It all started at mile 10 of a half-marathon (that's a total of 13.1 miles). I had just started the long uphill that was basically the last portion of the road race.
And I suddenly had the mental image of someone dangling from a tree, near death.
Which probably explains my own sanity at that point in the race, but let's not talk about that.
To keep my mind off the race, I continued to think about that person. They weren't hanging from their neck (like hanging kind of hanging), but by a limb. So they obviously had enemies. But why hadn't they just been killed? Why were they left to slowly die in this horrible form of torture? Some cruel enemies, obviously.
I repeated the image, my thoughts on it, over and over, as I finished that race. (No, I didn't win, though I did place in my age category, which is cool.)
And no, I didn't go home and start writing this new story idea. I simply typed it up in my story idea note and let it sit. Months passed, and I continued to add new thoughts to it. I finally knew who found the poor person. I finally knew who was left up in the tree. I finally knew why. I finally knew what these two characters would have to do.
And I wrote the first half of the book during Camp NaNo. It was a tad over-the-place, but it worked. I took a break during May and June, and finished the book for Camp in July. And the second half read MUCH better (Sarah has also read the book, and she agrees). The plot and characters were more solid.
But most surprising of all, the book remained a stand-alone novel. Usually as I write, I get more ideas and end up needing more books. But no. This book remained by itself.
I named it Rauladin, after the main character (no, not the one dangling from the tree). It has been edited once, and now it's sitting on the back burner, patiently waiting its turn. (And yes, I have gotten some hesitant sequel ideas for it now.)
~~*~~
The crooked door jerked open and a tall man with a shiny bald head loomed before the young gypsy. “Rauladin!” Laysent shook Raul’s hand so his elbow ached and his fingers tingled. “What brings you this way so early in the morning?”
“Do you need any help on your rounds? Any work done around the…the Hospital?” Raul could never bring himself to call the building by the name crudely painted on the door: The Hanging Hospital. The name probably came from the fact that most of the building was suspended above the air by ropes and boards, but even so, it never sat right in Raul’s mouth. “I need to make some money.”
~~*~~
The incident was forgotten until two days later, when Raul left for his next shift of border patrol. Again, Berend limped to the door behind him. Again, Raul tried to tell him to stay. With a quick glance at his father, hovering protectively near his kitchen table, Raul pointed to the cabin floor one more time and closed the door.
Only the door didn’t close. It crunched. And Berend howled in pain, his bad knee stuck between the door and the frame. Raul fell down the porch steps in surprise, nearly missed falling off the tree branch making up the front walk, and watched one of his knives fall down into the swamp, far, far, below.
~~*~~
“Looks like the kinsmen got to him,” Renaro croaked, passing a hand over his face. “Poor soul. Probably just looking for something edible and wandered too far. Didn’t listen to all the tales. Didn’t stay on the road. Probably didn’t even think the kinsmen were real.”
“If he got killed for coming in this far, what about us?” San shifted back and forth from foot to foot. “Let’s get out of here before whoever did this comes back.”
“I don’t think they’re anywhere nearby, or else we would be just like him by now.” Renaro hoisted his quiver further up on his back. “Dead.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Raul pulled the coiled rope belt from around his waist, tying a loop at the end and slowly unwinding it. “He may still be alive.”
Renaro merely raised an eyebrow. “You think the kinsmen would let him live after doing all this? They would have finished the job. They don’t make mistakes.”
~~*~~
From outside, Gwen dropped the flask of water she’d been drinking from. “I hear swords!”
Ravenna frowned. “That’s not a good sign. It certainly didn’t take him long to get them angry.” She stepped towards the door. “Great. He’s going to make me go in there.”
~~*~~
“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Ravenna softened her tone to one usually reserved for children or really exasperating people. She held out a hand to touch the beast, but it roared angrily at her and moved away. Ah, really, mate? Everyone’s watching, and now you’ve made me look like an idiot!
“Be careful,” came a soft voice, and Ravenna turned to see a young girl, about her own age, standing in the middle of the road. “He’s not happy when away from home. Doesn’t like strangers, either.”
Ravenna eyed the girl with a cocked eyebrow. Traveling pants aren’t quite the right fit for her, and those boots have seen more tree-top travel than the rocks here at highlands. She’s been on the road for a while. In danger, most likely, what with those quick little looks she gives every person and every shadow. On the run. From who? There’s no telling. She’s got a scar on her left temple—could be a kinsman scar, could be an accident. She speaks our tongue well enough. “Hello, I’m Ravenna, daughter of Castran.” Ravenna stuck out her hand. “New here, I see.”
“Gwen.” The girl slowly took the accepted hand and shook it. “How did you know?”
“Well, your accent isn’t highland. You must be close to Havendenara itself, eh? Anyone wearing those boots should be out here by the border, not here on solid ground. Your griffin is apparently far from home, judging by the blisters on your hands from fighting him all the way here.”
Anyway, enjoy! :)
