Teaser Tuesday
Apr. 14th, 2009 01:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alanajoliI haven't done one of these in awhile, in part because I just haven't been blogging very much, and in part because I've been busy doing writing that isn't fiction. There has been plenty of copyediting lately to keep me busy, and one of my May deadlines got moved up to the end of April (writing obituaries and short biographical essays), so I'm focusing on keeping up with those. Soon, though, I should have excerpts from the serial novel I'll be working on for Baeg Tobar. In the mean time, I do have another finished short story for BT, and I thought I'd share a few paragraphs from that today. This is the second story featuring the characters from "No Matter How You Hide Her" -- it's titled after the next line in the lyric: "She's Never Hard to Find."
--
He was too old for this.
About half of the group charged down the street, leaving a group of looters across the street from the ship providing Howell with cover. He closed his eyes, touched the tips of his fingers to the beads at his neck, and let out a deep breath. Then he lifted his fiddle and his bow and began to play.
The chaos of the looters’ emotions rolled over him. Their will—their grief, their desire to destroy and cause harm to echo their own pain—rushed through him. He controlled his breathing, feeding his own will into the quiet tune, a song of home and family. It was a traditional Norrington ballad, something that would have resonated with audiences in the old days, and he hoped that it carried enough of him along with it that, even though the Pileans would not know the words, they would feel the emotion. Their violence battled with his calm, and he struggled to keep his focus. He breathed in the music, drew on the power that lingered there, and sent out waves of magic on the notes.
The looters began to approach, drawn by the notes, and their rage slowed. One man at the edge of the group seemed to come to himself—he dropped the armful of stolen goods he’d gathered and headed off away from the rest. Many of them had homes to go to, and the song reminded them of the places they belonged, homes with beds waiting, the sweetness of a lover’s arms, the laughter of children who would miss them if anything happened in the madness of their grief.
Without exchanging words, the looters wandered away as the last notes of his song played.
Howell sighed, feeling the drain in his bones. He wouldn’t be able to do this much longer.
--
He was too old for this.
About half of the group charged down the street, leaving a group of looters across the street from the ship providing Howell with cover. He closed his eyes, touched the tips of his fingers to the beads at his neck, and let out a deep breath. Then he lifted his fiddle and his bow and began to play.
The chaos of the looters’ emotions rolled over him. Their will—their grief, their desire to destroy and cause harm to echo their own pain—rushed through him. He controlled his breathing, feeding his own will into the quiet tune, a song of home and family. It was a traditional Norrington ballad, something that would have resonated with audiences in the old days, and he hoped that it carried enough of him along with it that, even though the Pileans would not know the words, they would feel the emotion. Their violence battled with his calm, and he struggled to keep his focus. He breathed in the music, drew on the power that lingered there, and sent out waves of magic on the notes.
The looters began to approach, drawn by the notes, and their rage slowed. One man at the edge of the group seemed to come to himself—he dropped the armful of stolen goods he’d gathered and headed off away from the rest. Many of them had homes to go to, and the song reminded them of the places they belonged, homes with beds waiting, the sweetness of a lover’s arms, the laughter of children who would miss them if anything happened in the madness of their grief.
Without exchanging words, the looters wandered away as the last notes of his song played.
Howell sighed, feeling the drain in his bones. He wouldn’t be able to do this much longer.
