The below is an opening chapter I wrote for fun. I’ve had some ideas for stories for a while but, honestly, this is my first attempt at writing fiction ever. It’s about a science-fantasy world beset by creatures that roam deserts of glass at night.
Post image is just an abstract shader. I had no idea what to use for this.
No one had expected the barrier to fall during the feast. Not with such a lofty sacrifice given this evening. One full life’s worth, a young scullery maid caught stealing food. She should have been enough to secure Duke Telom’s manor for months.
“Red or black, madame?” proffered a house servant to the small figure. The choice between stimulation and protection, as always. “It’s simply not fair” came a meek response from Lady Marenne Telom. “She was my friend and all she did was take a loaf of bread…” The house servant made a polite circular gesture, signalling a repeat of his question. “Oh just go away!-“ she stopped, her father’s piercing gaze settling onto her. “Black”, she sighed. Marenne picked slowly at her food as a mildly viscous and pungent, yet sweet liquid was poured into her cup.
“Oh Salia, I’m sorry”. “Lady Marenne.” Her father’s voice cut through the murmur of dinner conversation. “The sacrifice protocols maintain safety. They maintain order.” He made a precise gesture with two fingers – the noble sign for ‘attention required’. Several other diners paused their conversations, watching the exchange. “Perhaps you need another lesson in the necessity of such measures?”
Marenne stared into her oily black drink, the subtle shimmer on its surface reflecting both the deep violet light shining in from the perimeter barrier and the opulent sanguiotech braziers. Other nobles were clearly pretending not to listen, yet their gestures and speech had grown smaller and more controlled. Even the servants stood straighter. “No, father – I understand the protocols.” The words tasted as bitter as the drink before her.
A bell chimed from deeper within the manor, the priests’ evening barrier check. Usually, the sound brought comfort. Tonight, it made Marenne’s skin prickle. Or perhaps that was just her father’s disapproval hanging so heavily in the air.
Lady Voss, seated to their right, cleared her throat eloquently. “Duke Telom, I simply must commend you on your barrier’s clarity. How did you achieve such resonance? Ours has been ever so cloudy ever since we switched to condemned criminals rather than volunteers.” As her father launched, yet again, into a detailed discussion on blood purity and proper ritual alignment, Marenne held back a shudder. She’d seen those ledgers in his study. How many so-called ‘volunteers’ were just desperate people seeking coin for their families? Like Salia, only trying to feed her sick brother.
Marenne noticed something odd. The black liquid rippled – no, flickered – like a candle in a draft. A flash of blue, then crimson, reflected in its oily surface. Wrong, This was wrong. Her gaze snapped upward, heart fluttering in her chest. The familiar violet haze and gentle thrumming of the midnight barrier had vanished, leaving only empty darkness beyond the windows.
Silence fell upon the room like an executioner’s blade. One by one, heads turned towards the dining hall’s arched windows – conversations dying mid-word. The cool and unwelcome night air drifted in, the sanguinary priests’ metallic incense dragging along with it. Marenne felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. She clenched her carving knife tight, her mind racing with stories of those foolish enough to walk the glass at night.
Lady Voss twisted back to the rest of the diners, loudly congratulating the Duke on his joke. No, no no, that wasn’t it! Her father was not the kind to make jokes. Not like this; not something that could damage their reputation. No this wasn’t good.
Marenne bolted; she launched herself out of her chair and, still clutching her carving knife, sprinted past the long table towards the doors, towards fading braziers. She had to get out. Her head was swimming with anxiety and dread. Visions of her mother, of her brothers on deep black, blood-soaked grains of glass. Her footsteps thudded on rich wooden floorboards. Father was shouting, saying something, it didn’t matter. If only she could just get away from this place! Then- chaos.
The shattering of windows was matched with an otherworldly screeching and the screams of fellow diners. The doorway just ahead seemed to stretch and twist away from her. She was falling! Why was she falling? Something had hit her, she could feel it now, but why did her neck hurt? Crack! Marenne’s head hit the wooden floor and the world turned to blackness.
Consciousness returned in fragments. First, the muffled sounds of screaming and shattering glass. Then the cold, hard sensation of wooden boards pressing against her side. The doorway swam into focus as Marenne blinked, watching guests flee with hastily gathered belongings—a sort of peaceful carnage moving in slow motion. What was going on?
Marenne tried to move her arms to get up, but they didn’t seem to work. Alright, what of her legs. Not those either. she shifted her eyes to the right, only now noticing the inky black creature pressing her to the floor. The thing tightened its vice-like grip on her limbs and she heard herself screaming with the pain of it. She felt like she was burning in agony yet also so very cold. Like her life’s blood was already spent.
In a moment of clarity, Marenne recalled the knife she had been holding. Where was it? There! Near her left hand and wedged between two floorboards. If she could just reach it. Mustering her remaining strength, Marenne hefted her towards the handle. She flinched in pain and instead her wrist was dragged along the upturned serrations.
Dark red blood seeped out and Marenne’s eyes began to close again. A weight seemed to lift from her and the room was quieter still. “The end, I suppose” she whispered to herself, noticing crimson tendrils reaching down and entering the cut on her wrist. Someone was calling her father’s name.
The dining hall lit ablaze once more. Cyan light, not the orange-red of sanguiotech fire. With steel and light her father’s blade deftly pierced the creature, cutting along and through it. Grains of glass and wispy smoke were exhumed along the cut. “Begone, spirit!” bellowed Duke Telom. “Ranavar! Fetch the chirurgeons! Tallan, get me a priest now!”
Marenne blinked blearily. A stalwart figure knelt next to her, one hand holding that blinding blade in a warding posture and another holding her neck tightly and covered in blood. Slamming the blade quickly into the floor, Marenne watched as her father uttered phrases under his breath, drawing frantic, practiced gestures on the pommel.
The last thing Marenne saw before consciousness fled was her father’s face – not the stern Duke of protocol and propriety, but something else entirely. His eyes held the same desperate fear that she’d seen in Salia’s this morning. “Stay with me, daughter” he whispered, bloody fingers tracing desperate lines of power. “Please.”
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