Hello, all:
I hope you’ll forgive me if I indulge in yet one more bit of reminiscence; today we’re going back all the way to the late 1990s, 1997 or thereabouts. I don’t have a precise date; the computer file, and indeed the computer, is long gone, and I couldn’t get into the file anyway as I password-protected it in my youthful innocence and forgot what the password was.
Anyway.
I’ve heard, on Substack and otherwise, that you know if you’re a writer if you can’t stop writing. That’s me. Even before I was writing, I remember making up stories and telling them to, well, myself. I played Risk with myself and narrated the battles. When I did get a computer and started actually writing, I was of course eager to dive in. I still remember that moment when, after a long period of toiling through the final dramatic battle (because of course it was a battle), I typed “the end” on the document. The story was concluded. I was very happy. I believed it then to be America’s Greatest Novel Since Ever. (I had read Moby Dick by this point, I think, but I didn’t get it. I think you need to listed to an audiobook version to really get it. But anyway).
The story never saw the light of day after that, for various and sundry reasons, one being the above-mentioned password issue. Another was that the only printed draft got put aside and forgotten about. In due time I went to college and got into Facebook, and then found NaNoWriMo and got used to writing stories with 50K wordcount goals and wacky self-conscious angels, and long story short here we are.
Except now the draft has been rediscovered. So prepare yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, for a Very Special Limited-Edition Series of The Weekly Muse, in which we present the one and only, almost forgotten and probably should’ve been, first and only surviving copy of…..drum roll…. QUEST FOR THE LOST ISLAND!
That’s right: a prologue, an epilogue, and twenty-one chapters of semi-epic baby-writer… well, we won’t call it brilliance, so let’s just say it’s something. And I figure why not share it with you?
That’s right, folks, instead of a writing update, I will be copying out each chapter and posting it to the Weekly Muse, with commentary)! Stay tuned, folks; we’re getting fun on the ‘Stack, not to mention wildly self-referential. In fact, this week we begin with…. the Prologue!
Lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating a single rider, galloping hard across the lonely road below. The dark rider raced across a low bridge and up a winding path towards the menacing castle looming high on a rocky crag. The rider slowed as he approached an iron gateway. He pulled a small horn from his belt and blew. The noise echoed off the high gates, nearly drowned out by a blast of thunder. There was a pause, and an eerie silence fell, as if the storm itself was waiting for a response. Finally, the rusty iron gates slowly creaked open. The rider spurred his horse forward.
Inside the dismal courtyard, the rider swiftly dismounted. A servant took the reins and led the jet-black stallion towards the castle stables, while another opened the heavy wooden doors leading into the castle's interior. The rider walked inside.
As he entered, the rider passed through a low anteroom and into a large hallway. The rider was struck by the gloominess of the immense hall. The only light came from a row of torches high up, flickering dully in their elaborate holders. Dark curtains hung from the ceiling and draped across the high windows on either side of the hall. Between the windows hung several grand portraits of fierce dark warriors, frowning down from their places. An air of gloominess and dreariness pervaded the entire hallway. The rider was a fierce warrior who knew no fear, yet a faint shiver went down his spine as he viewed the dismal hall. He quickly collected himself, and strode quickly through the hall to the two huge doors at the far end.
Two scowling guards stood in front of the doors. One guard stepped smartly forward, leveling his spear. "State your name and business, stranger," he ordered. The rider moved like lighting, backward, sideways, and forward. The guard stood with his spear pointed at nothing, a long gleaming saber at his throat.
"I am Rakkla, Captain of the Tara Raiders," the rider growled in a low menacing voice. "I report directly to Lord Taradash himself. If you wish to remain alive, you will stand aside and let me pass. "
The guard gulped nervously. "Uh, y-yes s-sir," he stammered, The guards quickly stepped aside and pulled the great doors apart. Rakkla strode quickly through the dark doorway.
The throne room of Castle Taradash was an impressive place. Several torches dimly lit the room, but the ceiling was so high that it was practically lost in darkness. Magnificent tapestries, depicting ancient wars and far-off battles, decorated the walls. A large suit of armor stood in one corner. A few of Lord Taradash's officers and friends had gathered around the most impressive part of the room: the throne.
The throne was immense. It stood on a raised dais, with seven steps leading down to the floor. At first glance, it appeared to be made of marble, but a closer look revealed that it was really made of a marvelous white gold. Silk cushions and royal purple robes covered the throne. The throne of Castle Taradash was indeed marvelous, but the man on the throne drew Rakkla's attention.
Lord Edmund James Taradash was barely into his twenties but already he was an intimidating figure. He towered over ordinary men, his strong build seeming to emanate an air of power and might. His hair and thin beard matched the rest of his castle, dark as a moonless night. His eyes were probably his most terrifying feature. They were jet-black and piercing, seeming to drill into anyone who held their gaze. That terrifying gaze was now directed at his Captain, Rakkla. He spoke, his iron voice ringing out into the massive throne room. "So. You have returned. Have you completed your task successfully?"
Rakkla flung back his hood, revealing the form of a large silver and gray-furred fox. He was dressed in a dark tunic and armor that bore the device of his master, a silver T. Two gleaming sabers nestled in twin sheaths were strapped across his back. He spoke in a harsh tone. "Sire, I have carried out your commands to the letter."
Lord Taradash leaped up from the throne. "Is Lawrence dead?" he eagerly demanded.
Rakkla smiled coldly. "Yes, sire, the king is dead."
"And his son, did you kill him also?" Taradash questioned.
Rakkla suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Sire, uh...he...well..."
Taradash stepped forward. His voice was low and menacing. "Where is he, Rakkla?"
Rakkla, hardened warrior that he was, felt a shiver of fear as Taradash's eyes bored into him. "Sire, he...uh...the child escaped."
A cold silence fell over the room. Taradash said nothing. Then he slowly drew his sword.
Any remaining vestige of courage the fox had vanished like smoke on the wind. "Sire, I can explain, please, don't kill me!"
"Then, start explaining." Taradash growled.
Rakkla quickly began talking. "I stationed the Tara Raiders on the side of the road, just as you ordered. When the king's carriage came around the bend, I commanded the Raiders to attack. We slew the king and his guards, but a few of the knights traveling with the king survived the initial assault and counterattacked. They were quickly overcome, but one of the knights grabbed the child and managed to break through our force. He rode away as hard as he could. We gave chase instantly, but he abandoned his horse and pushed into a thick forest. We left our horses and tried to follow him, but we were unable to pick up the trail. Sire, it was not our fault. We did all we could."
Taradash glared at the fox. "I did not ask you to do all you could, I asked you to kill the king and his son! You failed me, Rakkla!"
"He was just a child, Sire!" the fox blurted.
Taradash slammed his fist down on the throne. "Just a child? Rakkla, children grow up! If the child escapes, he will grow up and come back to take vengeance upon me! RakIda, you have failed!"
Rakkla knew what the punishment for failure was in Castle Taradash. "Sire, I will find him! I swear it!"
Taradash sheathed his sword. "Take all the Tara Raiders. Search everywhere. If you have to search all of Sirilan, so be it. Just find the child!
2023 me’s thoughts: yes, it’s all a bit dramatic, Taradash isn’t your most complicated of bad guys, no question about that. I got the name from a minor character in a season 6 Law and Order episode. (That guy’s name was Nick Taradash, I changed the first name because Edmund seemed more villainous). Keep in mind throughout that I was heavily influenced by/liberally borrowing from Redwall and Narnia at this point, which explains why a fox is riding a horse. The horse doesn’t talk. I don’t know why.
Next week: Chapter One, in which we meet our protagonists and learn about math!
Until then,
Michael