Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The Journey Continues

The Hidden Will Of The Dragon
Excerpts from the sequel to Dandelions In The Garden
Chapters 1-3

Rose Hill Sanitarium

When she [nurse] was appropriately postured, I spoke.  I began to tell her my story.  Not the story I was writing for Count Drugeth about his grandmother, but my story.  I told her about my mother falling ill and how I went to serve as a lady in waiting to the Countess Bathory.  I spoke of my love for George and how it was not meant to be.  She was saddened by the news, but brightened when I introduced Draco Lorant to the conversation.  In a way, I shared Elizabeth’s story while I shared my own because it was impossible to tell one without telling the other.  I found it refreshing to talk and have someone listen.  At the time, I didn’t know if I’d ever leave Rose Hill, or if I’d fulfill my promise to Count Drugeth, but I was going to try.  I wasn’t ready to die, not yet.

Home Sweet Home

I waved her [maid] off.  I was already lost in my own thoughts and didn't want to be bothered with formalities.  Besides, there lingered my half finished book.  The truth was staring at me as the past spilled out line-by-line and permanently soaked in the parchment.  I could burn it, bury it or even hide it away, but I could never erase it.  I just wished the others had come to the same epiphany before their deaths.  Since I was the last, I was going to purge it all upon the page and give it to Count Drugeth.  He could do with it as he pleased.  Perhaps, set it a fire or drown it six feet under.  Even conceal it in a tomb, but whatever precaution taken it could never be destroyed.  I knew that now.  Why...why couldn't the past just be forgotten?  For the basic reason that it happened.  Whether we liked it or not, evidence of our lives was in every little crack.  Superstitions were embedded in the stone and crumpled in the dirt.  I could sense it.  It was the uneasy feeling I got when a strong wind blew, or the tingle I felt when my hair stood on end.  It's that little something that nags.

Uncovering Issacher

After the last trunk was secure, Nicholas led us to a giant crate that had ropes tied to all four corners.  He opened a hinged door on the side.  Reluctantly, I stepped in.  The deckhands hoisted the box making sure first to clear the railing of the ship before lowering it down toward the boats.  The box swung viciously as the deckhands tugged, maneuvering the box over the side of the ship.  I shut my eyes fearing the box would plunge into the canal, but not seeing added to my disorientation and only made me feel more nauseous.  I tightened my grip as we swayed like bait suspended above the water.  The motion from the ship churned the water into thick gravy making the clear blue look more like sewage.  It was utterly distasteful, and I could taste the wine and fruit I just consumed push up into my throat. 


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