NaNoWriMo–short for National Novel Writing Month–encourages participants to write 50,000 words of a novel in the thirty days of November. It’s a time for writers to go partially insane and enjoy the community of others doing the same! I hadn’t planned on participating this year, but on the morning of November 1st, I was struck with an idea that I couldn’t let go of–or, rather, it wouldn’t let go of me. It’s a YA fantasy book that I first began in high school/early college but hadn’t looked at in years. I decided it would be a nice break from Chaos Theory, so I’ve been enjoying the “speed drafting” process as I write it. For Fiction Friday, here’s the short prologue. Enjoy!
Pangin Vernd paced back and forth in the long castle hallway. Strong hands clasped behind his back, graying head tilted downward, he moved with an intense focus. But his hunched, downcast shoulders belied his stoic nature, and even his military training could not keep his irises from shifting to a deep purple showing his concern and intense worry.
Pangin Vernd glanced out the window to observe the moon and how far it had risen above the tree line. Nearly an hour has passed, he thought. Where are they? The Pangin glanced towards the looming door that led into the King and Queen’s bedroom as he chewed on the inside of his lip. Pangin Vernd had promised to personally alert them of any change in the situation immediately, but that required him having knowledge of it himself first. He had been a teenager when the King was born, and as he made his way up through the military until becoming the Pangin, its leader, he had become closer with King Elroi, especially now that they worked together for decades during the King’s rule. Never before had the Pangin had something of this magnitude actually happened—maybe something close, but never anything this tragic and dangerous.
Pangin Vernd shook his head. If anything were to happen…the Pangin refused to dwell on hypotheticals. It would do no good. If he had learned anything from his years in the military, it was to focus on the present, and on doing all that he could do to rescue the—
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. King Elroi stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.
“Your Majesty.” Pangin Vernd lowered his tall body into a bow.
“Pangin Vernd, what news?” King Elroi asked. The King stood in stark contrast to his normal dignified appearance: Rather than standing straight and proud with his long dark mane combed to perfection, he now slumped, as if the weight of the day were pushing down on him, and his hair was disheveled as if he hadn’t stopped running his hands through it. His eyes also reflected a concerned purple, mixed with a shade of sad, pale blue. The Pangin hesitated to tell him his lack of information.
“Sigurd Vernd, tell me where my son is.”
Pangin Vernd winced at the use of his first name. King Elroi was one of the few men who knew him well enough to call him by it, but he rarely did so. It pained Pangin Vernd now, hearing the King’s distress in the words. He cared for the King as he did for his own son, as he did for the Prince who had been kidnapped late last night. Almost as deep as his concern for the danger Prince Joshua was in was his anguish at seeing King Elroi in this agony. A compassionate shade of light blue reflected in Pangin Vernd’s eyes.
“King Elroi…I am sorry. I do not know anything more than when I last spoke to you. I promise, I will tell you as soon as I hear anything. If you’ll rejoin Queen Grace in your room, I’m sure she would appreciate it—” Pangin Vernd began.
“What Grace would appreciate is having her son returned safely to her,” the King said. “How do you not know anything yet?’
Pangin Vernd pursed his lips, mentally reviewing the last twelve hours. The night before, Prince Joshua had been enjoying the New Moon Festival with his family and many from the kingdom. At nearly midnight, according to one of the guards, the Prince stepped out with a masked guest from the festivities, followed by only three guards, at the request of the Prince for discretion. A group of attackers had descended on them, incapacitating the guards and taking Prince Joshua. The guest had left with them, presumably an accomplice working with the attackers. One guard claimed the attackers had Jikorvian accents, though Pangin Vernd was cautious to claim the kidnapping had been sanctioned by the neighboring kingdom just yet. A ransom note had arrived at the castle, delivered on a riderless horse, demanding an exorbitant amount of money and jewels, or Prince Joshua would be killed. The King and Queen, of course, were willing to do anything to rescue Joshua, but Pangin Vernd reminded them it would be wise to not only save the Prince, but also capture the people responsible for his kidnapping. So the royal couple agreed to leave the money at the exchange point, while Pangin Vernd would have a score of his most skilled soldiers hiding to take back the Prince and arrest whoever arrived to pick up the ransom money. The exchange was supposed to have happened an hour ago, and the Pangin was expecting a message soon on how the mission went.
“Our messenger has not arrived yet,” Pangin Vernd explained. “Please, your Majesty, do not worry. I am sure the Prince is safe, and my men are returning him now.” Of course, that was not at all how Pangin Vernd felt, but he knew he needed to soothe the King.
“Well, when will they be back?” King Elroi asked, an edge born of tiredness and desperation creeping into his voice. “Please, Pangin, my wife and I are exhausted from worry and lack of sleep. We just need to know that our son is safe.”
“I understand, my King. I want nothing more than to know that also. But—” Pangin Vernd stopped when he heard footsteps running down the hallway. He exchanged a glance with King Elroi before both men simultaneously walked swiftly toward where their current hallway met the next.
As they rounded the corner, the King and the Pangin saw the Pongen, Vernd’s second in command, standing there. Pongen Blithe had been in charge of the rescue mission, and Pangin Vernd was surprised to see that he had come, not a messenger.
“Pongen Blithe, what news?” Pangin Vernd called out. As they came closer, however, Pongen Blithe’s gaze stopped both of them in their tracks.
The soldier’s eyes, trained to be serious and emotionless, were instead colored a deep, mournful blue. The sorrowful shade pierced the Pangin from where he stood, and he already knew the words before Pongen Blithe spoke them:
“The Prince is dead.”
Featured image by Cederic X