Fiction for young adults and teenagers is a relatively new invention. Until recently, teenagers were considered adults and expected to read adult literature. It wasn't until the 1960s that authors began to realize that there was a gap in literature. We had books for children, up until about age 12, and books for those 18 and older, but nothing for the 13-17 age range. Young adult fiction sprang up to fill this hole.
Writing Fiction for Young Adults
Writing for teenagers can be tricky. It's too easy to assume that because they're young, they don't understand complex subject matter. This is far from the truth. Their interests might vary from adults, but they are just as smart and just as deserving of respect as adult readers. Take this into account when writing a young adult novel.
It's also tempting to pick the current trend or fad and use that as a basis for your book. Bad idea. Teenagers today are growing up at an extraordinary pace, so by the time you finish writing your book, the kids will have moved on and you'll have difficulty finding a publisher to take you on.
When writing fiction for young adults, younger characters should carry the story. Your principles should be 13-17 years of age so your readers can identify with them. You can certainly have characters older and younger than this, but try to have those characters who drive the plot and solve the problems as close to this age range as possible.
There are some things to avoid when writing for young adults. Teenagers are exposed to everything from drugs and smoking to sex and alcohol. However, that doesn't mean they things have to feature in your book. Try to make your characters into role models when dealing with sensitive topics. Don't imply bad behavior is okay, even if some of your characters do deal with some of the problems listed. Try to think of what you'd want your own children to read. This doesn't mean you can't have characters having sex, but you have to deal with it tactfully. And, for the love of all that is holy, do not have a graphic sex scene! It simply doesn't belong in a book for teenagers.
The other dillema you might encounter is the use of slang and profanity. In general, you should avoid popular slang. What's popular today could be gone tomorrow, so slang may simply date your book and limit its appeal. As for profanity ... it's probably better to not use it at all, or to use it sparingly. I know a lot of teenagers use excessive profanity, but not all of them do. Those who don't will be turned off and toss your book in the trash heap. Those who do are usually smart enough to read books that don't rely on the shock factor of profanity to entertain.
Other than these things, fiction for teenagers is basically like fiction for adults. They like fast-paced stories that engage and entertain. They also like a variety of genres, so don't confine yourself to the typical high school setting. If you like to write fantasy, write fantasy. If you prefer a good mystery, go right ahead. Teenagers enjoy a wide variety of material, just as you probably did when you were a teenager. With that in mind, go wild! Within reason.
Children's fiction is an entertaining genre that has been around for centuries and continues to expand. Though primarily written for children, children's fiction must also appeal to the adults who will have to read the book over and over and over and over ... if you have kids, you get my drift. The most successful children's fiction will appeal to both adults and children, so take the time to do it right.
Relive Your Own Childhood
You can't write fiction for children unless and until you can remember what is was like to be a child. What would have captivated you when you were small? Simple stories with vibrant characters are best, but never underestimate a child. You weren't an idiot when you were 7-11 years old. Assume your audience will be equally quick and intelligent.
To get yourself in the right mindset, go to your local bookstore and purchase a few books from the children's fiction section and start reading. Enjoy the books for what they are — simple stories designed to entertain younger readers. Think like a child and let yourself laugh and truly experience the story.
But also think like an adult. Read the book aloud and see if you could enjoy reading it to a child. If you can, that book is a winner. And while you certainly shouldn't use a book written by someone else as a template for your own, this little bit of research will give you an idea of what works. You can use this information when working on your own bit of fiction for children.
Writing Children's Fiction
Like most forms of fiction, the rules for writing children's fiction have changed in recent years. Fiction written for children now contains strong and vibrant characters with their own minds and own ways of doing things. However, it is important that these characters are appropriate for the age group, usually 5-12 years of age. The characters should be clean and your book should be free of material that is simply too mature for children. This means you should avoid characters that engage in things such as sex, drugs, and even smoking. Parents are still the ones purchasing the books for their children, and parents don't appreciate characters that might have a negative impact on their children.
Even though the typical age range for children's fiction is 5-12, you should narrow the age range for your book. You don't write the same things for a 5 year old as you would a preteen. So think about the age of the children you're writing for and write something appropriate and entertaining for that age group.
Avoid the use of slang and certainly don't curse or swear in your book. Again, parents don't like it and young children really shouldn't be exposed to it. And don't preach. Kids don't need someone to preach to them when they're simply reading a book. You also might want to avoid the darker themes often found in literature for teenagers. Most children are not ready for heavy themes.
One of the problems with writing for children is that children today have short attention spans and they're used to instant gratification because that's what they get from TV and video games. So engage children by using all five senses when writing your book. Make sure your characters experience their environment by sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste. If something smells terrible, describe it. Kids get a kick of it and it will make the experience more real.
But all of these little rules pale in comparision to this one — let your characters solve their own problems. We're talking about children's fiction, so your characters will probably include young people. Adults shouldn't come in and solve all the problems at the end of the book. Kids like books where people just like them solve the problems. So give them what they like and your books are more likely to be well received.
Writing fiction for children can be tricky, but if you can pull it off, its vastly rewarding. Remember to think like a child and definately find a few kids to try out your story on. They are the best judges of what children's fiction should be, after all.
Published in 2012, Return is a collection of ten short stories based on the novel Arianna's Tale, which was published in 2011. These stories further enhance and expand on the characters introduced in Arianna's Tale. Though these stories can be read on their own, they are perhaps better enjoyed as a part of the full-length novel upon which they are based. Return is available as a trade paperback or as an ebook (in most formats, including Kindle, Kobo, and Nook).
Read on for "Exiled", one of the ten stories included in Return:
Edwina lifted her head off her lover’s chest. She was certain she’d heard some sound, some bit of noise that was out of place. Tugging her wheat-gold hair out from under Marshall’s body, she sat up and gathered the sheet to her chest. She cocked her head to one side, listening for whatever had awakened her. Only silence greeted her.
Worried about being discovered, Edwina looked about for her clothing. The sun was just beginning to light the sky. It was time to go, time to leave Marshall before her absence was discovered.
Not that anyone would notice, she thought as she pulled on her clothes from the night before. Her husband had ceased to visit her bed five years before. He’d gotten the son he craved and abandoned her to her own devices. She rarely saw him these days, preferring her own company, or that of her current lover.
She glanced back at the sprawling bed and smiled, content to watch Marshall as he slept. He was only the most recent in a long line of lovers, but she was falling just a little in love with the man. He was everything her husband was not. Strong, confident, considerate, and an excellent lover, Marshall gave her the first snatches of true joy she’d known since her hasty marriage to King Cadfael almost six years before.
Settling her clothing into place over her thin body, Edwina leaned down to place a gentle kiss upon Marshall’s cheek. She was rewarded with a slight smile, but he didn’t wake. With a final stroke of his thick chestnut hair, she headed for the door.
As she reached for the handle, the door flew inwards, throwing her back against the wall. Edwina felt the handle of the door dig into her stomach as she was caught between it and the wall. She cried out a moment before strong arms seized her, forcing her to the floor.
Managing to glance up, she saw that Marshall was already on his feet, sword in hand, ready to defend her. He hadn’t bothered to clothe himself, but stood there, facing down the Royal Guards who had entered his chamber without leave. He was ready to fight. But as a captain in the Royal Guard, these men owed him their loyalty.
She watched this realization spread across his face as the point of his sword began to slip downward. “Put up your weapons,” he ordered.
They didn’t seize him, but they didn’t obey him either. There were few people in the country who outranked Marshall, few people who could have ordered these men to disobey their captain. Hearing a bellow behind her, Edwina groaned in despair.
“Seize them both!”
Edwina was already on the floor, but a guard pushed her head down so that she could not see what was happening in the chamber. She could still hear, however, and what she heard caused her stomach to wrap around her spine. There was a struggle as the guards moved to carry out their orders. Marshall was fighting them, trying to come to her. She heard him cry out in pain, but the struggles continued. He might be hurt, but he wasn’t dead.
He’d never had a chance. There were at least twenty guards in the chamber, though Edwina had difficulty coming up with an exact number with her face pressed into the floor. Two guards were almost sitting on top of her, forcing her to stay in place. Though what they thought she’d do if released was a mystery. It wasn’t as if a woman of her stature could hope to fight even a single guard.
The struggle stopped and silence reigned once more. A cold dread settled over her heart. She could hear ragged breathing and the scrape of leather on marble, but nothing else. She tried to raise her head, but the hand holding the back of her neck tightened in her blond hair and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Take him away,” Cadfael snapped.
A tightness crept into Edwina’s shoulders and she started to tremble. She recognized that tone. It was the tone he used to order the death or torture of his enemies. Or the tone that crept into his voice before he beat his wife or son.
“Leave us.” If anything, Cadfael’s tone had deepened, become more frightening.
As the guards obeyed and released her, Edwina tried to disappear into the floor. She raised her head only enough to watch several men drag Marshall from the chamber. Other than that, she didn’t dare move.
When the door closed silently behind the guards, Cadfael stalked forward. Edwina squeezed her eyes shut. A strong hand closed over her hair and pulled her to her feet, drawing a gasp from her. She fought to keep the tears from her eyes, knowing from experience that any outward sign of pain would only encourage him.
Edwina saw his hand come up and braced herself, wishing he’d release her before he struck her. When his fist crashed into her jaw, her head snapped to the side and her vision exploded. She saw a brilliant flash of light and knew she would be tending her own head injury tomorrow. She slumped and would have fallen were it not for his hand in her hair.
She hoped he would just leave her now, visit one of his concubines to vent his rage, but it was not to be. Cadfael threw her into the wall and Edwina barely managed to keep her nose from hitting the hard marble. She heard the sound of a belt clearing belt loops and froze. She wanted to run like a frightened rabbit but knew that it would avail her naught. He would catch her, send his Royal Guards to hunt her down, and would be all the angrier for having to chase her. It was better to accept what he would do, bear it as she always did.
Managing not to flinch away from his hand, Edwina allowed him to drag her to the bed. She heard tearing cloth and dared not fight. Cadfael tore off her gown and threw her into the headboard. Holding herself carefully still, Edwina watched him as he moved toward her, belt raised for the blow.
During the beating that followed, Edwina didn’t move except to keep the worst of the blows from her head. When it was over, she lay curled against the headboard, clutching her left arm. She was certain it was broken, and broken badly. And she had at least three fractured ribs. She’d need a healer when this was over. It wouldn’t be the first time a healer-mage had been called to attend Queen Edwina. She waited in silence for him to leave her. He never cared for her after a beating. She would be left to summon a healer and find her own way back to her chambers.
When a hand wrapped itself in her hair and dragged her away from the relative safety of the headboard, Edwina couldn’t stop herself from crying out. The pain threatened to overwhelm her, to send her reeling into unconsciousness. Tears fell from her emerald green eyes as she fought to stay awake.
Edwina was thrown facedown onto the soft bed, but even the thick blankets and soft mattress couldn’t soften the blow. She hurt, and nothing could distract her from that.
Cadfael straddled her body, pinning her in place. He leaned down until his dry lips were barely brushing her right ear. “Little whore,” he whispered. “But you’re my whore until I choose otherwise.”
She might have responded but he placed his hand on the back of her head and forced her face into the thick blankets. Realizing she could no longer draw breath, Edwina started to struggle. But it was too late. He had her, controlled every movement she tried to make.
As his body moved against hers, she felt blackness rise up to overwhelm her.
***
She was awakened by pain. It hurt to move. It hurt to breath. It even hurt to open her eyes. After a few moments of trying to get up, Edwina lay back on the cold floor and took stock of her surroundings.
The scent of beeswax and honeysuckle assailed her senses. Marshall detested the scent of honeysuckle. It reminded him of the King. So she was no longer in Marshall’s chamber. There was cool marble beneath her and a gentle warmth to the chamber. For that she was grateful, for her bruised and naked flesh would not appreciate the cold. She wasn’t even covered.
It was then that she realized where she must be. Cadfael’s bedchamber. Why else would she be uncovered? Cadfael was too possessive to allow other eyes on his wife, even if he was furious with her. She was his, for better or worse, at least according to their marriage vows.
Listening carefully, Edwina decided she was alone in the chamber. She cracked one eye open and fought against the wave of nausea that welled forth. She had to move. Staying here, in this room, was not safe. Cadfael was always at his worst in this chamber. Edwina tried to force herself into a sitting position but quickly stopped. It felt as if the bones of her skull were sliding together in a most unnatural way and there was a deep ache between her thighs.
There was no hope for it. She wouldn’t be able to move on her own. Not yet. She lay back down on the marble floor, despairing. What had happened to Marshall? Was he imprisoned or perhaps dead? There was no way to know for sure. Cadfael’s temper was harsh, but thoroughly unpredictable.
And what about her son? Cadfael had a strange sense of justice. It wasn’t unlike him to punish a child for the crimes of a parent. Was he taking out his anger on Darian even now? Tears coursed down her cheeks at the thought. Now or later, Darian would pay for her mistakes. It was almost more than she could bear.
As she lay there, trapped in a prison of her own pain, she distantly heard the door creak open. Fearing it was her husband, Edwina pulled herself into a fetal position, expecting the worst. Footsteps approached, light and fast, and Edwina cringed.
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Your Majesty, you must get up. The King demands you appear before him.”
Edwina opened her eyes and stared at Marie, her own maid. As the maid’s words registered in her tired mind, Edwina started shaking in relief. The King would never beat her in public. If he was commanding her appearance, he must be in the throne room.
Nodding her head hurt too much and her throat was sore, so she acknowledged Marie’s instructions with her eyes. Marie helped her gain her feet, but it was slow going. The pain was too intense to allow for more than a few inches movement at a time. It took the better part of a candlemark to get Edwina standing independently.
Marie held out a gown and Edwina’s eyes widened. All of Edwina’s gowns were crafted of fine silks and soft wools, all in the brightest of colors. This gown was rough wool and a deep brown in color. It was also a little too large. It took a moment for Edwina to realize that it was one of Marie’s gowns. The gown of a servant. Her eyes flew to Marie’s.
Marie understood the look instantly. “The King’s orders, Majesty. You are to appear garbed as a servant.”
The maid hesitated and Edwina knew there was more. As Marie looked down at her feet, Edwina knew the news was not good. She glanced behind Marie to a nearby chair and what she saw stopped her cold. There was a yellow tabard draped over the back of the chair. A stained yellow tabard. The tabard of a traitor.
Edwina took a deep breath. “He’s to have me tried with treason, then?”
But Marie was shaking her head. “You’ve already been convicted,” the maid whispered. “You were tried as you slept. You are to appear for sentencing.”
The Queen stood unmoving as Marie dressed her, covering her soft skin with the roughened wool. She knew that Cadfael was acting within the bounds of the law. Technically, by sleeping with Marshall, she had betrayed him. And betraying the King was treason, regardless of the motivation. She’d been expecting this since she’d taken her first lover three years ago.
What she hadn’t expected was to be tried without being allowed to offer a defense. She had hoped that she could wheedle a divorce from Cadfael if she were permitted to testify in open court, as traitors were always allowed to do. To have their problems aired before the court would have been humiliating for the King, and Edwina had intended to promise silence in exchange for her divorce.
Cadfael must have known that. And he would never agree to a divorce, to allow her to reclaim her dignity. So he’d tried her, convicted her, without permitting her to defend herself. The idea shocked her, yet she was not surprised. It was so like Cadfael to look out for only his own interests.
“What of Marshall?” she finally asked her loyal maid.
Marie looked away suddenly. Like most women, she too had been fond of the handsome Captain of the Royal Guard. Her voice filled with regret as she answered her mistress. “He was executed immediately, my lady, just a few candlemarks ago.”
Edwina could not prevent the cry of despair that escaped her lips. Of all the men she’d known, Marshall had come closest to winning her heart. He’d made her happy, if only briefly. To have him taken from her so quickly … it was horribly unfair.
Her pride welled forth as she straightened her back and wiped the tears from her eyes. Marie reached for the tabard but Edwina stopped the girl with a quick flick of her wrist. She walked toward the chair, head held high. Without looking, she reached down and threw the tabard over her head. It smelled foul, but she refused to respond to the odor.
She didn’t even glance at Marie as she said, “Take me to him.”
***
Queen Edwina entered the throne room, back straight and head erect. She glanced neither left nor right as she approached the throne, ignoring the whispers of the courtiers to either side. Two guards flanked her, but she didn’t fight or resist, so they were unnecessary. She walked straight towards the throne, eyes locked on her husband.
As she reached the base of the dais upon which the throne was mounted, Edwina knelt and lowered her eyes. She kept her gaze on the bottom step of the dais and waited for him to speak.
She didn’t have to wait long. “Edwina,” he left off her title and didn’t refer to her as his wife, certainly a deliberate snub, “you have been found guilty of treason. You are here to be sentenced by the Senate.”
Pretty words, but she knew that he had already decided her sentence. He was her King and her husband. It was his right by law. He might pretend that the Senate had something to do with it, but she knew the truth.
“Your lover has been executed for his treason. I had thought to sentence you to the same fate.” His voice was cold and unfeeling, typical of the King.
Edwina heard his words and felt a pang of fear. He could do it, order her death. He wouldn’t lose a single night’s sleep over it. But his next words were even more frightening.
“However, I’d rather make an example of you.” Though she dared not glance up, she could hear the sinister smile on his face. “You are to be exiled.”
The gathered crowd gasped, astounded. Exile was an uncommon sentence, used only for the criminally insane. Exile almost always resulted in death, but it was not considered a death sentence. A kinder or crueler way to punish the insane, depending on how you looked at it. It was not a punishment for adultery.
Inside, Edwina was shaking. Outwardly, however, she remained composed and said nothing. She did not even acknowledge his words.
But he wasn’t finished yet. “Your son shall accompany you into exile.”
Her head snapped up and she whispered “No,” as a wave of protest went through the courtiers. To exile a child for the crimes of the mother was unheard of. Hushed voices and raised shouts filled the throne room.
“Silence!” the King commanded, furious at being interrupted.
It took several moments, but the crowd was calmed by the insistent presence of the Royal Guard. When silence reigned, Edwina met Cadfael’s eyes.
“My lord, may I approach?” She kept her voice soft so that he would not hear it waver. At his terse nod she rose and climbed the stairs until she was beside his throne. Edwina knelt once more and placed a trembling hand on Cadfael’s knee. She felt the tension there, the tightly-leashed anger. She must proceed carefully. Her voice was a bare whisper when she finally spoke. “Please, my lord, I made a mistake. I betrayed you. I am guilty as charged. Please do not punish your son for my crimes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is he my son?”
“I swear he is.” She tightened her grip on his knee. “I will take any oath you require. No one but you shared my bed before Darian was born.” She’d said all she could. It was his decision now.
As his eyes held hers, Edwina could see the doubt, anger, and desire he struggled with. He wanted to believe her, but he was infuriated by the very idea of another man sharing her body. She was his, and no other had the right to touch her. She couldn’t blame him for that. But there was something more in his gaze, something she hadn’t expected. He still wanted her, at his side, in his bed. It was even possible that Cadfael regretted ignoring her since she had conceived their son five years before.
She saw all this in his eyes and couldn’t hate him. She’d loved him once, and such passionate love did not easily turn to true hate. She pitied him, she pitied herself, and wished for a brief moment that she could turn back time.
Then she made a critical error. Her mouth curved in a smile, her eyes softened, and she reached for him. Her hand moved from his knee up towards his face, slowly but surely.
Cadfael’s eyes darkened and his mouth tightened. He stood and moved away from her and Edwina knew she’d gone too far. She should have waited, should have let him make the first move.
But she hadn’t and it was too late now. She lowered her head to hide the despair she knew would be reflected in her brilliant green eyes. She didn’t move when his next words came, harsh and unforgiving.
“You will go from this place immediately, little whore. You will take your son, but nothing else.” He paused while the crowd shifted uncomfortably. “If you return to Scytha, now or at any point in the future, the city guards will be instructed to carry out your execution. Any Republicans who aid you, provide you with food or shelter, will be punished.”
She glanced up, a plea in her eyes.
He ignored it. “I hope you have a skill you can trade for food and lodging.” He smiled cruelly and raked his eyes over her body. “That shouldn’t be a problem for a whore.”
Edwina lowered her head in humiliation. When the guards took her by the arms, she didn’t protest. When they brought her son to her, she cradled him to her chest and walked proudly from the throne room, two guards at her heels.
***
Edwina gathered the tiny baby to her chest and laid back, exhausted. She’d had to deliver her own baby since she would allow none of the villagers to help her for fear of seeing them punished. It had been difficult, but she’d made it through and now had a precious baby girl to love and protect.
“Darian,” she called out as she fluffed the blanket in an effort to get comfortable. She knew he was waiting just beyond the tiny chamber.
The door opened and he slipped into the room, his eyes wide. She knew then that he must have heard her stifled cries and regretted that he had to be subjected to such things. It wasn’t right for a Prince of the Realm to live so.
She held out a hand. “Come, sweetheart. It’s all right. Come and meet your new half-sister.”
The boy moved forward and climbed onto the bed beside his mother. He watched the baby for a moment, smiling at her tiny wrinkled body. He poked at her hand and giggled as she pulled it away from him. “What’s her name?”
“Arianna,” she responded. “After my grandmother.”
Darian was silent for several moments more. Finally, he glanced at this mother. “Now can we go home?”
Edwina head the plea in his voice and forced back the tears. This was a happy day, and the new baby deserved no tears. “Not yet, sweetheart.”
She saw something close to despair in his eyes, something no child should feel. “When?” he all but wailed.
Glancing away, Edwina could only shake her head.
Published in 2011, Arianna's Tale is a full-length fantasy novel with a little romance thrown in for fun. It is the first book in the Imperial Series and introduces the reader to the fantastical world of Vorima as it follows the adventures of Arianna and her companions. Arianna's Tale is available as a trade paperback or as an ebook (in most formats, including Kindle, Kobo, and Nook).
Read on for an excerpt from the book:
She missed her brother. A lot. The village folk had been kind, and had helped her in the days following Darian’s departure, and continued to lend her assistance when asked. But their displeasure with Darian was made very clear, both then and now. He had left her without a male protector, which was nothing short of scandalous, and they made sure she knew how they felt. But they were always so nice to her, and were careful not to outright insult her brother while in her presence, though she was certain they did so behind her back. And she did try to be a healer to the village folk, though she wasn’t very skilled, contrary to what Darian seemed to think. She had worked hard to make a life for herself, to find where she fit in this world.
But … she missed her brother. Sighing, Arianna focused her mind on the original reason for her visit to the beach. Seaweed. She needed more seaweed for several of her herbal recipes, since it seemed every other remedy needed seaweed at some point in its preparation. And since it had to be dried for several days before it could be used, she had better gather at least some now; she had very little left in her stores. She figured she’d gather as much as she could find between the two rivers. She would not attempt to cross either river, not today. She probably wouldn’t need that much seaweed anyway. Besides, the mayor, not wanting to lose the only healer the village had access to, and been very clear in his instructions. She was not to leave the Valley without escort. If she did need to gather herbs from beyond the small inlet, she was to let him know, and he would arrange for a company of village men to go with her. He was her protector, since she had no male family here, and as such, she had no choice but to obey him.
She resented that a little; more than a little when she was honest with herself. Women had no rights, no freedom except that which was granted to them by the men in their lives — father, brother, husband, sometimes a cousin. All women were expected to obey, immediately and without question. She didn’t understand why, but it was the way things were. It made her more uncomfortable to be viewed as inferior, especially when she didn’t feel that way.
Arianna refocused on the seaweed. It could take the better part of the day to accomplish her task, so she needed to hurry. She wanted to be home well before dark, or the mayor might mount a search for her. Putting her errant older brother out of her mind, she began her trek along the beach, picking up any good piece of seaweed she found and adding it to her bag, made of a mesh so that the seaweed could at least start to dry in the breeze. The bag also prevented mold from growing, so she would be sure to have usable seaweed when she returned home.
A candlemark later, having gathered at least some seaweed, though not as much as she had hoped, she spotted something out to sea. It looked like driftwood, probably from a ship of some sort. Another shipwreck out on the rocks, she mused sadly, thinking about the last shipwreck she’d seen. In the past ten years, the number of shipwrecks had increased dramatically. Instead of the usual one per year, they were averaging six. There were eight last year alone, and those were only the ones that washed up on shore. Who knew how many more wrecks there had actually been out in the vast sea. The high number of shipwrecks only indicated one thing, as far as the village folk were concerned: there would eventually be an invasion from the east.
Every villager assumed that the ships came from the Abital Empire. Republic captains knew how to avoid the rocks that dotted the coastline, whereas the Imperial captains were most certainly inexperienced, at least according to what the villagers said. And inexperience spelled disaster on the open sea, and utter devastation along the rocky coast, but that wasn’t the only reason for their suspicions. The driftwood that washed up on shore wasn’t the same as Republican ships used; it was redder and smoother than anything the Yarians had access to. West of the Mountains of Mylara, most woods were a deep brown. The east was a desert, however, so the woods there would be very different from those found here. Combine those two factors, and it certainly spelled an invasion, at least as far as the mayor was concerned.
There had been war with the east for as long as anyone could remember. No one really knew why anymore, at least, no one Arianna knew; the reasons behind the war had disappeared into history. Any overture of peace was rejected out of hand; they knew that much from the yearly dispatches from the capital, Scytha. However, with the Mountains of Mylara separating the two factions, there had been no real movement on either side for over a hundred years; the mountains were just too difficult to cross for a large group, though small raiding parties crossed into the Republic once in a while. The Empire kept slaves, most of those stolen from the Yarian Republic. Since they stole the largest number of these from north of the Ardan River, the King usually ignored these raids.
Perhaps the Empire now thought that they could conquer by the sea. The Empire didn’t have much ocean exposure, but the Republic did. They were a mostly costal nation. It was theoretically possible to capture it with an attack from the sea, but only by experienced captains, captains who could out-sail their Republican counterparts; the Empire didn’t have those kinds of captains, at least to her knowledge. So how they thought to conquer by sea was really beyond comprehension; it just didn’t seem feasible to someone like Arianna. But then, she wasn’t a strategist. She was a simple peasant girl, and happy to be one.
The village elders had contacted Scytha with their concerns, but had been ignored, as was usual. No one from the capital really believed that the Empire would actually mount a sea assault, and even if the idea might have been believed, anyone from north of the Ardan River was mostly ignored by the King anyway. It was just the way the Republic operated, and had for many years now. Now that I think about it, Arianna thought, it seems rather unlikely, foolish, even, that the Empire would try a sea assault against us. It won’t happen, not in my lifetime, at least. Maybe the King is right in ignoring the mayor and his cronies; they are prone to panic. Maybe there really won’t be an invasion.
Arianna’s gaze returned to the piece of driftwood, which was slowly getting closer to the shore, bobbing in the waves. She’d be sure to report the shipwreck to the mayor; he would bring the men out to gather the wood for extra firewood once it reached the shore. The red wood burned very well, and made the homes of the village smell sweet. It was much in demand, and the profit from it would allow the mayor to fund one of the programs he was so enthusiastic about.
The clouds parted for a moment, and the sun reflected off something that wasn’t wood. She looked closer, and could have sworn she saw movement, faint, but definitely there. That alone sent her running into the ocean, lifting her skirts above her knees. If someone was out there, it was her duty, as a healer, to help. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like the ocean stop her from doing her duty.
She was up to her shoulders in water before she reached the man clinging to the small piece of wood as if his life depended upon it. She supposed that it had. He had very dark hair, so black that in this light, it looked almost blue. His skin was not fair like hers, but a deep bronze, as if it had been kissed by the sun for many years. He was strong and muscular, and far from ordinary. No ordinary man would have survived being trapped in the ocean for as long as he must have been there. He must have an extraordinary strength of will. That alone intrigued her.
As she hauled him to the shore, which was made easier by the buoyancy of the water, she decided that he probably wasn’t a sailor. His hands, while calloused, were not nearly rough enough to indicate that he’d spent his whole life aboard ship. His clothes were too fine, and the sword he wore was of a higher quality than any sailor could afford, no matter how successful he might be. No, definitely not a sailor, of that she was certain. Who he might be, she really had no idea, but it didn’t matter. He was hurt, and he needed her help. That was the only thing she needed to know about him, at least for the moment. Later, when he was safe and alive, she’d wonder who he was. Later she would ask questions, begin to wonder who he was and what had brought him here.
Finally on the sandy shore, she quickly looked him over. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive and even moving slightly. She needed to get him back to her cottage, right now, where she could properly tend to his hurts. But she couldn’t do that alone. He was just too heavy for a young woman to lift without any aid. It had been difficult enough to pull him onto shore. She’d never make it back to her cottage while trying to carry him. She was just too small for that.
Making sure he wouldn’t be swept back out to sea while she was gone, she quickly went for help. She knew from the condition of the man that he wouldn’t last long without her care. Arianna wasn’t about to let him die because she was too slow in fetching help.
* * *
Candlemarks later, she finally sat down, purely exhausted. The strange man was resting in her brother’s old bed. He was ill, and still cool to the touch, but alive. She had removed his wet clothing, and started a fire. Though it wasn’t yet cold, she knew the fire would help combat the natural cold his body would be feeling from his time in the ocean waters. He wasn’t shivering, so she wasn’t too worried about his body temperature. It was low, but not dangerously so.
She was most concerned with his breathing. It was still shallow, but she’d forced several different potions down his throat, and placed a warm pack with several herbs on his chest to aid his breathing, and there was nothing more to be done. He’d live or die by his own willpower now. Judging from the little she knew of him, she thought his chances of survival were very good, better than most, in fact. It took an extraordinary will to survive what must have been candlemarks in the frigid sea, perhaps even days. It was the first time anyone had ever washed up alive. There had been some bodies in the past decade, but that was it. No survivors, no one who was even close to alive.
The villagers were already wildly curious about the man. He was tall, and very dark, not like them at all. Everyone around here was small and blond. Occasionally, you would see someone with red hair, but not often, at least not in this part of the Republic. There was a lot of speculation about where this man came from. Some of the village elders were saying that he was from beyond the Mountains of Mylara, which would make him from the Abital Empire. It was common knowledge that anyone with dark hair was Imperial, they claimed. Arianna wasn’t sure of this, but since she had no other information at the moment, she decided to label him, in her mind, as a man from the east.
Exhausted, Arianna decided to go to sleep; she wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open much longer. Tomorrow would be early enough to deal with all the mysteries this stranger brought to her tiny valley.
