Lena Corazon

Author: Lena Corazon (page 23 of 24)

ROW80 Check-in, and Thinky Thoughts about POV

Time for my mid-week ROW80 check-in! Surprisingly, I managed to exceed my expectations over the past few days in terms of word count. To review:

Sunday, 300 words in the form of an old legend, to be told at the funeral rites in Scene 2.
Monday, another 300 words, this time wrapping up the funeral, which had been hanging for a few days.
Tuesday, roughly 1000 words, trying to forge my way through a coronation scene that is proving to be a bit difficult (possibly because I have a very, very vague idea of what should happen. Once I refine my expectations, the writing should flow a bit more easily).

Not sure how much time I’ll have to write today, as I need to double-down on my grading and prepare for a meeting with my thesis advisor. I’m also giving a guest lecture in the undergraduate course that I’m TA’ing tomorrow… and that has been giving me nightmares for the past few days. :/ At any rate, I seem to be on track to meet my goal of 2100 words by Sunday, so I can feel proud about that.

I’ve been giving some thought over the past couple of days to the pros and cons of including multiple perspectives in my story. At the moment, Path to the Peacock Throne is told in 3rd-person Limited POV. We see the world and learn everything from Liandre’s point of view, which means that, as readers, we have the same blinders that she does. Lately, though, I’ve been wondering what it would be like if I switched perspectives in different scenes, or different chapters, rather similar to the way that George R.R. Martin or Joe Abercrombie do in many of their books. Part of me imagines that seeing the world out of her brother’s eyes, or even from the perspective of the story’s villain, would give me a different “slant” on what has happened… but I’m not sure if that slant would be a good one.

Have any of you dealt with the debate over multiple perspectives? What were the criteria that made you choose one way or the other?

Thanks, all, and have a lovely rest of the week. Hump-day is here, and the weekend is beckoning!

ROW 80 Check-in: And So It Begins

May 15, 2011 / Lena Corazon / 7 Comments

A Round of Words in 80 Days, the 80 day writing challenge, is half-way through Round 2, and I’ve decided to leap on in. I stumbled upon the writing challenge through some circuitous blog reading last week, and given that I am trying to finally be serious about my writing, I felt the time was right to give it a try.

So here I am, pledging that I will write an average of 300 words/day. That adds up to 2100 words/week, which is on the low end of the spectrum, but given everything that will be happening over the next few weeks (grading, thesisizing, 2 guest lectures, final exams, etc.), it’s definitely a practical decision.

Honestly, I’ve been doing surprisingly well in terms of word count. I started tracking my progress last week, and this is what I have to show:

Daily word counts

Wordcount graph
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It’s not too shabby, if I say so myself. I started tracking on Friday, May 6th with my first 1000 word scene. By the following Friday, May 13th, I hit 7000 words. I’m not quite sure where all of this energy and excitement is coming from, and frankly, I’m not about to ask. This is the most I’ve written since I entered my writing slump almost two years ago, and I am incredibly grateful that the art of writing, of imagining, and of creating has returned (knock on wood).

There is, however, much work to be done before I can emerge from the other end of chapter one, including:

Brainstorming the culture and history of Peridion, particularly surrounding the role of magic within the world. The disappearance of magic a few centuries prior to the tale’s beginning (captured here in a mini “codex” excerpt) is pivotal to the actions of my current villain, the royal mage Leopold, and also helps to explain the mysterious circumstances around Liandre’s origins and heritage. I’ve got a vague sense of what’s gone on, but I will need to solidify what’s happened over the coming weeks.
Scribbling the tales and legends that are considered important in the world of Peridion. What are the stories that every person, commoner and noble alike, seem to know? Why are they important? What messages or themes are prevalent, and what can they tell us about the overall psyche and culture of Peridion?
Thinking more about birds, and Liandre’s eventual introduction into the world of Vao Artan. I will be reading Daphne du Maurier’s short story, “The Birds,” and also watching the Hitchcock film based on her tale for a bit of inspiration. I’ll most likely be posting about it as well, so look for that in the coming week.

That’s about all, at least for the moment. I am battling a migraine, so this post is neither as long nor as informative as I’d like… but there’s always next check-in. With that, I am off to pop some aspirin… and to try and scribble a few more ideas for this funeral scene that I am trying to write.

May 11, 2011

On the Loss of Magic in the Kingdom of Peridion
— From Peridion: The Dark Ages

By 1015, the last traces of magic faded from Peridion. Gone were the days of the old sorcerer-kings, the armies of mage-warriors, and the research of the wizened technomancers; the old ways had disappeared never to return.

There are few explanations for the disappearance of magic from the realm. Some say that a great sin was committed by the sons and daughters of the magic-wielders — strange research into dark and forbidden territory, brought on by hubris and a lust for power — and in punishment, the gods themselves revoked their blessing. Others claim that the gods were jealous of the heights to which men vaulted themselves, and so sought to end their dominion out of jealousy and envy. And there are still those who believe that it was the indiscretion of women in the Old Age that brought about this calamity, for the records tell us of witches, enchantresses and sorceresses more wicked than the last, wielding their power to ensnare even the most pious of men.

There can be little doubt, however, of the vast repercussions of such a change upon Peridion society. For a kingdom founded on the use of magic, its loss precipitated a period of great instability and internal strife — the Dark Ages. Without magic, its people had to relearn the use of their hands and labor; without magic, its would-be rulers could only depend upon the strength given by steel and blade. The once-mighty Peridion, jewel of the west, was reduced to little more than warring tribes and factions. Brother turned against brother, son against father, and the carnage that was wrought was catastrophic.

plundering the archives

May 10, 2011 / Lena Corazon / Comments Off

Ever since I was young, I’ve been a bit of a pack-rat. It’s not bad enough to get me nominated for an episode of Hoarders, but I am unbelievably nostalgic. I can’t help myself — memories are important to me, and tangible reminders of people I’ve known, places I’ve been, and experiences that I’ve had are even better.

My parents, however, have forced me to clean out my childhood bedroom, but where they see “junk” and “clutter,” I see the priceless artifacts of my life (cleaning out the bedroom sometimes resembles an archaeological dig, but that’s another story altogether).

A few months ago I was persuaded (read: forced) to wade through the mayhem and pack things up for storage in the garage. I found the typical things — elementary school report cards, yearbooks, loose photographs, old presents and souvenirs, letters and postcards from old friends. What I didn’t expect to stumble upon was my cache of old writing notebooks, all organized in chronological order from oldest (5th grade!) to the most recent (junior year of college). Given that I’ve written almost exclusively on my laptop for the past four or five years, the sight of spiral-bound notebooks filled with my scrawls and scribbles was a little shocking. Even more exciting, though, was the treasure trove of ideas I had discovered.

Don’t get me wrong — some of those ideas were utter tripe, and I’d be very, very happy if they were never seen or heard of again (the silly 6th grade urge to write a story about global warming and an electric car-driving geophysicist who saves the planet, however, is a gem). Other ideas were a great deal better, and sort of exciting — musings on systems of magic, snippets of pretend prophecies, lists of my favorite names and meanings. Reading through my old work is like undertaking a historical study of my imagination, an archive of old characters, plots, stray scenes and sentences. I can pinpoint the books I must have been reading at the time, the movies I was watching, and the other elements of inspiration from which I drew.

Such an archive is invaluable to me, partly because I am fascinated with the progression and development of my ideas over the years, and also because I love seeing what’s remained the same. “Forever Always,” a hilarious bad story about two high school students who realize they are reincarnated sorcerers from another era, carries within it my fascination with love that endures across time, with magical rivalries, and with speculative fiction. (I am pretty certain that I was drawing from Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon at the time, along with the Roswell High books by Melinda Metz. The combination never fails to amuse me.)

The archive also becomes incredibly useful in what I am able to plunder and steal. The idea of introducing a character with troubled dreams in “Path to the Peacock Throne” came straight from my short myth, “The Scepter and Sword.” The concept for the “Seven Sisters,” the legendary founders of Vao Artan, stemmed from an unfinished drabble called “The Mark,” about six women who were god-chosen to save their world from some horrible evil.

Some ideas might be trash, but sometimes it’s good trash. So don’t go Hoarders-crazy, but keep an eye on your old, discarded darlings. Tuck them away and keep them somewhere safe (and don’t let your parents talk you into throwing them out, no matter what). You never know which one you just might need.

Preview: Path to the Peacock Throne, Scene 1

May 8, 2011 / Lena Corazon / 2 Comments

I’ve finally started drafting an opening to my tale that reflects the latest changes in plot, and I thought I’d post it up to share. It is, course, pretty rough; I’ve cleaned it up just enough to keep myself from going crazy, but I don’t want to get too bogged down with edits.

I’m trying not to get too attached to the scene (once I’ve written the first draft of the book, I know I’ll have to slash and hack and murder my precious babies), but I think I can confidently say that I like this. Without further ado, here is Chapter 1, Scene 1: “The Dream.”

Title: “Path to the Peacock Throne,” Scene 1: “The Dream”
Word Count: ~3350 words
Summary: Liandre, princess of Peridion, grapples with strange nightmares, clashes with the royal wizard, and has a few quiet moments with her beloved older brother before the funeral rites for their father, King Roland, begin.
Warnings: None
Notes: The inspiration for Liandre’s dress can be seen here.

It was the most perfect of days, one that invoked all of the senses. The ear was overcome by the roar of powerful ocean waves, and both nose and tongue by the salty tang of the sea breeze. The body luxuriated in the warmth of the sun’s rays, and the eye delighted in the enchanting sight of a dozen sea birds turning and diving like a team of trained aerial acrobats.

The child felt all of this, standing on the promontory that soared high above the shore. She was little more than three or four, a cherub-cheeked girl with laughing violet eyes and a head of dark curls. She spun happily, bare toes digging into the grassy earth, arms reaching for the sky. Her laughter was sweet and warm, the perfect counter against the birds’ shrill cries.

“Would you like me to show you how to call the birds, Princess?” The child looked up to see a woman’s smiling face; in her outstretched hand she held a plain wooden flute, smoothly polished and gleaming in the afternoon light. The child nodded in excitement and the woman sat down beside her and gathered her to her lap.

“Hold it here, gosling,” she whispered, arranging the girl’s fingers on the holes. “And now blow.”

Suddenly there was music and the rustle of wings — dozens of tiny birds dancing upon the wind, their flight timed with the song’s tempo. The child’s excitement and glee were practically tangible, the power that she invoked humming through her tiny body. She played the song again and again, all the while blind to the danger that lurked, hovering just beyond, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It was a faceless darkness that encroached upon them. It came slowly at first, tendrils of smoke that insinuated itself like wispy threads across the brilliant blue sky. Anyone watching would have failed to see that anything was amiss; as the smoke grew, spreading with increasing speed and mounting malice, it was obvious that something was very wrong. It was too late to stop it. The darkness silenced the precious birds, blocked out the sun’s rays, eclipsed the woman’s loving face. The child stood in the midst of this swirling abyss, the final survivor against a foe she could never hope to understand. When the void finally closed upon her it swallowed everything — even her screams. Continue reading

Rolling with the Punches

May 7, 2011 / Lena Corazon / Comments Off

Coming from academia, I’m no stranger to the twists and turns of the writing process. My current scholarly project has suffered from no shortage of detours. I realized last fall, for example, that my initial concept had been turned on its head. Instead of working on a project about the ritual of the white wedding, using etiquette books as my case study, I realized that what I had on my hands was the exact opposite: a study of etiquette books, using the wedding as my case study (more on that madness can be found here).

I won’t lie — I threw a bit of a tantrum when I reached this happened (there’s nothing like watching a formerly established research plan go up like a puff of smoke to make one incredibly cranky) — but it was clear that I had two choices in front of me. I could go back to the drawing board and redo the project to follow the original path that I had anticipated, or I could be a bit adventurous and try something new. I chose the latter, as it was also the most practical choice (telling my thesis advisor that I needed to throw out 2 years worth of work definitely wasn’t an option), and I haven’t regretted it.

So when Path to the Peacock Throne took an unexpected left turn, I did the only thing that a resigned passenger can do: sit back, buckle up, and brace myself for sudden bumps in the road.

Granted, I’m ultimately the one in charge of my work, but both my scholarly research and my experiences with fiction have taught me that sometimes it’s okay to pursue an unexpected idea, no matter how strange or off-course it might be. In this case, I think my “off-roading” just might pay off.

Path to the Peacock Throne began as the coming of age tale of Liandre Hallivere, the reluctant heir to the throne of Vao Artan. One of the problems I kept running into was trying to figure out the source of her reluctance. I didn’t want to justify it with the explanation of ‘adolescent angst’ or ‘teenage rebellion.’ Either of those could have worked (particularly for a YA audience), but they just felt too worn-out, too tired and lazy. My solution draws on another trope (the “kidnapped princess” trope), but I actually think it’s fitting for a tale based on Campbell’s “Hero with a Thousand Faces” arc. The current plot, then, looks something like this:

Continue reading

Naming the Seven Sisters

April 28, 2011 / Lena Corazon / Comments Off

The Seven Sisters, as I’ve mentioned in the past, are believed to be the “founding mothers” of Vao Artan. Bits and pieces of a myth-like creation story has been floating around in my head, and I’ve been jotting them down as best I can. They are scraps, but they begin something like this:

The origins of the Seven Sisters are shrouded in mystery — some say that they were born of the Mother Goddess herself, others that they slumbered in the earth’s womb before they were awakened by some nameless purpose, and still others that they came from the glittering stars in the sky, or the white cresting waves of the sea. Whatever the circumstances surrounding their birth, it is believed that they settled Vao Artan, and that each was blessed with a precious gift. It is believed that the talents of each sister has been passed down through the generations, and that each child after her has inherited them.

(This last bit reminds me, ever so slightly, of the Old Testament, and the telling of the 12 tribes of Israel, originating from the 12 sons of Jacob.) This heritage has grown more diffuse over time, so that at the opening of this tale, the women (and men? The jury is still out) pursue the profession or calling that they are deemed most suited for, rather than the trade that their mothers’ may have followed.

However, I digress. I named each of the sisters last night, and I am quite proud of myself. Each has a specific bird as her emblem/symbol, and so all of their names are derived from that bird’s taxonomic name (I think that’s what it’s called).

Without further ado, the Seven Sisters:

1. Cygne: magic-wielder and spell-caster. Her bird is, of course, the swan.

2. Ofrysia: cultivation of crops and livestock. She is associated with the wild fowl, the birds who spread the seed needed for crops, and who offer their bodies for food once their lives are complete. Ofrysia is derived from the Himalayan quail, otherwise known as Ophrysia superciliosa.

3. Astura: warfare and martial prowess. She is associated with the falcon and other birds of prey. Astura is my shortened form of Asturaetus, a synonym for the falcon (genus falco) from 1906.

4. Atthis: music, painting, and the other arts. She is associated with the hummingbird, which just works so well, because they are the most beautifully-colored, delicate, precious little birds. Atthis is a genus of hummingbirds (including the bumblebee hummingbird, Atthis heloisa, and the wine-throated hummingbird, Atthis ellioti). However, Atthis is also the name of a lover addressed in one of Sappho’s love poems, which adds a whole other layer of highly applicable symbolism.

5. Tyto: history and scholarly research. I think this also will expand to include things like record-keeping, etc. Her bird is the owl, as they are wise and whatnot. The name comes from the common barn owl. If you are so inclined, I highly suggest googling “tyto.” The pictures are SO awesome. Barn owls are absolutely gorgeous.

6. Vipio: science and mathematics. Her bird is the crane (Grus vipio, the white-naped crane), and I’ve started thinking up wee snippets of ideas for her. In my mind, she longed to have her sister Cygne’s gift of shape-shifting and magic, but the talent was not innate in her, and there was no way that Cygne could teach her. She is sad and depressed by this, but the crane comes to her and speaks, and tells her that it can teach her other ways of understanding the earth and all that dwells upon it.

The lore, perhaps, states,

And with the crane’s guidance, Vipio comes to learn about the tides of the sea and the phases of the moon, the hidden mysteries of the animals and the rules that order all things. It was she who built the scales upon which we measure our grain and our gold, she who devised the system by which we understand the passing of time, she who gave us the skills to erect our most beloved dwellings and temples and towers.

7. Zénaïde: Politics and diplomacy. Zénaïde is the first queen, and her daughters have ruled Vao Artan in an unbroken line of succession ever since. Her bird is the dove, which seems fitting, for a queen should first and foremost be devoted to keeping the laws and striving for peace within her borders. This name is perhaps my favorite, for Zénaïde is a genus of doves, named for Zénaïde Laetitia Julia Bonaparte, princess of Spain and wife of Charles Bonaparte, an ornithologist who named the Zénaïde doves after her. Like Atthis, this is a name with a nice, weighty double-meaning.

April 27, 2011

I have been reading Catherynne Valente’s The Orphan’s Tales, and it’s so phenomenal that I wasn’t able to put it down. I finally finished it this evening, and I am just blown away.

Similar to the One Thousand and One Nights, The Orphan’s Tales is organized as a tale-within-a-tale, centering on a young prince who finds a young girl living in the palace gardens. She has been cast out because her eyes are completed rimmed in black, and many assume that she is demon-born. She tells him, however, that the marks on her eyes are really tales that have been magically tattooed onto her skin, and once she reads them all, they will vanish. He begs to hear the tales that she has been able to read, and the book begins.

These are gorgeous, lavish fairy tales, twisted and funny and rather macabre, all at once. The girl tells stories of evil sorcerers, centaur-emperors, stars who wish to live as mortals, and all sorts of bizarre monsters. The amount of detail, and all of the descriptions, are just delicious. For example,

The crown seemed to sing and whisper and wheedle from its height, slung onto a branch of a tree at the far end of the field. It shone, and sparkled, and sighed that it wished only to rest on my head. I liked it, too; it smelled only of itself, and that was good enough to me. (214)

And,

The dawn had begun to dress herself in blue and gold, adorning her hair with red jewels. She stretched out her hands to the two children, now almost asleep in the window of the tower. The girl cradled the boy in her lap, her hands stroking his hair, as she spoke the last words of her tale. A wind stirred in the Garden, and a whirl of white blossoms leapt into the air, wept along in the cool currents and eddies. Wild birds pinwheeled above their heads, singing with such passion they nearly died of the song. (225)

I stand in awe of Valente’s wonderful story-telling, and I am really excited, because she’s written quite a few books, including the 2nd of The Orphan’s Tales books, In the Cities of Coin and Spice. The Girl who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of her Own Making also looks really entertaining.

In other reading news, I went a little crazy with interlibrary loan at the local library, and now have another 4 books sitting on the shelf, including an old Christopher Pike paperback (because I need to intersperse some trashy stuff in-between all this highbrow lit I’ve been gorging myself on) and the first book in Tamora Pierce’s Lioness Quartet series, which is the Holy Grail of YA-fantasy-with-kickass-female-protagonist.I don’t know when I am going to find the time to read all of these, but when I do, it is going to be very exciting.

The Story So Far

April 20, 2011 / Lena Corazon / Comments Off

I’ve been nursing a story idea for a few months now, since I went home for Christmas break. I originally saw it as a ‘grown-up’ version of Beauty and the Beast, the story of a young princess who has to free a beast who is, of course, trapped in a horrible spell. As the weeks have passed, however, the story has become more and more complex in my head. This is what it’s grown into:

the basic synopsis.

The storyline is a simple one: In order to be recognized as adults, and to be recognized as official heir to the throne, the princess of Vao Artan must undertake a quest by their twenty-first year. Liandre, the current princess, has little interest in ruling the realm, and even less interest in undertaking her quest. The story opens, I think, with only a few months remaining before her 21st birthday; her immediate concern is finding a quest, and figuring out how she can get through it with a minimal amount of energy.

Liandre is an interesting character, and the first I’ve written who bears little resemblance to me. She’s exceedingly spoiled, self-centered, incapable of self-reflection, somewhat lazy, and content with mediocrity. She is the opposite of her mother, Vaedyn, who is widely-regarded as one of the greatest queen’s in the country’s history. Vaedyn is a fierce warrior, and undertook her quest at the age of 17. The outcome of her quest is a little fuzzy, but she did something really brilliant, like save Vao Artan from complete danger and calamity. Liandre and Vaedyn, of course, clash greatly; the queen was hoping to raise a daughter who would be just like her, but Liandre realized when she was young that she would never be like her mother. Many of Liandre’s frustrations, I think, come from the fact that her mother won’t love her the way that she is. Rather than conform and attempt to do what her mother wishes, she takes the opposite tack — she does everything that her mother will hate, and refuses to face her responsibilities. That is, of course, until she has no other choice.

Supporting Characters.

I’ve thought of two other characters so far — Simone, Liandre’s many-times removed great-aunt, who is the mysterious, secretive, but compelling royal mage, and Kam, Liandre’s childhood friend and sometimes-lover, a young woman who is about to join the country’s elite warrior force. (Same-sex relationships and bisexuality are accepted in this culture.)

Kam, in many ways, is the daughter that Vaedyn would have wanted — serious, sober-minded, lethal with a two-handed sword, and dedicated to Vao Artan. She is Liandre’s foil, the one who tried to keep he princess from trouble when they were children, yet who was always implicated in Liandre’s schemes. She loves Liandre despite the fact that she’s a hopeless mess, but there will be some sort of decisive quarrel and split that occurs between them when it becomes clear that Liandre has little interest in completing her quest.

Simone is the quest-giver. It is she who saves Liandre’s skin by proposing a duty for her to undertake. I’m not 100% sure what this quest will be. Originally i had conceived of this tale as a spin on “Beauty and the Beast,” with Liandre heading off to find the Prince-turned-Beast and break the spell. Since then, though, my thoughts have changed slightly. I’ve got a few ideas for how to tweak this, but I’m still working on it.

As a mage, Simone is blessed with a lifespan longer than most mortals; she was sister to Liandre’s great-grandmother. There is, however, a strange tension between Simone and Vaedyn. Vaedyn doesn’t trust the mage, and cautions her daughter to beware of the woman’s intentions, as she operates “on her own agenda.” Due to Liandre’s antagonism towards her mother, she of course ignores this advice… to her peril? I’m not totally sure, but I do know there are details of this quest that Simone hasn’t disclosed.

The world.

It’s a fantasy tale, set in a pre-industrialized world (like so many fantasy novels are). Inheritance is matrilineal, and the country of Vao Artan has always been ruled by a woman. (I am currently uncertain about where the men are, and what they do. I imagine, however, that this will reveal itself in time). I have an inkling that their religion is monotheistic, focused around the worship of a goddess-figure, but this might change.

The capital city, Avicella, is a port city located on the western coast. I have this image of a bustling, thriving city that sees a great number of visitors from other countries there to trade and, perhaps, to lay eyes on a land that is legendary. I don’t know who the neighboring countries are, but I have a funny image of male-led kingdoms that periodically try to invade, only to have their asses handed to them (“A country led by a woman? What do women know?”)

The creation myths.

This leads me to the creation myths, which occupied much of my time yesterday morning. Again, all of this is a work in progress, but I am getting chills down my spine thinking about it all, which means that the ideas must be at least somewhat interesting.

Every culture has a set of tales that describes its origins, and whether or not they are completely factual, there are important organizing forces. Vao Artan’s myth, I think, is that the realm was settled by seven sisters — daughters of the goddess, perhaps, or siblings who were in the goddess’s favor and blessed with dominion over the land. Each sister had a specific talent — the cultivation of land and livestock; hunting and martial prowess; music, painting, and the arts; scholarly research; mathematics and science; magic; and diplomacy and rule. The descendants of each sister correspond to a specific strata or occupation within the society, or something of that nature.

This is where things get interesting. It’s a little fuzzy, but there is a whole thing going on here about birds. I’m not sure if birds are the favored animal of the goddess or what, but each of the seven sister is associated with a type of bird — swans and magic, owls and scholarly research, nightingales and the arts, etc. The bird imagery continues throughout the duration of the society, to the point where the military’s headquarters is known as “The Falconry,” and the royal mage is known as “The Cygne” (cygne being French for “swan”). I’ve also got this idea that each queen takes the name of a bird to represent her personality/rule, or commemorates her coming-of-age quest, or something. Vaedyn’s is some sort of bird of prey — hawk or eagle, perhaps — to symbolize her status as a warrior. Liandre’s, of course, will be the peacock — a bit vain, a bit show, rather proud.

The ideas are rough, but the whole idea of integrating birds into the tale reminded me of Susan Seddon Boulet’s artwork. I had a calendar of Boulet’s goddess paintings years and years aog, and I absolutely fell in love with her style. Some examples, all taken from here: http://www.tendreams.org/boulet.htm

: Art by Susan Seddon Boulet

These are my current inspiration pieces as I think about this country’s religion and culture, and as I imagine what can be done with this whole bird concept.

At any rate, that is more or less what is happening in my head right now. I’m jotting down ideas as they come, and kicking around the thought of writing out the lore, mythology, and fables so I can have a better handle on where these people come from. There are still many, many questions to work through (like, er, where are the men?) but I feel rather confident that the answers will come. They always do.

Tales from the Archive: “The Scepter and the Sword”

February 11, 2011 / Lena Corazon / Comments Off

Title: “The Scepter and the Sword”

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3100

Background notes: I wrote “Scepter and the Sword” for a class assignment my senior year of high school. We were asked to write a myth based on Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, which he discusses in his book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In addition to the story, I wrote a poetic introduction as a sort of added bonus. This was the result, and six years later, I’m still pretty proud of it.

—

-poetic introduction-

Behemoth
Beast of ambiguity
Monster of negativity
who attempted to destroy
my soul
Chipped away
again and again
at my resolve, my strength, my dreams
Leeched off of my fears and anxieties
Turned me inside out,
Threw me to the vultures —
a ravaged corpse.

But a spark of resilient fire remained
a smoldering ember, struggling to resist
Broke through the lies,
awakening the Seraph within me
As a phoenix rises
from the ashes

Seraph strives to reclaim her throne from the usurper
gathers her will within herself
searching for a means to defeat the creature
Thunder booms, lightening crackles
as the Seraph regains her strength
She calls upon winds and rains,
galaxies and supernovas
to renew her strength
refresh her memories of her goals and dreams
Brandishing her blazing scepter of stars,
she ruthlessly attacks the behemoth
Strikes him once, twice,
again and again
to dispel the monster demon
from her realm
annihilate him so he may
never return
Passionately, she strikes home
vanquishing her foe with a reborn strength

Triumphantly,
the Seraph stands at once in her ultimate glory
stars of crystal ice adorn her midnight tresses
Bathed in a soft violet light, emanating from within
she clothes herself with the robes of her scattered dreams and wishes,
Repairs them with love and tender care.
She restores her realm and resumes her throne
with the knowledge that she will never again flounder in turbulent waters
With her hand raised high to the heavens
She invokes the name of her Creator
So that all will know that she finally is
ME

-the myth-

—
The smell of death hung in the air, suffocating and oppressive. Another volley was launched into the stone parapets; with its strong impact, the floors shook violently, threatening cracks forming in the walls and ceilings of the once-regal chambers. The siege had already lasted for two months, much longer than anyone anticipated. The rebel forces, once believed to be nothing more than a band of miscreants, were displaying a finesse and strength that hinted that there might be more than met the eye to the enemy. Some evil had lent its dark energy to the rebels, power too strong for the Seraph’s people to contain. Mother of the Realm, the All-Seeing Eye, High Sorceress, the Seraph – by all these names her people called her. The ruler of the Crystal Realm, she had continued the reign of peace that had existed since the days of the First Seraph, the beloved of the god Eilon, her ascendant and ancestor, over a thousand years before. With her illness, one that began with the Realm’s invasion and worsened with the subsequent death of her husband, her consort and regent, it was clear that all would be lost to the invaders. She lay on the cushioned divan, her long, lean frame frail and weak from the power she had expended trying in vain to rid her land of the encroaching enemy. In her final hours, she had sent all but her only daughter away that she might impart the last of her wisdom, memories, and love to her sole heir.

“Vanora.” Her mother’s voice, weak but still commanding, called her away from the window and back to her side. “How goes the battle?”

Vanora turned towards her mother, her heart wrenching with sorrow as she took in the Seraph’s haggard, emaciated appearance. Her dark skin was stretched across her face, thin as parchment, streaked with paper-thin lines of worry and sorrow, covered with dust and tears. Once the most beautiful of the Realm, it was painful to see her beloved mother reduced to such a state. “Not well,” the girl replied grimly. “The rebels continue to advance with their weaponry.”

“Remain with me, Vanora. We haven’t much time,” she said, urgency in her voice. She gazed up into her daughter’s deep violet eyes, the mark of the Seraph, and gave a gentle smile. “My daughter… I have protected you for as long as I can. One day soon, you will be grown. You will have to find your own way.”

The day that her mother spoke of seemed far, far in the future. “I’ve not yet lived my thirteenth winter, Mother,” the girl protested.

“So tall, so strong, so beautiful,” the Seraph continued as though she had not heard her daughter’s protestations. “You are but a child now, but one day you will reach womanhood. Then, it will be for you to avenge the death of those who loved you.”

The true meaning of her mother’s words slowly sunk in. “Mother, please,” Vanora cried out, tears streaming down her face. “Where will I go? How will I live without you to guide me?”

“Travel to the North, into the mountains of Chardaell; Everett of Verseillon is a fair man and will shelter you.” It seemed as though each word and each breath took another ounce of her strength and energy; regardless, she continued on. “Vanek will accompany you, to serve as guide and sage, and I give you Shadowstar, the sacred sword bequeathed to the first Seraph by the gods, to protect you from harm.” At her words, a brightly burning sword appeared at Vanora’s side. “Do not weep,” she said, managing a smile as she brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek. “I will see you again, my daughter, on the day when the dead are raised to life and the gods walk among us once more. Remember – my spirit will always be with you.” With those words, the old queen released her final breath, shuddered, and fell back, her face peaceful as if bathed in an eternal rest.

Angry tears rolled down Vanora’s face as she shook with the grief of one who has lost her entire world – first her father, a fortnight before, and now her mother. How would she survive? Her sorrow and agony was interrupted by another volley launched at the faltering battlements.

“Princess,” Vanek appeared at her side suddenly and silently, the cowl of his cloak pulled over his head. An eminent scholar, sorcerer, and warrior, he was like an older brother to Vanora. He had been found by the Seraph when he was no more than a tiny scrap of a child, the victim of a tragic fire that killed his entire family and left him maimed, with only one hand to call his own. In the years that passed, he became renowned as a fearsome fighter, as deadly with his one hand and hooked, wickedly curved claw; despite his youth, he possessed wisdom beyond his years, allowing him to study the sacred books with the Wise Men of the Cove, men of magic and books far surpassing him by scores of years. He was like a son to the Seraph and her husband, and somewhere within, Vanora knew that his grief must have been as strong as her own.

“We must flee at once – the enemy will break through the fortification before the rising of the moon, and then all will be lost.” His voice echoed through the stone chamber, but Vanora, caught deep in the net of mourning, paid him no heed. She continued to kneel by her mother’s side, anguished sobs racking her slight frame. “Do you understand?” he demanded, pulling her up from the floor and thrusting the sword into her hands. “Escape into the wilderness is the only way your parents’ deaths will be avenged!” As if to underscore his words, an explosion ripped through the castle, filling the chamber with smoke and dust, and plunging Vanora’s world into the darkness.

—

“My Lady? My Lady?” Vanora woke with a start to the insistent tugging of Madeleine, her maid. The young girl averted her eyes as soon as she was met with Vanora’s violet gaze, one of such unique intensity that it unnerved her. “My Lady, the Earl of Trellham has bid me to remind you that you were to ride together.”

“We were not to ride until after luncheon,” Vanora said in confusion, rising to rest against the large, overstuffed pillows on the heavily cushioned bed.

“‘Tis nearly two hours after luncheon,” Madeleine informed her meekly, gesturing out the large window where the sun hung high in the sky. “His Majesty gave word that you were not to be disturbed till this late hour; he knows your sleep has been troubled of late.”

Vanora’s face clouded at the mention of her nightmares. “It’s a wonder that the entire Court doesn’t know!” she snapped peevishly. “Tell Trellham I’ll be down momentarily.”

With the room emptied, Vanora sagged against the pillows and covered her eyes with one hand. Dreams of her mother’s death and her exile from the Crystal Realm – a full ten years before – had been assaulting her like never before.

A native of the Summer Country, the southern tip of the continent where the Crystal Realm was located, Vanora bore the almond-shaped, slanted eyes; bronzed skin; long black hair; and gently rounded body that were typical of Southlanders, but a world apart from the blond, freckled, fair-skinned complexion of the Northern realms. Rather than feel isolated from her different appearance, she reveled in them and used them to her advantage. The beloved “Exotic Blossom” of Verseillon’s court, she enjoyed the attention and affection of the young gentlemen who visited Court; her lively, amiable disposition endeared her to the young women. It was a peaceful, blissful existence, free of the pain that had tormented her long after her exile. She was happy, she told herself firmly in attempt to quell the voices that had been nagging at her over the past weeks. She enjoyed her life, and had no wish for it to change in any way. Unbidden, an image of her mother’s face rose before her, silent, benevolent, radiant with love and trust. Shaking her head to clear her mind of the vision, she rolled out of bed, nibbled at the breakfast Madeleine had left for her, and dressed herself in her riding habit. She was on her way to the stables when she was stopped.

“Going riding, are you, my Lady?” The voice, emanating from the shadows, startled Vanora; she relaxed when a tall, cloaked figure with a long serpent draped over one shoulder emerged, a mocking smile on his face as he looked down on her. It was Vanek, the scholar and sorcerer who had borne her from the Realm to safety. He had been a pillar of strength and wisdom in her life, the provider of guidance and direction. Though hardly more than eight-and-twenty, he cut an imposing figure, frightening many of the Court’s youth from his corridors with the power that emanated from his mere presence. For ten years, he had been instructing her in the old ways, the magic and power that were her birthright. With her focus diverted by matters of the heart, however, the two had grown increasingly distant.

“Vanek, you almost scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing hiding in the dark?”

“Another meeting with the foppish Earl of Trellham?” he asked, ignoring her question. “You shouldn’t lead him on, Vanora; it’s not fair to toy with his emotions.”

She bristled at his words. “He’s not foppish and I happen to like him better than the others,” she shot back, knowing quite well that she sounded like a young girl rather than a woman of two-and-twenty.

“And what is it about your young beloved that endears him so to you?”

“He plays the lute rather well,” she said in an off-hand fashion. “Now, if I may take my leave, my ‘young beloved’ and I are to go riding – ”

“Vanora, wait,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I worry for you. It’s been weeks since you’ve come for your lessons – ”

“I’ve been busy,” she faltered.

“And the King tells me you’ve been sleeping ill of late. Something about dreams…?” He trailed off and glanced at her expectantly.

“They’re nothing,” she dismissed.

“They’re disturbing you,” he countered. Stubbornly, she glanced down, refusing to answer or to meet his gaze. Undaunted, he continued. “Thoughts of your task are arising,” he stated calmly, noting the shock on her face. “You are restless, disturbed. To the rest of the world, you bask in the attention of your admirers; within, you are searching and eager to wander. You want more than they have to offer.” He leaned closer towards her. “Take up the task, Vanora. Avenge your parents.”

“The task is not mine,” she said brusquely, breaking away from him. “I am no warrior.”

“It is your destiny to wield the Scepter and the Sword,” he continued implacably. “I have trained you to the best of my ability; you have long been ready.” Sensing her hesitation, he added, “You are the Seraph, the rightful ruler; you must take up the crown in your mother’s stead.”

“That right was taken from me ten years ago,” she snapped, undisguised bitterness in her voice. Before he could continue, a young man came hurrying down the corridor.

“Vanora, where have you been? I’ve searched the entire castle for you!”

She faced the Earl, a forced smile on her face. At the moment, he was the last person she wanted to see. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I was… detained.” She curtsied to Vanek. “If I may take my leave…?” He assented with a nod of his head, and the two swept from the corridor together, laughing and chatting amiably as they left. With a tired sigh, Vanek returned to his studies.

—

The day’s ride was uninteresting and uneventful, save for the Earl’s insipid, banal recitation of his mediocre poetry. Vanora retired to her chambers discontented, the feeling of emptiness growing within her as she thought back to her conversation with Vanek. She had treated her mentor poorly, disregarding his advice and counsel as she grew in what she had thought was wisdom, but now recognized to be the folly of womanhood. If she could only find the answer…

Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. Quickly, she pulled back the paneling of one wall to reveal a secret hiding place. Pulling a long, skinny wooden box from the hollow place, she sat back on the floor and stared at it in silent contemplation. With a deep breath, she opened the dusty cover, revealing her most prized possession within: Shadowstar, her mother’s final gift. With slight trepidation, she took the sword in one hand; it responded immediately to her touch, flaring to life with a fiery brilliance that made her shield her eyes for a moment. She shut the box’s lid resolutely, the answer firmly planted in her mind. She knew what she must do.

—

Vanora and Vanek left the castle under the cover of night. She had left a note for the king, her protector, making reference to her quest and asking him not to worry or distress for her safety. The two traveled for a month through wind and rain, sleet and snow, emerging finally in the Summer Country, the realm that had been Vanora’s birthplace. But the realm, it soon became clear, had been sorely changed. No longer the prosperous, peaceful country of her youth, it had been transformed into a barren wasteland of sadness and evil. It was with a heavy heart that the Princess and her Mentor rode forth, witnessing the harsh toil of the starving, ragged people in the fallow fields, cruel taskmasters prodding and beating them to continue on their fruitless paths.
“We have to stop this,” she murmured to Vanek, her face bleak as she cast her gaze upon the scene. “Someone has to restore this land.”

“I have no doubts that you will,” he told his protégé, a note of pride in his voice. He had waited and hoped for the day that this would pass; he was confident in her abilities, her courage, and her strength.

The two made their way to the castle that had once been the Seat of the Seraph and Vanora’s home. Now the home to the Dragon King, the usurper who fashioned himself the ruler of the land, it blended well with the harsh, desolate landscape. Surprisingly, they were admitted without trouble or question into the throne room.

It took all of Vanora’s willpower not to scream in anger at the scene around her. Swathed in darkness, stinking of evil, it was the nest of the foul creatures that had taken over the land. Despite this, the two approached the throne calmly and assuredly. A dark figure with a forbidding iron mask sat upon the throne, fingers glittering with large diamonds and stones. He sat up in interest as the two made their way towards him.

“Bow down and prostrate yourselves, strangers!” the herald at the foot of the throne commanded imperiously. “You stand before the dread king, the Dragon Lord of the land!”
“We bow to no one,” she returned in a loud voice. Her refusal silenced the entire room. “I am the Seraph, the true ruler of this realm; I have returned to take back my rightful throne from the scum – ” She broke off to spit on the ground in contempt ” – who stole it ten winters ago.”

The robed, masked figure on the throne laughed scornfully, a sound that echoed throughout the stone walls of the room. “What can a man and a girl do to me? If you are who you claim to be, not even your mother, the Seraph,” he said in disdain, “could stop me. There is no hope for you.”

Vanora lifted her chin resolutely and pulled her sword from its sheath. As she held it in the air, it blazed as if in defiance of the Dragon King. “I do not intend to fail,” she told him tenaciously. “I will avenge her death.”

“You should provide pleasant sport,” the Dragon King laughed again as he rose from the throne and took a heavily spiked mace from one of the servants. Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, he came at her with the full force of his weapon, slamming and beating at her in an attempt to find her weak point. Vanek had been taken by the guards; he would be unable to help her now. Deep within her heart, she despaired. Although she had been an apt pupil and had bested most of the men at Court in riding, archery, fencing, and magic, she seemed to be no match for the Dragon King.

With every step, every blow to her magical shield and defenses, she felt her resolve crumbling. Her power was draining from her, leaving her weak and light-headed; she understood suddenly how her mother’s final moments must have felt.

Her mother…

Suddenly, she felt a soft breeze caress her cheek, and heard her mother’s voice in her mind: “Remember – my spirit will always be with you.” As if her mother had lent her strength to her daughter, Vanora attacked with renewed vigor, her sword burning brighter than ever as she dodged her enemies’ blows until she found his weak point. As she drove her point home, the earth shuddered and heaved, and the Dragon King exploded from within. Stunned by the force of the blast, Vanora’s sight dimmed, and she collapsed to the ground.

—

The sun shone brightly in the Summer Country for the first time in ten years on the day of Vanora, the Seraph of the Crystal Realm, assumed the throne for the first time. Rulers from the neighboring lands had come to witness the momentous event, for it marked the beginning of a return to peace and prosperity. With the thrust of her sword, Vanora had vanquished the agent of the Darkness, and sent his minions into the wastelands of the East where they came from. Through undertaking her quest and responding to the call of her task and destiny, she uncovered her true identity, the self she had run from for so long. With this reconciliation of psyche and consciousness, she was poised to lead her people into the future, wielding the tools that were her heritage: the Scepter and the Sword.

Lena Corazon

Flights of Fancy

Author: Lena Corazon (page 23 of 24)

ROW80 Check-in, and Thinky Thoughts about POV

ROW 80 Check-in: And So It Begins

Daily word counts

plundering the archives

Preview: Path to the Peacock Throne, Scene 1

Rolling with the Punches

Naming the Seven Sisters

The Story So Far

Tales from the Archive: “The Scepter and the Sword”

Lena Corazon

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