Meet Atreyu Hart: One of the First Chapters of Finly

REVISED: 01/23/16: This is a teaser for my novel Finly. This is where we meet Atreyu, one of the main characters. He is a narrator spoken in first person throughout the novel. This chapter also takes place very early in the novel so there is some world building here. I am aware of the inconsistencies within the chapter, this is because I wrote half of it first and then worked on some more world building ideas that I fleshed out in the second half. This obviously will be revised eventually. Feel free to email me at N8Charley@gmail.com about anything other than grammatical or spelling errors, thanks!



The Borderwall & I

I WAS RUNNING LATE! I pushed the spotted horse to ride faster. The innerwall was about a mile or so behind me. The borderpatrol, or weasels, that were stationed at the innerwall’s gate were under the assumption that I had a project due on the owl population that lived in the wooded areas between innerwall and borderwall. Obviously that isn’t true.

I was late! Every other night, before sundown I’d meet Briar on the top of the borderwall. This was the first time I was late! My heart was in my throat. What if I didn’t make it? What if he assumed that I was done meeting with him? I pressed my mount harder.

It was illegal for regular folk to mingle with the weasels. It is actually one of the most fundamental rules with a pretty steep punishment if caught. However, Briar worked the borderwall and sometimes the outerwall. It’s known that these are the least managed posts in all of the borderpatrol.

Ever since I was little I was always obsessed with the mystery of the borderpatrol! I finally had weaseled (pun absolutely intended) my way into meeting a weasel that would allow me to question him. Of course Briar didn’t tell me nearly everything, including why he had joined the borderpatrol, but he told me enough to keep me coming back every other evening. Our question and answer sessions had turned into a strange friendship of forbidden lifestyles.

“Gus, keep up!” I yelled over my shoulder. The Dalmatian was running along my mount’s flank. In fact, I was sure the dog could run faster than the horse. The horse couldn’t seem to run fast enough. I hope he’s still waiting!

I knew Briar’s patrol like clockwork. He and his team of weasels would meet at sundown and then they would man their towers or patrol the wallwalk. Briar would always take the west tower or start his wallwalk patrol on the western side of the borderwall, so that he could watch the sunset. Thus, Briar and I would watch the sunset together.

Speaking of, the sun was fading just beyond the wall, the light was already becoming harder to see at ground level! Come on! Come on! Almost there! I nearly flung myself off the horse when we came close to the access ladder that was hidden behind a strange cluster of trees, vines, and throne bushes. I didn’t even bother to tie the horse up. “Gus, stay.” I said as I began climbing rung after rung of metal ladder. The Dalmatian seemed to grumble to me in dog-speech and then sat like a good dog. I knew he’d be there waiting for me when I came back. The horse, I couldn’t be so sure of.

The sun had already dipped behind the wall leaving me in darkness. I forgot my torch in the saddlebag below. I climbed to the top, breathless. The last rays of sunlight were still trying to grip the horizon. I could see shapes upon the borderwall, but not distinguish who they belonged to. I couldn’t immediately see Briar. My heart was in my throat!

I’m here! I wanted to shout. I pulled myself up the last couple of rungs, maybe even skipping a few. I stood upon the borderwall, about two hundred feet above ground level. The wind picked up upon the top of the wall. My dark hair was gusting back and forth as the four winds fought for dominion over the sky and current with which they’d take.

The sun lost its battle to darkness. I could see three torchlights not far down the wallwalk. I was hoping it was Briar and his team of weasels called the Lost Boys. I saw one figure standing a few feet before me. He was haloed in torchlight, and tall. I assumed it had to be Petyr. He was the tallest of the Lost Boys.

“Petyr?” I called quietly into the darkness. Before I realized it, he was before me, hand stretched out, “You are late,” he replied. “I’m sorry, I’m so glad I made it!” Somehow I knew that Petyr smiled, “Briar is happy too. Hurry.”

We always had to move quickly from the access ladder. Apparently, it wasn’t even supposed to be there. But also, the Lost Boys claimed that there were some weasels that could see as good in the dark as cats and they would find it queer to count six heads upon borderwall when there should only be five.

Petyr led me towards the closest torchlight. Wendi held it before his face, his one front tooth missing from his smile, “Hello, Atreyu.” As an aside he said, “You’re late. The twins already made way for their post.”

In the darkness I could hear the rattling of claws on metal. My eyes automatically glanced towards the sound. Wendi followed my gaze with torchfire. There was an actual weasel clawing at the door to a birdcage. “We got one of the restless ones,” Wendi said. “Doesn’t that mean they sense wyrmwraiths?” I asked. Wendi answered, “Nah, he’d be goin’ wild if he sensed any wyrms.” These little slinky creatures was where the borderpatrol got their name: Weasel. The weasels could sense wyrmwraiths coming near the surface. Like a canary in a mine, my teachers say, not that I truly know what a mine is.

Wendi had dirty blonde hair that was probably dirty for real. He wasn’t allowed to say who his parents were or where he came from before he joined the borderpatrol, but through our conversations I had gathered that he was either from the Wilds, outside the walls, or the strange folk that lived in the Roam, the space between innerwall and borderwall, in the woods. I’d probably never truly know — and to find out, I’d have to break even more laws.

Wendi grabbed the handle-ring at the top of the weasel cage and held the torchlight out before him the light the way. “Briar’s got a surprise for you,” he said. I heard, “Yea?” I made it a question as if I didn’t already know. Briar had sent a parrot earlier to deliver his message. The bird repeated what Briar had said in its weird monotone voice that tried desperately to sound human. It was part of the reason I was so nervous to be late tonight.

He was going to tell me something juicy! Something that he could be executed for revealing! Like what happens to people when they decide to join the borderpatrol. Or how they go through the process of erasing their past lives. Or the countless other things that I have asked him and he responded with silence.

“What is it?” I followed up with. “You will have to let him do the honors,” Wendi laughed.

Briar was waiting in the darkness. He was sitting cross-legged at the top of the western tower. His borderpatrol robes wrapped around him like the finned hands of a fish. He wore the robes so perfectly, as if he commanded the wind and controlled exactly how each piece of fabric was going to move. “Briar!” He exclaimed. He stood for a hug. He pulled away and I could see something change in his face, “You’re late.” I laughed, “That’s not the first time I heard that tonight. I know I’m sorry!”

Briar turned to see the last tendrils of light fall behind the horizon, “At least you made it.”

Wendi’s torchlight was already being consumed by darkness as he walked further away on the wallwalk. We were alone — in the dark. “I have something to show you.” Briar said. As if on cue a light flickered into being. Briar held the tiniest everlasting match delicately between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Follow me.”

I followed him without questioning where we were going. He led me down the spiral staircase out of the tower to the wallwalk. The wind seemed more intense as we walked further on the wallwalk than I had ever been. I knew that he was taking me somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be. Just one more revealed secret!

I followed behind him, his small flickering flame lighting our way. The wind screamed, desperately trying to snuff the pitiful flame. I loved watching Briar walk. There was something inhuman about the way that he moved. All of the Lost Boys moved like they were made from liquid muscle, like they were spliced with cat DNA. Every time the match flame came dangerously close to going out, it would return seemingly stronger than before. This cycle went about four times before Briar stopped.

Briar held his match out to his left so that I could see the thin bridge that connected borderwall to outerwall. We were going to outerwall!? I have never been outside of Rolando Safehold. It was something children were never taught to aspire to. Lesser jobs had duties that took place outside the walls. Unless of course you were part of the Council, but even they only traveled out of the wall four times a year to take the roads to East Watch where they met with the Icon to make new laws, trash old laws, and amend any other practices that would help the safeholds of America make it through another year.

“Follow me,” Briar smiled back at me. “I can’t believe you are taking me to outerwall!” I gasped. “There’s more.”

I followed Briar across the bridge. Had it been daylight I might have been too keen on going across the bridge made of rope and wood as it swing clumsily from side to side from both our weight and the wind. We made it to the other side and all I could see was darkness and the faintest flicker of firelight.

As if reading my thoughts, Briar explained, “Probably campfire. It’s safer to travel by day. More than likely they are in the trees.” “In the trees?” Briar held the matchlight before his face, “Wyrmwraiths can feel vibrations from our walking. They will eat anything that moves. Travelers that are unfortunate enough to have to leave their safeholds need to camp in trees to prevent an attack.” Just another reason why it was better for me to stay within the walls of Rolando.

Then there was another light! I could hear the clomp clomp of something heavy stomping below. The light that I could see seemed to go in rhythm with the sound of heavy feet. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. I had never seen one before! “A golem!?”

Briar giggled at my surprise. Of course, seeing golems was nothing to him, being part of the borderpatrol and all. “I figured you’d like to see one. Sorry it’s dark.” “It’s great!” I exclaimed. “Of course we hear about them in school, but I had never imagined seeing one.” Briar blew out the matchlight so that the golem’s own light could illuminate its shape more. “Not destined to leave your family behind and join the wolfkin?” “No, I’m afraid not.” I answered into the darkness. I never took my eyes off the golem far below.

“What is he doing?” I asked after a while of silence. “Just checking the ground level. Wyrmwolves can sense potential surfacings better on ground level then up here on the wall.” The clomp clomp of the golem walking seemed to tune out. “Can’t the wyrms feel their footsteps?” Briar lit another match, “No. The golems are made with special shocks in their feet that snuffs out the sound of their footsteps. We can hear the sound, but there are no vibrations given off. Wyrmwraiths don’t seem to be able to hear like you or I.”

Another thought came to mind, “Is that why golem pilots are called mice?” Briar laughed at this. “It’s a playful insult that other factions of the borderpatrol use to call them, but yes. They are quiet as mice.”

I could see Briar look past me, down towards the wallwalk on borderwall. I saw a sigh pass between his lips, like he was slightly annoyed by something. I hadn’t done anything — I don’t think. So I kept the observation to myself. Briar simply announced, “Petyr is almost done with his perimeter walk.”

I turned to see the light coming towards us. It definitely wasn’t a torch or matchlight. It was a ball of light, that he seemed to be passing from hand to hand. I had seen this once before, closer than I’m seeing it now. It seemed that Petyr had found a way to reflect the moonlight with some sort of tool. I’d asked Briar about this before and had gotten the usual silent answer. I chalked it off as child’s play, a simple science tool. But my imagination believed that it was some wolfkin trick!

“There’s one more thing.” Briar says. He’s facing me now. He’s also closer than I remember him being. He seems rushed. “What els…” I go to ask when Briar leans in and kisses me.

I’m shocked for a moment and let his lips dictate mine. Then I accept it. The butterflies in my stomach return violently, but I realize that I always had butterflies in my stomach around Briar. Not because I was excited to learn about the borderpatrol, the wolfkin — but because deep down inside, my body knew that I was attracted to him in some way.

I massage my lips against his and welcome his tongue as it probes my mouth. He takes his hand and places it on the side of my face, cradling me. He runs his finger down my sideburn and pinches my chin with his index finger and thumb, the ones that he so delicately held the match on our way to outerwall. He pulls away.

For a moment I am stunned, reveling in the kiss that just took place. I pinched the palm of my hand to make sure this was all real. Everything is broken when Petyr says, “What’s that?”

I glanced back at him at first, unsure how he made it so far so fast. Briar simply turned towards the Wilds. I didn’t notice that there were two golems below now. They had on bright floodlights that allowed us to see about a quarter mile into the Wilds. “It looks like fog,” I say, except I had never seen purple fog before. It was definitely smoke-like as it moved in wisps and formed into cloud shapes. It was purple, actually more lavender. “Is it poison?”

Years before the first wyrmwraith surfaced, the countries of the world were at war. The weapons weren’t guns or blades like today, but bombs of poison and biological weapons. The encroaching purple haze reminded me of pictures I’d seen of poison clouds released by bombs that were dropped by giant steel hawks. It was a different world. Who could attack us here? Why?

“No,” Briar said. He sounded so sure, like he knew exactly what the purple fog was but didn’t want to believe it. “You don’t think…?” Petyr asked. Briar grabbed my hand and we started across the dicey bridge back to borderwall! “We have to alert the alphas!” Was all that he said. Petyr followed in step behind us. I knew enough about borderpatrol protocol that alerting the alphas meant that it was something serious, but they didn’t want to alarm the general public. Consider me alarmed.

“What is it?” I asked again as we drew near a watchtower. There’d be a way to communicate to the alphas there. Briar turned and looked at me as we ran, “It’s called wyrm-mist.”

A thousand years ago

I wrote a story as a homework assignment for my English class. The prompt was to do a horror or suspenseful short story. The teacher didn’t love it, but I did get a B. I would agree that it’s not horrific enough or scary enough, so I have decided (thanks to my grandmother) to revisit it. Here is the original version:

(Art Cover done by my Uncle Joe)


THE ROSE

THE MISTY OCTOBER BREEZE BLEW AGAINST ROBBIE’S NECK, CAUSING THE HAIRS TO STAND ON END. The crescent moon reflected very little light onto the small gloomy cemetery. The shriveled twisted leafless trees swayed with the chilly gusts. The few gravestones that there were, cast tiny reaching shadows.
His parents were buried here. His mother died in her hospital bed, she was diagnosed with a disease. His dad died the next day in a car accident; he slid on a patch of ice. They lay side-by-side with cheap rock headstones. It was all Robbie could afford. He didn’t get a lot of help from the town, his family just moved there because of the doctor offerings at the hospital.

Another whirl of wind whipped up and made his dark bowl-cut hair swirl around his head. Robbie groped the headstones; it was the closest he could get to his parents. They lived together in some world out there and left him to fend for himself. His green catlike eyes watered and tears poured like a waterfall. This would be the last time he would visit their resting place.

The graveyard was weird! Eerie things happened every night. For example, the white orange speckled cat that refused to let Robbie into the cemetery. She slept by the rusty old gate and didn’t budge. When he awoke her, she attacked with anger as if she was defending the gate. Robbie had to get gloves so he could lift the cat away and slip in before she retaliated. Or the two crows that perched on the same gnarled tree. They would watch him. Gathering courage they would fly to the ground and hop closer with every passing minute. But the crows would lose interest and always fly to the black stoned grave deserted in the far corner of the cemetery. They would perch on the grave and caw every now and then. Making Robbie jump at every ghastly squawk.

But the eeriest thing of all was the reappearing black rose that lay across his parents’ graves. At first he thought it belonged to someone else and wedged it in one of the trees, hoping its owner would find it. But it returned! He started to break the stem and tear each of the pedals off and throw it away, but it always returned. It was always lying in the same place every night Robbie came back to visit the death yard. He told his friends about it, but they didn’t believe him.
Every time Robbie came back to the cemetery the crows would get closer and closer. The cat would put up more of a fight to move. And that stupid black rose would be there! As the things got weirder he vowed this would be his last night visiting his parents, but it never was. Robbie always showed up at the graves.

The wind howled again. Robbie heard the faint sound, leave. That’s crazy, he thought, the wind doesn’t speak. But yet — crows don’t walk about at night pestering people, cats don’t put up fights for gates, and black roses don’t regrow exactly alike and walk around to find my parents’ graves, Robbie screamed in his head. But here — they did!

There was a rustle of leaves from behind him. Robbie looked instinctively at the lonely dark grave nestled in the corner. The leaves have been stirred. He walked cautiously over to the creepy grave and hid behind the closest wrinkled tree. The crows flew from his parents’ graves to the black grave and cawed as loud as they could. He heard the cat’s screaming meow and her clawing at the squeaky gate. The wind howled louder, leave. And as all the noise continued something grabbed him!
He whispered, “Revenge is sweet.”

All the noise silenced! Nothing was heard! The pale ghostly man grabbed Robbie’s hand! Robbie looked at the man’s face; he was one of his parent’s patients that disappeared into depression with his incurable deadly disease. The man flashed a black rose before Robbie’s eyes and pricked his finger with a thorn.

Robbie’s life flashed before him. The rose! He remembered a rose on the dashboard of his father’s out-of-control car before he jumped out to save his life, and then watched his dad crash into a telephone pole. He remembered the vase next to his mother’s hospital bed… It supported a single rose. And now — the black rose at Robbie’s parents’ graves. The thing that was in common with his parents’ deaths was a single dot of dried blood on their index fingers and the roses! But then Robbie could remember no more.

Robbie’s killer has never been found, because no fingerprints were seen anywhere on Robbie’s body.
There was only a trickle of blood from Robbie’s pointer finger, the only clue. There was no mysterious cat, no wind, and no black rose. But every night instead of two crows there would be three that flew from Robbie and his parents’ graves to the very weird abandoned grave in the corner of the graveyard.