The Moon Path - A Taster

Cupping the moon in his hands, Dakin offers it to his little brother. “Go on,” he insists. “Try again.”

With all the patience of the bored seven-year-old he is, Laurie throws his head back and groans. “I can’t.”

“You can. Just concentrate. Just imagine—”

“But what’s the point?” He falls back against the headboard of his bed with a sullen scowl. “I don’t see why it matters so much.”

Dakin sighs and shifts. “It matters to me,” he says with practiced patience, “because I know you can do it. I’ve seen you. If you’d only try—”

“It only matters to you because it matters to her.” Across the long stretch of bed, Laurie’s dark eyes narrow in a glare. “And that doesn’t mean it has to matter to me.”

The moon flickers in his hands. Resisting the argument, Dakin drops his gaze to give it the full attention it requires to hold it – smoothing the curves of the image in his mind and brightening the projection in the air between them. He can feel it, as slick and as cool as the ice their mother puts in her drinks. Just as she described. It isn’t that hard. Laurie’s just being stubborn.

“Go on,” he murmurs again, the soft silver glow brightening between his fingers, stark in contrast to the warm orange light flickering in the sunjars on the walls. “Just once more, then you can choose the next game.” His eyes flick up to catch Laurie’s, and wins the game with an earnest, “Please?”

Making it quite clear that he is obeying against his wishes, Laurie scowls and rolls his eyes, dragging himself back to resume the cross-legged position mirroring Dakin’s own. Finally settled, he concedes with a muttered, “Tell me again.”

With a smile curling the corners of his mouth, Dakin shifts his aching legs to recite the old story in their mother’s words.

“As cold as the sun is hot, the moon is as smooth as glass and as slippery as ice,” he says, making it so. “It’s so cold that it can leave your fingers tingling for hours afterwards, almost burning, ‘though it doesn’t really hurt. Made from frozen clouds, the moon only appears after the rain has fallen. It sends down a pale blue light that freezes everything it touches. That’s how the Moon Path is made, where the light touches the sea. And it’ll take us–”

“The Moon Path’s just one of Mother’s fairytales,” Laurie interrupts with his well-honed skepticism. “It isn’t real.”

“It can be,” says Dakin, making the moon swell and grow in his hands. “If you believe in it hard enough.”

“Believing in something isn’t enough to make it real.”

It is an old debate between them, and, patience waning, Dakin ends it with a sigh. “Just try, Laurie.”

Pushing ineffectively at the dark curls falling across his face, Laurie obeys, leaning over the illusion nestled between Dakin’s hands, expression set in the gravest of concentration.

“Smooth as glass,” he mutters. “Slippery as ice…” Biting his lip, he reaches with a tentative finger, doubt bright on his face.

Dakin finds himself doing the same, with an unconscious but ardent prayer that this time Laurie will be successful. Magical ability and the willingness to believe in the impossible does not come as naturally to Laurie as it does to him; it isn’t as important, he doesn’t care enough, and Dakin can understand why, knows perfectly well that he is entirely to blame. Wishes, sometimes, that he could explain to his brother why it is so vital—

Laurie’s fingers go straight through, touching Dakin’s palm.

“I told you!” Laurie snatches his hand back at once with a low, frustrated snarl and glares at Dakin, holding him responsible for the hope that has sharpened the failure. “I told you I couldn’t do it!”

“Ssh.” The moon flickers again, and this time Dakin lets it go. “It’s okay,” he says, reaching to tug Laurie to him, grateful when he doesn’t resist. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“What’s the point?” says Laurie, playing absently with Dakin’s fingers, as though looking for residual traces of the moon. “What’ll make tomorrow different from today? Or yesterday?”

Dakin rests his chin on the crown of his head. “Any number of things.” His heart aches for it, for the possibility of change. It has to be true. “Maybe the entire world will change tomorrow.”

© Esme Symes-Smith

----

Art by the unbelievably amazing Suzanami  who completely surpassed all my expectations in bringing the boys to life.

Thank you to my betas, and Sarah and Amie in particular for really pushing me to short out this chapter, and Steven for telling me it's finally there. Let's hope I can get the rest of it up to scratch too!

Beginnings are Hard

It seems, whichever point I am currently at with my novel, it is definitely The Hardest. Endings are tough because everything has to be tied together and perfect; Middles of tough because it has to hold up both ends and not drop you from boredom, and now I find that beginnings are the hardest of them all. You have to set your scene, introduce the world and you character and explain why you are asking the reader to invest in them AND introduce the conflict and themes, and keep it engaging and try not to info-dump and and and... 

*collapse*

Beginnings are hard.

With this draft, I'm starting at a quieter point, just back enough that I can show their flavour of normality for contrast's sake. I like my ideas, but I'm struggling hideously with the execution. 

Basically it's too slow and there's too much description. It needs to be tighter, but still hold all the information, and not feel stilted and dry. I attempted a rewrite of my first 200 words, but it was truly crappy and my readers -- Sarah and a couple of people on the Critique forums -- basically told me to scrap it. Which I'm more than happy to do. 

The problem is (one of the many) is that there's no run up to get yourself into the flow of it, because it *is* the beginning. All the feedback I've had -- good and bad -- says that the first page feel disjointed from the rest tonally and, for the first time, I am absolutely at a loss to know how to fix it. 

Basically it just needs to sit, and I need to stop over thinking it (haha! Fat chance!) 

Repeat after me: EVERYTHING IS FIXABLE!! My Notebook says so, so it must be true!

*headdesk* 

Anyhoo... I promised an excerpt so this seems as good a time as any :P Here is the beginning of Moon Path: Draft Four.

~ * ~

Trouble begins as trouble always does -- with a niggle he cannot explain and the illusion of a choice.

Sitting cross-legged in the high-backed armchair beneath the low sloping ceiling of his bedroom, Dakin pauses, momentarily forgetting the book spread across his lap; dark-blue eyes stilling on the page as he tries to put a name to the niggle twisting at his stomach, neither explainable nor ignorable. He tries telling himself that it is just his imagination playing tricks on him again. Don't go looking for trouble where there is none to be found. There is enough trouble already without making more.

Dakin shifts and forces his eyes mechanically back across the words. But they mean nothing now, just shapes on a page. The niggle -- the worry -- has caught him, and he knows he will not be released until it is satisfied.

Now comes the choice -- To swallow down his instincts and stay and enjoy the rare moment of solitary peace, or to follow them to whatever end they may inevitably lead.

Tucking a wayward strand of long grey hair back behind his ear, Dakin swallows and folds the book reluctantly shut. There is no choice. Not really. Only the taunting illusion of one.

Bare feet carry him silently across the room, low-lit and sparsely furnished. Everything he loves, everything that is precious to him, he keeps downstairs in his brother's room. He prefers it there, amongst the clutter and disarray. His room is for quiet, and for secrets. It sees him at his worst, as the person he doesn't want to be, and Dakin wants to keep that person locked away in this room -- confined, protected, and kept away from the things and the people he loves best. They have to be kept separate otherwise they will be spoiled. He has to keep himself separate. The only person to see him as he is here, to see him as he really is, is his father. He knows all of Dakin's secrets.

Perhaps, if he can catch the trouble before it begins, it will be okay. Perhaps the niggle really is his own over-active imagination, nothing more than a baseless worry. Perhaps.

A wry smile quirks in the corner of his mouth. At twelve years old, he should know how it goes, should stop trying to fool himself, and should know -- by now -- that his instincts concerning his little brother are never wrong. 

~*~

So there you go. The beginning. I like the flavour of it, but it needs straightening out (especially as it goes on!) And once it gets about a page in, I'm on a roll and it feels but better, it's just a matter of getting there that's the problem. I wondered about starting a little later, but Sarah agreed that it's a good setup, just needs reorganizing. 

Soooo much reorganising!!

“Tomorrow may be hell, but today was a good writing day, and on the good writing days nothing else matters.” -- Neil Gaiman

Today was a good writing day, and I will share an excerpt with you -- 

Squeezing his legs as tight as he could to Loam's sides and clasping his hands around Kai's middle, Dakin squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing to keep the instinctive panic at bay as he felt the dragon's muscles shift and move beneath them as they lurched towards the mouth of the cave. It was bumpier than he had expected it to be; the dragon was awkward in its gait, and with every heavy step Dakin felt as though he was about to be flung off. And this was only when they were on the ground, and walking! Heaven knows what it would be like when they were actually up in the air... Seriously regretting letting himself get talked into this, Dakin pressed his forehead to Kai back and concentrated on not throwing up as the cool sea hair ruffled his hair.

With room to stretched, Loam spread its wings -- wide and leathery and quivering -- out then up, then out again, stretching out the kinks as one does with their arms after sleeping. The satisfied shudder coursed through its body, starting at the very tips of its wings and down and across its back, shaking the riders along with it. 

Kai chuckled when he felt Dakin's grip tighten in response. "Relax," he murmured. "You'll make Loam nervous. And a nervous dragon is not a safe dragon." 

"You're not helping," came the muffled response, hot through his jacket. "Just tell me when it's over so I can look." 

"I bet you anything you like that within ten minutes you'll've opened your eyes and won't be able to shut them again 'till we land." 

Dakin gave an indistinct mumble of *doubt in response. 

Knowing that he was absolutely right, Kai leaned forward and patted Loam's neck. "Come on then, dragon. Let's show him what it's all about." 

A squeak emitted from Dakin's lips as he felt them dip down like a coiled spring. It was happening and there was not a thing he could do about it and oh god-- 

There was a sharp rush of air and the squeak turned into a shriek as they suddenly hurtled upwards; the heavy beat of wings pulsing deafeningly in his ears, louder than the raor of the wind and the rush of his own blood. Up and down, they sank and rose like a ship on the most turbulent sea, higher and higher until the air was thin and crisp and cool, and only the steady throb of adrenaline kept his skin hot. 

Kai gritted his teeth against the sharp pain of Dakin's fingers digging into his middle and patted the dragon's neck a second time. 

At once, the wings stopped beating and the jerky movements smoothed out into a sleek glide, broken every now and then by a single smooth stroke just to keep them up. 

As they soared high and fast above the sea -- their silhouette a tiny shape skimming across the water below them -- little by little Dakin's grip began to relax and the high-strung tension in his body start to ease. 

Tucking his ruffling hair behind his ear, Kai glanced briefly backwards to see Dakin peeking out with wide blue eyes. "I told you so." 

Now that he didn't feel like he was going to be thrown off at any moment, Dakin swallowed down the last remnants of terror and eased himself carefully away from Kai, raising his head to take it all in. 

"Wow." 

Kai's laugh reverberated through them both. "Breathe it in," he said. "You'll find no sweeter taste in this life." 

Dakin obeyed, taking in a lung-full through the mouth. Kai was right. He'd never felt anything like it before. "What is it?" 

"Freedom," Kai told him, stooping low over Loam’s neck as they made a wide, sweeping turn to the left. "The freedom of dragons."

Excuse the cheesiness of the ending, I couldn't resist! I expect it'll get tweaked/aggressively deleted in the rewrite, but it's first draft so I can do what I like :)

I'm hoping to finish up this draft within the next few weeks (did I already tell you that?) The end is nigh, and I can already see the sequel series in the distance. Maybe. If the loss is too much to bare. I hate endings. Endings are worse than beginnings a thousand times over.

Here's what I'm listening to today --

Coming Home pt.II  - A very pretty song that popped up Pandora last week

Aaand, because I don't know why I haven't recc'd this yet, The Call by Regina Spektor for the Prince Caspian Soundtrack. I am passionate about this song at the moment. A good song for endings :)