The Mirror of Black and White Test Chapter

A test chapter for a story I'm working on, and everything may change in it soon.

The Mirror of Black and White

or

The Mirror of Yggdrasil

Draft 2

Test Chapter

By: Chase L. Currie

 

Once upon a time on a world called Yggdrasil in a city named Valhalla at the heart of the Britta Empire, a war rages around the city’s walls and in the skies above.

                The baby’s cries were drowned out from the blasts from the cannons. The massive cannons made to bring down the airships roaring in the halls of the castle as Spencer MacMhuirrich raced from the infant’s room. The dashing rogue had taken out the guards with ease and most of all with a wee bit of magic to boot as well. Newly found dark magic brought back into the world by the Queen of Britta. Magic Spencer seems to be greatly skilled in.

                “It’s okay,” the masked wolfman whispered to the blonde hair baby. “It is okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to save ya.”

                The baby girl sniffed, looking up at him, giggling and smiling at him. The golden wolf eyes smiled back down at her. She reached for his mask. No one in the world could ever tell if the race that Spencer was could remove their animal’s masks or not but the baby girl was going to try.

                No one had seen him take it off -

                Or live to tell the story.

                Spencer bolted through a door, trying to follow the escape path he had planned for years.

But-

The room was filled with seven Britta soldiers all armed to the teeth and all now staring at him.

“Hm,” Spencer grunted, looking back at the door, “nope, right room, but you guys aren’t meant to be here.”

“Don’t move,” the captain barked. His helmet had a golden spike on top of it, unlike all the other men standing around him. He rose his rifle, the bolt already loaded around ready to go. All the other six men quickly following suit taking aim at the wolf mask.

Spencer shoots the baby out in front of him as a shield.

Someone gasped, “The princess.”

“Let her go,” the captain growled, but Spencer was too business studying the electric lamps on the wall grinning to himself. Whatever the Queen had done to make magic, mostly black magic, more powerful in the world had worked well for people like Spencer. Whatever the act had been, it was the cause for the Great War and it was the reason he was standing in the room now.

Spencer turned back to the men whispering the incantation of the night blinding spell casting the room into a pitch black. The men started to shout for the lights to come back, but their voices were slowly dying off.

Seconds later, Spencer picked the baby back up as the lights flashed back to life, leaving all the men the floor.

“Ah, you’re not afraid of the dark,” Spencer laughed to the girl. The walls of the castle shook, breaking his laughter off. Dust rained down on their heads and Spencer stepped toward the window to glance to see the warships of Thule starting their attacks from the skies. The artillery fell on the castle as the winged warriors started to descend from the ships.

“This is not good for us,” Spencer said. “Time to change the plans.”

He darted from the window, hoping the path he needed to use was still open to them. He got to the door leading to the underground tunnels but -

He dropped his head as the baby chuckled.

The tunnels were caved in with hints of flames on the other side of the stones, steam floated up from the stones being cooked. He shut the door to the underground tunnels turning to face a dark violet warrior with dark black eyes and snow-white hair. He wore the Royal uniform of the Britta Head War General. He held a thin needle-like sword in his hand.

“You’re not here to help me, huh?” Spencer asked.

The warrior smirked, pointing the sword at him. “Only to the grave.”

Spencer smiled.

“Did the King send you?” the General asked.

“You know I’m better than that, I would never give up my employer,” Spencer said.

“Drop the child,” He said, “and I’ll let run for a while.”

“Hm, that sounds like a lie,” Spencer said, slowly moving away from the door.

“As you wish,” He said, rushing forward stabbing the sword at him. Spencer tried to move out of the way and he almost did it, but the tip of the sword ripped into his arm.

He grunted and jump backward, pulling out a dagger. He hissed at him wanting to cast another spell but he could feel the magic leaking off of the white hair warrior.

No spell would work.

But Spencer wasn’t just a skilled magic user, he was also an adept swashbuckler. The warrior rushed towards him again, but Spencer sidestepped the blade and swung his knife at the over-eager General. He cut the purple face with one quick hit leaking out bright red blood. The General grunted from the strike but didn’t show too much pain from the cut.

He tried to attack Spencer again, and the rouge dodged the next swing. He rolled away from the blade knocking the warrior against the wall with a knee.

The whole castle shook from more bombs going off from all around them.

The warrior jumped back to his feet, spinning around to face Spencer.

“This was fun and everything,” Spencer said,” but the baby needs to be put to bed.”

He tossed a small bomb at the boots of the warrior running from the room seconds before it went off. It wouldn’t kill the General, but it would wound him greatly.

Spencer raced down the hall, only stopping when explosions ripped through the walls forcing him to change directions. He jumped around the castle trying to find a way out, but all his paths seem to be cut off. Spencer leans against the wall out of breath-holding the baby to his face.

“I think I failed you little one,” he said. “Sorry.”

And then something pulled on his soul like someone had tied a rope around his foot. A bit of magic a few doors down from them wanted him to follow it. Spencer opens the door to find a large mirror, taller than himself, facing him in elaborate fame made from dark wood and a roaring lion’s head sat atop the fame.

He stepped closer to the mirror, but not seeing his reflection in the glass. All he could see was an endless sea of fog starting to ooze out over his feet, filling the room. The magic sweet and nice like freshly made candy, told him to set the baby in the fog.

Spencer watched the baby float away from his sight, knowing she would be safe now whatever world she landed in. He then took out his dagger and smashed the mirror to a thousand pieces with the handle of the blade, hoping to hide the baby forever.        

Author's Note

f you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.