Tag Archives: Books

A Gothic Symphony: Chapter One – Beginnings

It is a dark city on such a late summer evening. The sun is blood over the rooftops, and the girl in the park is sitting in the last rays passing between the old brick buildings.

It is a small park, of course; not much more than a few benches and a couple of old trees, but it is a refuge in a town that is huge, and busy. The trees haven’t begun to turn yet, and the grass and paths are golden in the spaces between their leaves. There are people, and they pass through, but they are few, and don’t spare the girl a glance.

The girl is sixteen; looks fourteen. The cigarette hangs in her hand, ash burned back almost to her fingertips. Black hood over her head and black jeans to her boots, she’s like a darker shadow in the shade of the trees. A lock of crimson hangs forward, and the small silver nose ring glints a little. Under the hoodie is a lace top, black also, and at her breast is a silver pendant: a silver crucifix entwined with snakes. A choker holds a black glass heart with a skull inside to her throat.

Her eyes — hazel, and green — are on the ground, and they wince as the ash burns to her fingers, but she doesn’t let go; only bites her black-stained lip. Not until the purse by her side vibrates does she drop the butt, conscientious enough to crush it. She reaches into the bag, past the driver’s license that says she’s sixteen and the ID that says she’s eighteen, to pull out the battered phone. The little screen says where r u.

She fiddles and sends a reply; stows the phone again. She raises her eyes — not her head — and looks: the trees, the pigeon, the passers-by. There is a moment, brief, when only the girl and the squirrels are in the park, and she gets up, the purse strap across her chest and her hands deep in the hoodie.

Her walk is slow, a little shuffling, her head always down. Her boots are good leather, well-worn, and tap gently against the pavement. They guide her along a path out of the park, though she steps to the grass to avoid the people who are once again passing through.

Where she leaves the park is a sidewalk that runs along the narrow street, cars parked tight in the gutter. She turns onto this; follows the iron fence to the corner. Her head is always down, and she steps onto the street to a screech and the blast of a horn.

Stopped in the middle of the street, a battered pickup continues to scream at her, also stopped in the middle of the street.

“The fuck, girl! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

And she looks up now, and stares at him; her breathing is quick and her eyes empty.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” […]

Read the full chapter here.

A Gothic Symphony: Diving Once More Into the Darkness

It’s been almost a year since I last worked on A Gothic Symphony, and I regret that very much. The problem is that with The Redemption of Erâth growing ever closer to publication and Book Two well underway, it’s hard for me to set aside the time to work on A Gothic Symphony.

It’s also hard because it requires a very different state of mind. Although The Redemption of Erâth is indeed a dismal fantasy, rife with darkness and despair, there is also a sense of escapism therein. It’s fantasy.

A Gothic Symphony is anything but fantasy. It’s a trawl through the mud, a raking over the coals of depression and self-loathing, and it puts me in a frightening place. A place I haven’t been in for over ten years. But it’s a place I have to go to, to get this book out. And there’s nothing more important to me than to see this story – my story – bear fruition.

So I will be working on it for the coming weeks, attempting to plow through and get as much of it done as possible. I can’t commit to a chapter each week, because some will be harder for me to write than others, but I will post chapters as they come (weekly if possible) so that you can enjoy them in unedited form.

Thanks for your patience, and I hope you can enjoy A Gothic Symphony.

The Redemption of Erâth: Book 2, Chapter 14

Chapter 14: The Hunting of Beasts

Brandyé could not think for a moment what manner of creature or person could possibly attack and wound a people so skilled in combat, and he broke into a run, following the Illuèn themselves toward Athalya’s home. He saw that Elven was trying to keep pace beside him, but his limp prevented him from running fast. He realized he did not care, for he was desperate to know if Athalya was alive – and if Elỳn was safe.

Before long he drew upon her dwelling, and there was a great crowd of Illuèn there, and much light and commotion. Yet for all of it he heard not the sounds the grief, the crying or screaming he associated with death, and hoped that she was not too gravely wounded. For some time he was unable to penetrate the crowd of Illuèn, and by the time he had forced his way through and into the dwelling, Elven was once more by his side, panting. He slipped between two Illuèn carrying long blades, unheeding, and stared: a shocking scene greeted his eyes.

Athalya was lying on the ground, her head cradled in Elỳn’s lap. There were great splashes of silver across the earth and walls, and with a sick horror Brandyé realized it was her blood. Her robes were rent in many places, and a great wound on her neck spilled ever more of her life onto the ground.

At the sight, Elven pushed forward and knelt on the ground beside Elỳn. “We must close the wound!” he cried, and with no cloth to hand he placed both of his hands over the injury and pressed as hard as he could. Silver blood seeped between his fingers, and though he maintained his pressure Brandyé knew Athalya had not long to live.

Elỳn looked to Elven and then to Brandyé, and he saw great tears in her eyes. Brandyé had no experience with such grave injuries apart from Elven’s in the forest, and felt utterly helpless as he moved forward to Athalya’s side. Beside him knelt several other Illuèn, and though he saw Rỳlan among them, he could not understand why they did nothing. “Will you not help her?” he said desperately.

To his astonishment, it was Athalya herself who answered him, though her voice was weak and suffering. “There is no saving me, Brandyé,” she murmured. “There is no stopping the poison that is now in me.”

“What do you mean?” he cried.

“She has been attacked by more than nature,” Elỳn replied tearfully. “A fierund gave her these wounds.”

Shocked, Brandyé looked once more to Athalya. “How is this possible?”

“We know not,” said Elỳn. “But when we are wounded by Darkness, there is no preventing our death. Were we to heal her wounds in an instant, she would still die.”

Brandyé found tears coming to his eyes. “No – it cannot be! There must be a way!”

And with the last of her strength Athalya turned her attention to Brandyé, and raised a hand to him. He took it, noticing the blood on it and not caring that it spilled onto his own hand. “I have lived long, Brandyé,” she said, “and I have done what I must for this world. I am glad to have met you; I ask only that you also do what you must.”

And those were the last words she spoke, and within minutes her breath had stopped, and Brandyé knew she was gone. He was crying great tears, and when he looked to Elven he saw his friend’s face was wet also, and they wept together. Gently they were taken from Athalya’s side, and Brandyé was sure as he looked his last upon her that the glow that emanated from all Illuèn was gone from her body.

“I do not understand,” Elven said when they were outside, and away from the scene. “Why did no one try to save her? Not even Rỳlan – not even their healers! Her wounds were terrible, but they did not even try!” His voice choked as he spoke, and tears still ran down his face.

“The fierundé are not natural creatures,” Brandyé tried to explain, though he too found it difficult to speak. “It is as though Light and Dark collided – neither can survive.”

It took a moment for the import of this realization to hit either of them, and when it did, Elven shuddered and looked about them. “You say neither can survive – do you mean to say there is a fierund lying dead not far from here?” […]

Read the complete chapter here.