Prologue to my WIP book series.
- This topic has 4 replies, 3 voices, and was last updated 4 years, 11 months ago by .
-
Posts
-
Hello everyone. I’m new here and still getting a feel for things, so I figure I would put my foot forward and share a little bit of my writing (and what better conversation starter is there for writers).
So, the idea this book series is to tell an alternate version of the fall of man. In it, the first generations of humanity has already been created when ‘Lucifer’ falls, and when choice is eventually given, it is given to the nations of the world. This gives us an opportunity to really explore the nature of good and evil, the choice between, and our relationship with God in the midst of that.
A quick note: this is the first draft of the book, and there are already some changes to it I know I need to make. Regardless, I would love to hear your thoughts/critiques 🙂
”
In the beginning of beginnings, in a time when time itself had no meaning, there was only the Sire – the father of all things, the giver of gifts. And it was in this timeless period when he gave life to his very first gift: time. It was the moment when moments weren’t years and decades were not seconds. It was the first moment when the words past, present and future had true and unimagined meaning. Though this gift was the first, and all gifts thereafter abided under it, he was not his gift and therefore stayed timeless.
The second gift he gave was space: the concept of an area. For thus far, time had only counted the nonexistent span of eternity and had no thing, save for its self, to record. With the interaction of both gifts came the same love with which it was spawned. It is from this first love of his first two gifts that we see the core of the Sires’ true heart: the comparison of companionship of every other gift henceforth.
His third gift was matter and energy. Though time continued to count, it only recorded space, and while space was huge, it found itself empty. Seeing the void, the Sire blessed time and space with matter and energy. Light poured through the heavens, galaxies spun into existence and weaved in their wombs the planets and the stars. At long last the void was not empty and the passage of time not pointless.
Though glorious and beautiful was his creation, the Sire found it bereft of a purpose. What was beauty worth if not to be beheld? Time if not for anyone to listen? Space if not to be occupied? Or matter if not to be grasped? The Sire loved his creation, but even while creation itself resonated with his love it could not know it. So taking parts of himself the Sire bestowed the fourth gift upon the universe: Life.
In life made manifest there are three parts: the spirit, the heart, and the flesh. The Spirit is perhaps the purist aspect, being the intangible soul, the core of an entity that knows itself and is capable of knowing the Sire. The heart is the place of desires, of choices, it longs, it weeps, it loves and it remembers. Last is the flesh, the body, it houses the soul and gives power to the will of the heart.
The Sire sought to not only create beings that could share his love and creation with him, but with each other. To this end, he wove together three separate species to embody each aspect of life. The first of these were the angels, beings of pure light and soul with unchanging bodies unlike any other. Out of all the species, they knew the Sire with utmost clarity and tended to creation abroad. Second created was man, crafted with bodies of flesh but not power; their place was to experience joy and wonder, to innocently delight in discovery of the world around them. The third and last of the species created were the dragons, power and glory spun into flesh and breathed into life. They, together with humans, were to shape the stone of the mountains, move the rivers, explore the depths, and delve into the earth. Each kind embodying an aspect of life and of the Sire, each kind joined in shared delight in the world that was.
And for a time, it was good.
But while creation had time, space, matter, energy, life and purpose, it still lacked meaning. Worship and wonder meant nothing without love, but how could love not be empty if it was not a choice? One born into love knows how to receive it, but it is not until a boy grows into a man and experiences the world that he learns how to give it – that he knows how much it means. His great love could not resign his creation to life of meaninglessness, so he bestowed his fifth and final gift: Choice. Though he was all that good, all that was light and life, he allowed for a choice for that which was not him: a choice for evil, darkness and death. And as he gave this gift of choice he wept, for it is in the nature of choice that both shall be chosen. Both paths of a road that splits will, at some point, be traversed no matter how dangerous or forbidden one path might be; for because it is available, how could it not? So he wept for those that he knew would fall.
So it was that Andauryl, first created of the angels, thought about his choice. Beholding the glory and majesty of creation, of how the Sire was so venerated and loved, he found himself in wanting. But gazing upon the face of truth in the Sire could dispel any notion he had that his power could replace the Sire’s. So he fled, casting himself away and choosing evil so he could build a fantasy of delusional pride. Armed with his delusion he returned, seeking to convince the other angels that their combined might could usurp the Sire’s. Many angels turned away from Andauryl, seeking truth yet again in the face of the Sire, but some did not. Enraged at the perceived squandering of freedom, the fallen angels attacked.
The conflict was violent but brief, for even before Andauryl could defeat a single angel the Sire intervened. Speaking to all the angels he said “Why have you raised your hand against your brothers? Why have you betrayed all that I have created in you, all that I have given you?”
Snarling and raving, Andauryl chided in reply. “Your selfishness is why I rebel. In your freedom you have granted us only the capability of knowing our slavery. Your pride is so enormous it took all of creation to satisfy, and even then it was not enough, it demanded we prostrate ourselves willingly. Twas then I realized what a better God I would make; no requirements for love, but simply freedom to do what we wish.”
“But is it not freedom I have given you, freedom that allowed you to reach such a conclusion? And how should freedom and life be given if not with love? You spit upon the very hand that nurtured you from the void, that sung your soul into existence and cradled your life in my very bosom. I see your blame but I do not hate you for it, and yet look at the destruction you have wrought!” And for the first time, the Sire knew anger in himself. “You could have sought me for the questions and answers of your choice but instead you choose to flee. But if you know better than I, then what is choice without consequence? For your blaspheme, for your betrayal, you shall be given the full merit of your decision. Forsaking me and all that is good you have chosen evil, and it is in evil that you shall now dwell.”
And the Sire cast Andauryl and his fallen brethren into the abyss, a place of pure agonizing emptiness; a place simply devoid of the Sire. But no emptiness, no matter how great, held the authority to destroy an immortal soul. So, bereft of life but unable to die, Andauryl cried out against the Sire. “Do you feel no shame? You forsook me from the moment you created me! Knowing the agony you would inflict upon me and doing nothing to prevent it! I curse you, oh great creator, for I now have the eyes to see and the lips to speak. You cannot change, and you will offer this choice unto your other creations. You will allow me to whisper into their ears the secrets they cannot otherwise fathom; you will use me as the temptation to their choice. And in so doing, you will become the enemy to all you have created, all you have done. I will see the pain on your face as you condemn all of your creation to my fate, as I force you to damn them as you have damned me!”
Even from the deepest depths of the abyss, the Sire and the heavenly host heard his eldest angel. He spoke, not in reply, but to himself and all that could yet witness. “You do not know me for you have chosen to forget. This choice I will allow my other children, despite what pain it brings me, but I will not forsake them. Though flaw and sin shall take root in their hearts, I will be their redemption.” Turning from his introspection, the Sire stretched out his hand throughout creation. “Though I treasure all my gifts, only the first of my children have already been born and others yet wait in the blood of the earth. I will not condemn them to be born without choice amidst deprivation, for the temptation of their fathers and mothers to murder them; I will not allow hope to die. Thus, Time be still! Consequence be silent! Until every soul has found purchase inside his own body and choice given to all you shall take no accounting! So sayeth your lord and creator.” So it was that time yet again ceased to have meaning and consequence no merit, awaiting for the last soul of the first created to be born…
“… And there he shall stay until such a day as decreed by the Sire.”
The children clapped. Gathered about in a half semicircle, the variety of youngsters grinned merrily at the conclusion to the tale. Before them stood a man of five feet and ten inches. His skin bore the weight of many long days under the sun and his hands the calluses of hard work. A scraggly beard with a greying center stripe adorned his chin and lended itself to a quirky smile. Though he was far from a handsome man, his brown-green eyes carried in them a deep amount of comfort and life.
The eccentric storyteller and traveler had spent the past three days out in the center of town, weaving tales both fictional and true to all who would listen, but invariably drew the attention of children, much to the initial chagrin of their parents. The irritation with the storyteller didn’t last long when the parents realized he could entertain the children for hours and never once asked for payment. If the parents had any further complaint with the man they didn’t utter it, for despite his strangeness all knew his reputation; he was Sajwei, the smiling fool, the friend of children, and, most importantly, one of the ancients.
Amidst the small group of children, a small boy of six threw up his hand, and not even waiting to be noticed spoke out “But where are the dragons and angels? Momma says they went away.”
An older boy of nine replied first “my pop says they don’t even exist.”
Sajwei put up his hands to calm the children and retain their attention. “Now, this was so long ago that not many now remember” his soft eyes glinting with sparkles of delight and wonder “but I do because I was there, and I can tell you that both are very much real.” Raising his hands, he allowed his voice to carry his infectious enthusiasm. “Dragons as big as the sky itself, with wings that eclipsed the sun! And angels so beautiful that one glance could send a grown man weeping on his knees!” The rebuilding enthrallment of the children broke as they burst into assorted laughter and giggles at the thought. “You laugh, but it is true! They say it is due to their closeness to the Sire. For just as the moon is a beautiful but pale reflection of the sun, so are the angels the merest glory of Him.”
“But where is the Sire? Where did he go?” The same six year old boy asked, his small blue eyes alight in the evening sun with curiosity.
“Why, he is here right in front of you! All around you! The only reason you can’t see him is because you haven’t chosen to see him!” At that, the few parents left behind began retrieving the children. None spoke disapproval or derision, but they turned their backs and led the children away. Sajwei did not heed their reversal outwardly, he spoke on. Without even taking a breath, he wove another tale, letting the words carry through the empty streets and upon deaf ears. He carried on, speaking the words that were needed to be spoken until the sun set and the streets emptied.
Finally, with a sigh of grief, Sajwei picked up his walking stick and continued on his way.
“
I really like this @fitz! I would love to read more! How long have you been writing?
We crazy people are the normal ones.
Hey, @scoutfinch190, thank you so much! 🙂 I might post more later, for now I will let this stew for a while.
As for how long I have been writing? oh geez, over 20 years I guess. The first story I wrote was when i was 6-7ish years old. Since then, every few years, I would get another story itch or idea and try my hand at it. I haven’t finished many of those projects, but this one is different. I first started putting pen to paper with this story close to 4 years ago, and even when I have to put it down for a time, those times have been productive in their own way.
Great prologue! And the storyline is very interesting. I can’t wait to read more!
((And I love your profile pic too. It’s hilarious :D))
Hwæt! Wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum, pēod-cyninga, prym gefrūnon, hū õā æpelingas ellen fremedon!
Thank you! Like I mentioned to scoutfinch, I think I will let it stew a while before posting more 🙂
haham and thanks XD I forgot about it until I went into my pictures folder looking for a pic here and went: “Perfect!”
- The forum ‘Private: Fantasy Writers’ is closed to new topics and replies.
