So I'm writing a book, and I could really use some feedback on the prologue. It's a bit sparse at 2055 words.
It began with blood, a quick
and quiet war in the dark.
Daggers darkened with
lampblack, the three slunk against the cold stones of the castle wall. In the
darkness the stones were black, the wall stretching high above their heads. The
youngest of the trio paused and attempted to light his pipe, earning himself a
cuff around the head and provoking a furiously whispered conversation between
the other two.
“Hey, you didn't need to do
that to poor Archie. We look just like the rest of t'guard, aint nobody paying
attention to us.”
“Shut it, you know what'll
happen if we let him have smoke the stuff. We need him clean for when we give
him the mist. He's got no restraint; he'd ruin everything if he was drugged up.”
“Want mist!” Archie wailed,
the sound piercing loud in the stillness of the snow filled courtyard.
“Oh hells Gerard, now you've
done it! I knew we shouldn't have brung him.”
“He's going to wait up the
whole castle! Grab him, Seward.”
“Want mist!” Archie screamed
again.
“You'll get your mist if you
hush, Archie,” Gerard snapped. “Let's get him to the tower first.”
Archie stopped screaming,
and allowed his brothers to manhandle him, but Gerard could hear him muttering
“Want mist” and “Gerard mean” under his breath. He was easy to carry, just a bag
of bones. Mist was all Archie cared about, and the promise of his drug made him
docile.
The door at the base of the
prison tower was locked, but that was why Gerard had brought Seward. Letting
Archie droop in his arms, Gerard watched his older brother work. A squirt of
oil and a few minutes work with his various picks and Seward could worm his way
into any building in the city. It was too bad that breaking and entering was
his only talent. Seward couldn't last thirty seconds in a half-decent fight,
and was far too spineless to risk his life as a burglar. No, Gerard reflected,
he's only good for getting me into places; I have to do all the real work.
Gerard realised Archie's
breath was getting ragged, his skin was cold to the touch. The boy's dying, he thought, feeling nothing. Not tonight, not if we give him his drug in time. But it's eating him
from the inside. He won't eat, can't sleep and doesn't make sense for more than
two words together. Mist is his life and I can't afford to keep supplying it.
“Done,” Seward said, a
quiver in his voice, as he opened up the door. “Can't help none with the guards
inside, though.”
“That's what the mist is
for.”
“Want mist!”
“Yes, yes. Here's your
damned drug.” Gerard fished out the dropper bottle and let Archie inhale the
blue vapour. Watching Archie's reaction to the drug was one of the only things
that unsettled Gerard: Archie was very young, still didn't need to shave and
had never had a woman. The only lust he'd ever shown was for his drug and that
was never slated, just subdued: Seeing that raw need in his eyes made Gerard
feel sick.
Archie shuddered, his limbs
jerking frantically. He pushed away from Gerard's support and staggered
upright. His eyes were glazed; pupils tiny even in the gloom of the tower. His
breathing was ragged, a slick sweat beginning to bead on his pale skin.
Gerard pushed away his
discomfort and handed Archie his dagger: “The men upstairs have more mist, but
they don't want to share. Take it from them.”
When he was on mist Archie
could feel no pain, or understand deception. He knew the men had some mist
because Gerard said it was so. Gerard was mean, but he wouldn't lie to Archie.
Even though Seward was bigger, Gerard always took care of Archie, ever since Ma
fell asleep and ne’er woke up.
The men heard him coming,
three of them. They stood around a big metal door, holding spears. They were
dressed the same way as Archie and his brothers. But these were not Archie's
clothes, they itched. Gerard made him wear this metal shirt with the bird on.
They stabbed at him, why'd
they do that? Now the golden bird on his chest was getting messed up with red.
He just wanted their mist. They didn't need to keep poking him with sharp
things. It made him mad.
He remembered the knife in
his hand and struck out wildly. If they weren't going to share, Archie would
have to make them. The blade sheared through the nose guard of one man's metal
helmet, taking a chunk of flesh and cartilage with it. Another feral quick
slash and his neck opened up before he could react. Archie laughed as the
bearded man hit the floor, he wasn't the only red one now.
The two remaining guards had
spears and in the confines of the landing they had little room to manoeuvre.
They hadn't expected to be attacked, least not by a pin-pupiled boy who
seemingly felt no pain. Archie fought with no technique, but the mist made him
a dangerous mess of adrenaline and unpredictability. The guards hadn't seen any
real battle for years; they were mostly ornamental these days, something Gerard
had counted on.
The second guard went down
from a belly cut, spilling entrails as he fell, while the third lasted for
almost a minute. He parried blow after furious blow with the shaft of his
spear. He looked into his assailant's wild glazed eyes and, seeing nothing human
or rational there, froze in place as Archie's blade hacked through his spear
and sank into his chest.
Archie stared at all the
red, searching through it for the blue gleam of mist. He didn't see any, so he
hacked at the men some more, his eyes streaming. Gerard said they had mist, so
where was it? Dropping the knife forgotten on the floor, he rummaged through
the matter than came out of their bellies, but there was no mist there. Archie
began to cry as fatigue took him, the mist already burning out of him.
Any other time Gerard would
have been furious at the sight of his little brother, crimson from head to
foot, toying with a corpse's viscera while sobbing, because it would have meant
huge bribes to keep Archie out of the gaol, not to mention hours of cleaning.
But for once, Archie's addled ways had been useful to him. He smiled, seeing
that Archie was bleeding in a dozen places, but none of them vital.
Gerard ignored Archie's
desperate sobs and retrieved the dagger from the crimson floor. He grabbed a ring
of heavy keys from a belt of one of the dead guards. He approached the heavy
iron door set into the wall and slid back the bolt. Peering through the slot in
the gaol door he saw that the occupants had heard the fighting and were
huddling together. He smiled again, everything was going right, and unlocked
the door.
The male prisoner looked up
at the sound of the door opening and pushed the others behind him. A tall,
emaciated and balding man, he might have seemed pitiable to someone who hadn't
dealt with Archie on a daily basis. “I demand you release us at once!” He
snapped, his bearing arrogant, but the ragged clothes and trembling hands
betrayed his fear.
“You've got no cause to be
making demands of anyone,” Gerard said, pushing him aside with ease. The other
prisoners were a woman with copper coloured skin and a half-breed infant of
indeterminate sex. The tall woman clung to her child, spitting in Gerard's
face, but she was as weak and starved as the man and Gerard tore the babe from
her arms and kicked the woman fiercely for her insult.
“Don't hurt my children.
They had no part in this.”
Gerard looked her directly
in the eyes as he slit the boy's young throat. The smell was far more repugnant
to him than the act: As far as Gerard was concerned, traitor's blood was fouler
when left unspilled; the age of the traitor was irrelevant.
The woman screeched and then
threw herself at Gerard, clawing at his face. He hadn't expected that violent
of a reaction, from the man perhaps, but not from her. All rage, she managed to
scratch his face before he hacked at her face with the knife. Her face, split
open with a crimson smile, fell. Coldly, Gerard held her down and slit her
throat.
Blood dripped from Gerard's
hand, his own as well as his marks'. The man had not moved since Gerard had
pushed him aside. “You are a big disappointment, you know.” Gerard said, grabbing
hold of the man's shoulder. “I was expecting someone with a spine, someone who
would at least fight for their get, like your little harlot did. You're just a
bag of bones with no spirit; doesn't it shame you to be weaker than some
sandskin slut?”
“Even if I were a violent
man it wouldn't have made any difference.” He put his face in his hands,
muffling his words. “They were already doomed.”
“If you really were the
smart man you pretend to be, you'd not be in this situation now,” Gerard said.
“You're the one that doomed your pretence of a family.”
“I am painfully aware of
that, how could I not be when you stand before me, covered in my family's
blood? My wife, my son... I'm tired of violence; just do what you were sent to
do.”
Gerard stabbed him once in
the belly: “She said to make it as painful as possible, but I'm running out of
time. It's still a cleaner death than you deserve.”
The man gripped his shoulder
with a trembling hand, “Whatever she promised you... you won't live to see it.”
He sobbed as Gerard stabbed him again. “Betrayal is what she knows best.”
“This isn't betrayal,”
Gerard said. “It's justice.”
As the traitor died, Gerard
stepped out from the prison cell and took a deep breath. The easy part, the
righteous act, was over. He had defended his land from the poison of treachery,
but there were those who would not see the justice in his actions. He had to
protect himself from the blind, the weak and the foreign. And what better way
to do that than ridding himself of a burden?
Archie was still sobbing,
covered in the filth of the dead. He was responsive though and actually looked
up at Gerard when he walked towards him. “They got no mist,” He babbled all
accusatory. “Gerard lied.”
Gerard smiled, he hadn't
thought Archie was still capable of understanding lies; perhaps the mist hadn't
destroyed his brain as much as he'd first thought. He clapped his little
brother on the shoulder, almost feeling regretful.
“Yes, Gerard lied. But
Gerard needed you to hurt those men.”
“Was they bad?”
“Yes, Archie, they were very
bad, protecting traitors.”
“Hurts, need more mist.”
“Archie wants to stop
hurting?”
“Yes.”
Gerard embraced his baby
brother, the blood on their armour mingling together, and slipped the knife in
between Archie's ribs.
Archie was cold and tired
and wanted more mist. Archie felt something sharp pierce his chest and cried
out. Why'd Gerard do that? He'd lied again! Archie beat on Gerard's shoulder
with his fists, blood pouring from his wounds.
Gerard wouldn't let go and
Archie was so very tired. Why was Gerard hurting Archie? So tired. Had Archie
been bad again? Archie had always just done what he'd been told.
“Rest,” Gerard said, letting
go at last. Archie fell backward, his hands outstretched. Archie felt Gerard
place the knife hilt into his hands and dimly realised understanding: Gerard
lied, Gerard used him and now Gerard had killed him. Gerard was bad.
Archie heard noises coming
from a long way off. He weakly opened up his eyes and saw... blueness. Mist!
His eyes were blurred with tears, but the colour filled his vision. Archie
reached out, the dagger falling to the floor somewhere beside him. He touched
the blue, and felt flesh under his fingers, marring it with his bloody hands.
“Mist!” Archie cried out desperately. Somewhere nearby someone screamed shrilly
and the blueness abruptly retreated from him, leaving nothing but empty
darkness.
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