CHAPTER ONE: Vendetta's POV

A first look into Vendetta's world. She's joining her peers in adoration for their main goddess, Luneat, goddess of the stars.

“Amen, amen. May the light of the stars guide us to grace.” 

I repeat, reading along with everyone else. It was domingus, which is the day of the week for prayer and penance. I stand up from my mat along with everyone else and wait in a row. One by one, we take a turn in placing our candles around the base of the altar. The soft, green glow of the dancing flames draws little pictures of shadows on the ground. When it’s my turn to place my candle, I look at the designs along the deep red wood of the altar. It was carved many years ago, with carvings of Luneat and her myth. It shows her painting the sky with little stars, the divots representing these stars running to the floor. I wish I could run my fingers across the sides, just to feel the carvings. But that would most likely earn me a month of tending to the village’s flock of sharlies. I shake out my arms as I feel goosebumps start to rise along them, cringing a bit at a memory.

 One time, a boy got his leg bitten by one. It wasn’t fatal nor a serious injury, but the best way to describe a sharly bite is if a thousand mosquitoes drank from one spot on your body. I grimace as I zone back in, and take in my surroundings. I utter thanks to Luneat, and rise. I return to my mat and kneel on it.

 “Thank you all for taking the time to join us in prayer.” High priestess Cyn says with a smile, setting a totem on a little table off to the side. She is a pale woman around her mid-forties with a speckled face, laugh lines softly lining the sides of her mouth and eyes. Her attire consists of a long, silky blue robe with star patterns stitched into the sleeves. Over her robe is a thick, dark blue scarf that goes over the back of her head. Spilling out around her neck and over her shoulders is long black hair ending at her calves, resembling dripping ink. She has this kind, comforting yet empowering air around her, reminding me of my late mother. She’s my favourite of the three priestesses because of that.

“Let us all join together in one final prayer.” She raises her cloaked arms towards the sky, her back facing us. The back of her robes had three circles lined up, resembling the moons. Under these moons was a large star, a representation of Luneat. Under the moons and the star was a mass of stitches, reaching up to the star, resembling tiny little arms, reaching for the Gods. This was the Crest of our village, Arms of Nihte. 

“Oh Wondrous Bright Star, forever paint our skies with your light in the dark. Guide your people with your heavenly grace. Open the eyes of your children who do not believe in your power. You birthed the sky and the stars with the help of the Goddess Aistere, to bathe the land when the sun is resting.” Our voices echo her words. “Nosso povo fará tudo ao nosso alcance para defender os valores da criação. Estamos enviando nossas orações aos céus onde vocês residem. Ouça nossas palavras de fé e amor reservadas para você. You are what makes us able to thrive in this shadowed corner of Jeklor, for your burning lights in the night allow us to see in the darkness. Amém.” Her voice is full adoration as she lowers her arms and bows her head, her hair cloaking her face. We all stay quiet for a few moments, giving all of us time to say our own short prayers. I fiddle with my dress as I close my eyes and take a deep, slow breath. Prayers can be overwhelming at times, especially when we give sacrifices. However, I also enjoy them because we all get to come together and pray to our Goddess.

 You see, if you couldn't tell by now, we worship Luneat, the goddess of the universe. She’s kind of a big deal. I once read in my school books that many people from different settlements usually worship Vitare, the god of life, as their main god. While we also worship the other deities, Luneat is the most important. After all, how would we survive in the north? Because of the Alanche Mountain Range and the thick fog that surrounds it, it’s hard for light and heat from the sun to reach us. This makes it quite cold and dark, almost all the time. Thanks to the stars provided by Luneat, our village has survived many generations because of crops that grow best in their faraway light. I feel a warm hand touch my thigh, and I start with a jolt. As my eyes pop open, I’m met face to face with my mother, who’s looking at me with an arched brow. “You aren’t falling asleep, are you?” She whispers in my ear, her warm breath tickling my ear. I shake my head. “Good, Good. I just wanted to make sure, minha estrela.” She gives my thigh a pat before returning it to her side. Out of both of my parents, I’d say I resemble my mother the most. She has fine, almost pitch black hair that ends at her shoulders which frames her face. We both have an olive complexion and spotted bodies. I got her grecian nose and alert amber eyes, and my father’s broad shoulders and thin lips. It was around an hour later when we rose, preparing to head home. As we walked down the steps, I saw High Priestess Cyn thanking people for coming. “Ah, Vendetta, Aran, how nice of you two to join us. I hear our Vendetta is thinking of joining the Watch next year?” She smiled as she looked between me and my mother, who was smiling politely. “Yes, I was rather surprised when she told me not too long ago.”  She glances at me. “But all the same I’m happy.” The Priestess nodded, before resting her gaze on me. “It will be nice to see more young women on the Watch before they have to settle down. ” I shuffle my feet a little. I always found it odd how all the girls were expected to wed and have children so quickly. I’m only 15, and they’re already discussing options. I know it’s expected of me, as it is for everyone else, but it still feels odd. I’ve never really even had any interest in the boys in the school. procurando o melhor, looking for the best, as my mother would say. “Vendetta? Dear?” I only just noticed that I had zoned out of the conversation. “Hm?” I blink, looking at my mother. She stares at me with wide concerned eyes. I can just feel her question. What has gotten into you recently? At least Mother Cyn looks slightly amused, her eyebrows raised and lips quirked upwards.. “I- Oh, sorry Mom. I think I’m just a little …tired.” I decide on, sheepishly smiling at her, my hands once again fiddling with the lacing on my navy blue dress. She sighs, irritated. She takes a breath, and smiles at the robed woman in front of us. “I think it’s best if we head home now. Thank you for everything, Pastor.” Mom bows. Mother Cyn bows back respectfully. “Of course, of course! I love nothing more than speaking with such… bright souls.” Her eyes go a bit glassy as she looks into the stars high above. In the light of the stars, her black eyes seem to reflect the whole universe.  “I foresee a bright future in the constellations for you, Vendetta. Go in peace, you two.” She says with earnest, her voice wondrous. I blink at her in surprise at her before smiling. “Thank you, Pastor.” Me and mom both say together, finally making our way down the path that leads from the shrine to the village square. I slip my hand into my mom’s, thinking over Mother Cyn’s words. Was that just her way of being polite, or did she genuinely see that?

Author's Note

Once again, this is a draft! Some things may be incorrect, and if you see any writing errors, please let me know so I can go back and fix it! xx

Reviews

[JayG]

Okay Ashe. You write well...better than most at your level. But there are problems that are invisible to you that you need to address, if writing fiction is your goal—beginning with something we all pretty much forget: Commercial Fiction Writing is a profession. And think about it. Can you, with only the skills you’re being given, right up to graduation from high school, design a bridge; remove an impacted wisdom tooth; pilot a commercial airliner? No, because professions ALL have a body of specialized knowledge and techniques that must be mastered to practice it.

So by all means, jump into writing fiction. But that CW course they’re giving you? Worthless. Want proof?

1. Is the one teaching it an author who is conventionally published? Shouldn't they be able to achieve publication if they know the subject well enough to teach it?
2. Did they mention any of these basics of fiction-writing:
The inciting incident; scene and sequel; The difference between a scene on the page and one on the screen; the short-term scene-goal; why scenes on the page end in disaster; the black moment, and what it does; the basic difference in approach between fiction and nonfiction.

Because if you don’t truly understand what a scene is, for example, how can you write one?
3. Did they explain why we cannot simply transcribe ourselves telling a story, as we would at the campfire?
4. Did they remind you that the reader learns of everything that’s said and done BEFORE the protagonist does, and so, to have them truly understand why the protagonist acts and does what they do we must calibrate the reader’s responses to those of the protagonist, so when they read of something happening they'll react as-the-porotagonist-is ABOUT-to, and so, feel as if the protagonist is following THEIR directions. This is a critical point. But if you’re not aware that fiction’s goal is to entertain, not inform, you’ll present your story as a chronicle of events or a report—exactly as you’ve been taught to write the reports you're so often assigned.

There’s lots more, but I’m betting that they never mentioned most of it, because they’re teaching you to write creatively, NOT how to write fiction that will make the reader feel as if they’re living the story as-the-protagonist.

Remember I said the problems are invisible to you? Look at the opening lines, not as youself, but as a reader, who just arrived. But take a deep breath. This may sting. It certainly did when it was my turn:

• “Amen, amen. May the light of the stars guide us to grace.”

When you read this you know who’s speaking and why, and you hear the emotion that the reader doesn’t know to place in the voice. You can even visualize the setting. But a reader? Where and when are we? Damned if I know. Who's speaking, and why? Unknown. And how can starlight guide someone to whatever you mean with the word grace?

You have intent for how to read it and what it means. The reader? Words in a row, meaning uncertain.

• I repeat, reading along with everyone else.

Again, where in the pluperfect hells are we? And, repeat what? And who are the unknown others? You know. The speaker and the others know. The reader? They’re lost.

• It was domingus, which is the day of the week for prayer and penance.

So, you stopped the story, and as yourself, are talking TO the reader. But...they don’t know what’s going on, why, or anything meaningful. So who cares what day it is? That’s data, not story.

But suppose your first line had been:
----
High priestess Cyn bowed her head, extending her hands in blessing as she finished the service with, “May the light of the stars guide us to grace... Amen.”
----
In 29 words we know who’s speaking, and what was said, so we know that it’s a religious service concluding, and the words make sense as-they're-read.

My point? Had you known of the necessity of providing context, and how best to do that, you’d have done the same. And they’re not going to explain that in that CW course. I’ve looked at the resources for CW teachers online, and in truth they haven’t a clue. So if your goal is to write fiction, and I certainly support that, you need to do a bit of digging on your own, into the skills that the pros take for granted. You’ll find that it makes the act of writing a LOT more fun.

Try this: Jump to the link below and grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict. It’s a great first book, and will show you how to add wings to your words.

But whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334