[Layla] Sneak peek at new story

[layla]

there's roughly 164 pages of this story already written in word, I plan to start posting it one chapter a week starting April 1, but wanted to put up a sneak peek for now. 

 

A tattered collection of ancient maps and archaic text littered the desk. Once or twice they'd feared they'd stumbled upon one of God's old cookbooks, the messages were so garbled and so unclear, and yet they'd stubbornly persisted through the long lengths of their lifetimes and into that of their children's until now. Just inside the caverns entrance, stood the grandchildren they'd never spent much time getting to know. Yet these two young men knew them, had read every note and every translation their grandparents had made. They had followed in the old men's footprints before discovering a missing piece of the puzzle and blazing forward to forge a whole new trail. There was only one way to discover if what lay inside was the answer or another dead end. At the very least they were hoping for something else to go on if this latest expedition failed. Their fathers had been killed trying to find this place and now they were desperate to prove that their deaths hadn't been in vein.

 

So many failures, so many miles traveled with little to nothing to show. They’d faced down grizzlies, blizzards, even spent a month trapped in a tiny cabin in the Pacific Northwest. When they’d packed up their backpacks for this trip, they’d gone through the same ritual as they always did: securing the house, lightning candles, offering a prayer at the altar their grandmother had set up, then blowing them out one by one before heading to their waiting car. They never knew how long it would be before they returned, or if they’d return. But the allure was too hard to resist.

 

Obsessed. Armed with new clues they headed to yet another mountain deep in the Sierras. For two weeks they navigated trails, climbing higher and higher, checking every little cavern and gully they came across for clues that they were in the right place. They found nothing. But still they kept climbing, kept searching, until at last they crossed beyond the tree line.

 

As jaded as they were from all of their discoveries, the pair couldn't help but marvel at the majesty of the mountain with its high jagged peaks, the rocks like staggered steeples leading up to the clouds. An icy mist swirled around them as if the cavern itself was alive and breathing. Stepping inside they found walls that were blue-green and frozen, glittering in the glow of their head lamps, the colors so deep they resembled jewels.

 

Slowly they moved deeper into the cavern until the weak light of the outside world faded away. The ground beneath them sloped downward and the slippery surface spilled the pair forward until they no longer walked but skidded, slid and fell deeper into the darkness. Spinning round and round in whirlwind of flashing lights they reached the bottom with a thud, piled upon each other in a tangle of arms, legs, equipment and cold weather gear.

 

They lay there awhile catching their breath and waited for the room to stop spinning before they slowly began untangling themselves from each other. They quickly checked their equipment, finding what was broken and what still worked, if only a little. The compasses were fried; they couldn't get a read on either of them. One of the headlamps was broken; the other was cracked, but at least it still gave some light. Sebastian carried the light towards the wall and gazed up at the smooth sapphire colored surface. He'd never seen ice like the night sky, the plum purple of twilight forever ingrained there in the sparkling surface. He raised the light higher and his eyes widened, his breathing quickened, and his hand began to shake as he saw the unmistakable carvings written there, some fifteen feet off the ground.

 

``My God. Do you see this?'' he said softly, almost reverently to his cousin Bruce.

 

``Yeah, and wondering how hard I hit my head to warrant a hallucination like this.'' Bruce said as he came to stand by his cousin's side.

 

``It's real,'' Sebastian assured him as he raised the light higher, allowing Bruce to see it all. ``Can you translate?''

 

Bruce took a few steps closer, fumbling a bit over the words as he tried to read them aloud. Some were worn, the edges missing, making it difficult to tell which letter they were. It was a complex alphabet for one so ancient, until one took a moment to realize that it wasn't one alphabet being used here but several, a garbled mix of ancient script that had no place in this frozen land. Yet here it was. As Bruce read, the words he spoke aloud began to glow and he stopped, stepping back from it.

 

``Keep reading,'' Sebastian told him, placing one hand firmly on his cousin’s back and pushing him forward. ``Don't stop.''

 

Bruce shot him a nervous glance and began reading the words again, watching as one by one they continued to glow. They'd seen tombs and ancient sarcophagi. They'd been on digs where traps had been sprung and excavations where men had died crushed beneath old relics and piles of stones. Never had they seen anything like this though; never had they seen what could only be described as unexplained phenomenon. As Bruce reached the last word the mountain groaned and shuddered; the ground bucked beneath their feet, throwing Sebastian down and plunging them both into darkness as the light shattered.

 

``Earthquake!'' Bruce yelled over the roar.

 

``Impossible! This is nowhere near a fault line!'' Sebastian yelled back.

 

``A rockslide then?'' Bruce yelled as he tripped over the dropped lamp and fell backward, trying to reach towards his cousin even as the rocks overhead shifted and began tumbling down from the ceiling onto them. The rumbling got louder as the panel when there words had been written began to swing inward, bringing more dust and rock tumbling down.

 

``My God! The walls coming down!'' Sebastian hollered as he tried to scramble backwards.

 

``NO!'' Bruce yelled back, moving forward now, having seen the opening. ``Holy shit. It’s opening.''

 

''What!?'' Sebastian yelled.

 

``The wall, it’s like a door or something. It’s opening!'' Bruce tugged at his cousin's boot, trying to pull him forward. Sebastian looked, seeing the opening as well and began moving towards it, neither making any real progress until the rumbling inexplicably stopped. Dust shifted and soon settled, revealing the door did indeed stand open in front of them. Picking themselves and what was left of their equipment up, the two glanced at each other for a moment, and headed for the opening and the bright, sparkling ice cavern that lay on the other side.

 

``If it closes...,'' Sebastian began.

 

``We'll make a wonderful discovery for whoever else finds this place someday,'' Bruce said as they headed in.

 

Beyond the door the ground was no longer frozen and the blue of the walls, which at first had resembled ice, was warm to the touch and filled with many colors. Indeed as they looked closer and really observed, they could see the detailing of tiny scenes etched into the surface; the story of something, but what was not yet clear. It glowed as if from the inside out, and they didn't find themselves missing the loss of their headlamps.

 

Amazed, they paused to photograph and document this new discovery before moving on down a winding corridor. They heard the entrance behind them slam shut, but felt only a small tremor of the shaking and dishevel they’d experienced before. The pair could feel their heart rates increase, and their hands inside their thermal gloves grew warm and sweaty. Their steps grew heavy with trepidation and though later they might deny it, both considered turning back, beginning to believe there might not be an end.

 

Then they saw it.

 

The second door was wooden and smaller than the first, though no less as ornate with its carvings. No words needed to be spoken this time, as the door slid open on its own and the warm scent of burning cedar and sage wafted out to greet them.

 

They froze in the doorway, having expected more glass, more rocks, artifacts, perhaps some more ancient texts, even a tomb or two. They'd been prepared for the smell of mold and decay though they had figured it to be unlikely with all this ice. They were unprepared for so fresh a smell and the warmth that accompanied it.

 

``You might as well come forward. There won't be much use in turning back, I suppose, unless of course you know the words to open the door again. Which, you don't, because I haven't written them yet,'' spoke a voice that rolled deep and slow to greet them.

 

A second voice chimed in with laughter, sounding like the soft tinkle of sleigh bells. Before the pair could move a face appeared into the doorway, almost eye to eye with them. Its skin was a wrinkled cinnamon color, its eyes a brilliant emerald green. Tiny arms and legs dangled beneath a body held up by rapidly fluttering wings, the texture of which resembled a butterfly.

 

``Well, waiting for what, are you? To have so far come, but stand so long deciding what path to take, when but one path lies before you.'' She spoke in a merry voice, giving them a smile and showing off row upon row of tiny pointed teeth.

 

 

``Your English is still as poor as your cooking,” remarked the slow voice that had greeted them first.

 

``Holy...,'' Sebastian began

 

``Shit!'' Bruce finished before the pair turned and fled back up the corridor, the winged creature in pursuit.

 

``Afraid, don't be, won't hurt you we will, mean you harm, we don't,'' she said as she followed. ``Our guest, welcome, welcome, spoke the words, opened the door did, welcome, yes, welcome.''

 

The pair had reached the door, banging on its surface so that the echo of their terror sounded down the halls. Bruce tried to remember the words but failed in reciting more than a few, while the winged creature circled over their heads, trying to calm them and inviting them to share some poppy seed and wormwood tea.

 

``Go out that way you can't,'' she said. ``Hungry you must be and cold, walked so far, yes, you have, to have come from above. Feed you I will, and rest you need.''

 

``Christ, this is like some fucked up nightmare featuring the daughter of a little green swamp troll and the idiot explorers who fell into her lair,'' Bruce muttered, having turned from the wall to stare up at her. Her body was garbed in what seemed to be rich, warm furs. Her nose was long, resembling a wilted carrot, and her lips were thin, little more than dried flesh attempting to mask her teeth. She fluttered a little lower and gave them her best smile, reaching one of her hands out in greeting. Bruce moved to swat it away but Sebastian stopped him before his hand could make contact with hers.

 

``Don't piss it off,'' Sebastian told his cousin firmly. ``And don't touch it, it might contaminate us or something. God only knows what we've been breathing.''

 

``It am I?!'' she said, hissing at them. ``Well just you see if rat dropping stew is what I'll cook for you. Yes, rat dropping and bat tongue!''

 

She flew off in a tizzy, her English the clearest it had been since she'd begun to speak.

 

``You're in for it now, young ones,'' the deep voice said. They could hear tapping growing closer and closer until a man, if he could be called a man, came to stand before them. He leaned heavily on a cane, one foot large and misshapen, the other seemingly perfect and well-muscled. His torso was twisted and there was a large lump on his back between two stunted and only partially formed wings. Unlike the diminutive woman's, these wings looked soft and feathered, despite the jagged pieces of old bone that stuck out at the ends. His face however was beautiful and framed by golden hair while his eyes were a brilliant blue, like the sky after a storm. He had  a strong jaw line marred only by laugh lines around his mouth. Unlike the small woman’s, his teeth looked even and flat, normal. It put them at ease a bit as he smiled at them.

 

``You will have to make amends with my sister before she treats you to any of the goodies in her kitchen,'' he told them. ``I fear you offended her by calling her an ‘it.” She's not, you know; an ‘it,’ that is. She is a woman like any other, only older and shaped a little differently. Her name is Cliona...''

 

Bruce couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that had welled up inside of him and now escaped until he was doubled over, unable to restrain himself because the translation of the name Cliona was shapely.

 

``Shapely? Someone named her Shapely?'' he said through his laughter.

 

``Yes,'' the figure said quite seriously. ``She is, among us, one of the most beautiful to have ever been born.''

 

``God, I'm not sure I wish to see any more of you,'' Bruce said, all the laughter gone now that those piercing blue eyes were fixed upon him; the glare so cold it could wither stone.

 

``I would learn quickly to not judge if I were you. Time has a way of making one remember all of the judgments they cast upon others. My name is Padraig; welcome to my home. You'll be here a while, so you might as well come in and stop standing in Eoghan's room before he returns and accidently sits on us.”

 

``This is someone's room?'' Sebastian asked, looking up at the high ceiling and empty space. ``But there’s nothing here.''

 

``Eoghan has all that he needs. You will soon learn that little is as it appears and much is not as it seems.'' Padraig told them.

 

``This Eoghan, how exactly would he have sat on us?'' Bruce asked. ``You meant that figuratively, right?''

 

``No. When you are over fifteen feet tall and ten feet long with three heads you tend to miss the little things when you go to sit down.'' Padraig urged them towards the door they'd fled from. ``Now unless you wish to experience this first hand, I suggest you follow me.''

 

The pair followed along slowly, stunned at what they'd seen and heard.

 

``Are you trying to say that we entered through the doggy door?'' Sebastian asked.

 

``In a manner of speaking, if one were to speak of such things in that way, then yes. Though I would not refer to my brother as a dog unless you wish to offend all the members of my family on the first day of your stay,'' Padrig said.

 

``Exactly how many of you live here?'' Bruce asked.

 

``There are four of us. My two brothers Eoghan and Lorcan, my sister Cliona and I. You will meet the others when we eat.''

 

``That does not sound promising,'' Sebastian said. ``Look, we just want to get back out the way we came.''

 

``Ah, but I've already explained to you that you cannot go out the way that you came in. Better to sit and join us than to sit and starve.''

 

``I'm not too sure about that,'' Sebastian muttered but having no choice in the matter, for the large door behind them was indeed stuck. The pair followed the stooped, crooked man-beast inside where they found a large, spacious room lit by the firelight of two different fireplaces. It was warm and the scent of cooking meat and other tantalizing herbs soon drifted out to great them. The walls of this first room were lined with maps and scrolls and books bound in substances that resembled leather though the origin wasn't immediately identifiable as cow. In fact, some of it was far too light in pigment to have come from that particular beast.

 

``Least it isn't a sewer.'' Bruce muttered.

 

``Sewer?'' Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at his cousin, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

 

``From that old TV show, Beauty and the Beast. That reporter finds a whole world of freaks living below the city, all guarded by this messed up deformed guy,'' Bruce said. ``That's what this place reminds me of.''

 

``Well, let me assure you young ones that the only deformities to be found within these walls are those you have carried with you yourselves.'' Padrig paused and leaned on his cane. “All that live here are formed exactly as we were intended to be formed. Each of strong mind, cunning wit and powerful bodies; and most importantly, the empathy to not judge the frailties in ones such as yourselves against the power of our own race.''

 

``Your own race?'' Sebastian said, looking at the man and then around the room. ``You're going to tell us you're aliens now? And let me guess, this is some crashed up old space ship that got stuck in the ice, trapping you here for hundreds of years while you studied humanity. And I suppose you'll feed us some kind of alien stew filled with eggs that will hatch inside of us and create more things like you. Or better yet, you're going to treat us like lab rats and dissect us while we’re still alive, switching our organs out for specially engineered biotechnical replacements.''

 

``For an archeologist you come to some rather unscientific conclusions,'' Padrig told him, looking quite a bit amused. His smile was a kindly one and his eyes seemed to twinkle with unexpressed laughter as he looked over the pair. ``Who and what we are is going to take quite a bit more explaining than you can endure in a single evening. You do, after all, require sleep in far greater quantities than we do. Your kind is also more susceptible to episodes of mental instability and breakdown, a condition rather unfortunate if you ask me. I believe it comes from a lack of imagination and a misconception that the fantastical is something to fear. Thus your pitiful brains seem to shut down whenever you are confronted with it. No matter, we will go slow and take our time with you and someday, hopefully before the end of your short lives, you'll come to understand us and all that you see here.''

 

``Wait...hold it. Are you trying to tell us you’re going to keep us here for the rest of our lives, as what...prisoners?'' Bruce asked.

 

``A prisoner is a thing of value,'' Padrig told him. “You two are more along the lines of uninvited guests, pets really, if one were to compare one species to another.''

 

``Pet?!'' Sebastian was livid now and grabbed Padrig's arm, his own fist drawn back as if to strike the other man, ``We're no one’s pets you crazy old...''

 

He couldn't finish his words as Padrig grabbed the front of his jacket and hoisted him off the ground shaking him.

 

``You are no more pets than we are freaks or sewer dwellers or deformed creatures,'' Padrig snarled.

 

Looking down into his eyes Sebastian could see that the hint of laughter was long gone.

 

``The same outrage you feel at hearing yourselves and your people disparaged is the same rage I feel listening to you judge me and my family by what you perceive as imperfections; anomalies you find offending to your far too discerning eyes. But had I spoken to you under a cloak of darkness, never letting you see my face you would have believed me a man just like you, albeit an eccentric one to dwell here in this place. Had you never laid eyes upon my sister and listened only to her speak, you would never have imagined she could look the way that she does, would you?''

 

Sebastian shook his head and realized as he did that his answer was prompted not by the fact that he was being held roughly six feet off the ground by a man who at first glance seemed too misshapen to have moved as quickly as he did, or be as strong, but by the fact that he knew the other man's words to be true. Seeing the understanding apparent in his eyes Padrig set Sebastian back on his feet and stooped to pick up his fallen cane.

 

``I abhor violence,'' Padrig explained, ``but be warned that not all of my brothers feel the same. You would be wise to utilize your scientific minds, rather than your superstitious ones, and let go of the late night science fiction movies and old wives tales. We are not aliens. We were born on this planet the same as you were, members of an ancient race, scattered now and hiding because few of our kind have any chance of blending in. Our father was a proud, strong warrior chronicled many times over in the annals of your history books. His name has changed as often as descriptions of his appearance but if you knew what to look for you would find him to be one and the same. My brother Lorcan has inherited some of his more war like tendencies. I caution you to tread carefully around him or your stay here will be shorter than expected.''

 

``In that case, point me in the direction of this Lorcan. I'll drop a few insults and get this visit over with,'' muttered Bruce, as his eyes roved over all the tomes occupying the room’s shelves.

 

``I doubt you mean that in truth,'' Padrig grinned, having caught his fascination with the books. ``I think you will find that there is much here to hold your attention. I also fear that such a confrontation with Lorcan would not produce the result that you are hoping for. He would, as I said, end your time among us, but in a most painful and messy manner, I'm afraid.''

 

``And what does he look like?'' Sebastian asked. ``So we can be prepared. I mean we know your brother Eoghan is a big guy with three heads and your sister is tiny and flies about on butterfly wings. We can clearly see that you resemble the Hunchback of Notre Dame; so what's wrong with this Lorcan?''

``You will see when he arrives,'' Padrig informed him. ``Now come, let me show you to a seat before the fire where you can get warm. We have not had visitors here in, well, it has been a very long time. We will have to find someplace for you to rest.''

 

``What about...,'' Bruce began.

 

``Patience, young man, patience. I have already told you that all will be explained in time. Now sit. Sit and get warm and I will see if I can't convince Clionia to provide you with a warm drink and a snack or two.''

 

Bruce held his hands up and backed away. ``No thanks. I don't think I can stomach bat heart tea or whatever other nastiness she'd send our way.''

 

``You will have to learn to trust us sometime,'' Padrig told him. ``It will go far easier on you both when you do. It isn't fun to starve, to hunger and thirst and be left wanting. It tends to eat away at the soul, changes you in ways you might never fully understand.''

 

With that Padrig left the room and headed for the opening from which the smells drifted, leaving Sebastian and Bruce to glance more intently around the room. Aside from the shelves filled to spilling over with manuscripts, there were objects covered with intricate carvings scattered all around. Some resembling puzzle boxes, others urns, while a few resembled nothing they’d ever seen before. Bruce picked up one of the puzzle boxes from the floor beside his chair and pushed one of the small wooden pieces in only to have three more shoot out and stab into his hand, piercing the thickness of his glove. He dropped it abruptly and peeled off the garment to see blood welling up from three holes in his flesh.

 

``I hope you're up to date on your tetanus shots,'' Sebastian told him.

 

``It's funny but I don't think we have to worry about that down here,'' Bruce remarked as he slid the glove back on and went to inspect the shelves. He could read portions of some of the languages, while others were beyond him. He was almost certain that there were several among them that he’d never seen before. The books did hold a certain fascination, especially when he considered that they would be the first to study them and explore this place. For hours he moved around the room, not touching, he'd learned from the puzzle box that handling the objects might not be wise, but he sketched them and took notes and found himself every bit as fascinated as Padrig had implied. More than once he marveled at their discovery, wondering if there wasn't some hidden way to get out and share what they'd found with the world.

 

``Tell me,'' came a new voice from the doorway, this one dripping sarcasm and a hint of malice, jarring Bruce out of his thoughts. ``How do you discover someplace in which someone else already lives?''

 

Bruce glanced quickly at his cousin and found Sebastian sleeping in front of the fire, his feet propped up on what looked to be a wooden chest. Someone had draped a blanket over him, the colors bright and vivid, seemingly out of place with the rest of the room.

 

``Why?'' the voice from the doorway prompted. ``Because this is a library it is supposed to be drab and boring? Or perhaps because we are odd and unappealing to you so you figure everything in our home should be odd and unappealing as well.''

 

``I didn't mean...wait, how can you know what I was thinking?'' Bruce took a step back from the doorway.

 

``A talent of mine, really,'' the man responded as he stepped further into the room. ``That and I could read the look of surprise and wonder on your face. You did not expect to see a thing of beauty here and it showed. Typical.''

 

``You speak as if you have visitors every day,'' Bruce commented, his eyes widening in surprise as the man stepped into the light. The colors of the cloth and the beauty of their woven patterns had nothing on the figure that stood in the doorway. His clothing was green and gray, cut from a soft looking cloth and hugging his body perfectly, accenting the fact that he was tall and athletically built. His boots resembled Native American moccasins, leather straps crisscrossing up his calves before being tied off and tucked inside. The fringes along the bottom appeared designed to wipe away his tracks and indeed some snow still clung to them. Flakes melted in his hair, showing up brightly against the blood red strands that fell wind blown into his eyes. He placed the tray he was carrying on a table beside Bruce and gestured to it with pale hands that bore several tiny scars.

 

``You should eat before it gets cold,'' The man suggested before moving to stand by the fire to warm himself. Bruce looked at the items on the tray and drooled at the buttery, savory smelling bread and the stew that seemed to have quite a few things floating around in it. Taking up a spoon, Bruce gave a quick stir and dropped it just as quickly as gelatinous orbs floated up to the surface. The other man chuckled as he stood rubbing his hands together in the light of the flames.

 

``Salmon roe. Great flavor, hard to find this time of year but Cliona had some frozen and tucked away. You should be honored. It is my brother's favorite and yet she made it for the pair of you knowing he would not be home today to enjoy it.''  

 

``You're Lorcan?'' Bruce asked, observing the other man with a more critical eye now. ``But, there's nothing...I mean, you look...''

 

``As normal as any human might?'' Lorcan finished for him. ``Yes, I appear as a human should.''

 

``But...'' Bruce let his words trail off, bearing in mind Padrig's words of caution about not offending this particular brother.

 

``But you find it strange that I should look as I do when my siblings do not?'' Lorcan finished for him, then waved off Bruce's attempt to refute his words. ``Victor Hugo thought the same thing about me when I went to retrieve my brother Padrig from that god awful cathedral with all of those loud, annoying bells. How he could have lived up there so long is still something I cannot fathom but I suppose that's his nature. He has always loved to observe your world.''

 

``Wait...are you telling me that your brother really is Quasimodo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame and that you actually met Victor Hugo; who’s been dead, what damn near a hundred and twenty years?'' Bruce exclaimed.

 

``One hundred and twenty three years to be exact,'' Lorcan corrected him. ``And yes, my brother Padrig was the basis for the character in Mr. Hugo's story although he always meant for the real focus to be the cathedral itself.”

 

``So you haven't always lived here then?'' Bruce asked. ``You created this place so that means there is a way out.''

 

``Padrig and I have not always lived here, no. We took a chance and went out into your world. However, we did not create this place, we were born here, and this has always been home to Eoghan and Clionia. As for a way out, there is none that you can use, you may as well resign yourselves to that. We will not have you destroy the sanctity of our home by bringing others back here nor will we risk you exposing us to the world.''

 

``We...,'' Bruce began but Lorcan held up a hand to silence him.

 

``Please don't insult either of us by attempting to lie to me. We both know you would tell our story the first chance you had. This is, after all, the discovery of a lifetime.'' Lorcan said with a bit of a chuckle.

 

``I guess it isn't that big of a discovery,'' Bruce admitted. ``Kind of like finding someone's house at the end of a dead end road.''

 

``Exactly,'' Lorcan said. ``Now you began to understand. Your soup's getting cold by the way. I swear, it truly is Salmon roe. We would never waste any of Cliona's eggs on the likes of you, would be too easy to end up with another like me.''

 

With that Lorcan stepped though the flames in the fireplace, quitting the room and leaving Bruce to stare after him, unsure if he really believed what he'd seen.

 

[Cia]

Bat heart tea... YUM! LOL This sounds so interesting with a lot of mystery and drama. A few things:

 

Watch your homophones:  now they were desperate to prove that their deaths hadn't been in vein. Should be: vain

 

For two weeks they navigated trails, climbing higher and higher, checking every little cavern and gully... Great use of a variety of action words.

 

Slowly they moved deeper into the cavern. Can you use another word beyond moved that's more exact? Trekked could indicate they go a great distance. Roamed would indicate they go slowly, looking all around not in a straight line--wandered would fit that way too, paced might indicate they are measuring the distance. You don't necessarily have to change this one area, but you mentioned looking for different ways to be more descriptive and 'moved' is one of those words that can mean any sort of action, really, so it's not always the best to share.

 

anomalies you find offending to your far too discerning eyes. As I mentioned, watch your shades of meaning. Per Merriam-Webster: able to see and understand people, things, or situations clearly and intelligently is the definition for discerning. A word more like 'discriminating' would fit better, because discerning carries a positive sense of observation and discriminating is obviously the opposite. Unperceptive might also work because it would indicate Sebastian sees but does not truly understand what lies beneath the surface of what he beholds.

 

``We...,'' Bruce began but Lorcan held up a hand to silence him. Check your punctuation rules. I'd read this as an interruption, which is indicated by an em dash. Ellipses indicate long pauses or trailing off. I might be reading the line wrong. You might intend to show Bruce trailing off when he sees Lorcan hold up a hand. If you do want him speaking that way indicated by the ellipses, I'd change the word began because it indicates he starts to talk then is stopped, rather than stopping gradually. Something like Bruce paused when Lorcan held up a hand to silence him. This would indicate he still wanted to speak, but is being respectful and trailing off instead of continuing and yet doesn't indicate that Lorcan is suddenly cutting him off either.

 

Anyway... lots of fascinating tidbits, like including Quasimodo and stuff. I love when authors use existing stories or mythos and make it their own.

[Mann Ramblings]

``We...,'' Bruce began but Lorcan held up a hand to silence him.

 

Whoops. That one was my fault. I edited this quite awhile ago and hadn't incorporated my em-dash usage into my bag of tricks. LOL

[layla]

Thanks Cia, Now i'm really glad i posted the preview, I'll go through and fine tune this before it goes up in April. 

[layla]

And the first chapter of the new story went live today  

[Mann Ramblings]

Awesome! Let me know if we need to do another last check over for any of the future chapters. My editing is improving as we speak LOL