I have been working super hard to become a better writer over the past few months. A lot of my story has changed since then and I wanted to give you all a sneak peek of my current work. A special thanks to Carol, Christina, Kelly, and Jen.
Chapter one
When events are too mind shatteringly horrible, they divide life into two parts. Life before. And life after.
Tzack had already experience this once. And when he stepped out the back door, milk pails in hand, he had no idea it was about to happen again.
Crisp air ripped the warmth from Tzack’s lungs destroying any remaining sleep. He peered out over the green prairie that rustled like dancing razer blades in the wind. The smell of dew and dirt assaulted his nose. A blanket of unease wrapped around him smothering his breath.
He scanned the chest-high wall whose fallen rocks lay scattered among the grass, searching for the unusual. He gazed over the wall and into the effervescent trees whose leave glowed like veined hands of jade against the morning light. His heart kept rhythm with the changes in the wind. Nothing moved, nothing seemed unusual, but something was certainly wrong.
He turned to the weather-worn barn, it tilted to one side. A lone building in a sea of flowering grass. He could just make out the hammer marks of the long-gone militiamen. Tzack’s stepped slowly, continuing to scan the grass for signs of anything. His skin broke out in an army of goose bumps, and he knew what was wrong. Silence pounded an empty song in his ears. No birds. No bugs. And no goats.
Tzack’s heart dove into his stomach. He ran to the barn and stopped.
Deep claw marks gouged jagged lines in the barn door, exposed the clean wood underneath. Rough pieces of timber torn apart left gaping holes, the interior exposed. Brown-red spots speckled the flattened grass.
Blood.
Everything stopped. His breath, his heart, and for a moment, time.
A breeze ruffled his hair. A chill that had nothing to do with the morning cold crept down his spine. He squatted down and pressed his eye to a gouge in one of the boards. Brown and black goat feet shifted on the straw.
His goats were alive. He set down the pails, and opened the door, slow, deliberate, heart pounding like a Asazzi war drum.
Thin beams of sunlight sliced the shadows on the floor. The goats bleated, breaking the silence. They shuffled, huddling in mass around Pat, the old mare. Everything looked normal. But the hand of dread pressed against Tzack’s back and wrapped him in its fingers. This had happened before.
Pat whinnied and kicked her hooves. “It’s okay Pat” Tzack said, his own voice sounded unnatural in the thick silence. He reached out, took two slow steps towards her. She quieted.
Something scraped against the planks outside the barn. His head jerked to the sound. Tzack picked up a kindling axe and stepped out of the barn. With every shift in the breeze his heart beat faster. His palms grew sweaty on the axe handle. He sunk into the shadows against the barn wall, and pressed his back to it. Stepped sideways. The grass rustled just around the corner.
Tzack closed his eyes. Sweat gathered on his brow. He raised the axe high above his head, turned the corner and screamed like he imagined an Azazzi warrior would.
A tall young man jumped back and threw his hands over his head. “Aho-wawa! Put that thing down before you kill me.”
Omar, Tzack had nearly axed Omar, his best friend in the whole known world.
“Ya almost made me piddle myself.” Omar’s said. Wisps of curly hair poked out from under a leather stocking hat, the only homage to Omar’s Asazzi heritage, besides his maggot white skin. His pants were too short, and they clung to his legs, even thought he looked as if he could use a few more meals than he actually got.
“Oh” Tzack said. The word came out like pressure from a corked bottle. He lowered the axe. His hand shook but he couldn’t relax his grip. “Something tried to get into the barn last night.” His eyes tore through the grass one more time. He took a few steps back “Check this out.”” Tzack pointed to the barn door.
Omar stroked his chin and looked at the door, as if the fate of all Paradise could be found in it’s groves. He looked at Tzack through the corner of his eyes. “Did ya do this just to play a trick on me? If ya did, I’m impressed, this is good work.”
“It’s not a prank.” Tzack put both his hands over his chest. “I’ll swear on the lord of earth himself. I would never do this to the barn. Mother would cook me up and serve me to the town council it I did.”
“Right.” Omar gave Tzack his I’m-not-falling-for-that look.
“Omar, I’m being serious. This could be a dicatti.” The words hung in the air like an unwanted smell.
Omar face paled, which was quite a feat considering how white his skin was already. “Now I know ya playing with me.”
“Come on Omar. We both know your kind of sensitive when it comes to the dicatti, I wouldn’t joke about that.”
Omar looked at Tzack, then at the barn door and then at Tzack again. “Alright, I believe ya that you didn’t do it. But the dicatti is dead, its head is hanging in city hall.” Omar pressed two fingers to the ground. “Whatever did this is really big. Look at um huge chunks pulled out of the door.” He picked up one of the chunks of wood, then threw it back down. “It couldn’’t be a dicatti. No this is something else.” He looked up at Tzack ““The good news is it’s been gone for a while. See how the grass be already bouncing back.”
Tzack ignored the grass and Omar’s assessment. “But… what if it was another dicatti?” Excitement and dread made a dizzying concoction in his gut.
“There can’t be anymore dicatti. We ain’t seen one for eight years. Don’t ya think we’d have seen a few of them if there were more?”
Had it been eight years? That was half a life time for Tzack.
Tzack still didn’t believe Omar but he knew it was pointless to try to convince Omar otherwise. “Okay, whatever, but I’m still going to catch it.”
Omar glowed. He had the best face for glowing all bright and shiny. “You mean catch them.” Omar spoke like Mr Pefface the school master. Each word emphasized as if the listener might not understand. “These tracks are deep here and this mass is pressed down and then there’s the blood. Naw this was a fight, and a fight means two.” Omar lifted his eyebrows in a oh-I-am-so-clever sort of way.
“Two of them?” Tzack pressed his hands together. He was either going to the hero of the town or in some deep, deep crap. He straightened his back, he could handle this. “Make me one of your traps.” He said.
“No” Omar held the word out like he savored it in him mouth.
“bu-“
A grin slashed across Omar face, “And let ya get all them credit. If we do this, we do it together.”
“We’ll milk the goats and we will come up with a plan after breakfast.” Tzack said. He still didn’t know if the churning he felt inside was excitement or fear, but whatever it was it was going to be an adventure.
