Tigerlilies

[whisper]

Okay so I posted this a long time ago, but that was oldddddd and I've revised it since then. Plus, this is my final project for creative writing independent study and my teacher wants me to finish revising over the summer and send it in for publishing...

AKA: HELP PLEASE!!!!

Tigerlilies

Prologue

I’m sixteen years old and I’m going to die tomorrow. Save your pity, I don’t want it; that’s not why I’m telling you. I don’t want to hear about the “tragedy of a death so young” or any of that crap. It needs to happen, for all of our sakes. Yes, even yours.

Maybe you’ve been looking for a nice story to settle down and get cozy with. Maybe you’re curled up in bed, snuggled under the warm covers of your soft mattress. Maybe there’s even someone by your side, someone you love. If so, I suggest you stop reading this. My life is anything but nice and quiet and it’s certainly not a bedtime story. In fact, it sounds just like your typical unoriginal adventure with bad guys, dark secrets, and a pathetic little romance. Throw in a twist of prophecies and magical creatures, and it sounds like an epic story, right?

Wrong. It’s not a story. It’s my life, and I lived it. I was there, not knowing whether I would be alive the next minute. I don’t need the help of humans looking for an escape in a story from their boring lives. I’m serious, put this book down and go about your lives because I know you don’t care.

Still here? Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

In every adventure you hear “survival of the fittest”. I know, it’s cliché and unoriginal but give me a break—I just learned English a few months ago. In my world, it’s survival of the best, bravest, quickest, cleverest, and fiercest. Of course, there are always the oddballs, the screw-ups, the mistakes. The ones who make it through even though they shouldn’t have. Like me. Don’t think me lucky; I’m not fortunate to be alive right now. Are you confused? Well, for one thing, I won’t be alive much longer. For another, if I had died a few months ago, before I knew anything, life would’ve been so much easier.

Nothing I write will be easy for you to believe.  But if you’re going to stick with me to the end—whatever that end may be—you’re just going to have to take my word that everything I’m writing is completely 100% true. Or all of this will have been for nothing. I’m writing this so, tomorrow, the truth will not die with me.

I’m warning you again. I’m not joking and I don’t exaggerate. These writings are not for the faint of heart. My friends and I have suffered through horrible atrocities and discovered appalling secrets that made even the bravest people I know cower in fear. This isn’t one of those beloved adventure stories where everyone lives happily ever after. These events occurred without any trace of that fairy-tale crap. I risk my life in writing this, reduced to stealing paper and pens in a cramped little wooden hut because you need to know. Nothing you do or say will save my life, I assure you. But you can save my friends. You may not believe me now but trust me, it’s true. Let me show you how very real it was…

Welcome to my life, human. Welcome to my nightmare.

[jeannerené]

Whisper ..... OK .... I'm definitely hooked.

... this is a well written prologue ... hats off to you!!

................. so ................. I want to read more.

Thank you for posting and I'm looking forward to your story.

[blackandwhite]

Lolz. I'm wondering whether I should have read that or not hahaha. I just sat crying all the way through ....I think I'll come back in a few weeks time and read it when I'm in better shape...
It's very well written though

[vulcan13]

You have my attention. Lets have the rest!

[whisper]

Thank you Jeanne and Vulcan!! Blackandwhite, I hope I didn't make you cry that wasn't intended in the least

anyways, I can post chapters 1 and 2 but that's all I've finished revising for now. Let me know what you think!!

[whisper]

Chapter One

I’m not one for formal introductions, and I don’t have time for it, anyway. Here’s a quick run-down of the type of person you’ve chosen to follow on your next Reading Rainbow adventure in hell: my name is Mirakala of Zaila Clan, but you can call me Kala. Everyone does, so it’s not a special privilege I’ve awarded you or anything. I’m fifteen years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days old. Or, I was when this all started. I have black hair, green eyes, and a pretty-enough face. I’m not being vain, I’m stating a fact. People put too much stock by appearances, anyway. I’m stubborn, fiercely loyal to those I love, and I don’t take crap from anyone. So, nice to meet you, blah blah blah, let’s get going. Back to what actually matters:

The voices made me do it.

That means I’m crazy, right? Well, okay. I wasn’t actually hearing voices, but that’s the best way to describe the instinct that flashed through me. It was strange, something I’ve never felt before. And, somehow, I knew what it wanted me to do: I had to go back. And break the sola? No, I couldn’t. Yes, I had to. It wasn’t worth the consequences. This was more important—

Me? Crazy? Nah.

The thick layer of soft, molding leaves and pine needles on the forest floor cushioned my bare feet, lending to the silence of the night. I couldn’t hear another creature, and if I’d been in my right mind, that would’ve warned me more than anything else. The animals know things, they feel things that are going to happen and make sure they are well out of the way when it does. There’s a reason for that instinct, but I’ll get to it later.

The smoke of the guard fires tickled my nose long before they came into view. I tried to turn around, to tell my feet to stop moving, but nothing worked. The complete lack of control was terrifying. I was helpless and I didn’t know why.  I did know where I was going; I was headed home and that was absolutely not okay. You’re confused right now, aren’t you? No, I didn’t run away from home. Yes, I love my family. But I was being tested and home was the one place I couldn’t go. So I should’ve stopped. Why didn’t I? Oh, right, because I’m an idiot. How’s that for self-control?

The guard fires, twelve in all, are placed in a wider circle than the wooden huts in which we live. Supposedly they’re bases for some magic spell that keeps the camp safe at night, but I’m not sure how. Probably some trick of the Omanh’s. In the center of the circle, the clearing is sandy dirt littered with pieces of netting, shards of stone, and the occasional scrap of wood from the fires. The central fire is wide and flat and used only for ceremonies or keeping food warm.

I skirted past one of the guard fires, its heat making the nervous sweat run more quickly down my back. I crouched down on my heels in the shadows of a hut and looked around. My heart beat frantically against my chest in fear. Fear of being caught, fear of why I was there. I stayed in the shadows for a long while, content to just watch and listen. It was all too easy for my over-eager mind to conjure up monsters in the flickering forms cast by the firelight. Then, several things happened at once.

There was a soft, shuffling noise, the hanging flap on a hut across the clearing swung aside and ghostly-white figure appeared. Goose bumps swarmed up my arms and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, despite the warmth from the guard fires. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. I knew whose hut that was.

In the hierarchy of the Clans, the Varn is the Warrior Leader and the Omanh is the Spirit Leader. The Omanh, arguably, has more power than the Varn because he conducts the Ruhan. The Ruhan is a coming-of-age ritual that a child must earn by passing a series of tests called the Hezekai, beginning the day before the child turns sixteen. The Omanh decides who passes and who fails, according to how the rules are followed. And the biggest rule during the sola, the fourth and last Hezekai, was to stay away from camp. Oops.

If a warrior had appeared that night, it would’ve been plain bad luck. A step worse, the Varn. But fate likes to throw a little extra ‘love’ my way, and it just so happened that the one person I’d been crossing my fingers against was the one person who appeared. Yep, you guessed it: the Omanh.

His hunched form had never seemed as intimidating as he hobbled into the camp clearing. His thin arm moved a walking staff a few feet from his hunched form and the rest of him hobbled to catch up. The Omanhs of the four Clans are ancient. No one remembers a time when they haven’t been the Omanhs. They’ve just always been there. I didn’t know the Zaila Omanh very well and I didn’t know the other three Omanhs at all, but I thought he was nice enough. Kind of strange, but I guess that comes with the territory of being two-thousand years old and having the power to ‘commune with the spirits’. Not that I believe in that sort of thing. I set my faith in things that I can shoot an arrow at, or track the footprints of.

The Omanh didn’t do much outside his hut simply because it took him so long to get anywhere. So, despite my fear of getting caught, I was curious. What could he be doing in the middle of the night? As I watched, the Omanh paused and was silent for a minute. Was he listening for something? What could he hear? He stared carefully around camp and my stomach dropped to the bottom of my toes. Did he know I was there? I held my breath, poised to run, but his eyes swept over my not-so-hidden hiding place without pause. After another minute, he began to move again. Relief flooded through me.

As I’ve already told you, I’m an idiot. A smarter person would’ve turned and left. If I’d been that smarter person, I probably wouldn’t be where I am right now. But, the past’s the past. And surprise, surprise: I stayed.

Time dragged by like thorns against my skin, but my opportunity to leave had vanished. When the Omanh finally reached the central fire, he paused, fumbling for something in a pouch that hung around his belt. A fine white powder trickled between his age-trembling fingers as he brought his hand out again. I couldn’t decide whether it was cinders, sand, or something else altogether. He held his hand over the crackling fire and let the powder fall.

There was an instantaneous poof of smoke, and when it cleared, the Omanh’s walking stick fell to the ground with a dull thud. For, the Omanh stood there no longer. In his place was an aged Tiger with more white fur than black or orange.

Oh…yeah. You’re human, we’re not. I’m hoping you had that one figured out all by yourself; but with humans, you never know. My people, the four Clans, are shapeshifters. The Clans are divided by Animal forms: Zaila Clan are Tigers, Hamza Clan are Cheetahs, Makya Clan are Eagles, and Talan Clan are Wolves. Did I surprise you? Did you think I was human? Think again.

And also, stop being surprised. This is nothing.

The Tiger sat down on his haunches and stared at the fire, waiting. I looked to the fire, also, and noticed a change. The powder had made the flames turn blue. Not the normal white-hot color, but a deep sapphire, unnatural blue. The color stayed for a moment as I watched, awed, and then the fire changed again. This time it flashed a blinding white and then became…transparent?

It was as if I was looking into a pool of water. The image was a little distorted, but I didn’t see the other side of the fire pit as I’d expected. I could see short, stubby grass that was brittle and dead. Something dark and rust-colored splattered the sandy soil in between patches of the brown plants. My nerves, already taut, jumped when there was movement inside the fire. I narrowed my eyes—surely the smoke was blurring my vision. I rubbed furiously at them and looked again. The foot was still there.

Inexplicable fear rose up within me. I tried to look away but something held me in place. My eyes, my mind, my very will was absorbed by the weird flames. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to run away; which I did. As I looked deeper into the fire, into the very core of the glowing embers, my breath caught.

The image blossomed and grew larger, out toward the farthest reaching tendrils of flame. The constant flickering of the firelight made the shape continually dance in fluid movements, but I could see enough of the outline to discern what it was. The foot belonged to a man, standing tall and arrogant, as if he believed nothing in the world could bring him down. Something seemed…wrong about him, though. His face was harsh and cruel-looking; I could tell, even from where I stood, that the man was no one good. But that wasn’t it. Was this an enemy? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he was different. The vision flickered again, and then was suddenly clear.

I found myself trying to identify which Clan he belonged to and my eyes flicked to his left wrist. An involuntary gasp tore from my mouth and I slapped my hand over my face to cover the noise. The Omanh’s head snapped around and stared right at the hut where I was hiding. I leaned into the shadow-darkened wood with my hand still over my mouth, not even daring to breathe. Long, slow, agonizing seconds passed as the Omanh seemed to stare straight at me and my mind whirled. He knew—he had to know I was there.

But then, remarkably, the Omanh turned his eyes back to the fire. I let out a—silent—breath of relief and closed my eyes, waiting for my heartbeat to slow. That was too close. Curiosity forced my eyes open once more, though, and a fascination of the image in the fire. I looked again at the man’s left hand, making sure I hadn’t dreamed it. Nope.

The man’s hand, where there should have been the mark of a Cheetah, Wolf, or Eagle (he was definitely not part of my Clan), was smooth and pale. And then the other details slowly made themselves clear to me: the rounded ears, the stubby legs…and his eyes. I stared deep into the unfathomable brown eyes, hard and flecked with malice. His plain, single-colored eyes.

Not the normal eyes of any shapeshifter, a being whose form is so intricately tied between animal and two-legged. The first fifteen years of a shapeshifter’s life, everyone has the same eye color. But during Ruhan, the first time the child Changes, his eyes change too. I’ve never personally seen it happen, but an inner ring of a different color appears, called the isenra. The common color stays in the outer ring, the opus. The man in the fire was clearly older than sixteen. So why didn’t he have isenra?

A cold, hard knot slammed into the pit of my stomach as the truth hit me. The man was not a Clan member. He wasn't even a shapeshifter. He was something that I’d only heard of in legends, in the old stories to make Clan children behave.

The figure I saw in the fire was a human.

[vulcan13]

Alright Whisper, I seem to recall reading a chunk of this story a while ago... A lot of the information you introduce is introduced very hurriedly, it seems almost like you don't want to spend any time explaining or giving details. After the voices made me do it, it gets unclear as to what is actually going on, and you use a bunch of strange vocabulary and don't really explain it. The plot seems very good so far, I especially like your ending sentence. I love the voice your character has, but i wish i got a little more of her reactions to what she is seeing and the details of it instead of something so purely narrative. Of course that is a style thing. Overall i look forward to reading more!

Also whisper, we are trying to do a comment on 2 of other people's posts from each thing you post system, so kinda keep that in mind.

[whisper]

Oh! I'm so sorry! I thought that rule was for new threads. No worries, I shall comment.

Thank you so much for your critiques--this is the problem I'm having while revising. In my earlier drafts, I took much longer to explain things and such because there's so much background needed. It's a whole new world with traditions and rankings that no one's familiar with so I tried to keep that in mind when I first wrote it. But when my teacher started going through my rough drafts, he said it was wayyyy too boring and everyone was just interested in knowing what was actually going on. And that makes sense because I was so focused on explaining things that I didn't really carry the story. But now I'm focusing too much on the story and not enough on the explaining? Or now everything's confused and I failed at revisions?

And when you say you want her reactions, what do you mean? With her voice and narration...I thought those were her reactions?

[vulcan13]

small details can reveal a lot about what a character is feeling. I guess I am missing the feeling of revulsion rising from deep in her stomach or the feeling of her heart beating harder and harder in her chest. More of her emotional (or emotionally revealing) details.

As for the background stuff... you definitely have to walk the middle of the road. Too many and you end up like say... Eragon which is painfully slow to read because of all the details, too few and it becomes hard to follow. It is a hard balance to strike. Maybe add some more context clues for your new vocabulary... Honestly it is something i struggle with too, you have not failed at revisions!!!

[Shadow Dragon]

I love the prologue. I haven't had a chance to read the rest yet though. I will try to do that soon.