well its is time. I have written quite a bit, which only amounts to 37k words. not even half of what I need for a true book. though the story is not at the end it is near that point…i think, I almost hope. I like the first chapter and have edited it to a point that I feel like its almost good enough to put in a real book. Behold my empty theater, stretch for your eyes and see. My story, or prolog or whatever.

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 Chapter 1 

Wil was lost in a world of heat, flat stony ground underneath his feet, the rush of wind in his ears. The bobbing shoulders of Aric in front of him, the promise behind him. Al-criheed seemed to sing around him. The land sending out its heat, its stone, its glass all to do joyous battle with him. How he would rejoice at his victory over the land, and how it would rejoice in its defeat, a battle won and honored in its service to him.  His praises were unending, his feet were wings and his heart was wind, his stone was skin. Dancing he rolled through the canyon and the canyon rolled through him. I am the river which carves its path, the earth is my sculpture and what art I shall make. 

His revelry was interrupted as Aric changed directions, reversing and retracing their previous path. Wilhelm held his tongue knowing he was to trust the older man Implicitly. It was Aric’s trial after all Wilhelm was the man’s tribe for this journey. A man must provide and lead. The tribe must follow. Wil followed. The going was harder back the way they had come. The ground was sloped slightly upward and the wind was with them, providing no cool pressure against their skin, just heavy going. Wil tried to slip back into his union with the earth, but it was impossible. There was no fight except against his own fatigue. Aric was moving faster back the way they had come than when the hill had been with them. Wil felt it then. It was the Hand of the storm gods. Death that one could not dance with. There was only blind chance in the storm. Their race now was not against hunger or thirst, it was against the gradual winds that would soon become a torrent. 

How long? A hundred heartbeats before the rain begins to fall? Wilhelm knew where they were going now, the small overhang near the top of the canyon wall. He had noted it as they passed. It might give them the shelter they would need to survive. 

The rain started, fat drops struck Wilhelm, drenching him in moments, the baking walls of the canyon turned cold, the ground turned slick. Wil missed his footing and slipped on the wet stone of the canyon floor. Aric did not look back. The lightning started. It struck five times in quick succession, silencing the area with its noise. Rock shards sliced Wil’s back from the near explosion. The lighting mixed with the sand and water would grow trees of glass that would then be torn apart by more lightning, or honed and carved by the winds. The forest of glass which ran alongside the canyon was even now being shaped anew by the storm. Wil managed to climb to his feet, Aric was already out of sight. Wil tried to push, to strive, reaching inside, reaching, grasping. The water was starting to flow down the canyon. Before long it would be a torrent, carrying the stone and glass shards into the canyon, breaking them down to dust, and with it, Wil would be carried, shredded and broken down. I am dead and yet still alive. Wil laughed. 

The elders taught that as long as there is the will to live the body will not die. Pain and laziness break the spirit but if one masters his pain he masters death. The Ugali do not die, they choose to die. Wil abandoned his vain attempt to catch up to Aric. The only safety would be against the canyon wall. The rivers pouring down from the sides would shred him with shards of glass but not as badly as the river below. He began to climb. Slowly, testing every handhold. Twice Wil slipped and almost fell. The canyon bed had become a river bed. Each time he caught himself clawing with his fingertips fighting the rock, clinging to life.

 Halfway up he found a small hole, just large enough for him to wedge his hand in and make a fist. The lightning came again. The bolt struck directly above him, toppling one of the glass pillars while simultaneously creating more, shards of cold glass rained down while his body spasmed, only his fist locked in place kept him from falling as his feet and arms jerked uncontrollably. Again lightning struck near by. Again he spasmed and shook, and again, and again.  

The wind flayed him, the lightning scorched him. The river below a promise. The lightning was almost continuous, the roar of the storm and the thunder blending, twisting, becoming the voice of the dragon, a shriek worth a thousand years of torment released in a never-ending roar. Wil loosed his own cry as he was burned, cut, drowned, blinded, killed. He felt his heart stop. He felt the breath leave his lungs as his scream was drawn from him and the voice of the storm rushed into him. He felt as his eyes were burned from his head and his hand was bitten off by stone. He felt the river take him and smash him into dust. Through it all he felt and clung and lived, and woke.

okay so that’s it. or at least that half the first chapter. if you feel like leaving a crit please do. if you think it sucks then tell me so. Crush my fragile ego! beat it into submission! or if you liked it, swell my already bloated head with praise. My fleeting happiness is in your hands, oh theater of empty seats.