JINJUP6RICHARDS

OPENING SCENE - Introduces the setting, tone, antagonistic forces, and highlights key themes.

If Solomon absolutely had to jump out of a plane, 0100 hours was not the time he would have chosen for it. Actually, scratch that, never was the time he’d actually pick, but since the Westsylvania Zone militia liked to hand out wall-to-wall counseling like a candy dispenser drone on Halloween, Solomon had little choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the cattle truck with the other dozen drafted teenagers, and began to help unload the parachute gear onto the departure airfield.

One of the plastic crates resisted his attempts to open it. He managed to pry the lid loose to count only three pairs of night-vision goggles nestled inside. Immediately he tossed one to Hyeon-Ju. His friend had weak nighttime vision, which made him a terrible candidate for combat jump training, but if optimum allocation of resources was the goal of any red zone militia, well, Solomon had yet to see it.

Speaking of seeing things – or not – Solomon squinted into the moonless night, his eyes straining to make out the vague outline of the aircraft on the runway. It loomed like a shadow against the dark backdrop of rolling hills behind it, its shape revealed only by the dim, flickering lights at the edge of the airstrip. Imminent now was their ascent into the pitch-black sky. There, at twenty-thousand feet, Solomon would make his first high-altitude jump.

Still gazing into the night, he turned his back to the cattle truck before stretching out his hands. He didn’t especially want anyone knowing his palms were already clammy. It wasn’t just because he was about to fling his body into basically the stratosphere, though, it was because of what a failed jump would mean. The memory of Adah’s tearful goodbye still haunted him, even a year and a half into his conscription. Promise you’ll come back!

His shoulders tightened. Forcing his thoughts away from his younger sister, he reached for his harness container. The last thing he needed right now was to be punished for moving too slowly.

But Wilson was already stomping across the dirt field. The lieutenant’s blue-green eyes jumped out at Solomon as the man held up his backlit AI tablet. “You can stare at the sky when you’re in it. Drop and give me twenty,” he barked, his voice cutting through the night air. 

Solomon wasn’t stupid enough to argue. He’d been trained sufficiently to know the only response was to hit the ground. Besides, with Wilson you didn’t get racial slurs, at least. Instead, as soon as Solomon got into position, he felt a weight begin crushing his fingers. It was a boot, Wilson’s boot, stepping with full force onto Solomon’s right hand as he pushed up and down against the hard-packed earth.

Twenty push-ups was nothing. Even the pain shooting up his arm Solomon could ignore. But the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, fighting his sense of powerlessness. Now was not the time to feel anything, anything at all. He had to focus on getting ready for his jump. In a few minutes he’d be seated inside that plane, masked with oxygen, and rising through the clouds. The cargo door would open, like a mouth waiting to swallow him. And he would have to leap through it. Into the night sky, into a belly full of stars and soldiers hurtling a hundred miles per hour with nothing between them and the vast expanse.   

***

Umma had been out getting groceries at Seoul Mart when Solomon called to tell her Dad still wasn’t home from work. “Don’t be afraid,” was the last thing she’d said to him, her voice distorted by a bad signal. “I’ll find him. If I’m not back by dinnertime, you and Adah make some kimchi fried rice. Be a good Oppa, okay, Solo?”

Solomon was Adah’s older brother by four years. For seven months he’d tried to be a good Oppa by making sure she was eating, paying every bill, reassuring her they’d be okay. He hadn’t stopped calling Dad’s office downtown until after the HR lady snapped at him that his father’s absence was his problem, not theirs. “Quit harassing us. I can’t keep track of every disappeared employee.” And when he’d found Adah curled up under layers of blankets, her forehead hot to the touch, he’d made it his job to figure out how much seaweed to soak for the soup their mother used to boil for them whenever they got sick. Sure, the red zone insisted cooking was for women, but Adah was only thirteen, and she was the one throwing up. Solomon wasn’t going to let her go hungry no matter what he was told. 

“I have to figure out how to put the house in my name, but I don’t think I’m allowed to do that until I’m eighteen,” he said as he placed the tray on the two-drawer nightstand next to her bed. One bowl of miyeokguk with not enough cubed chicken breast in it, thanks to the militias getting the first cut of everything that made it through the zone borders. He glanced through Adah’s bedroom window at the cold, gray street outside. A bright red mail drone flew by, its rotors buzzing. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Adah’s face fell. Her halfro was pulled up into a single puff. She reached out to tug it loose, which didn’t surprise Solomon as her hair easily got knotted around the band. But he didn’t think that was what was upsetting her. Her gaze, fixed on something far beyond the room, told him she was grappling with the implication of his words, his unspoken conclusion.

“I haven’t given up on finding them,” Solomon said quickly even as his stomach sank. He wished he hadn’t brought up the house deed. It’d been a relentless weight on his mind, but even so, the last thing he wanted to do was stress Adah out, especially while she was recovering. “FaceSeek didn’t turn up anything, but I’ve been talking to someone online who defected from the Philadelphia zone two months ago. I asked him to meet me in person. I need some censor-free information and it’s been hard to find anyone willing to give it to me, but I think this guy will.”

“You’ll take the yellow route?” Adah asked. She gave him a tiny smile that didn’t hide the tightness in her eyes.

He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. And I’ll make sure you have enough miyeokguk before I head out. Anything happens, you call me, okay?”

Two days later, on Sunday afternoon, when WhiteFunk1492 typed back, yeah, I can meet at the schenley oval tent, Solomon put his phone in his pocket and knocked on Adah’s bedroom door. Meeting WhiteFunk was what he'd been waiting for, but now that he was on the brink of it, he found his insides were churning. He didn’t tell Adah that, though. He didn’t tell her that there was a reason why school, church, and the grocery store were the only places he wanted to let them go these days. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave her a hug. “It's time.”

Adah dragged herself down to watch him through the open door connecting the kitchen and the garage. Umma had sung the “Lord bless you and keep you” passage from Numbers as a blessing whenever they left the house for school, and Solomon heard Adah start to sing it as he got into the car. That was just like her. To think of him even when she was sick, to encourage him the best way she could. His shoulders relaxed a little as he directed the car to pull out of their driveway and onto the road.

He still couldn’t help but look out every window, however, as his car drove up and down the hills, past cars half-parked on sidewalks per usual and lamp posts with pictures of militia veterans who had died. Neither could he help but think about the explanation his father had given him the very first time they got stopped at a checkpoint when he was only seven. “People have been calling it the Great Splintering because the nation split into patches of red and blue, scattered and for the most part disconnected. Some places, red militias rolled in from the fields and took over the cities. Other spots, cities held on and managed to spread that blue rule out to the country. Philly, right next door, they’re all under blue control, stretching across the east side of Pennsylvania. But not here. Pittsburgh, we fell into a red zone, and now those militias, they’re our law and our leaders.” 

It didn’t matter how many checkpoints Solomon had been stopped at since, he’d never not been nervous at a single one of them. Thankfully, Mappify’s yellow route didn’t let him down, and he arrived without encountering a single militiaman. It probably helped that it was one of those gray April days that felt like a leftover from winter. Nobody wanted to be outside when it was 38 degrees and half-hailing.

On 4/22/2021 at 7:51 PM, TyWashingtonP6 said:

I apologize about any typos/errors. I couldn't copy and pastE, so I hastily retyped everything. Here is the current opening scene:

Chapter 1

Malik

If he'd just gone straight home after detention, like he'd been told, they wouldn't have seen him. West Stadium Boulevard curved ahead toward Arbor Street Plaza and away from Malik's home. Traffic idled that night, game night, but periodically, a lone car or two splashed by on wet pavement. Malik stared straight ahead each time one passed, expressionless, looking like he had somewhere to be. A few blocks south, the Big House roared with raucous fans, music, and whistles, echoed by tailgaters up and down Main Street. Maybe a short time ago, he would have tripped off the maize'n blue analgesic that gave Ann Arbor her fix and kept her from going crazy like other cities. But that night, no amount of hype could drown his mother's peremptory voice out of his head.

Pull your pants up, Malik.

Don't wear your hood like that.

Keep your hands out of your pockets.

Her edicts were frantic and stern. She wrapped them like charms around his neck to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

I really like these sentences above, they're very evocative. 

If you get stopped for any reason, don't mouth off. If you get scared, don't act out. You hear me? Don't run, don't scream, and don't you dare cry.

He always cringed when she said that part about crying.

He cringed even now as he pulled his hood up over his head and tried not to think about the shopping incident from a few months ago. She had to keep bringing that up. Everyone did.

So I'm a little confused about what you're trying to show by having Malik pull his hood and put his hands in his pockets only a few paragraphs after you have him think about how his mother is telling him not to. It seems like from the sentence above "no amount of hype... out of his head" that he's listening to his mother, that's what is keeping him from going to the party. But now he's not listening? It feels inconsistent.

Malik shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to keep them warm as he walked toward the plaza, away from the school he had to survive for two more years, a school that always found some reason to penalize him, even though he kept his head down and got good grades in most of his classes.

You just do whatever they say and bring your skinny ass home. If something happens, you let me handle it.

His mom was always coming up to the school raising hell about the teachers being racists, to the point that Malik stopped telling her about things.

This is a good emotional detail, pulls me into Malik as a character.

The plaza was only a few more blocks up the road. Malik felt crazy even thinking about going back there after what happened, but he was just one drone part short of solving Northern Michigan's deforestation problem and earning a full ride to the University of Michigan's school of engineering, one of the few still operating and taking unsolicited applications. He just reached the intersection before the plaza when he heard a car screech to a halt and someone call his name. He knew who it was even before he turned to look.

I'm confused by the second sentence of the paragraph above. I'm assuming that the plaza is where the shopping incident referenced above happened? I'm guessing you'll go into it later. The other part that confuses me is the reference to solving Northern Michigan's deforestation problem. That's an incredible detail to just throw out there! Is Malik a genius of some sort? I got the impression from the above that he was a good student who didn't make waves/avoided attention but solving a deforestation problem seems like the kind of thing that would get a student a lot of attention. I think your intention is to characterize him as a smart kid (hence the full ride to the University of Michigan's school of engineering) but unless it's important to the story that he's like an actual genius, I would find some other problem that he's about to solve. Finally, I wasn't sure what that part of the sentence "one of the few still operating and taking unsolicited applications" meant. Are most colleges shut down for some reason in your story?

Malik's mother coming down to the school so often put him on more than just the administration's shitlist. Cameron Cooper and Dylan Wright had made it their personal mission to punish him. They were three years older and didn't even go to Pinecrest High anymore, but could still be found hanging around the city, usually going to parties at the university, even though neither of them was even remotely smart enough to be students there.

I think you need some sort of transition between the first sentence of the paragraph above and the second sentence. How does Malik's mother going to the school so often make Cameron and Dylan go after him? Are they children of teachers or school administrators? I think it'll work too to just cut out the first sentence and start with the second sentence since it'll explain who is in the car screeching to a halt in front of Malik.

Dad would want me to fight, Malik thought, as he stepped out onto the street. He wasn't the same scrawny kid they'd tormented his freshman year. He was lean but strong, after putting hours in at the gym with his dad's old army friend. He could hold his own if he had to. But he hoped he wouldn't have to. He slid his earbuds into his ears and stared straight ahead, deadpan, refusing to look at them.

Cameron's Ford Mustang rolled to a stop in front of him, cutting Malik off from the plaza parking lot. Malik stared at the tire, carefully still, delaying his glance upward to what he knew would be the smug, half-stoned face of one of his greatest tormentors. He felt empty and cool and weightless, nothing but jitter, but he concealed his nervousness as his eyes panned upward, rolling over Cameron's pale arm hanging listlessly out of the car.

Is there some special reason Cameron and Dylan picked Malik to torment? I think it would be more compelling if we had some sort of reason. Jealousy of his intelligence? Racism (but then why Malik and not another black kid)? Both? Something like "ever since Malik beat out Cameron in X competition he'd had it in for him, he was furious to be beaten by a black kid" although that might not work because above you say that Cameron and Dylan aren't smart enough to go to university, so maybe a girl Cameron liked who spurned him for Malik?

Malik's nostrils twitched at the subtle exhaust fumes leaking from Cameron's car. Hadn't these morons ever heard of reducing their carbon footprints?

"S'up, homie?" Cameron's sneer curved around the word. His eyes were hard and hateful. Dylan smirked stupidly in the background, pleased with Cameron's taunt and daring Malik to do anything about it. Malik let out a resigned sigh. They probably didn't even know what a carbon footprint was, even though children were indoctrinated with climate-change orthodoxy since nursery school. Too little, too late.

To be honest the climate change contempt coming from Malik kind of draws me away from him. I think it's plenty established already how smart he is so would it work to have him express more vulnerable emotions here? Like anxiety, fear, dread at having to go through this confrontation again. I really like the two lines you have above about him always cringing when she said that part about not crying, and the line I already pointed out about how Malik stopped telling his mother things. I feel like it might work in these two paragraphs to articulate Malik's attitude toward these two personally rather than articulating his attitude toward their knowledge or lack thereof of climate change. To continue with the girl example, if Malik was like I wish that girl hadn't said anything to Cameron, I didn't even like her, and now I've had to deal with this jerk for years, etc.

An angry driver stuck behind Cameron's car honked at him, and when Cameron didn't budge, jerked into the opposite lane and sped off, tires screeching, pipes polluting. Malik hardly registered the insult the driver hurled out of his window. He didn't look away from Cameron's smug glare.

I think there needs to be some sort of transition between this paragraph and the next. Some emotion on the part of Malik I think would do it, and then have him strike.

Malik struck first. Cameron had started to say something, but Malik never heard his next taunt. All he could hear was his own heart in his ears, the sharp crack of his knuckles against Cameron's nose, and then the terrified, enraged shrieking that hissed through Cameron's blood-streaked teeth. Malik's chest deflated, each breath like a bit of air escaping a balloon, until he sank into the realization of what he'd done. His eyes met Cameron's for a moment of mutual hatred, and then Cameron reached for the door handle and Malik kicked the door shut just as it opened. He bolted around the car and across the street.

The mustang's engine revved up behind him. His legs stretched out long and frantic in front of him, his gait awkward since the growth spurt he'd had that summer. He'd never been particularly athletic, but his PE teacher hoped he might at least give basketball some consideration and give himself a real chance to go to college, if that was what he really wanted. The cool air turned to fire in his lungs. The car screeched behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Cameron clumsily round the car off, but the vehicle slid sideways.

I think because this is the first scene and we don't know yet know what is truth v. what are the thoughts of an unreliable narrator, I'd be more clear in the third sentence of the paragraph above. Is is true that Malik actually only has a real chance of going to college through basketball? Or is his PE teacher being racist? If it's the latter, I'd say it a tiny bit more explicitly. "but his PE teacher insisted that the only way someone like Malik could have a real chance to go to college -- if that was even what someone like Malik wanted -- was with a basketball scholarship"

And then follow up with Malik's response. "Malik always ignored him, however. He preferred to run, and awkward though he was at it now, with the car screeching behind him, he was suddenly frantically glad he'd kept it up."

Malik pitched forward. His head smacked the pavement before he could even register being hit.

 

 

"Dude, what the hell did you do?"

Dylan's shrill voice jolted Malik out of the darkness. Malik scrambled to his feet, his breathing ragged and sharp. It didn't hurt as bad as it should have. Malik didn't stop long to think about it. He knew how adrenaline could distract the human body from pain. He'd used that fact to settle a debate once: if The Wolverine lost his ability to heal, would he still use his claws? The obvious answer was yes. Not only because of adrenaline, but because The Wolverine was both heroic and hotheaded, and hotheaded heroes didn't let pain stop them.

I'd get rid of the sentence "Malik didn't stop long to think about it" and join the sentences around it "it didn't hurt as bad as it should have but Malik knew how adrenaline could distract..."

Punching Cameron hadn't been heroic. It was just hotheaded. But that didn't stop Malik from feeling like a vigilante badass. He felt like Peter Parker just then. Actually, Miles Morales, he thought. By the time he reached the tech store's door, his chest burst with glee.

I'd get rid of "just then" or change "He felt like Peter Parker" to "He'd felt like Peter Parker just then"

And "chest burst with glee" to "chest was bursting with glee"

The door opened before he could grab the handle. The salesclerk blocked Malik's entry. He appeared startled.

Malik struggled to catch his breath. Unfortunately, he recognized the salesclerk as the same one who had got him in trouble the last time he was there, but he tried anyway. "Hey, man. Can you call the police?" He resisted the urge to laugh. He saw how ironic it was, asking this man to call the police. "It's not a joke," he promised. "I need help."

This paragraph above is good!

"Oh my God." The salesclerk ignored him. He rushed past Malik, into the parking lot, where a small crowd of store attendants were gathering in front of Cameron's car. Malik rolled his eyes.

Typical, he thought. They're more worried about Cameron and Dylan. Figuring the bullies couldn't hurt him in front of an audience, Malik trailed the salesclerk back to the scene of his assault. He slid his hand into his pocket, feeling for his phone so he could call his mom, but two things were missing.

His phone and his pocket.

Malik looked down. He couldn't fully see his legs. They were there, but they were...translucent and pulsing. I'm trippin', he thought. Maybe hallucination was some weird side effect of being hit by a car.

I'd get rid of the last sentence "Maybe hallucination..." I don't think it adds anything and detracts from the forward movement of the scene.

A siren cut through the air and relief temporarily flooded Malik's senses before tension set in. Getting the police involved could go either way. He started rehearsing his story in his mind, getting it straight. Yes, I hit first. But that's only because they beat me so bad one time, I had to go to the E. R. You can ask my mom.

Another good detail ("beat me so bad one time, I had to go to the E.R.") that draws me into Malik.

His mom. He had to call her.

His phone. He must have dropped it.

He turned around and scanned the ground. He didn't see it. It must have fallen out when he'd been hit. He maneuvered his way through the crowd, careful not to touch anyone, not to set anyone off. He found it. It had fallen near one of the cement parking blocks. Even though the screen was cracked, Malik could make out his mom's face as the phone rang. She would have been at work, but by now his little sister would have informed her that he wasn't home.

I think it's super interesting and that you do such a good job of subtly demonstrating how Malik is so used to being treated badly because of his race that he doesn't even recognize that he's a ghost right away. The store employee ignoring him, how he has to navigate a crowd without accidentally bumping into anyone, those are super good details.

Malik didn't pick up the phone. He just stared at the bruised-faced black boy, who lay sprawled in the center of the crowd, head propped up by one of the parking blocks and a pool of blood. He stumbled backward. "No," he uttered, anguished. He sobbed. No one moved to comfort him. No one knew he was there. Malik Thomas was dead.

I'd add a But to this paragraph "But Malik didn't pick up the phone." And the last sentence, I'd add a bit more transition too. "Somehow, unbelievably, he -- Malik Thomas -- was dead."

---

 

Conclusion: I really liked it! You do a very good job with capturing the subtleties of societal navigation Malik is subjected to. There are flashes of vulnerability that make him a compelling character and most of my comments above are to ask for more of them. I think you need some more transition words in a few different points but your prose is evocative and enjoyable to read. The only other thing I wish was in here was some indication of your fantastical setting which I only know about through the conference. I feel like it would make this scene that much more compelling, to have a hint even if it's only one, that this story is not quite your ordinary ghost story. I'm excited to read more!

On 4/16/2021 at 9:13 AM, Laura Neibaur said:

Thank you Jinju! I'm wondering if my first chapter is a little boring? Or at least the first scenes? 

Hi Laura! Sorry for the delay in replying. No, I wouldn't say your first chapter is boring. I think the main flaw in the first chapter is that I don't really know what's at stake. Hild doesn't seem to want anything or have any specific goals so he doesn't stand out to me as a character. He more or less stumbles into killing the Kadai and then even after that I don't know what he wants. You do a good job of showing, but when it comes to motivation, that can't really be shown, it has to be told. I think some straightforward telling of what Hild wants would help make him a much more compelling character and a good choice to start the story with. If Hild really doesn't want anything and (as the second chapter seems to show) doesn't know anything about the larger societal context I'd pick a different character who can explain a bit more and who has more of a driving desire.

 

CHAPTER 1

THE KADAI

 

It was just days into harvest and Hild's neck and cheeks were already stained pink from the sun. He swung the leather satchel of plums over his shoulder and glanced up at the heavy branches above-head. Blue and purple clusters of dark fruits were wreathed in curling, green leaves.

Orange rays peaked through thinning mid-morning clouds that swept across thriving green orchards and hayfields, beneath a boundless blue sky. The sight saddened Hild. How could war and ruin be so close to Buclaminta and the beauty of harvest still abound? He wondered if there would even be a harvest next year.

I'm wondering if there's a way to include more about what Hild wants here. He wants peace, it seems, and maybe he can go into his thoughts a little more about what kind of peace he wants, and why? He wants the Saegata to stop oppressing them? He wants the Kadai, the representatives of Corovnica to go away? Could we have (extremely brief) context here maybe?

While Hild stood enjoying the view, a brief vision materialized in his mind. It was Razya, standing in the damson plum orchard beside him, as she had done a thousand times. Her dark hair framed her face and shoulders. She turned and her eyes seemed to pierce right through his. The vision vanished and Hild took a deep breath. He had thought of her a lot lately, though they hadn't seen each other in days. Harvest had kept all the servants busy.

If you can include (the extremely brief) context up above, it might be lead more naturally into Razya. "Hild wanted peace more than he wanted anything. That was why he was a loyal servant to the XXXX family, and why he always would be, because they held peace and not power as their ultimate goal. Razya, too, was the same. He'd had many talks with her in the damson plum orchard, a thousand talks, about Buclaminta and what Buclaminta could be if only there was peace." Or something like that but with whatever it is that Hild actually wants.

Tineri pressed her velvety nose through stray patches of alfalfa to find the sweet new grass. Hild swung himself onto the dapple-gray mare and patted her neck. She read his slight shift in the saddle and stepped through the orchard toward the stone-paved trail that wound between the elite Upper Boundary estates of the kingdom of Buclaminta.

Sour cherries and fresh fowl meat from the local piaţă jostled in the leather dublari at Tineri's haunches. Hild had been sent by the head bucatar in search of the best fruits and cuts in the market. He hoped to see Razya when he returned to the orchards that afternoon, and discuss the rumors he'd heard in the village.

Your invented words makes this world seem very rich. Or are these words not invented but in a language I don't know?

As they ascended the mountain path along the steep edge of a rugged cliff, Hild could see the rippling terrain of the Desert Noapte, like a glassy, orange sea in the distance. Hild was reminded of stories of desert tribes and unmarked paths across dangerous territories, but only warriors would leave Buclaminta, and only the best would return. Hild sighed. He had been bereft of family ties early in life and was born with one deaf ear, which made him unsuitable for proper warrior training. Although, with recent threats from the western kingdom of Corovnica, they might conscript anyone.

Lush, green dog-rose bushes climbed the trunks of silver poplars, and thin rays of sun crept through a network of branches, creating a spectacular mosaic of buttery light on the path.

I like the phrase buttery light!

While Hild was distracted by the landscape, a mounted Kadai guard appeared unexpectedly on the path in front of him. Both horses arched and shied away with flared nostrils.

I think because I have no idea who the Kadai are at this point, I want the context earlier so when we run into this Kadai we have some orientation of who he is. Lawful overseer, enemy soldier, higher-than-servant freeman conscripted to be a guard?

“La naiba! Stupid boy.” the Kadai yelled, unsheathing his sword. “Watch where you’re going.”

Hild could smell the strong scent of tsuica on the Kadai's breath. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't see you." He lowered his head.

But the ill-tempered Kadai was not satisfied. The guard tilted his head back and spit on Hild’s face. Heat rushed to Hild’s cheeks and he made the critical mistake of wiping the spittle with his hand and glancing up as the soldier passed.

Before he could react, the Kadai slammed his sword hilt into the bridge of Hild’s nose. Hild arced backward off of Tineri and hit the ground. Blood trickled into the back of Hild’s throat, and he sat up coughing and spat bitter saliva onto the dirt.

“Don’t raise your head to me.” The Kadai shouted. “Do you know your place now, slave boy? You know how much we hate your kind. Good for nothing foreigners! What are you doing on a horse like that anyway? Steal it did you? Now, clean up the mess you made on this path before I make it bigger.”

I'm confused. How is Hild a foreigner? 

Hild wiped his nose on his sleeve and reached for his duffle to replace the scattered fruits. He tried to steady his breath and keep anger from corrupting his calm façade. He put the leather strap across his chest and kicked dirt and pebbles over the dark red puddle. Blood dangled in a stream from Hild’s nose and chin as he re-mounted Tineri.

The Kadai gaped at Hild. “Are you deaf, slave boy? I asked if you know your place?”

Hild knew insubordination always comes at a price, but he never mastered the ability to bridle his frustrations with the imperial guards. Hild grinned, “As a matter of fact, I am partially deaf. Would you mind repeating your question…in the right ear?”

Imperial guard is a good clue, but since I didn't know there was an empire, I think it would be better to put this earlier, either right as the Kadai is mentioned or before.

The Kadai’s mouth hovered open, and his face went as red as simca. “This could cost you your life in the Upper Boundary, slave boy. How does a trip through the desert to the Floarelands sound?”

Hild watched the Kadai edge closer and raise his sword above his head. His round, manic eyes were pinned beneath greasy hair, and he looked at Hild with repulsion. In a split second of raw reflex, Hild ducked and deflected the blow with his arm, then lunged at the Kadai. He jerked on the Kadai’s vesta and they rolled off their horses and hit the dusty road. The Kadai scrambled for his sword, but before he could steady himself, Hild rammed him with his shoulder. The Kadai stumbled and fell between two firs, down a steep embankment and into a grove of boulders nestled in craggy trees.

Rolled off their horses -- I think Hild is already off his horse right?

Hild's insides coiled at the sight of the body, barely moving, far below. "What have I done?" He whispered, squeezing his wounded arm. Blood soaked through his gauzy, white cămaşa and trickled through his fingers. He unwound the leather chimir from his waist and tightened it above the wound. With his good arm, he pulled himself onto Tineri, spun her on her hindquarters, and urged her into a gallop.

Here would be a good place to put some motive. "He wanted to get to the Krise estate, to home. His master would tell him what to do. He hoped he wouldn't get in trouble -- or worse, get Lord Krise in trouble."

The Krise estate sat on a series of rolling, pale-green hills dotted with the pinks and purples of cornflowers and wild thyme. On one end of the field, a forest of black locusts and new scots pines bordered the hayfields, and patches of sun zig-zagged between squirrely branches. On the northern border was a damson plum orchard whose dark fruits had just finished ripening.

A wooden cart and an old pony stood idly in the bordering field near several shirtless men who worked their scythes against the flowering alfalfa. A few children knelt by the forest edge gathering mushrooms and herbs into leather satchels and woven baskets.

As he rode onto the lawn of the estate, Hild recognized a horse being prepared by the stable help. The horse belonged to Razya's master, a Sheehan Warrior named Kasyl, from the neighboring estate. He must have shared a late breakfast with Hild's master, Lord Krise. Hild had always shown favor with Sheehan Kasyl and pleaded in his mind that Kasyl would know how to help.

This is good motivation indication, he wants help. But why from Kasyl and not from Lord Krise? If he didn't even know that Kasyl was going to be there when he rides away from the Kadai?

 

 

                                                            CHAPTER 2

                                                      SHEEHAN KASYL

 

Hild urged Tineri toward the flower-encased veranda by the back door of the mess hall. He handed the reigns to the shocked, young attendant in a sweat-stained linen cămaşa.

Hild practically fell through the double doors of the dining room. The caramel sweet notes of tsuica plumb brandy permeated the air. On the long, ebony dining table, sat a tinned copper ewer etched in geometric designs. Two platters of mamaliga and late summer vegetables sat half-eaten beside a chalice of warm, ciorba sour soup.

At the sight of blood on Hild’s clothes, Lord Krise and Kasyl shoved themselves away from the table and hurried to his side.

“Hild, what the hell happened?” Lord Krise asked. They steadied Hild and lowered him into a wooden, round-backed chair.

This part also confused me. Is Hild an especially loyal/well-considered servant? Because usually I think that servants are not allowed to have access to their masters so easily, can't just show up to breakfast. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing your breakfast, Lord Krise.” Hild breathed. He wasted no time explaining. He knew an infraction against the emperor’s guards, even a lowly Kadai, would be dangerous. “I might have killed him. I didn’t mean to do it. What do I do now?”

“Let’s address your wounds before we discuss what we’re going to do.” Lord Krise snapped. “A servant could be hung for this, or worse.”

“Let me take a look at your arm.” Kasyl knelt beside Hild, then he chuckled, “Disturbing an unusually late mic dejun is not a punishable crime. But you got yourself into some serious trouble today, didn’t you? Not hard to do with the Kadai these days. Especially if you look like you’re from Corovnica or the northern regions. You are not a foolish boy like many, and I’m sure you were provoked.”

Oh, okay, I think I get it now. Hild is from Corovnica and he's a servant in Buclaminta. And the Kadai are Buclaminta-loyal guards. With that context the Kadai attacking him makes much more sense. 

Side note: is there no estate doctor that Hild could go to? I just really can't imagine a servant getting hurt and then going straight to his master, that feels like more of a son-father relationship!

“It’s true, he threatened my life.” Hild clenched his teeth as Kasyl loosened the soaked chimir from Hild’s arm.

The carved double doors of the dining room burst open and Reinick, Lord Krise's oldest son, strode into the room and slammed the heavy doors behind him. He carried a bow, and a quiver was secured on his back. He peaked around the green-on-white, embroidered damask drapes that framed one of three tall windows. "What's going on?" He spoke gruffly as he walked to Hild. "I was out riding and I heard rumors of possible murder. Here you are bleeding."

I think it's peeked.

Lord Krise touched Reinick’s arm. “It was an accident. But Hild is responsible.”

Hild squeezed the seat of the chair while he spoke, “We could get help for the soldier. I’m not sure he’s dead.”

Reinick gaped at Hild, “Get help for a Kadai? You should have finished him off, and sent his body down into the forests." He turned to Lord Krise, "Father, we could dispose of him tonight. No one would ever know. We don’t need any more attention from the Segaeta,” he growled. "We've already broken the law by teaching Hild to fight."

So this reveals more about Hild, which is interesting. But now I'm confused again about who the Krise family is, are they Corovnican too? That would make sense, if so, as they would be loyal to a fellow co-nationalist servant.

Kasyl jerked his head toward Reinick. “Hild is a servant and he will not likely escape prosecution no matter how thorough our attentions. But they have no reason to pay any attention to you, Reinick.”

So Hild is doomed? If so I think we need some more feeling from Hild here, some desire on his part to escape or some anxiety about getting out of trouble if he can.

“Father, whatever Kasyl believes, you know this could implicate the entire family. What did he do? We all know he’s inept, but clumsiness doesn’t usually lead to murdering a soldier.”

Kasyl stood to his full height. "He did nothing wrong in defending himself. The Kadai guards are loose with the rules at best." Kasyl turned back to Hild, and said solemnly, "There are always witnesses though, remember that. Nothing goes unseen or unpunished in Buclaminta or Corovnica."

Reinick scoffed, "Corovnica." He muttered, rolling his eyes. "A degenerate, worthless kingdom of less-than-humans." He glared at Hild, "They should be crushed like struguri for wine. Perhaps they should all be Sifted.”

Kasyl cast a glance of condescension, "Not only are you off point and very naïve, but you are swift with your tongue. It's clear that you know little about politics and cultures beyond our own."

Okay so never mind, Hild is Corovnican and the Krise family and Kasyl are Buclamintan. And the Kadai are Buclamintan. Why did the Krise family treat Hild so specially then? I get Reinick's contempt for him and I think that's a good way to show his political attitudes. Maybe all I want is to know Hild's political attitudes, and to know them earlier on at the very start of the book.

Reinick replaced his bow on his back, “With the deepest respect sir, I have fought them face-to-face, and we know exactly what Corovnicans are made of. And when they arrive for war, their blood will run our streets like rivers.”

"Hold your tongue Reinick." His father reproached him.

Kasyl shook his head and began tearing Hild’s camasa just above the wound. “It’s not as deep as I thought.” He turned to the servitor, “I need hot water, miere brut, and cattle gum for binding. Oh, and bring me writing utensils as well, please.” The servant nodded and hurried out of the room. “This will certainly get the attention of the Segaeta though. I believe the time has come for certain individuals to leave Buclaminta.” Kasyl said darkly.

I feel like the servitor would have tried to stop Hild from coming in all bloody.

I think this pivot toward "it's time for them to leave" is much clearer in this draft than in your first draft. Good job!

Lord Krise looked hard at Kasyl and then at his son, “I need to speak privately to Sheehan Kasyl.”

“Father?” Reinick growled.

“Leave!” Krise shouted.

Reinick stomped toward the entrance of the dining hall. He glanced back at Hild, then slammed the doors, leaving a loud echo behind.

 “She must go too.” Kasyl continued. “Tonight, if possible. I’d send her with Hild but it would draw attention.”

Krise pursed his lips, then he lowered his voice. "Do you think it worth the risk yet? Once they leave, they'll be hunted, and when they are discovered, we will all be implicated in their…situation. Do you think the risk is any less if she stayed under your watch care? She's but a servant. No one knows her past."

Hild looked from Lord Krise to Kasyl. He wondered if they were discussing Razya and desperately wanted to know more, but Hild had been checked violently before for meddling in politics.

My vote is that Hild already knows more, that he knows they are talking about Razya, and that he has an opinion and a desire. Would it work for Kasyl to say earlier "it's time for her to leave Buclaminta, and I think Hild should go with her given this new development"? so that it's clearer that Razya has been on a shortlist to go for sometime? And then put here something about Hild being excited or feeling hopeful, he would love to leave Buclaminta with Razya, or like I said, whatever it is that you decide he wants, to tell that to us.

Lord Krise stepped closer to Kasyl and leaned in, “Are you sure this isn’t an imprudent attempt to further your political sentients?”

Kasyl jerked his head toward Krise, “Sentiments?” He looked offended. "My sentiments, are no different than anyone else's here or in Corovnica. Iubeste libertate.” He took a deep breath, “They will find her if she stays. They will find Hild too. Neither one is safe. No one is safe though, you know that, Krise. Not anymore. Even the Upper Boundary faces the biggest threat we’ve seen in decades.” 

Lord Krise turned with a sigh, "You well know that I am still under Verganos' employ, as well as Impirat Shaktus. They might as well be one and the same. I do wish you would use less candor in my household, and I might add that I cannot condone what you are doing here, and any information I obtain can likely be used by the Segaeta. And if they find out who Hild is…they may dispose of my entire bloodline. I beg you to reconsider your involvement in this scandal."

Hild could abstain no longer. “What are you talking about? What scandal? Who is Verganos?”

I'm with Hild. I think all this is too much information. I'd have Lord Krise object "but I'm nervous the Saegata will find them if they leave!" but Kasyl tells him to shut up that he promised Kasyl he'd help him and it's time for Lord Krise to provide that help, and then move onto the goal of getting Hild and Razya out of there and skip all the history/backstory between Kasyl and Lord Krise. I don't think here is the place to put it, it just makes Hild seem strangely indifferent to his own fate.

Kasyl ignored Hild. “Scandal? Krise, the lives of two innocents are at stake. They are our own. This is not a scandal. This is a revolution. And why do you think I chose to employ Hild in this household and Razya with me? Because you were sympathetic once too. What do you want? Just let the Segaeta handle it? Keep the rules? Do what we’ve done for decades? Don’t turn your back on me now, Krise.” Kasyl’s voice shook. “Not right now.”

Lord Krise wrung his hands, “Oh Kasyl, don’t think I don’t care. Things have changed, but I haven’t forgotten old friendships.”

“They were more than friendships," Kasyl growled.

Ok that's it! Hope that helps!

On 4/11/2021 at 12:59 AM, Shola said:

Hey Jinju! 

“The burning flesh catches my attention. I am confused though by what's being carried (the scent?) and how a newly opened door can carry a scent. Can you instead say something maybe about the ‘scent wafted through the open door’? Something like that.” -

Yes, I can see the potential for confusion here. 

I envisioned that the scent that was heavily concentrated in the outside being drawn in due to the breach created by the opened door.

But just your contribution of that verb opens up  a better communication of the idea. I will play with it until a more easily digested sentence reveals itself.

“I think I need more of a scene set. Right now there's a door, and a tower, and a room? Is the room inside the tower? Is the room at the base of the tower? So these guys are descending down toward the Emperor? But now the smell is coming into the tower from outside?” -

I created this scene with the layout of the actual palace in my head (#’s 14 & 19) and so I think I relied on that a bit too much to lessen my workload. 

The Pope’s room is in the upper portion of the tower. The prisoners and guards are coming from the tower’s depths into the upper level. The Emperor is coming from the balcony which is just outside the Pope’s room. I included the layout so you can see what I mean. I know there is a better way to illustrate “what is where” and “where who is coming from”, but it eludes me. I really would like people’s take on this. I want to keep it informative but not confusing. 

I see what you mean. I think the way you describe it here is actually extremely clear and I would use that as a basic starting point. "The Pope's room was in the upper portion of the tower. The prisoners and guards were coming up from the tower's depths into the main hall. The Emperor emerged from the balcony just outside the Pope's room and descended to the main hall as well, halting well before the prisoners." Or something like that. I don't know if main hall is the right word but I like it better than upper level which confuses me because I think of upper levels as not the same as ground floors which is where I think everyone is congregating, right?

“That said, there are way too many characters for me to be able to keep track of in a first scene. Could it be just Jacques for now and maybe two interrogators?” -

I cheated again and hoped that since three of the opening characters were historical people, that would somehow lessen the mental burden that comes with many characters. A delusional rationalization to justify my laziness probably. 

Maybe it would work for someone who knew this period of history well, but I have to admit complete ignorance!

“I don't think you need that paragraph explaining Clement V's efforts at crusading, it's clear enough already that he's a bad guy and motivated by greed. It feels like it takes away the tension in that scene to step back and explain the historical context.” -

You may be right. 

Do you think it should be placed elsewhere? Or scrapped altogether?

Do you think it served any purpose in shining a light on Clement?

I think you do a good job already of showing how evil Clement is, I don't think you need that paragraph to tell us again that he's evil. I would just scrap it.

“Maybe just get rid of the nephew. 
“-

Lol it may be necessary.

I like him as he is a real person of history and in the story, though they are similar in age, he is the Yin to the MC’s Yang and I felt that including him in this scene was integral to making the envy and hatred that he feels to Nawaa (simply because he has garnered his uncle’s affections not cuz tech) organic and legitimate in the mind of the Reader.

Does that justify his presence here in your eyes?

I think the above justifies his existence in the story, quite crucially so. I don't think he's at all necessary to the first scene in your book. 

“Where you don't limit yourself to any one character's POV but instead step back more like a camera viewing everybody.” -

Yes. I never knew the technical term until I read Mike’s piece. I think this one in particular is 3rd person POV “close”. I use it on any character but the only person whose thoughts I actually write (“first-close”) are MC’s. 

Reading said article put things into perspective for me and explained rules that I had been following for the most part, but nonetheless never knew existed. I’m still getting used to its rhythm and am constantly on the lookout for errors in my usage.

 

“To be honest this plan on the part of the pope doesn't make much sense to me. Does the pope think that the Jews are going to come back in full trust, yes, the pope stole everything once but he surely won't do it again? 

If it's not something the plot depends on I'd get rid of it because it makes either the Jews attracted back or the pope look very stupid.

Is it a very big deal that the pope is secretly behind the pogroms? My (limited) understanding of pogroms is that they happened openly with state sanction and everyone knew the ruling authorities were behind them but their knowledge didn't matter because they could do nothing about them. Would people be outraged or something if they found out the pope was behind the pogroms? Is that why he's keeping his involvement a secret? Maybe my view of historical people is cynical but I didn't think they'd care much if pogroms were happening to not-them.” - 

In the story it is not public knowledge that the Pope was involved in the pogroms at Nuremberg and historically, only Charles IV is recorded as complicit. 

Clement is regarded as genteel and high-minded (an image which, historically, he treasured perhaps above all else), the loss of this image would be a great concern for him. The citizenry may not care about the Jews but they will care that the Pope is a fraud. And historically, he did make Avignon a haven for the persecuted Jews. 

I don’t think it’s necessary for the plot as much as it is in staying true to the events of history that occurred prior to the fictional aspect of the story taking place ex: Avignon was made a safe haven for Jews and foreign Jews did travel there for safety.
But they probably wouldn’t have if they knew the Pope was profiting from them. Which is why it is kept secret.

What’s your take?

You think I can sell it better with improved prose?

Or does it still strain the suspension of disbelief regardless?

I'm still a little confused. Like I said, I know nothing of the history of this period, so I suppose I'm a good guinea pig for explaining these things to. I think I'm mainly confused about the difference is between the actual history and what is going on in your story. Clement valued being considered high-minded, but he wasn't actually high-minded/genteel? Is that history? He set up Avignon historically, but historically was he actually profiting off them? Or is that a fictional twist?  

I'll say this, if Clement valued being regarded as genteel and high-minded but in reality he wasn't those things, I would make all that a whole lot clearer in your actual story. I had no idea Clement cared about having a genteel reputation from what I read here.

I still find myself unable to believe that medieval Europeans will care even if they find out their pope is behind the pogroms. Like I said, though, I know extremely little about this time period so take my disbelief with a grain of salt. I figure though that they'll say something like "oh see the Jewry are so bad that even our pope who was so gracious to them with Avignon still thought they needed to be rooted out."

“Maybe get rid of all the secret pogrom stuff and instead have Jacque's confession be more directly related to the Sultan Yusuf and his visitors from the dark continent?” -

Hmmm, I’ve never considered that. I’d have to weigh everything in the balance but I can definitely see that as being a preferable alternative.

“Is Nawaa not Yahwudin?” -

Yeah he is lol.

“Nawaa had forgotten how obsessed his people were with..” 

Is that an improvement?

Or is it that quoted passage suggests that Nawaa is too unfamiliar with these facts for someone who is indeed Yahwudin?

If so, the reason why his knowledge of these things is relegated to “stories” is because his life as a youth of nobility tends to isolate him from experiences or concerns relating to the outside world.

Maybe I should touch on the extreme life of luxury that he experienced prior to taking up this voyage?

And then use an improved version of quoted passage as a means of illustrating the extent of the resultant socio-cultural disconnect?

I like "had forgotten how obsessed his people were with..." I think it captures well his sense of disconnect from the world due to his noble background. I don't think you need to do anything else to it.

“So these two lines: ‘Though they supposedly bear us no ill will, that is no protection from the lusts that may excite them upon seeing our Waterscrews. Best to not allow even the possibility of provocation.’ and

‘He had heard stories of fabricators and technicians destroying freshly made weapons, vehicles and other technologies for fear of outsiders acquiring remnants or parts initially considered refuse and using it to their advantage.’

are confusing me a little. The Europeans seem waaaay behind technologically, are they really even able to understand the technology of the Yahwudin such that the Yahwudin need to keep everything such a secret? Or is it more that the Yahwudin had a recent jump in technological evolution and so they want to keep what is a more recent advantage secret? If it's the former and they're just way ahead, why haven't they taken over more by now?” -

I appreciate your insight.

I have been struggling to put into words the nature of the technology gap but I chalked up the difficulty as all being in my head. Obviously I was wrong.

With regard to your two questions, the issue is a mix of the two. The secret to their technology is a fuel; think of a civilization that stumbled upon gunpowder a century and change before anyone else but had the good fortune to perfect it and practice all sorts of diverse applications in perfect seclusion.

The things they would come up with wouldn’t necessarily equate to “Cowboys and Aliens”. The catalyst is utilized via a principle that is universally understood and manifest in something as primitive as the sling to something as (relatively) advanced as the crossbow. 

If a product of their gunpowder (Fire Sand) mastery is attained and the extent of its applications deduced through experimental usage and operation, it would be quite simple for the nation to better themselves through dedicated and common sense reverse engineering.
The threat potential posed by things like Greek Fire, though inferior, confirms for the Yahwudin the legitimacy of their paranoia.

Though this conversation occurs toward the end between the (formerly secret) Templar Hugues and various members of the Yahwudin council, some of which he has won over in favor of the complete annihilation of the Papacy, for your consideration I think this simplifies the answer to your two questions.

(Tried in vain to wrap in spoiler tags. Sorry.)

“So we retreat?”

“If we do that, the Europeans will use it as time to remobilize and refocus their energies and motivations to prepare for an all out war with us. The inhabitants will be propagandized and made that much more formidable, it will be made a holy war for them. Also, we will have lost the benefit of surprise. Whether it be in another two, five or twenty-five years, the church will spend every waking moment preparing for our return.”

“Also they have managed to steal several of our weapon caches, there is no reason to limit their ability to reverse engineer our designs when they’re motivated by a constant looking for of an oncoming threat.”

“Whatever concerns about body count you have now, they will be exponentially increased upon your return to finish the job.” (H)

“So what are you saying? We have to kill them all now?”

“I see no alternative.” (H)
~end~ 

Lastly, the Yahwudin have become too comfortable and secure to concern themselves with conquest. It is Nawaa's antics that compel them to bare their teeth otherwise they would have faded into obscurity, ultimately brought to self destruction in one way or another by the apathy that comes with luxury and excess.

I sensed an actual inquiry in this so I figured I’d do my best to address it. Hope it wasn’t excessive.

With this information do you think those bits can remain?

Or do you think that regardless they don’t do the job without being given total context (which admittedly won’t be provided until much later)?

Maybe my problem is that I don't have a clear idea what Fire Sand actually is/how it works. It's a chemically formulated substance that can be consumed as a fuel which powers machines/boats etc. in a much more efficient way than horsepower/manpower. Is that right? Maybe I would just say something like that. I think I also still don't quite see why the Yahwudin didn't bother with conquest... maybe this is just my cynicism about human nature rising up again but it's hard for me to imagine anybody not trying to gain more for themselves if they can because of superior technology/power. Could there be a religious reason behind their deliberate limitation of themselves? Maybe I just need to see more of the culture and history of the Yahwudin people to get a better sense of their comfortableness/secureness. Which means I need to read more of your story, something I'm happy to do!

On 4/12/2021 at 7:14 PM, Laura Neibaur said:

 

 

It sounds like you did a lot of edits. I'd read your new take again if you posted it here!

The unmistakable scent of burning flesh rushed through his nostrils having been carried inside by the newly opened door.

The burning flesh catches my attention. I am confused though by what's being carried (the scent?) and how a newly opened door can carry a scent. Can you instead say something maybe about the "scent wafted through the open door"? Something like that.

A trio of papal enforcers entered in from the tower’s staircase.

I think I need more of a scene set. Right now there's a door, and a tower, and a room? Is the room inside the tower? Is the room at the base of the tower? So these guys are descending down toward the Emperor? But now the smell is coming into the tower from outside?

I am engaged by the threat hanging over these men, and you make it nicely clear that they are ringleaders against the powers-that-be. That said, there are way too many characters for me to be able to keep track of in a first scene. Could it be just Jacques for now and maybe two interrogators? I like the character and the strength he is showing and would like him to persist and his accusation against the pope are clear. I don't think you need that paragraph explaining Clement V's efforts at crusading, it's clear enough already that he's a bad guy and motivated by greed. It feels like it takes away the tension in that scene to step back and explain the historical context.

It gets really good when we get down to the direct one-on-one conflict between Clement's polite murderousness and Jacque's resistance. It's this back and forth that I mean when I ask above if it could be juts Jacques and maybe two interrogators although I understand that you need the other prisoners there to distinguish between Jacques' fate and theirs. Maybe just get rid of the nephew.

Your descriptions of the corpse burning are unnervingly vivid!

The once bold Collectore, newly depleted of courage, knelt in obeisance.

So I've been noticing lines like this, basically where you the author describe with adjectives what the characters are like. It seems like you're doing 3rd person omniscient POV, am I right? Where you don't limit yourself to any one character's POV but instead step back more like a camera viewing everybody.

also that you plan on attracting the Jews back in order to seize their properties again.

To be honest this plan on the part of the pope doesn't make much sense to me. Does the pope think that the Jews are going to come back in full trust, yes, the pope stole everything once but he surely won't do it again? If it's not something the plot depends on I'd get rid of it because it makes either the Jews attracted back or the pope look very stupid.

the truth behind Nuremberg and the pogroms.

Is it a very big deal that the pope is secretly behind the pogroms? My (limited) understanding of pogroms is that they happened openly with state sanction and everyone knew the ruling authorities were behind them but their knowledge didn't matter because they could do nothing about them. Would people be outraged or something if they found out the pope was behind the pogroms? Is that why he's keeping his involvement a secret? Maybe my view of historical people is cynical but I didn't think they'd care much if pogroms were happening to not-them.

"As you wish, sire. It is rumored by both the Spanish and Granadans alike that the Sultan Yusuf is to receive visitations from some relatives of the dark continent.”

Is it at all possible to start the first scene more around here? Medieval torture can be engaging but it's also been done many times. This, though, is new. I'd love to see the story begin with introducing the key historical difference. Obviously it has to somehow be done in an engaging way which you do well in the first half of the scene. Maybe get rid of all the secret pogrom stuff and instead have Jacque's confession be more directly related to the Sultan Yusuf and his visitors from the dark continent?

“So it’s true?” Rigault asked slowly standing to his feet. “That is why there’s been no penetration into the continent’s interior?”

Like this line is cool. Maybe the secret that Clement is trying to repress is not "I'm behind the pogroms" but rather "we utterly failed to penetrate the dark continent's interior/suffered a massive rout"

“Our position at the apex of military capability must remain unquestioned for our authority and influence to be maintained. Considering the interests of governance, the public’s awareness of a foreign power that rivals said apex position is dangerous. It is best to keep the flock in the dark regarding such things.”

And there you go, you already have it as a secret that has to be kept.

Hugues remained in the background as he watched the event unfold. His temples pulsed and throbbed as he continuously clenched his jaw in angst.

This is kind of what I mean when I say there are too many characters. I've already forgotten who Hugues is. Or why he's so sympathetic to Rigault at the end.

Nawaa had forgotten how obsessed the Yahwudin people were with the preservation of their Fire Sand machinery. He had heard stories of fabricators and technicians destroying freshly made weapons, vehicles and other technologies for fear of outsiders acquiring remnants or parts initially considered refuse and using it to their advantage.

Is Nawaa not Yahwudin?

So these two lines: Though they supposedly bear us no ill will, that is no protection from the lusts that may excite them upon seeing our Waterscrews. Best to not allow even the possibility of provocation.” and

 He had heard stories of fabricators and technicians destroying freshly made weapons, vehicles and other technologies for fear of outsiders acquiring remnants or parts initially considered refuse and using it to their advantage.

are confusing me a little. The Europeans seem waaaay behind technologically, are they really even able to understand the technology of the Yahwudin such that the Yahwudin need to keep everything such a secret? Or is it more that the Yahwudin had a recent jump in technological evolution and so they want to keep what is a more recent advantage secret? If it's the former and they're just way ahead, why haven't they taken over more by now?

I know nothing about boats but the impression I'm getting is that you have either a lot of research on them or have a lot of experience (or both) with them. I like the detail I'm reading!

Conclusion: Nawaa is intriguing me as a character, the last line you have him mutter makes him quite sympathetic. I really like the setup wherein you introduce the dark continent and its superiority as a secret to be suppressed in the first scene, and then follow up with a point of view character living out the said rumors. I think if the first scene could be simplified so it's easier to get through that would be great in terms of keeping the reader's attention. This premise has intrigued me from the start, I want to know what happens next!

As part of her recent nightly routine, Alex Mercer watched from across the street as Henry Shen stepped out from his doorway with his briefcase and firmly locked the door behind him, oblivious to her shadow across the street cast by the streetlights.

I got confused by what seems to be a POV hop. Alex seems to be the one whose viewpoint we're following, but when you throw in "firmly" and "oblivious to her shadow" I start to think we're hopping from Alex's POV to Henry's. Adding a "seemed to be" might help like "he seemed to be oblivious to her shadow across the street…" so that we can stay in Alex's POV.

ran around his orbits

Does this mean his eyes? I haven't come across orbits used in this way. Unless this is a specific technological/fantastical term in your story?

I like your detail about SF's Chinatown night market. I've never been so I can't testify to how it's like but I've been to open air markets before and you capture the sense well. I'm surprised there's no food though that's the main thing I think of when I think of these markets.

ever-growing homogeneous

Why are they ever-growing? And why are they homogenous? Do crowds generally just get bigger and bigger over time? And as to homogeneity is it because they're all Asian? Like I said I've never been to SF's market but the ones I've been to in NYC are a little more diverse just by virtue of being in America.

I like Alex's internal voice.

Shen's head swiveled, eyes scanning

Seems to be POV hopping again. Can you add an "Alex watched as Shen's head swiveled…" or something like that?

Alex rubbed the corroded flakes off her hands when she reached the roof.

Nice detail. Also, in general I like this stalking scene, it's intense and keeps me engaged.

missing money. What kinda asshole steals from honest, hardworkin’ whores who barely speak English? For a few nights, watching those working girls had unearthed childhood memories Alex thought she buried. 

This is very interesting, but the phrase "missing money" throws me off. "Stolen money" I think would be better, followed by Alex's internal dialogue explaining who the money was stolen from.

With her yearning veins screaming, she climbed back down the ladder and waited at the back door, hand on her waist. Her fist tightened as she swung. Three knocks interrupted the premature fun. The door opened just enough to reveal Alex’s scarred face under the pale moonlight. A fresh claw-mark slashed across her exposed abdomen. A second deep one ran vertically through her right eye, stopping at the tip of her nose. The last one was barely visible through her maroon camisole. Only the curved start was visible, slithering down the left shoulder to her chest. Each scar was a different story told across a pastel battlefield. Dark rosewood hair parted over her right eye, flowing down her shoulders. Striking emerald eyes gazed indifferently. 

I am very confused about what is happening here. She seems about to attack… but then she knocks on the door instead? Or is interrupted by a knock on the door? And then all of a sudden we're looking at Alex as if from another person's POV, no longer in her mind looking out? Because I don't think she'd stop to describe herself and the scars she has and her hairstyle and eye color.

Alex thought with a dry heave.

I don't think you need this. The italics interjecting Alex's thoughts have been working well by themselves.

The confrontation between Alex and Shen is engaging and tense and explains at a good time why Alex has been stalking Shen. It's also deflated by two paragraphs of Alex reflecting on her past. I don't think right then is the right time to do that reflection. Can you instead open your second scene with a little of Alex's backstory?

Conclusion: Interesting and compelling character! Her internal voice is quite striking and does make me want to learn more. My only issue is that we're not staying with her enough throughout the scene, the aforementioned POV hops are throwing me off. I think maybe you're doing 3rd person omniscient and I keep trying to read into the scene 3rd person limited. Either way, I'm intrigued.

Your beginning is very good, gets my attention right away. I like this line as an explanation to her feelings:

Why am I not freaking out? A wave of hysteria should be hitting me like a wrecking ball, but for some strange reason, it’s not. Normally, I have a panic attack by lunch.

However, I notice this same explanation comes up several times in this same chapter.

"Why am I still so calm about that? Trying to parallel park normally has me short of breath, blood pounding in my ears. Maybe that's it: no blood, no anxiety."

"that was always one of my biggest fears, yet I'm picturing it happening to me now, and the idea doesn’t scare me at all. It's kind of nice." 

I understand that you don't want to get caught up in describing her trauma as too much focus on that will divert your entire story, but I think there needs to be some sort of explanation for why she's so calm. I see you're referring to it with the concept of Transition Numbness, maybe if it could be made more explicit like instead of "It's normal to feel a bit out of it" to say more clearly "It's normal to feel calm and collected despite having just died."

I like the apocalyptic Western setting you have going on.

I like a lot when you show off her attitude like in the line "Did I really just finish my junior year of high school, only to die and end up right back in classes? I have the worst luck." and I think more of that would be better. More of an emotional reaction to the broken downness of everything, for example. Not necessarily a negative emotional reaction, I like the snarky and irreverent tone you have going on.  She seems rather indifferent about what is being described as rather poor living conditions.

In fact, I think that's the main issue I keep struggling with as I'm reading this. It almost feels like it's not quite determined whether this story is going to be lighthearted and funny or serious as it keeps flirting with the trauma. I'd almost rather the entire attitude be that she's thrilled to be dead after the initial shock of realizing that she's a ghost.

Conclusion: You have great wordsmithing skills; this chapter was very easy to read. No confusion about what is actually happening and everything is described clearly and vividly. I personally am not super into ghost stories but I like your tone enough to want to keep going!

Hild was reminded of stories of desert tribes and unmarked paths across dangerous territories, but only warriors leave Buclaminta, and only the best return. Hild sighed.

I'm not sure why you changed tenses here "only warriors leave Buclaminta." It reads better to me to keep it in past tense. "only warriors left Buclaminta, and only the best of them returned" something like that. Also, I get from reading your opening that Hild is sighing because he is not a warrior but a slave and therefore cannot leave (is that right?) but I don't think that comes across alone. Could you put here something about how he's a slave? "only warriors left Buclaminta, and Hild was not a warrior" even would help.

The lowest boundary is for beggars, slave.

I'm a little confused about this. I thought at first he was in some sort of city and that there was a lower ring reserved for beggars, but then I was like no, he's on a mountain, but he's going up, he's ascending, so why does the guard tell him that the lowest boundary is for slaves?

The entire confrontation between Hild and the Kadai guard seemed almost too personal to me. The way they were interacting it felt like there should be some history between them, like this wasn't the first time Hild had confronted this guard, but the way it's written I don't see that. There needs to be something to explain each of their motivations at any rate. Why does Hild mouth off to this guard and fight back if he's just a slave? Right now it seems just to kick off the story, that there's no inherent logic to his actions. Like I said, I feel like this interaction would make a lot more sense if this Kadai guard and Hild had a hostile back and forth generally and this one time it got out of hand.

How does a trip through the desert to the Floarelands sound?

I am intrigued, trying to figure out how a trip through the desert to the Floarelands would be a punishment. Is it some ritual that slaves can be put through?

 Hild ducked and deflected the blow with his arm, then lunged toward the Kadai. Hild and the soldier rolled off their horses and hit the dusty road.

I don't ride horses so maybe this kind of jumping off of horses is imminently possible but it strikes me as the kind of thing a trained horseman could do. Is Hild such a trained horseman? Actually, this reminds me, does Hild own this horse? When the guard said it could cost him his horse I thought hmm Hild must be an educated or valuable or otherwise different sort of slave for him to own property himself. Is this true?

As he rode onto the lawn of the estate, Hild recognized a horse being tended by the stable help. Razya's face flashed through his mind at the sight. The horse belonged to the Sheehan, Kasyl, from the northwestern neighboring estate.

I don't get why Razya's face would flash through his mind. Is Razya from the northwestern neighboring estate too? I think you should include that detail in here if so. "The horse belonged… the northwestern neighboring estate where Razya lived as well" or something like that.

The interaction between Hild and his masters was very interesting! Totally different from what I was expecting. I feel like it explains more of the dynamic between the Kadai and Hild. I'm torn between suggesting that some of this context be included earlier so that it makes more sense when Hild has his fight "a Kadai guard, send by an enemy to patrol the lands of Hild's master" or whether the twist is better. I'm leaning towards more context/better explanation up front so Hild can be properly seen as a loyal slave of his master and just against this Kadai guard. Which would explain the horse too.

he dawned wavy auburn hair and a coarse beard.

I think donned is the word you're going for? Although I'm not sure how one dons hair growing on one's body.

Reinick scoffed, “Corovnica.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. A degenerate, worthless kingdom of less-than-humans.

I started to get confused at this point (up until the line “Hold your tongue Reinick.” His father reproached.) I think there's too much exposition. I like the line "they should all be Sifted" because it brings up obviously a main theme in your story, but introducing geopolitics at this point seems a bit too much too fast. Maybe someone can express anger at the Kadai guard saying he should be Sifted? To keep this introductory scene focused on the problem at hand?

Also, I lost sight of who Kasyl was. Is there a way to have his rank be indicated? Is he a visiting doctor? Why is he tending to a slave? The Sheehan sounds cool but it doesn't give me much of a sense of who he is compared to the other characters.

Reading a few lines ahead I see the reference "Sheehan warrior." If that could be pulled forward to the line "The horse belonged to the Sheehan warrior, Kasyl, from the northwestern neighboring estate." I think that would solve my confusion.

Lord Krise glanced uncomfortably between his sons and Kasyl, “I cannot. I am a simple steward, not a Sheehan warrior like yourself. I’m not equipped for much more than I already do. Kasyl, there is much at stake you know. I do implore you to reconsider your actions." He lowered his voice, "Her life here is rather comfortable, don’t you think? Are you willing to give up everything for your sentiments?”

From this paragraph on I find myself confused. There seems to be a lot of hinting about Ryaza and I think it would be better served if Hild just told us who she was. What does Ryaza have to do with politics? What does she have to do with Lord Krise being gone a lot lately? Also has everyone forgotten the Kadai guard? I think focusing on the one problem of the Kadai guard, and then maybe either introducing one more problem, like who Ryaza is/where she's been, or the kingdoms and who belongs to which kingdom, would be better. If you're going to introduce the Kadai guard I would choose to lay out who belongs to which kingdom (like the Kadai come from the Saegaeta but Hild and his masters come from XXX) and not mention Ryaza at all. Although I get that she's your main character but honestly she seems shoehorned into this first scene.

Conclusion: Your details are amazing. Your prose is extremely easy to read which I normally do not find to be the case when the details are so vivid. I could picture everything without getting caught up on what I was picturing. I think I struggled mostly with feeling confused with character motivation which can't be shown so I'd go on and tell us a bit more about why each character cares about what he cares about.

Question: Where is this set again? Is it secondary world fantasy?

I was confused by the first paragraph, too many new names and new places, Lydia, Marcus, Forum, the Theikos. It took me a few re-reads to realize that Lydia and Marcus were investigating the Forum because the Forum was being noisy in a new way (since marketplaces are usually noisy this wasn't an easy concept to follow). I think you show what the Forum is and why Lydia might want to investigate it in a much better way with your second paragraph. Would it work to go from your first sentence "Lydia stopped…" straight onto a second sentence "People were crowding the city square, pressing up against…"? That way you show right away what a Forum is (the city square) and why Lydia might be looking at it (the people crowding and raising their fists).

Lydia tapped Marcu's hip struck me as odd. Do people tap each other's hips? It might work better to introduce Marcus here. Lydia turned to her friend/fellow sorcerer/brother-in-arms Marcus. "War?"

Quote

"stung red by the winter wind on their way here. Her white breath"

I'd get rid of "on their way here." I'd also get rid of "white" unless her breath is actually white for magical reasons.

Quote

 

"She clenched her hands into fists and envisioned bloodied Roman corpses. That felt good. The amulets on the string around her neck responded, buzzing with the prospect of a spell.

Thank you for being my goddess. A silent prayer to Atropos, the goddess she aligned with. There was no better goddess when your heart desires the blood of Rome."

 

Nice bit of characterization. I feel like I know what she wants now, that I'm into her goal.

Quote

"Lydia moved to enter the Forum, and if need be, the screaming crowd when a shrill cry cut through the chants."

I'd add a comma after screaming crowd.

I like the idea of mercy being death, it is intriguing and sets up Lydia's power nicely.

Quote

"The lictors must have left the woman's body alone because they had not gotten the chance to mutilate her."

Couldn't they mutilate a dead body? Would it work to say they were probably going to come back to pick up the woman's body?

Quote

"Rome would have gotten to Lydia if the Theikos hadn't rescued her first."

I'd add "gotten to Lydia, too, if the Theikos…"

Quote

"as they walked home."

Why are they walking now? Weren't they running before?

I like the placing of the historical exposition around why the people were shouting about Saguntum. I think it's good to put it where you did.

I found the whole bit between Briseis and Lydia confusing. I was getting amped about war and revenge on Rome and then all of a sudden I'm reading about a love curse that isn't even effective? Why do Romans buy these curses at all if they don't work? I think you wanted to set up the idea of inscribing a curse on a tablet so that Lydia can compose her later curse at the end of the scene. In that case, could you have Lydia note that Briseis was writing a curse on a wax tablet without going into what exactly the curse is about, and then move Lydia to the hearth where she composes the curse on Rome in her head? That way the tension that you've been building up doesn't get prematurely released into a digression about fake love curses.

Quote

"May nothing but ashes and shame remain."

Maybe "nothing but ashes" or "nothing but shame"? I feel like it cuts a little at the power of the line to include two things instead of one powerful curse.

Conclusion: I didn't think this scene sucked at all. I thought it was clearly well-researched and vivid in its details. The conflict you set up between Marcus being from Roman background and Lydia hating all Romans is one I look forward to seeing expanded, and I think I remember from your pitch that it does get expanded. I'm interested in what happens next!

Assignment 1: Story Statement

Mayah works to discover why the serfs took her as a baby. Was it to rescue her from the fate of being an oppressor, or was it to kidnap her to use as a tool for their Uprising?

Assignment 2: The Antagonist

Lady Nari is both extremely violent and extremely principled. She lives her life for one thing only: the good of the serfs. The daughter of a castle serf, who in turn was raised by a Matterist prophet, Lady Nari comes from a long line of resistance fighters. None of her ancestors, however, had her single-mindedness. It was Lady Nari, and Lady Nari alone, who turned her family’s informal religious network into a serf army dedicated to the Uprising. And dedicated they must be, for Lady Nari demands nothing but the highest levels of commitment from her followers. Whatever she is willing to do, they must be willing to do as well, whether it be murder, torture or enduring a lifetime of lying and manipulating those they love. She is no hypocrite, however. She cares nothing for her personal comfort or glory; her love for the serfs is genuine. Her arrogance convinces her that she knows best what is best for the serfs, and nothing can change her mind on that, which results sometimes in incredible acts of grace, and other times, in the absolute devastation of those who live by her word.

Assignment 3: Breakout Title

Raising the Promised Daughter

The World Beneath the Hollow-Trees

Hunt’s Table

Assignment 4: Comparables

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke (in that the novel is deeply focused on a non-romantic but still intimate relationship, the one between the two main characters, while drawing a world around them and a plot through them)

Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey (in that the novel takes place in a complexly ordered society with multiple different identity groups clashing politically, forcing the main characters to balance their allegiances)

Assignment 5: Conflict Line

Anguished by the revelation that she is not a serf, as she always believed, but is instead a child of the oppressive upper caste, a young girl struggles during a perilous journey through the bio-dome to find out: when her beloved serf guardian/political handler stole her from her people as a baby, was he rescuing her or kidnapping her?

Assignment 6:

Inner conflict: Mayah is torn between the various pieces of her identity. Although she grew up as a serf and thought she was one, she later finds out that she is actually a Rajas, a child of the oppressive upper caste. After this discovery, she is thrust into the Rajas world, and slowly learns to desire to be accepted by her fellow caste members, which involves forgetting and even denying her serf upbringing. By the time Mayah is brought back out by the serfs to participate in their Uprising, she feels ambivalent toward both the Rajas and the serfs. On the one hand, she is eager to return to familiar serf settings. On the other hand, she is hesitant to throw her lot in with those who want to destroy the Rajas ruling class. She is particularly anguished by the revelation that her beloved serf guardian, Sukren, is in fact her political handler. She begins to wonder whether Sukren hid the truth of his political allegiance from her because he feels contempt for her Rajas background. Fearful that Sukren never truly loved her, Mayah radicalizes in favor of the Uprising in an effort to become worthy of his admiration, to the point that she escalates beyond Sukren, even becoming furious at him for what she perceives to be his own lack of full-throated commitment to the serf cause.

Secondary conflict: When Mayah decides that she no longer trusts Sukren, he cannot bear it. He forces her to flee with him to the edge of the bio-dome, beyond the reach of Lady Nari, or so he hopes. Without knowing it, however, he plunges them into an even worse situation. The edge of the bio-dome is populated by a people who deliberately limit the extent of their technological development. They live, in fact, as hunter gatherers, for the most part ignoring the rest of the bio-dome. Normally they are a stable, happy people, but Sukren and Mayah arrive during a social crisis triggered both by a series of unsuccessful hunts and a rapid increase in the number of refugees coming from the bio-dome proper. Thankfully, through his devotion to Mayah despite Mayah’s increasing bitterness, Sukren manages to win the admiration of a young hunter named Rajani who, despite the looming famine, takes both Sukren and Mayah under her protection. Rajani, in addition to finding herself drawn romantically toward Sukren, wants to continue her people’s tradition of welcoming refugees into her society. She is resisted, however, by the rest of her people who apply more and more pressure to stop her efforts. Eventually Rajani’s entire family is ostracized, forcing Rajani to make a choice between her deeply-held convictions and budding feelings, and her family’s fate.

Assignment 7: Setting

The planet Chudami’s atmosphere clings weakly to its surface, which means both glorious visions of auroras every night, and nearly unbreathable air. It is only beneath the bio-dome that anyone can survive. The bio-dome itself is made up of hollow-trees. Hollow-trees are native to Chudami; indeed, they are the only type of flora or fauna endemic to the planet. With leaves that gleam green and blue in the dark, hollow-trees also produce fiery-red and orange breathflowers that emit oxygen.

The original colonists who crash-landed onto Chudami created the bio-dome and set up a rigid, stratified society underneath it. One of the scientists, Sarana, who became known throughout history as the Eternal Queen, decided to establish a dynasty of her own lineage. She did so by gene-locking the Dome Ring, a ring used to catalyze the breathflowers into producing enough oxygen to last through each winter. Her descendants became the Rajas while everyone else became their serfs.

The serfs live generally in greenhouses villages scattered around the bio-dome. Because the breathflowers create too much oxygen for Earth flora to handle, massive greenhouses were built and serfs moved into them so that whatever carbon dioxide the serfs breathed out would stay inside the greenhouses for the plants to absorb. The Rajas, on the other hand, live in massive hollow-trees they call castles. Some serfs also live in the castles, as servies to wait on the Rajas, as soldiers to protect the Rajas, as doctor-priests to tend to the Rajas’ physical needs, and as regents to handle the Rajas’ administrative concerns.

Population pressures due to the bio-dome dwellers’ limited space means serfs are considered disposable. Anyone who cannot in full health serve the Rajas is killed. Doctor-priests and regents are banned from reproducing. A legal system has developed that requires serfs to successfully apply for protection from a patron--or be considered fair game for abuse and murder at anyone’s hands. Not all the serfs, however, buy into this Rajas-centered worldview. And for the past several hundred years, they have been organizing. The Uprising is at hand, it is whispered, from one end of the bio-dome to the other.

Only one corner of the bio-dome remains ignorant of these sweeping changes. Indeed, the people who live on the other side of the shelterbelt, along the edge of the bio-dome, don’t care about the bio-dome proper at all. They live their lives as they have since the crash-landing, hunting mammoles (descendants of Earth moles mutated into giant, but still low oxygen-needing creatures) for meat and gathering nectar from breathflowers to drink. They are not a primitive people though. Scientifically-minded, they deliberately curtail their technological development in order to live out the rhythms of the truly good life. When a season of unsuccessful hunts collides, however, with an increasing number of refugees fleeing the bio-dome proper, the tribe is forced to respond to the pressures their neighbors face, or risk being wiped out themselves.