Title in the works

Fantasy story about a young man with strange abilities going to jail.

Small clouds of dust trailed Zeik's feet as he strolled down the dry road. There was a Forrest on one side and a wide open field on the other. This was the type of path he liked to travel best. They made Zeik feel free and unrestricted while still providing good places to hide in the forest if the need arises. He had been walking for a few hours, and was now only half a day away from Riverside, a large town verging on being a city. A few hours ago Jobi padded off in the woods. Zeik assumed the dog was hunting and wasn't worried, Jobi alway found a was back to his master. After a few more uneventful hours Zeik heard a rustling in the brush next to the road. Crouching down in a ready stance, he looked at the bushes that the sound came from. As the leaves twitches from whatever was hiding in the large bush, Zeik relaxes his muscles and made ready for a fight. Suddenly a black form pounced from the hiding spot and almost tackled him. Fast as he could, Zeik rolled to one side and reached out with his right hand. He caught the midnight hour black blur around the middle and the impact almost floored him. He managed to use the momentum to half roll half fly over his attacker and land on his feet, only slightly unbalanced. That was enough of an opportunity for his foe though. Quick as lightning the black form twisted around and slammed Zeik on the chest. Jarred and finding it hard to breathe, Zeik realized he was on his back now, he closed his eyes in acceptance of what he knew would happen next. Zeik sighed as a heavy pressure stepped on his chest, regretting that he wasn't more ready for this eventuality. The final attack came quickly and so suddenly Zeik didn't even have time to flinch. Wet warmth lapped over his face and neck, a loud sniffing filled his ears. A burst of laughter escaped Zeik's lips.
"Alright, alright, you won!" Exclaimed Zeik as he tried to push the impossibly heavy dog off of his chest. " There is no need to gloat about it now, it isn't very comely even for a wolf of a dog like you."
Jobi swished his tail in response, then turned around and strolled down the bath again.
The sun was setting before the big town was in sight.
"Looks like it's time to make camp bud" sighed Zeik as he dropped his pack to the ground with a thump. "Go find us some rabbit would you?"
After Jobi ran off hunting again, Zeik made a fire. By the time Jobi came back with bloody jowls and two rabbits in the teeth, Zeik had a bed of hot coals to cook on and a pile of extra fire wood for when it got too cold. With a practiced ease Zeik butchered and cleaned his rabbit, tossing the scraps to Jobi who had already finished the second rabbit.
A savory smell rose from the rabbit as it sizzled and cracked over the coals. As Zeik finished his meal, and Jobi finished the bones from it as well, Zeik tossed logs on the fire and had it blazing within minutes.
It was cold now, Suddenly cold. Zeik yelped as Jobi growled warningly. Zeik looked at the dog, but the dog was looking behind him. Slowly Zeik turned, snatching his knife from the ground, where it was left from skinning his dinner. What he saw was nothing, empty night air and an empty open field. No animals or people were there at all ,save Zeik and Jobi .
"Crazy mutt" mutter Zeik as he turned back to the fire.
Zeik froze in the middle of turning. The was movement on the ground. In the corner of his vision he could not tell what it was, just that it was on the ground and it was black in the firelight that surrounded his camp. Readying his tense muscles he turned to face whatever was there. To his dismay he saw a pitch black shadow is on the ground, slightly wavering in the flickering light of the fire. There was a very distinct shadow of a man. Zeik twisted around frantically looking for the body that it must belong to. Again, there was no one there. Heart racing, panic and fear quickly rising, Zeik turned back to study the shadow again. Jobi brushed his leg as the dog walked to stand beside his master. For what felt like hours, nothing happened. Zeik stood still as stone trying to push down his fear and figure out what was happening.
Seemingly instantly the shadow moved, making Zeik jump almost out of his skin and Jobi bear his teeth in a snarl. The midnight black shadow raised its arm and it... Waved?
No that couldn't be right thought Zeik . Why would a ownerless shadow be waving at him? Then the shadows head bobbed, almost like it was laughing at the confusion that must be on Zeik’s face.
Anger from lack of understanding flooded Zeik's mind. He readied the knife in his hand to throw it, for what good that will do.
Before he had time to do anything other than yell, the shadow moved again, this time so fast it lost shape and blurred into a blob. It rushed along the ground and over the fire to Jobi's feet, pulling the dog a good ten feet away and tossing him effortlessly another twenty feet all before the dog could even Yelp from surprise. As quickly as the attack on Jobi started, the attack on Zeik started too. The shadow rushed him and plowed him into the ground , smashing Zeik's head so hard he couldn't think.
A warm tongue wet Zeik's face until he came to full awareness. Zeik shot up, looking around for the mysterious shadow but it had left. How long Zeik had been unconscious he didn't know. The fire was still burning so it couldn't have been more that a few moments.
Panic and fear took over Zeik's mind, and Jobi's as well from how he was acting. Unable to form words, Zeik ran for his pack and whistled for Jobi to follow. The dog listened without hesitation. Together they fled the camp sight and ran down the road for as long as the could stand to, then a little more.
By sunrise Zeik had slowed to a walk. There had been no signs of pursuit or danger since they had left early the night before. By midday riverside was in sight and there had still been no signs of any danger following them. They rest of the day passed that way, uneventful and boring, except what was going through Zeik's brain. Jobi stayed by Zeik that whole day, either out of fear for his how safety, or duty to protect his master, Zeik didn't know.
Night was quickly on it wayward Zeik finally made it into the town. Zeik found the closest tavern and went inside. He found an empty table and sat with his back in the corner. It was a fairly empty tavern, however it was also still early in the evening so he knew that it would fill out soon.
"What can i get ya?" Asked the bar keep in a tone that made Zeik feel unwelcome.
"Do you have any free rooms?" Asked Zeik not very hopeful.
"No rooms."
"Just a mug of ale then please" grumbled Zeik .
Zeik started when the server slammed down a mug in front of him. He had been in a far off place in his mind. Going over the events of the past couple hours, and trying to make sense of it all. Him and his wolf like dog, Jobi , had narrowly escaped from.... Something. Zeik didn't even know what to call it. One moment they had been walking down a road right outside of town, the next he felt like his feet had been pulled out from under him by a horse. Shaken up, as soon as Zeik got into town he went into the first tavern he saw, leaving Jobi outside act as a look out.
The server impatiently held his hand out. "That's gonna be two copper" he stated flatly.
"Huh" replied Zeik , still dazed from the sudden interruption from his thoughts.
The server sucked his teeth, "two copper, either pay or I'll have you thrown out stranger"
Zeik reached into his pocket and handed the man four silver pieces. "The extra is to make sure I get left alone the rest of my time here."
The servers mood instantly changed into one of delight. "Of course m'lord" he said respectfully.
Once Zeik was alone again, and after he took a foamy gulp of the slightly off ale that was placed in front of him, he began to expand his mind out and reach for Jobi . Looking through his eyes Zeik was relieved to learn the coast was still clear.
He never knew where this ability came from, but ever since Zeik could remember he could contact and control Jobi in this way. What was more confusing is that Jobi seemed to be unbelievably old. Zeik had alway had Jobi by his side, and his first memory of the dog was when Jobi was already fully grown. That was about twenty years ago at this point and the dog hadn’t aged a day.
Some hours passed by uneventfully. Still no closer to an explanation of what happened, Zeik angrily pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He needed to go for a walk, and clear his head of the musty smoky scent of the tavern. The cool pre dawn air brushed against his face as he stepped outside. A soft whistle let Jobi know it was time to go. The dog padded over to Zeik and fell in line to no where specific.
Zeik and Jobi walked until the sun came up, and well into the brisk morning. They found themselves in the middle of the town market with venders setting up their stalls on the hard packed ground. After spending some time looking over the goods, Zeik bought a hunk of dried meat taking a few bites before tossing the rest to Jobi .
They meandered for a while longer doing nothing but keeping Zeik a mind busy and distracted from the events of the day before.
The commotion came all at once, and out of no where. Three town guards stepped in front of Zeik's path.
"Can I help you?" Asked Zeik as he glanced behind himself to see five more guards approaching.
In a thick, deep voice a guard in front of him said " you need to come with us." The tone of his voice causing Jobi to bear his teeth.
Confusion crossed Zeik's face. "I don't understand, what is going on here."
The guards that were coming from behind were now in arms reach. One of them grabbed Zeik's arm while another one snatched Zeik's knife off of his belt.
"That wasn't a question" smiled the guard that spoke first. He was clearly the one in charge realized Zeik .
A vicious growl escaped Jobi 's mouth. The dog took a snap at one of the guards, but that only got him kicked. Fury rose in Zeik and he violently struggled against the guards holding him back. They were too strong and there were now two of them restraining him. Panic replace fury as Zeik heard barks of anger and wines of pain coming from Jobi . Quickly he reached out him mind to take control of the dog, trying to make him run to safety.
"Oh no you don't," snarled the guard in charge," I know what you can do."
With a cool demeanor the guard punched Zeik in the face, snapping his head sideways.
The final thought Zeik had before loosing consciousness was wondering how in the world did the guard know what he was doing. Then all went black.


Zeik came too with a throbbing headache. Too pained to open his eyes yet, he took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. When the pain subsided somewhat he opened his eyes to a cool stone room. He was lying on a moldy old cot against the wall, with a matching one on the other side. There was a small bared window eight feet from the floor in the center of the back wall. Opposite of that was a thick wooden door with no handle. Running his hand over his face, Zeik swung his feet off the cot to the hard packed dirt floor. After a few seconds, once his head stopped swimming, he stood up and inspected the room. It was unremarkable. A closer inspection of the door revealed small flap like devise at the bottom of the door.
Fear and anger slowly built up in Zeik and a realization came to him. He was in-prisoned, and had no idea why.
He spent some time pacing the room, banging on the door, trying to reach the window, all to no end.
"Jobi !" The name spilled out of Zeik's mouth, surprising him. He hadn't meant to say it aloud but the panic he felt at the memory of the last time he saw his companion overwhelmed him.
Determined, Zeik sat down on his cot, legs crossed, and cleared his mind. He expanded his mind again, searching for any hint of Jobi . He was startled back into his own mind when voices echoed through the door of his cell. It was dark already. How long he had spent searching for Jobi he had no idea. The tiny flap on the bottom of the door was pushed open and something was shoved through it.
Zeik stood and walked over to pick up the item, it was a hard small piece of bread. No more that one bite for Zeik . Sulking he popped it into his mouth and bit. Almost immediately he spat the bread out of his mouth, it had turned and was covered in mold he couldn't see it the dim light, but he did taste it.
Days passed on this same way, Zeik stopped counting after the Fifth day. Every morning a small cup of water at pushed though the door, just enough to keep Zeik wanting more. The nights brought food, half of which was spoiled too much to eat.
After what must have been two weeks, although the it felt significantly longer to Zeik , some one opened the door to his cell.
"Here is your new home," someone laughed mockingly as they shoved a figure through the open door.
The small figure fell into the room and let out a soft grunt as it hit the rough ground. They door slammed shut again, and Zeik heard the tick of the lock being slid into place. A few seconds passed before Zeik's new companion stirred. He could see that they were struggling to get off the floor, and softly walked over to offer his assistance.
"Thank you," said a soft, old voice. A female voice Zeik realized, slightly shocked.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?" Zeik asked.
The old woman shuffled over to the second cot and sat down. "I'm fine"
Nodding, Zeik returned to his cot and sat down as well. The silence stretched on so long that Zeik's mind began to wonder.
"My name is Cora ." Said the woman, in a clear voice. It was stronger than her build suggested. "And this," Cora waved her arms about, gesturing around the room," is my new home, if you haven't already heard." There was a warm smile on her face, giving Zeik the feeling that she didn't much mind being locked in a cell.
" I'm Zeik , and from the look of things we are now sharing this new home of yours."
"Ah ha," Cora spat, " that is where you are wrong. This is my home now. Your just my guest. Something tells me you won't be here too long at all." A knowing smile spread across her face, again giving Zeik a strange feeling. He studied the woman, trying not to be too rude about his obvious staring. She looked to be in her mid sixties, with gray chestnut hair a little longer than shoulder length. She had deep set wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, and her eyes were a vibrant green that made Zeik feel like she knew things she shouldn't. Her skin was bronzed from years, maybe even decades of being outside.
Cora winked at him, " you don't know why your in here do you? Of course you don't I can tell by the look of you. Well I do know why your here, albeit I only have the general idea and not the specifics. Unfortunately for you I am much to tired to have that conversation now, so you'll have to wait. Good night." Then she plopped down on the cot and rolled to face the wall.
The abrupt ending and finality of her words left Zeik speechless. What did this strange woman mean? Zeik didn't know if she was toying with him or simply insane. He chose the latter, dismissing her words as the ramblings of some homeless beggar who spent too long in the sun. Uneasily he laid on his cot and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would be able to find him. It did.
"Up up up," Cora demanded as she flicked a sleeping Zeik's forehead. " we have things that need doing."
Zeik had no choice but to open his eyes. "What do you think your doing you old bat?" Demanded Zeik . It was still dark outside he saw through the barred window. " it's not even morning, I demand to know the meaning of this. What are you doing?"
"Well that's no way to treat your generous host. I'll forgive your rudeness this time but only because as I said, there are things that need doing."
Rolling his eyes, Zeik hesitantly decided he would try to play along. " and what would these things be exactly?" He asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
" well I just thought you might want to know why your in a cell, and I think I can tell you a little bit about it." She said nonchalantly as she sat cross legged in the middle of the room facing the door.
Zeik waited for more but Cora seemed content to leave it at that. When his irritation and curiousness got the better of him Zeik let out a long sigh. "Well, please enlighten me if you can really tell me what's going on."
"Of course I can tell you." She said quickly.
A few more seconds passed in silence, then it turned into minutes. Again Zeik's annoyance got the better of him. "Well are you going to start talking now or can I go back to sleep?" He barked.
"Ah ha!" Cora laughed, " I was only waiting to see if you had any interest in knowing. You really should learn to communicate better and ask the questions you really want answers too."


To be continued.

Author's Note

Feel free to point out anything that sticks out. Please try and keep it contructive.

Reviews

[JayG]

Okay, bear in mind that you did ask... And, keep in mind that nothing I say here has to do with you, your talent, or the story. It centers on a mistake we all make. We leave school thinking we learned how to write. We do, in a way, but not in a way that a publisher would approve because what our school days give us is a set of general skills that will make us productive and self-sufficient adults. And in the case of writing, what do our future employers need us to write? Reports, essays, papers, and letters. And every one of those is a nonfiction application whose goal is to inform the reader by having the narrator explain things. So, we learn a style of writing that's author-centric and fact-based. And how entertaining is the average report?

But why do we read fiction? Isn't it to be entertained? Don't we hope the author will tickle our emotions on every page? Are we seeking to learn that the protagonist has fallen in love, or do we want the author to make us fall in love with the same person? No way in hell can nonfiction skills handle that. Fiction requires an approach that's emotion-based and character-centric. We don't want to know the character, we want to be made to BE the protagonist.

Why does feeling as if we're that person matter? Try this article, to see how different the same situation can be from the viewpoint of different people:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

The problem is, when you read this story you begin reading knowing the situation, the characters, and, what went before to create that situation. So without realizing that you're doing it you're filling in the details you didn't include because they're obvious to you, but which the reader needs to make the story meaningful. Look at a few lines from the reader's viewpoint. They know only what the words suggest to them, based on their background,

• Small clouds of dust trailed Zeik's feet as he strolled down the dry road.

Seems a simple enough opening. But... First, it's a visual in a medium that does not reproduce pictures. When you read this line the words point to an image you hold in your mind. And that's not not a static image. It's the opening scene of a film, so while the reader gets a name, Zeik, you get: the way he's dressed, his age and nationality, his mood, and even the era and country this takes place in. You see his expression and his body language, the surroundings, the scents and the air against his skin. Can that be meaningfully conveyed in thirteen words? No. So for the reader, the words point to an image you hold in YOUR mind. See the problem? It would take many pages to make the reader know the ambiance as you do, and who wants to read that? And added to that, most of what you would be describing are things he either takes for granted or is ignoring.

But more than that, this isn't what matters to him, it's what matters to you, someone not on the scene or in the story. So you're telling the reader a story. That can work in person, where your persona is part of the WAY you tell the story. In other words, your performance. But presented on the page the only emotion in the voice the reader "hears" as the narrator's is what the punctuation suggests. Your performance can't make it to the page. Have the computer read it aloud to hear how different what the reader gets is from what you hear as you read.

We can convey that sort of thing. The trick is to limit it to what he's paying attention to. And if we need the reader to know something, we give him a reason to pay attention to whatever it is. So since he's ignoring the dust he kicks up, the reader can't see it, and since it it matters not at all to the story, what does it do but slow the narrative with something irrelevant?

• This was the type of path he liked to travel best.

For you, the picture is there. But the reader doesn't know if you mean it's a dirt road or a dusty paved one. And since you identify only as a "dry" road, the alternative is a wet one. And who wants to walk that? Not what you meant, but it is what you said, because you're thinking visually in a medium that doesn't have visuals.

See how different your intent is from what the reader gets? You need to keep in mind that your intent is irrelevant, because the reader gets only the words. Again, the fact that you know and can visualize picture the setting is leading you astray.

But forget that point, because we have a more important issue. As a reader who knows nothing about where we are, who we are, or what's going on, why do I care what he likes and dislikes? He's someone I know nothing about. I'm expecting the director to shout, "Action" just before I read the first line, so something will happen, not a dissertation on the likes and dislikes of someone I don't yet know. Let him trip, whistle, fight off a Grue, or do SOMETHING, because story happens, it's not talked about.

Think about it; He's our avatar. He's headed somewhere for a purpose. But what matters in the moment is his short term goal, beyond walking and finding nothing of interest. That appears to be to find a good place to rest, based on what happens when he meets the dog and stops. Shouldn't we know the time by having him check the sun's position, which would be his clock? As a personal observation, what's accomplished by starting him walking and then abandoning him for hours to do nothing but walk? Start where the story takes meaning, just before he meets the dog. Assume you do: Shouldn't his response to noting where the sun is be the thought that it's nearly time to stop for the night? Perhaps he might look around to see if there appears to be a low spot where he might find water, or a wooded spot where there are enough branches to make a ground bed. That way the reader, knowing what he WANTS will react to what he sees as he would. In other words, calibrate the reader's reactions to those of the protagonist.

You place him on a road. Shouldn't he note things that tell us what kind? Are there farms around? If so he might think in terms of finding shelter at one. Is it wooded? If so, he might think of the possible preditors, and perhaps sleeping in a tree. Each decision he makes of that kind, made for necessary reasons, tell the reader about his world.

In short: If what happened before the story matters that much start it there. But opening a story to tell about what happened before it opened seems a bit silly when we could show it. So begin with story, not history. And make that story a self-guiding trail that provides context as it's read. Give the reader a stake in the action, a reason to CARE. Without that why turn the page?

• After a few more uneventful hours Zeik heard a rustling in the brush next to the road.

Here you cheat. He knows what it is,or at least suspects, but you pretend he doesn't have a clue. So that means he's the person you talk about, not our avitar. And given that you just demonstrated that the narrator lies, why, as a reader, would I want to read on? Why would I care about him? What you have happen doesn't move the plot or develop character, it's a contrived situation that serves only as a self-consciously "cute" way to introduce his companion.

But look at how the reader takes it. If it's an animal that might attack he needs to do more than to wrestle with it. A bear, a big cat, or a wolf will take him out in seconds. And he would know that, and be carrying and reaching for a defensive weapon. He'd be calling out if he thinks it might be a human, getting ready to defend himself, or running if he thinks it's human.

So his actions don't track, and the "attack" doesn't read as real. It does for you because you're in on the joke, and have an intent for how it's to be taken. That's why you need to edit from the seat of a reader, not as the author. And as part of that, you need to ask yourself if every paragraph either sets the scene, develops character, or moves the plot, because any that don't serve only to slow the narrative and need to be cut.

The short version: There's a lot to writing fiction that's not obvious till it's pointed out—but is necessary. And that's what you're missing. It's not all that hard to learn, though perfecting it is a b***h. But that's true of every field. In fact, though no one tells us, we leave our school days exactly as well qualified to write fiction as to command a submarine. The difference is that we know we can't command a navy vessel. We also know we're not ready to be a journalist or write screenplays, but somehow, we miss the connection between that and our inability to write fiction on a professional level. So it almost always comes as a surprise. I wrote six unsold novels before I learned. But the good news is that after learning, and applying myself to changing the situation, I sold the next one. So I'm only speaking for myself, but still...

So pick up a few tricks the pros take for granted and you'll trade in that cart horse we're issued in our school days and replace it with Pegasus. And mounted on a flying beast, who knows how far you'll go?

The local library's fiction-writing section is a huge resource, as are the articles on writing to be found on line—some of them my own articles on writing issues.

A book I usually recommend, Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer, can be a great help. So have at it. The learning can be fun, like going backstage. Whatever you do, though, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/