All-Patron Reward: FIRST Draft of Phoenix Rising: Chapter 3.

The most positive thing I can say about this early draft is that it MOVED. Three chapters in and we're getting to the event that sets everything else in motion. 

Otherwise, this is an example of my old writing that really makes me wince, for multiple reasons you'll probably see as you read it. I'll comment a bit more afterward.

------

                               iii.

     Kyrie pushed the black waves of hair out of her face and

glanced out at the sundial. Michael would be home soon. What would

he like for dinner?

     She'd given the servants the day off. She didn't mind taking

care of the Keep; the basic cleaning spells kept most things in

order, and cooking was something both her mother and father used

to do, and teach their children as well.

     Xavier was staying with Aunt Vicky tonight; he'd passed his

Bronze sash tests with Lythos yesterday, and after celebrating

here he'd gone to show off to Vicky and all his friends there. She

smiled and nodded. Just her and Michael. She'd make something

special.

     She giggled suddenly. *You'd swear I was his wife, not his

sister.* She thought about it a moment, then nodded to herself.

*True, I guess. I'd never marry anyone who wasn't like him.*

     She knew in her heart that she loved Michael; always had,

always would. But somehow she managed to avoid jealousy. She knew

that the one thing that could drive them apart was if she were to

try to cling to him. Michael belonged to himself; to his

dedication to justice, to the Saints, and to the memory of their

parents.

     She reached into the coldbox, relishing the tingle of

enchanted ice in the summer heat, and pulled out a thick steak.

Kyrie still felt the wound in her heart every time she thought of

her parents, but her own desire for revenge was held back by her

certainty that Michael would deal out all the vengeance needed.

He'd been Eagle for nearly a year now, and just a few months ago

he had first gained the legendary powers of the Saints; with her

own eyes she'd seen him touch the arm of a wounded knight, and the

gaping cut had closed in that instant. More, he had begun to be

able to see the light within, to tell the light from the dark in a

person's soul. He was sure, as well, that he was finally close to

learning the truth about their parent's slayers.

     It was strange, though; he didn't seem quite as happy lately

as she would have thought.

     She set the steak on the stove and made sure the vegetables

would be ready on time, then began setting the table.

     She glanced in the mirror, remembering Aunt Vicky's comments

the last time she visited: "For all that you're a great horse of a

girl, Kyrie, you're still a stunning sight. You ought to be out

more. The Count himself spoke of you when last I saw him."

     Kyrie had blushed. "But I'm busy here, Auntie."

     Victoria Thelian, sister to Kyrie's mother, had never been

given to gentler forms of expression. She snorted derisively.

"Indeed. Half the time you're taking care of the house like a

common servant, and the other you're either riding or practicing

with weapons! Not that there's anything wrong with that," she

conceded, "I was noted for my skill with the quarterstaff when I

was younger. But you're as lovely as your mother was, and by the

Will a good sight better looking than I or nine-tenths of the

tittering ninnies around the ballrooms these days! Your father,

may his spirit rest well, and the Count sometimes had their

disagreements, but that's no reason that you shouldn't be friendly

with him."

     Sighing, Kyrie had replied, "I'm always friendly when I see

him, Auntie. And I don't fool myself, I know that I'm pretty. He's

handsome enough, and charming, and there are some times when I

truly enjoy being around him... but other times..." she shrugged

helplessly.

     Victoria's full lips compressed in a tight line. "I see. Your

father was like that too; he said something about Count Relion

bothered him." She nodded sharply. "Well, his instincts were

always right before. Perhaps you are as well. But you can't keep

house for your brothers forever."

     Kyrie had dropped her gaze to the floor. "They're all that's

left, Auntie."

     "I know, Kyrie." Victoria laid a hand on her arm. "Even when

you were a little girl you followed Michael everywhere. I remember

when he took up mountain-climbing, you were up the next day

pestering the smiths to make you climbing-spikes. And the day

after that Xavier was trying to follow both of you up the Spire."

She smiled. "That closeness was good, child, but now I almost wish

you'd quarreled a bit more. You're holding on to them, Kyrie, and

no good will come of that for any of you." Her deep blue eyes,

identical to Kyrie's, held the younger woman's gaze for a moment.

"Find your own path, child. It will be better that way."

     She came to herself suddenly as the door opened. Michael came

in, dropping his travelling cloak on the chest nearby. He gave her

a hug, but immediately she knew something in him had changed.

"What is wrong, Michael?"

     He looked at her, black eyes haunted and confused. "I am not

sure. I may have discovered something. It may be nothing." He sat

down and began to pick at the steak, but his appetite seemed to

have gone. "I will have to go out tonight to... to check on what I

have found."

     She could hear the uncertainty and perhaps even fear in his

voice. She laid a hand on his arm. "Is this dangerous, Michael?"

     He looked as if he wanted to deny it, but he could never lie

to her. He sighed and nodded. "If I am right -- and may the Will

and all the Gods forbid that I am -- it is more dangerous than any

thing that I have ever done." He took her hand. "Would you wait up

for me, Kyrie? And if I do not return, leave this place. Take

yourself and Xavier, and go far away, perhaps to the south, where

Mother and Aunt Vicky came from."

     Kyrie would have questioned him more, but she knew he had

said all that he would. Obviously he had found out some terrible

secret, something so awful that he had to be certain before he

spoke of it before others. She bowed her head in agreement. "I

will, brother. But please, be careful. Come back to us." *Come

back to me,* she almost said.

     Michael suddenly smiled. "I will, sister. I swear I shall

return."

     He finished his steak, then opened the chest and took out the

Armor of the Eagle and put it on. She admired the great silver

helm as he donned it, the bronze feather-pattern glinting on his

shoulders and becoming silver again lower down. She had been so

proud the first time she had seen him wear it. Yes, the Eagle fit

him, the noble bird of the air. She watched him leave, feeling in

that moment that he must be invincible, a glittering figure in

bronze and steel.

     Darkness fell over Evanwyl, and the stars slowly faded into

view. The moon peeked its eye over the hills, and Kyrie shivered

in the cool evening breeze. The moon's gaze was cold and stern.

She had heard that fabled Earth had a moon that smiled; but the

world of Zarathan had a moon that was grim. Not evil... but

tonight she needed something that gave warmth.

     The silvery orb rose higher. A cloud passed momentarily over

it, and she thought she heard the cry of a wolf in the distance.

She drew her cloak closer about her, and then went to her room and

got her sword.

     There was the silvery tinkling of the nightclock as it

announced midnight. Kyrie tried to calm her fears, but her hand

shook as she heated cinnaroot brew for herself. The warm,

ciderlike beverage drove away the night chill, but couldn't thaw

the cold fear in her heart.

     A knock on the door shattered the stillness. Kyrie leapt up

and yanked the door open. "Michael, I've been..."

     She trailed off as she saw that it wasn't her brother

standing there.

     "You'd best be coming quickly, Milady Ross." said the runner

breathlessly.

     It felt to Kyrie like thin bands of chill steel were

tightening about her chest. She noted with mounting dread that the

young man was wearing the symbol of Shargamor, the healer's

temple. "Michael...?" she said, her voice emerging tiny and lost

from her lips.

     The blond head nodded, green eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm

sorry, Milady. He isn't expected to live."

     The journey to the Temple was a blur. The next thing she saw

clearly was Michael.

     He lay limp and unmoving on the bed. His body was slashed

across by a dozen wounds, and for a moment the resemblance to

their father was so strong that she almost fainted.

     Then he moaned faintly.

     *Alive!*

     She spun on the priests. "You have enchantments, blessings,

healing spells -- use them, please!"

     The eldest priestess shook her head dolefully. "Milady, don't

you think we have tried all those things? Whatever has wounded

him was nothing of ordinary stamp. Oh, we've done what we can, but

it seems that whatever it is has touched his soul, and we're

powerless against that."

     "But -- but I've heard of miracles, of men returned from the

dead! Surely --"

     The hand on her arm was gentle but carried a deadly weight

with it. "Lady Ross... it is true such things can be done. But we

lack the power to do so. In the great temples in Zarathanton, yes.

Perhaps in other cities. But not here. Your brother may perhaps

awaken for a moment or two, but he will surely die."

     "*NO!*" Kyrie grabbed Michael's hand and squeezed it. "No, he

*won't* die! Michael, wake up! Who did this to you?"

     The healers did not try to pull her away. But she felt their

pity as she talked and pleaded and finally screamed at her

brother's still form.

     But Michael did not awaken. And the hand that she held was as

cold as the morning light that finally streamed in the window.

-------

One can easily tell that I had not worked out a lot of things, most obviously how to do characters, and especially women, even though I played a lot of girls and women as characters. Kyrie here has a mishmash of character traits that probably made sense to me when I wrote it, but are just painful to read now. 

Her native land was also still in a state of flux; I think the first version of Evanwyl I originally envisioned as up against the Ice Peaks, not the Khalals, and then switched it, and doing that caused a confusion in my mind about which gods were the primary operatives for what purposes in Evanwyl. 

On the positive side, this stuff shows me that I *have* improved -- in my overall writing, in my depictions of characters of various types, and in the vision of the world I created. 

I hope you're enjoying seeing these views of what was.