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I’m beginning to think your debts are going to cost you more than your life.

Tracey Dyck 18 Comments
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I swapped writing dares/prompts with my brother many moons ago. What I gave him turned into a six-page sci-fi thing. (Neither of us knows how to write something short, apparently.)


Later on, he gave me a dare in the form of a piece of dialogue. I didn’t have time to use it then, but I finally sat down and splattered a scene across the page this week.


As is often the case with writing prompts, the idea ran away in my imagination to happily sequester itself in my brain’s File of Future Novels. As if I didn’t have enough to write already! The Brightest Thread, my four-book fantasy work-in-progress, other ideas that can claim more seniority in my File of Future Novels than this little dare, etc. Anyhow. The first line is my brother’s; the rest is what followed.

“I’m beginning
to think your debts are going to cost you more than your life.”
I paused,
playing card balanced between my index and middle fingers, and stared across
the tunnel at Shin. He stared back, almond eyes burning dark the way they
always did when he tried to sway me. I broke the gaze and laughed long and
loud. The sound rattled down the metal-ribbed tunnel, a hollow noise.
Hollow like me.
“You’re just now
catching on?” I chuckled. “My debts are such that I could not repay them with a
hundred lives.”
Shin folded his
leather-clad arms and raised his chin, as if waiting for me to admit my
foolishness or produce a brilliant plan to correct it.
In contrast, I
slouched lower against the tunnel’s curved wall opposite him, and turned my
attention back to the playing card, a king of spades. It flipped back and forth
crisply between my fingers. For a moment the only sound was the greyish stream
of water running down the middle of the tunnel to some far-off drain.
“Kai, you have
but one life like the rest of us. Or have you forgotten?” Shin’s burning eyes
cracked his calm demeanor like lava welling up through deep crevices to split
the earth. He jabbed a finger in my direction. “And if you don’t do something
to pull that life out of the gutter, you’re going to drown and drag all of us
with you!”
I folded the
card in thirds. “Relax, Shin. You say my debts will cost more than my life, and
I agree.” Quickly, I tore a small section out, then paused to grin wickedly.
“It will cost me the kingdom.”
Shin’s hands
fell to his sides. “You mean to say that after all you’re doing—dishonorably, I
might add!—to reclaim your throne, you’re just going to parcel up the kingdom
to satisfy your debts the minute you take the crown? You’ll gain nothing.”
“That’s exactly
what I’ll do.”
“Thunder smite
you, Kai!” Shin turned away and smacked a fist against the wall. The echoing
sound was denser than my laugh—it rang with substance.
“And you, my
friend, will help me do it.”
Shin cursed.
I stood, brushed
grit off my pants, and walked down the tunnel, leaving the torn card on the
ground.
“Where are you
going?” Shin shouted after me.
I chose not to
answer. He would follow eventually. He would see things my way, and then we
could go about assembling the resources I’d stirred up over the last eight
months. If we moved fast enough, I just might have something to appease the
Guild when they came knocking at my door. If not . . . well, Shin was right.
What I owed was more than I could pay, even if I were to spill every drop of
blood in my veins. Next time the Guild came collecting, I wouldn’t be able to
talk my way out.
Too many
borrowed coins rode on my shoulders, too many favors, too many lives.
I chanced a peek
over my shoulder and smiled. Shin stood in the trickle of water in the middle
of the tunnel. He stood perfectly still, staring at something in his hand—the
card I’d left.
The card with a
torn hole where the king of spade’s face should have been.
I clenched the
ripped out face in my own hand. It was time to take my rightful place. Thunder
smite me if I failed to do so.
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Landon // a writing dare

Tracey Dyck 8 Comments

As I am still without internet access (let’s have a toast to post scheduling, shall we?), here’s a little more entertainment for you. In the spirit of the snippets I posted last week, I’ve decided to share a fuller piece of writing, but not of Sleeping Beauty. That one’s for a contest, you know–I can’t tell you everything!

What you will be reading is the result of a writing dare shared among my online group of writing buddies (affectionately referred to as the Pack) . . . This picture was sent out, and a few of us chose to write something based off of it. I was one of them. And the fragment of story that spilled from my fingertips has since latched onto my brain. Even now, over three months later, it’s still there. Percolating, I suppose–the stories I label “Wait” tend to sink into my subconscious and steep quietly. One of these days, with or without my permission, this little coffeepot will float back to the surface and demand to be made into a full-fledged novel.

But for now it’s still a tiny scoop of coffee beans, not even ground up yet. Probably not even roasted. So. Without further ado, the dare–which, contrary to my description, has nothing at all to do with coffee:

Landon awoke
with his face wet and damp leaching into his clothes.
He cracked open
his eyes, but the grey daylight sent a wave of pain rolling through his head. Where
am I? The surface beneath him was hard and unyielding, gritty with tiny
pebbles. Pavement. His left hand skimmed through a shallow puddle on the way to
his face. Shielding his eyes, he tried opening them again. This time the light
was more bearable.
Overhead, grey
clouds rushed by, scattering only a sporadic drizzle. Landon, still caught in
the muzzy half-realm of waking, watched them for a while and thought of nothing.
But the damp
pavement soon grew uncomfortable. Finally he stirred, and realized his right
fingers were clenched around something. He looked over at his hand. A scrap of
paper. Rather than being damp and wrinkled from the rain, it was smooth and
dry. A single word was scrawled across it: Arcus.
Something whined
at the edge of hearing range, almost more of a thought than a real sound.
Landon sat up. Why
am I on the street? My street? Yes, it was his street. There was his house
on the left, bordered with the riot of flowers that Mom tended every summer.
There was the birch tree in the yard—
Wait.
The tree lay
across the front lawn, jumble of roots exposed. Uprooted.
“What’s going
on?” Landon muttered. He scrambled to his bare feet. This is weird.
He scanned the
neighborhood. No one in sight. Every window dark. All was quiet, still.
Empty.
Panic jolted down
his spine. “Hello?” he called. “Hello?” Stuffing the paper in his jeans pocket,
he stumbled across the street toward his house. “Mom, are you home?”
What had
happened? Landon stopped at the fallen tree and just stared. There was
something . . . something terribly wrong. Memories struggled to return,
as if being pulled out of a slurping, grasping muck. He’d been inside, doing .
. . nothing, right? Doing nothing, or maybe sketching, and then . . .
Landon kicked
the birch trunk in frustration, and pain flashed up his bare toes. He growled. Something
had happened. Someone had knocked on the door or the phone rang. There was some
sort of interruption. Mom had been in the backyard, filling the birdfeeder, so
Landon had answered the door—or the phone—and then . . . The rest was a blank
haze.
He bolted to
porch and yanked the front door open. “Mom?” His foot brushed something.
Next to the
welcome mat lay a black-shafted arrow.
He snatched it
up. Brown fletchings, like bird feathers on one end; a roughly-made arrowhead
on the other. That barely-perceptible whine buzzed in his ears again.
Landon was about
to charge into the house to look for Mom when a voice from behind broke the
silence.
“Landon!”
He turned. A
girl ran down the street, dark hair streaming behind her. She raced up his
driveway and onto the porch, then threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Landon,
you’re alive!”
He pushed her
off. “Who are you?”
The wide blue
eyes searching his face, the freckles dusting her cheeks, the lips parted in
surprise—and now trembling—none of it was familiar. A laughing sob burst out of
her. “I—I’m Skylar.”
He stared
uncomprehendingly.
She seemed to
wilt, like a flower with its petals curling inward. “Your girlfriend.”
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Sleeping Beauty Snippets

Tracey Dyck 6 Comments

I’m without internet connection for a little while, so I’ve temporarily disabled the comment moderation. Feel free to comment away, and be sure to check back later, because I’ll be responding to you all when I return to the realm of internet.

This is my first official snippets post, and what better story to give you a peek into than my current WIP! Yep, that’s the Five Magic Spindles entry . . . which still doesn’t have a title. Botheration. Anyway, enough rambling. Behold the raw magic of a first draft. (Or perhaps, the raw mess. Take your pick; there’s a bit of both in there.)

 

Shutting the book, Luci leaned her head against the wall. “If loves puts you in a cage, I’d rather they didn’t love me.”

~*~

Reverie prattled on through the second and third courses, by which time the conversation had veered from dwarves and boots to rumblings from the ogre colonies, to the torrential rains sweeping across her homeland, to the princess’s lacy wrappings spun by Iror’s best spinners, to the quality of the rubies in the cutlery.
Aleida nodded along and inserted an “Oh my” or “Indeed” when appropriate.

~*~

Riar’s face tightened. “Forgive me. I am not in the habit of inviting dead people to parties.”

~*~

Luci eyed her company. “Master Boris.”
Her tutor raised his head. “Yes, Princess?”
“Have I ever told you that you have the nose of a pig?”
Boris blinked and touched his rounded, upturned nose. “I–no, Princess, you haven’t.”
“I think it goes lovely with your squinty little eyes.” Luci sliced off another bite of melon. “You would make a convincing swine in next year’s children’s pageant.”

~*~

“How fares your training?” Father asked, chipper tone belying his wasting frame.
”Better than ever.” Hadrian massaged his sore bicep.
Father sighed contentedly and shifted against the pillows. “Good. A king should know how to wield his sword.”
Hadrian looked down at the tiled floor. The onset of the withering six months ago had served to bring out Father’s greatest wisdom, however slight it may be, and in the past weeks he had talked of little more than kingship, death, and the crowning of his only son.

~*~

Without a backward glance, she ran up to her chambers and slammed the door. If her tongue could not speak her mind, that echoing boom certainly could.

~*~


Two things happened at once. The royal couple’s faces paled to the color of frost, and Aleida staggered back with a sudden wave of realization, crashing like the Falls when they were swollen with snowmelt.

~*~

“Who are you?”
“My name matters little.” She still did not face him, but stood rigid, arms crossed.
“It does if it belongs to the one who rescued me.”
 
~*~
 
Kronna turned on him, prematurely-grey braid swinging. A small beam of daylight fell on one side of her face and painted it paler than usual, while shadows cloaked the other side–a grotesque contrast on her harsh features. “Where are you going?”
Hadrian met her gaze unflinchingly. “The gardens.”
With an impatient wave of her hand, she turned to Father. “Go. If Bauglind were a plot of dirt, you would make a very prepared heir indeed.”

~*~

Floating. Falling–ever downward, never stopping. Nothingness full of something. Silence full of sound.

~*~

“Hold your thundercloud, I’m coming!” a voice shouted from within. Moments later, the door banged inward. “Oh! Prince Hadrian!” Reverie blinked. Her faded golden curls formed a tangled halo, mussed from sleep. “Good mor–is it morning?” She peered outside at the sky. “Hardly close enough to even wish you a good one. Hmph.”

~*~

In the waking world, during the hour before the sun rose, the sky would always begin to brighten in preparation, lightening in subtle shades. And slowly, the darkness would lift, and the shapes in Luci’s chambers would grow more distinct. That was how it felt now, as bits of knowledge floated back to her mind.

~*~

Reverie . . . launched into a story drawn from history, just wild enough to waver on the brink of belief, and just strange enough to make sense.


~*~

“There is a magic deeper than the curse, and deeper than my blessing.” [Aleida] spoke softly, but her words echoed against the mist. “We fairies cannot touch it. It lies within the very marrow of the earth’s bones, and it is beyond our comprehension to control.”

~*~

Luci whispered the words burning in her throat. “I have called them to their deaths.”

~*~

He came up behind her. “If I close my eyes, will you face me and hold out your hand?”
“Promise to keep your eyes shut?”
“Promise.” He closed them. “Now hold out your hand.”
Grass rustled. He reached out blindly and found her hand, warm and smooth as silk-leaf. Carefully, he wrapped her fingers around the star. “There. Something unasked.”

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