t stab the guards to death or anything like that. Wait a moment I thought, what if he decides to stab me to death? I’d have no chance. I started as I felt him grip my wrist and looked down. “Stay here?” he said wearily.
“What?” I recoiled from his grip and took a couple of steps away. “No!”
“You can’t leave until I’ve eaten that muck.” He was rather perceptive for someone who had just woken up.
“I could just take it as it is and say you refused to eat.” I argued back.
“Cruel woman,” he said, and lay back down with his back to me. “Close the curtains.”
I glared at his back. “Why do you want me to stay anyway?”
He craned his neck round to look at me. “Because you made the nightmares go away. I don’t know how. Now shut the curtains.”
“What nightmares?”
He sighed and sat up, glaring at me. “The ones I’ve had for years. Why else do you think I look like this?” he said, gesturing at his face. Looking at him, I noticed the lines under his eyes, and the dark circles surrounding them. “Now shut the bloody curtains.”
“I just…presumed you were old? And no, I won’t be able to find my way out.”
“Suits me, you can keep the nightmares away while you’re stuck here.”
I walked up to the bedside. “Why do you get them?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do, why else would I ask?”
“False concern? Maybe I should explain. When I say ‘you don’t want to know’, I mean ‘I’m not going to tell you. Ever’. Now are you shutting those curtains?”
“So this is what the guard meant when he said you never let anyone sleep?” I asked.
He glared at me, shuffled to the end of the bed and hopped off it. “How am I supposed to know?” he said, closing the curtains, “Do you think I have long, profound conversations with my guards?”
“I don’t know…I just…wondered. Where are you?” I asked, staring nervously into the sudden dark, willing my eyes to adjust.
“Behind you,” said a low voice in my ear and I suppressed a shriek. Instead I jabbed out with an elbow, but hit nothing. “Oh, you’re a fighter. Nice.” This time the voice came from somewhere across the room.
“What do you want?” I said exasperatedly.
“Stay. Just for a little while. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I really slept.” This time he was standing next to me. I could just see the shape of him in the gloom.
“You have no idea how odd a proposition that is.”
“Do I look like I care?” he took hold of my shoulders and turned me to face him. “I’ve been locked in this tower for eleven years. Every night I’ve been driven mad by these night terrors, powerless to stop them. You have no idea what that is like. Do you understand? I would give anything for a good nights sleep, and if I have to knock you unconscious to get it I will.” A hysterical tone entered his voice. “Just…please. Please?”
“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” The dark shape that was him nodded frantically.
“When I get out of here, I’ll give you anything, just please grant me this one moment of peace.”
“When you get out? How long are you in here for?” I asked.
“Life,” he said nonchalantly. “Until I rot.”
“Then that’s a pretty hollow promise.” I said.
“Oh, believe me,” he said, “I will get out. There’s no way I’m letting them win.”
“So…you’ve been planning your escape for eleven years?” I said incredulously.
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity. Now stop questioning me, I feel like I’m being interrogated by some torturer.”
“Do you speak from personal experience there?” I joked.
“As torturer or victim?” he asked me slyly.
“I’m not sure I want to know,” I replied.
“Will you stay?” he asked me again, giving me a little shake to drive the point home.
“Only if you eat the damn breakfast before it gets cold.” I said resignedly.
“You’ve got a deal.”
And fin, for now. Eh the paragraphs are probably screwed...I hope you could read it.
good deal. now write more, damn you. teasers have always pissed me off. I dig the madman in the tower idea, so now you are obligated to write more, because I allowed myself to become interested despite my better judgement (ain't that always how it is?). the only thing I noticed wrong was the wording "Wasnt sat up" rather than "hadn't sat up".
You do have an excellent grasp of first person, something I always like to read because so few people can do it properly. I like seeing inside only one characters head and having the actions of the other characters translated through only one point of view.
It was good, but I have one suggestion. I think let the cat out of the bag – regarding your main character’s mother. The best fantasy, to me anyway, has always been one part mystery. I get drug along for the ride because everything is kept so close to the chest. The reader has to figure out the rules, physics, and laws of the world. The author can explain magic or leave its workings a mystery (e.g. Lord of the Rings vs. The Wheel of Time). The main character always has a driving influence that is revealed bit by bit. If the death of her mother is your main character’s defining characteristic, you may want to reveal that slowly.
I really have no idea what half my plot for this is, so haha, we shall see *is terrible planner* Hopefully I'll manage mystery >_>
Just think of this as a writing exercise and see where the story takes you. Then, once you have half an idea, or better yet a whole one, you can take a step back and plan it properly.