A few weeks ago, I did an Author's Spotlight interview with the local Library. Toward the end, I was asked to read a book excerpt. Rather than drawing from the one that was already published, I went for something out of Book II, Chronicles of Ardis: Reckonings.
Admittedly, a few things did come to my attention as I read it; both dialogue and narration felt a little off. Therefore, I sought to rectify that issue with a few tweaks. Thankfully, my publisher at the time hadn't begun working on my trio, so I was able to send it to him without issue.
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“Well, Kemlir, did you, do it?”
“You know he did, Sarnas, why bother asking?”
“The question was a matter of formality, little brother,” she lightly chided. “there’s no real harm in asking. So… you did transform, right?”
The sixteen-year-old blondish-haired teenager glanced up at his eighteen-year-old sister, who was joined abruptly by their ten-and-a-half-year-old brother in a flash of orange light that flickered vividly like a flame. Kemlir raised a brow briefly toward the smiling kid and then looked back at his perceptive sister as if she already knew the answer. The middle child of the trio lingered on her face a few more seconds in thought, glanced one more to their brother, and then turned away.
“No,” he swallowed. “I couldn’t. I just… I know I can, I can feel myself trying to change, but each time I do, I overthink and it just… it fails.”
The three stood quietly in the courtyard of Wuldred Fortress. Around them, soldiers and other personnel went about their daily routines, some stopping briefly to take note of the Ice Fang siblings, with an occasional nod and gesture before wandering on. A few caught Kemlir’s pained expression, hesitating at first before continuing on their way, even speeding up out of the courtyard in due haste. His siblings were there, they reasoned, there was no need to approach, much less bother them, unless something was required. And being who they were, it was reckoned that they were reasonably self-sufficient enough to handle whatever came their way.
“Then, you’ll do it again next week.” Vordril decided.
“And you’ll succeed.” Sarnas nodded confidently.
“Wait, what?” Kemlir almost stammered. “I’ve tried three times already—and failed each time!”
“Because you’ve anticipated it,” his sister intoned gently. “you need to let it happen; don’t bring the transformation about forcefully, just allow it to take place.”
“But you also need to take everything you’ve learned from those attempts, reflect, set yourself aright, and you’ll succeed on the next go around.” Their brother added in an almost sing-song fashion. “Simple as that!”
“Well, if you think it’s so easy, why don’t you do it!?”
“Actually, Vordril’s incapable of the transformation.” Sarnas glanced toward their little brother thoughtfully. “Mother said he possesses the trait but is unable to utilize it. However, if he were to marry and father any sons, there’s an almost certain chance that they could.”
“He can’t because he’s Thashinir… like you, Sarnas.” Kemlir half-whispered enviously and glanced over at the young Degnan off in his own little world.”
“Wait… me… married!?” The hazel-eyed kid wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Ewww, you can’t be serious! Aren’t girls covered in weird diseases and carrying like seven kinds of plague?”
Kemlir chuckled.
“Yeah,” Sarnas lunged forward with full intent on putting Vordril in a headlock, only to find him on the other side of the courtyard with his tongue sticking out. “I can do that too you know!”
“Is that so?” The boy grinned wickedly. “Seems I recall someone being too busy for such ‘childish games.’” Vordril intoned in a mock-serious fashion. “Or was that too old? Anyways,” he smirked. “You never could catch me, why, I bet Kemlir could do a far better job than you!”
Sarnas’s eyes narrowed. A smile slowly crept across her face as she glanced back at Kemlir who nodded, and then back at Vordril. “You’re on little brother; ready or not, here we come!”
The sounds of laughter echoed throughout the courtyard and the game was afoot. Edrim, joined by his wife Alceris, watched quietly from the window, smiles playing lightly on their faces. Flashes of fire—a combination of deep yellow, orange, and reddish-orange flame—signaling translocation events, danced lively across the courtyard as the intermittent teasing continued. Though comparatively a novice to his translocative-adept siblings, Kemlir was demonstrating marked improvement after the formal lessons he received. Reflecting, the High Chief of the Southern Wastes concluded that his eldest son would inevitably succeed in taking on the semblance of their totem animal. He too took a little longer than expected after which it became as natural as breathing. Let time work its perfect way; there was no reason to rush into things right now…
“You know he did, Sarnas, why bother asking?”
“The question was a matter of formality, little brother,” she lightly chided. “there’s no real harm in asking. So… you did transform, right?”
The sixteen-year-old blondish-haired teenager glanced up at his eighteen-year-old sister, who was joined abruptly by their ten-and-a-half-year-old brother in a flash of orange light that flickered vividly like a flame. Kemlir raised a brow briefly toward the smiling kid and then looked back at his perceptive sister as if she already knew the answer. The middle child of the trio lingered on her face a few more seconds in thought, glanced one more to their brother, and then turned away.
“No,” he swallowed. “I couldn’t. I just… I know I can, I can feel myself trying to change, but each time I do, I overthink and it just… it fails.”
The three stood quietly in the courtyard of Wuldred Fortress. Around them, soldiers and other personnel went about their daily routines, some stopping briefly to take note of the Ice Fang siblings, with an occasional nod and gesture before wandering on. A few caught Kemlir’s pained expression, hesitating at first before continuing on their way, even speeding up out of the courtyard in due haste. His siblings were there, they reasoned, there was no need to approach, much less bother them, unless something was required. And being who they were, it was reckoned that they were reasonably self-sufficient enough to handle whatever came their way.
“Then, you’ll do it again next week.” Vordril decided.
“And you’ll succeed.” Sarnas nodded confidently.
“Wait, what?” Kemlir almost stammered. “I’ve tried three times already—and failed each time!”
“Because you’ve anticipated it,” his sister intoned gently. “you need to let it happen; don’t bring the transformation about forcefully, just allow it to take place.”
“But you also need to take everything you’ve learned from those attempts, reflect, set yourself aright, and you’ll succeed on the next go around.” Their brother added in an almost sing-song fashion. “Simple as that!”
“Well, if you think it’s so easy, why don’t you do it!?”
“Actually, Vordril’s incapable of the transformation.” Sarnas glanced toward their little brother thoughtfully. “Mother said he possesses the trait but is unable to utilize it. However, if he were to marry and father any sons, there’s an almost certain chance that they could.”
“He can’t because he’s Thashinir… like you, Sarnas.” Kemlir half-whispered enviously and glanced over at the young Degnan off in his own little world.”
“Wait… me… married!?” The hazel-eyed kid wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Ewww, you can’t be serious! Aren’t girls covered in weird diseases and carrying like seven kinds of plague?”
Kemlir chuckled.
“Yeah,” Sarnas lunged forward with full intent on putting Vordril in a headlock, only to find him on the other side of the courtyard with his tongue sticking out. “I can do that too you know!”
“Is that so?” The boy grinned wickedly. “Seems I recall someone being too busy for such ‘childish games.’” Vordril intoned in a mock-serious fashion. “Or was that too old? Anyways,” he smirked. “You never could catch me, why, I bet Kemlir could do a far better job than you!”
Sarnas’s eyes narrowed. A smile slowly crept across her face as she glanced back at Kemlir who nodded, and then back at Vordril. “You’re on little brother; ready or not, here we come!”
The sounds of laughter echoed throughout the courtyard and the game was afoot. Edrim, joined by his wife Alceris, watched quietly from the window, smiles playing lightly on their faces. Flashes of fire—a combination of deep yellow, orange, and reddish-orange flame—signaling translocation events, danced lively across the courtyard as the intermittent teasing continued. Though comparatively a novice to his translocative-adept siblings, Kemlir was demonstrating marked improvement after the formal lessons he received. Reflecting, the High Chief of the Southern Wastes concluded that his eldest son would inevitably succeed in taking on the semblance of their totem animal. He too took a little longer than expected after which it became as natural as breathing. Let time work its perfect way; there was no reason to rush into things right now…
