As air flooded into my lungs at last, so did the long-postponed fear. I screamed.
I screamed with every bit of strength, every nerve, every drop of blood in my body. I screamed until I couldnāt scream any more.
My hands grasped at the icy cold stone below me, trying to push myself upright. Shaking, chest heaving with my breaths, I crawled towards the small opening in the jagged walls that encased me.
I stared out, eyes struggling to adjust to the dimly flickering light. I wanted to stand, wanted to squeeze through the gap and out into the light, but everything hurt. My limbs were limp and heavy. Breathing took effort. Between that and holding me head up, my strength was entirely sapped.
Something was pulling me, trying to drag me back and away from this moment in time, but I fought against it. I didnāt want to go back. I didnāt want to return to the hands of the man whose knife I could still feel being dragged across my throat.
Through the small opening, a cavern opened out: a stretching altar sat directly on the other side, only lit by the two lanterns beyond.
And there he was.
Rune.
My Rune.
He knelt at the altar, eyes clouded with the rage Iād not seen since we were younger. His mouth hung open in a monstrous scream. A dirty silver dagger gripped tightly in his hand. The boy beside him, I didnāt recognise, but he shook at Runeās shoulders. Rune didnāt notice. He stared straight towards me, entirely unseeing. Hatred and fury and pain tearing his face apart.
His hands moved. The dagger plunged towards his stomach.
I screamed.
Tag List under cut!Ā
Note: This is the new opening chapter to Shoreless!
Iām aware this tag list is a little old now because Iāve not posted a snippet in yonks! If youād like to be added/removed please let me know! Thank you all! <3
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Vas was trembling, and I doubted it was due to the cold. āB-But⦠your majesty⦠your crownā¦ā
āHas no place in my relationship, Vas. If I wanted it up here, I would have brought it.ā
Vas swallowed, but he nodded and remained quiet. Rune gripped my hand, his face beaming with pride. It didnāt feel like a wedding day ā or at least, how I imagined my wedding day would feel ā but I was glad for it. We didnāt have rows of nobility and streets of people watching us. We didnāt have to think about appearances and greeting foreign dignitaries. It was just us, a few of the people we trusted most in the world, and the mountains.
Rune and I faced one another, our hands tightening.
āWe call the Gods to witness,ā I whispered.
āVas,ā Rune said. The boy stiffened. āWe ask you to bear witness on behalf of the Foxes. Do you accept?ā
He gawked. āI⦠but⦠um, Iām notā¦ā
āNot Foxeyes,ā I said, sensing the distress. āThe Foxes. The guides for the Gods. They need human eyes to witness in their place.ā
His mouth hung open, but he clamped it shut after Clemence smacked his shoulder. āY-Yes⦠Iāll bear witness.ā
The surge of energy almost knocked me backwards. I held tighter to Rune, though he and the others seemed unaffected. It was overpowering, scrambling, a fight in the air as something tried to find purchase.
And then she was beside us.
Mercy didnāt seem to notice me staring at her. Her gaze was fixed on Rune: full of pain and an apology that he didnāt notice.
Rune must have went on, for Clemenceās voice broke through my trance.
āYeah, Iāll witness.ā
With his words came another surge. This one was quicker, easier, for Brenon had probably been lingering. He clapped his hands together once he appeared beside Mercy, and she shifted aside to give him room. āNow, this is a wedding!ā he said as the wind battered at our three witnesses.
āNida, we ask you to bear witnessā¦ā Rune hesitated. I squeezed his hand. As unnatural as it felt, Brenon had assured us that it meant nothing more than tradition. āTo bear witness on behalf of the Fates.ā
Her eyes flickered to me, and she smiled. āItās an honour to.ā
The air was still.
No energy rippled. Nothing pulsed through the air. No one answered the call.
Brenon whistled. āDamn⦠you werenāt kidding, huh?ā I sensed his amusement. I couldnāt respond anyway, not with the others watching us. Rune held my gaze, unaware of who stood beside us and who was missing to complete the witness.
I had asked Brenon earlier, what would happen if a Fate refused to appear.
āTheyāll always answer the call,ā heād said. āA call to witness pulls you just as the threads do.ā
āBut if they refuse?ā
Brenon had shrugged. āWho could anger Gods enough that they deny a call? Thatās a sad, mess of a human right there.ā
Maybe not a human, but his words probably stood true. Part of me was pleased: I wanted nothing from Fates, and I wanted to owe them nothing in return. I would have been more concerned if they had appeared.Ā
I knew the dents and dips of my crown. I also knew that there were bends in the silver base that hadnāt come from my motherās untrained hand when she made it. A few of the emerald leaves and rubies were gone: stolen or broken off, I didnāt know. I clutched it, turning back to the few people who remained that were āmineā. Their gazes in that moment were heaved than my crown had ever felt.
Iād never felt the connection to Estra that my mother seemed to. It was a place of people who looked at me with exasperation or fear. To them, Iād always been the boy who lost his temper one too many times, or hit a little too hard. Maybe Iād knelt to become their heir, but the years since then hadnāt been long enough to mend the distrust my anger had caused.
Now, they looked at me as a King. Helpless, afraid, lost people looking at the only thing that made sense to them.
I didnāt know if I could do that.
āWe canāt go back to the city,ā I said when the silence grew too heavy. āThey wonāt just stay south and let us rebuild our homes.ā
They merely stared.
āThe south is safer,ā I continued. āTheyāve taken in other Estrans, so they say. You can go south. Find a new life. An easier one.ā
Their gazes scared me. No matter how lost they looked, every one stood with this unwavering certainty.
I sighed. āIām no King.ā
Within a small, motionless crowd, someone shifted. People only moved to let the person passed, and before me stood a familiar face. Clemence Grove looked older than he had at my crowning, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, more lines in his viciously stern face.
He held out a small apple.
A small, bruised and dented, red apple.
And he pressed it into my hand.
I could wrap my entire fist around it, but Clemence seemed content. He stepped back. āWe aināt got no fancy, traitor Lord or Lady to give you a daft sword. But something tells me you shouldnāt care for one.ā
I snorted, shaking my head. Looking back at the people before me, my shoulders slumped. Holding out the crown, I looked down. āVas, come do this.ā
The boy scrambled forwards, eyes wide and cheeks pale. Clemence had to snatch the crown from me and shove into Vasā hands. They stained the crown with blood as he took it. I knelt down, head hanging low for him, and he pressed it on without any more coaxing.
My fingers dug into my palms as I stood, and my people knelt whilst I sat down on the makeshift throne. In the entrance of the cave, a small white fox peered inside. It met my gaze, and then raced out once more. Perhaps it was my ancestors mocking the new King Rune.
King Rune of a burnt and broken Kingdom.
Tag List and Info under cut:
If youāre wondering why Rune is now the POV character, please refer to the first line of the Shoreless Prologue! Take it how you will.
Tag List! Thank you all so much for wanting to be added <3 hope you enjoy! If anyone wants to be removed or added, please let me know!Ā
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Initial Draft: 87,361 words, 29 chapters, an infinite amount of stupid spelling mistakes that spellcheck didnāt pick up on (eg. cry instead of dry, glowers instead of flowers).Ā
Final Novel: 90,663 words, 34 chapters, hopefully at least half as many stupid spelling mistakes that I canāt spot.
What a wild ass ride this story has been.Ā
Also, remember when I saidĀ āShorelessā wasnāt the actual name of the book? Yeah, itās too late, Shoreless is the name of the book.Ā
87,000 words and I have finally finished the first draft of Shorless.
I still have a page of notes for edits I need to go back and edit, and thereās still a few extra chapters that need to be written but like... itās done.
The ending is not what I expected, but I think itās kind of perfect!
Neither wolf or man saw one another; both crouched with gnawing stomachs, eyes only for the buck that stood between them. I knew what would happen. The man would loosen the arrow. Heād step on a branch, and the buck would be scared off. His arrow would hit the wolf instead. An impossible mistake. One that we were here to make sure happened.
āYou can see what you need to do?ā Rosin asked, kicking a stone and caring little for the silence of the moment.
āHelp the arrow find its mark,ā I said, looking at the wolf.
āAnd you know why?ā she pressed.
āBecauseā¦ā I paused, fumbling as I tried to follow the thread again, trying to sense what lay further down it that had to come to be.
Killing a shadow wolf was said to be impossible in Clarend. To kill one was to kill a bad omen. If this man, weak and poor, managed such a feat, he would take it back to Vercord: Clarendās capital. Heād present it to the twin Kings, and they would knight him on the spot before even asking his name. After how much Clarend had suffered since the Split, the whole country would cling desperately to the thought of someone killing a bad omen. This man would be famous. Heād be rich. Welcomed into the highest parts of society, with songs and poems written about him for the next hundred years. Heād ask a beautiful merchantās daughter for her hand in marriage andā¦
And theyād havae a son.
My heart twisted.
The son would grow strong. Brave. Bold. Spoilt by his motherās money and his fatherās fame. Heād have titles and land and gold and men and women fawning after him. But it wouldnāt be enough. It would never be enough. Heād ache for something, for power, for people to bow before him. A throne wasnāt enough. He wanted his name to be whispered out of fear. And so, heād said. Heād sail along the coast. Then, heād sail west.
Heād pillage. Burn. Rape. Murder.
The Mainland would bow to him. And Mercha, honourable and strong Mercha, would see their rivers run red with the blood he spilled.
That was where this thread led. To a man who would become the most abhorrent, most sadistic, most feared pirate of all time.
Something pressed against my throat. Gripped my unbeating heat. And the man moved.
The branch snapped. The buck leapt. The wolf froze.
And I ran.
Twisting in the air, barrelling towards the wolf, the arrow flew straight. My arm stretched. Fingers brushed the metal tip.