An 800 word scene from my spiritual fantasy fiction novel.
Blog Overview: My Novel / Creation Story / Art
Story Premise
A rebellious teenager grieving the disappearance of his father leads eleven peers born on the same day to quickly conjure and refine a dragon lineage’s forgotten art of bending nature in order to fight powerful dark spirits who are extracting the vitality of their fragile home, a sentient and sacred Valley.
Hand in hand, Sasha walked Balisan, her seed of divine choice, down the familiar jungle pathway. The shadows marked their timing like clockwork. Late afternoon Sun stroked the moss-laden boulders like a last farewell for now.
Sasha pointed to a shaman thrush in the distance ahead and they paused to sing a melody. Balisan’s young yet trained ear mimicked his tosa, his creator, as they enchanted the bird.
“You’re getting stronger, my seed,” Sasha raised her brows to the degree of awe, Balisan perking up even brighter than his usual jubilation.
The thrush swooped closer, hopping across the wiry branches until perched eye to eye with Bali, his charmer. The black as night bird tilted its head, awaiting Bali’s encore.
Sasha nudged Bali: “Come now, don’t be shy. Give our audience a show.”
Balisan confidently took the lead. He whistled at a hauntingly low octave, his eye rolling back into his head. Frozen by the familiar tune, Sasha transported beyond the energetic shield that protected their nation and into the damp, eerie night of her own sprouting terror, back to when she first heard that alluring snare of Mara’s signature call.
Sasha’s hollowed cheeks matched her spirits. Inappropriately yet necessarily wise beyond her youth, she jammed her ears with the remains of the sludge she tried calling food, dodged the frantic glances of the obediently brainwashed, and snuck to the only trail that would take her to safety.
All around her, the Naiote people left their homes in a trance, compelled by the dissonant harmonics, thoughtfully chaotic. It spread like any disease, becoming alive with recognition. Sasha knew it meant the demise of Naiote’s honorable leaders. And she knew what had to be done.
An orphan now of six Solar turns, Sasha fled in the cover of night, following the instructions of her closest ascendants who were torn from the fabric of her reality just days prior, leaving her to fend for herself. No moon to guide her and a torch too risky, Sasha prayed her instincts would take her to the safe zone though she could hardly make out the landscape.
The enchanting hum bellowed across the land on repeat, summoning its soldiers, the Ignores, those who consigned their power to Mara, giving the dark veil their consent. It felt as warm as her heaving breath, but Sasha begged herself to follow the voice of her true calling…away from her home…away from those who raised her…away to distant lands of uncertainty.
She checked over her shoulder every few seconds to ensure no one was chasing her down only to catch sight of the silhouette of the Zulu tree planted on the day she was born. She knew it baren, decaying from the inside out, poisoned by Mara’s deceitful promises.
“Why did we give them our lands? Our waters?” she remembered waking to an anxious meeting held by her parents, leaders of the rebellion. They were desperate to shake the Ignores awake. Resolute in their knowing that Mara’s contributions were entirely caustic, unnatural, and delusional, they pleaded with the Ignores, who once were friends, family, neighbors, but were met with deaf ears.
Sasha held back her sobs, sensing she was near the hideaway. Suddenly, she slid down a muddy slope and fell into a quiet river mucked a shade of disgust she and her tosa and her tosa’s tosa had never before known possible.
“Yo-yo-yo-you made it!” Saturno whispered before Sasha covered his mouth with her filthy hand. She wrapped herself in Saturno, her preferred companion, trembling.
As Balisan finished whistling the wicked melody, every single winged creature arose from the tree canopy squalling tremendously.
“Tosa?” Balisan tugged at Sasha’s pigskin skirt. Sasha was still hiding in the mucky river. The shaman thrush mirrored Sasha’s fright, its eyes motionless and distant.
“Tosa, what’s wrong?” Balisan whined, jolted by the chaos in motion.
Sasha blinked her eyes wide as she resisted the urge to stuff her ears and his mouth with the thick, moist earth from the path. She repressed the vomit and screams of terror. And she forced herself free of her stiffness, liberating the shaman thrush simultaneously.
“Did you not like my song, tosa? Why did all the birds leave?”
Sasha looked to the speckled sky. She and Saturno and the others who fled Naiote must’ve looked similarly on the night they uprooted their ‘alamas’, their souls, secrets, and stories, and brought them barebacked to Laukala Valley, their place of refuge.
A place that now heard Mara’s harrowing song. A song never taught in these lands, but somehow known. Somehow sung. Somehow caught by her seed.
Sasha took Balisan’s hand in hers and they continued walking down the path. Balisan knew not to press his tosa for an answer he could not understand.
The shadows were angled no differently than before, but everything was entirely out of order.
__
I don't intend to share more of my book until it's complete, but felt inspired to share this piece because it was channeled at Kaua'i Writers Conference in November 2023 in a Master Class taught by Joshua Mohr. The writing prompt was to take us into backstory or a flashback seamlessly so that the reader consumes it as if it's happening in "the now."
FYI: I'm not open to any constructive feedback.
Mahalo for reading!
Love, Jess
To continue following my journey, subscribe to my email list! Each New and Full Moon, I'll send you a newsletter with a link to the newly released blog as well as an intimate look at my recent projects and life experience.
Comments