Laura Neibaur

NAME: Laura Neibaur NOVEL NAME: BLOOD OF THE BELLFLOWER SERIES – BOOK 1: THE SIFTING GENRE: YA Science fiction COMPARABLES: House of Earth and Blood by Sarah J. Maas and The Starless Crown by James Rollins. HOOK: Hunted by a dark political faction, Razzia and Hild must escape the boundary walls, discover and hone their preternatural abilities, and use them to fight the enemy before the Sifting Ceremony commences. PITCH: Centuries after the fall of the golden age of Eastern Europe, Razzia and Hild discover the grisly truth behind their past and that of their beloved native land. When Razzia leaves the safe boundary of her estate, she and Hild are found and hunted by a dark, radical faction called the Segaeta, and its notorious leader, Paznic Razbon. Razzia and Hild must flee their homeland and discover, harness, and utilize their preternatural abilities before the Segaeta delivers them to the dreaded Sifting Ceremony – an ancient extraction ritual used to test, torture, and manipulate populations. The young friends commence an adventure that will lead them across Romania, to Reigersberg, Austria, and to the far coasts of the Aegean Sea. They join with other defectors, including Aadrik, the emperor’s turncoat grandson, and Nicolette, the daughter of a brilliant exiled scientist. If they cannot discover the history and artifacts from Razbon’s past, dark Traces will be unleashed into their world. BIOGRAPHY: I am an Algonkian writer’s program graduate with a bachelor’s degree in English education, emphasizing English, and I’ve taught children and young adults for over 17 years. I’m a mother to seven, a writer, and a professional voice narrator for Audible, Learning Ally, Findaway Voices, and Author’s Republic. I live in the sprawling foothills of the Sawtooth mountain range of Idaho, near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Aside from writing, narrating, and mothering, I love painting and decorating (I’m shamelessly in love with Charles Spada, Scott Mecham Wood, and Miles Redd). I also spend ample time doing yoga or drinking herbal tea by a hot wood stove with my cat and anyone else who will join me. For my wild side, I snowmobile and scuba dive. Last year, we swam with sixteen, 14-foot-long, pregnant bull sharks off the gulf of Mexico – no cage. For more information about me or my work, please visit my website, paradigmlost22.wixsite.com/lbneibaur. PROSE: BLOOD OF THE BELLFLOWER: THE SIFTING NOTE FROM THE PROFESSOR Author of History of Dark Traces There is a reason why this particular volume on the history of vârcolacs and witches remains authorless. The scope of my research is seen as distasteful for women, not to mention dark and unholy. Dark things prefer to remain untouched where they can fester, and I intend to bring them to light. The disturbing stories you have heard about Garston Abbey Prison in Reigersberg are proclaimed legends by those who wish not to weigh the past or fear the future. Those of us who witnessed the events declare otherwise. I will disclosed what evidence I have found about the birth of these events, beginning at Reigersberg castle, Austria, pre-golden age, AD 1692 – nearly eight hundred years before the first publication of my work. Many believed these horrors finally came to a close on that dreadful day at Garsten Abbey, post-golden age, AD 2490 – I assure you, they did not. Please keep in mind that I urge the utmost caution when dredging up the past. Of course, you are here, and if it were me, I would begin with the largest spade I could find. Remember, history has many sets of eyes and long, clawed fingers. I am not naïve to the untidy ends one can meet - taking my own advice has ensured I will not be around to finish what I started. I believe in storytelling as a means of travel and knowledge acquisition. As I guide you through this stygian history, you may refer to me as, The Professor. CHAPTER ONE CULTIVATION Aadrik entered the spacious, domed room with dark beams and stone walls. Tall, narrow windows flanked lead-mullioned glass doors leading to an expansive limestone balcony. Many men had been hung from the balusters of that balcony. A kaleidoscope of silver and gray moths had roosted on the terrace and danced about in the creamy morning light. The presence of these unfettered creatures seemed somewhat paradoxical to Aadrik. Domnitor Ban Kilian sat alone at the end of an iron-soaked rectangular table. A curve-handled crystal carafe and two water glasses had been pushed aside. Nearby sat a small, dark-leathered book with a gold leaf title, History of Dark Traces. The Domnitor’s deep-set blue eyes were drawn toward papers and maps he marked and moved around in front of him. His peppered white hair was combed neatly around a thin, bearded face. The dark, fully decorated military uniform lent his withering frame a fuller, squared look. “Welcome, Aadrik. Please, sit.” He said. Aadrik seated himself at the table, then nodded to acknowledge Rashan – Ban Kilian’s towering, ebony-skinned Taolee guard. He stood dutifully composed against a wall behind the Domnitor. Engraved vambraces covered his muscular forearms, folded across his chest. His open-front cămaşa revealed tattoo-like scars scored onto both pectorals from an elite warrior initiation. “Congratulation on your advancement to a commandant.” The Domnitor said, eyes still rooted on the dossier before him. “Thank you.” Aadrik replied, “But commendation is not your reason for meeting in the tower keep.” He glanced at the leather booklet and stack of papers, “Or to read bedtime stories about vârcolacs.” Aadrik grinned. “More evidence on the Garsten Abbey deaths?” Ban Kilian picked up the book, “I do not particularly enjoy reading about vârcolacs. But I feel time running thin. Whatever happened at Garsten Abbey is not over.” The Domnitor set the book down, clasped his hands, and stared at Aadrik, “You are my choicest commander and blood heir to this throne. The Segaeta exerts substantial effort on the painstaking task of challenging loyalties.” He glanced toward the balcony where several heavy, frayed ropes hung with looped ends. “I believe you mean to warm me?” Aadrik alleged. “Your father’s inappropriate political ties with the Noapte resulted in his exile. I prefer my last blood heir not be betrayed by legends heralded by fools. The Segaeta are powerful, and change is coming. My advice is to stay out of the wake.” “It sounds like an exciting game of cavagnole,” Aadrik muttered. “Then, I suggest you deal scrupulously.” Ban Kilian said with an edge of impatience. Aadrik nodded to the book and clucked, “Immersion in dangerous investigations is hardly scrupulous?” Ban Kilian ignored the allegation, “For now, we rely on the Segaeta for their auspices. Our relationship is a necessary codependence.” “Not everyone agrees,” Aadrik argued. “Not even you, I suspect.” “We can no more withstand the inevitable waves of change than we can predict them.” Ban Kilian snapped. “Then, you admit to the odds?” Aadrik stared with dark eyes and a half-grin at the flustered Domnitor. Ban Kilian slammed his fist on the table, “La neida! Aadrik. Confounded if I ever spent half a minute worrying about your future.” He took a deep breath and straightened, “You are as implacable as your father. Act with caution. Your luck might just run out.” “I do not live by chance, Domnitor. Accusing me of gambling my ideologies is hypocritical,” Aadrik said flatly. “So be it. “The Domnitor looked galled, “I will not further attempt to educate your game. Either way, I can no longer protect either of our positions.” “Perhaps we should be less worried about positions and more about principles,” Aadrik said. “Bah! The same blasted tune of your father.” The Domnitor took a feverish drink from a glass, then set it aside. “Principles bring honor one day and hanging the next.” Ban Kilian breathed deeply, composing himself, then placing both hands on a map, he said, “I have a difficult decision to make. A problem your father did not help in the least. The Segaeta has expressed concern about Noapte clans allowing political fugitives to cross their territories. Razbon sees this as an act of rebellion –” Ban Kilian paused at a sound in the hallway. They both stared toward the double doors. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell and into the narrow corridor. Whoever arrived at the chamber did not wait for an invitation. The doors swung open, and Ban Kilian stood up, staring dumbstruck at the unsolicited guest. Rashan moved toward the Domnitor, his hand on the scepter at his hip. The two guards in the hall looked bewildered and slightly sheepish. In strode a tall, slender figure with a pale complexion, dark hair, and a close-cut beard. His ink-black suit matched shiny boots, pressed trousers, and a vest over a silky white cămaşa. Paznic Razbon. Human enough, Aadrik thought. Even agreeable at a glance. He sensed his Traces the moment he entered the chamber. Dense and ancient, perhaps even primordial, darkness swelled throughout the room. “Good afternoon,” Razbon said in an overly affected tone. “Ah, Rashan.” He said to the Taolee guard, “And Domnitor Ban Kilian. I do apologize. I hope you do not mind me joining your little party.” He touched a gloved finger to his tidy black beard and stared around the room. “I rather like this venue. It reminds me of the good old days when executions were far more interesting. Please, do continue your discussion. I will happily wait in the wings until you are finished.” Ban Kilian stood unmoved with his fingers flexed against the tabletop. “Aadrik and I were discussing the necessity of prospecting for Noapte clan leaders – to discuss our concerns.” Ban Kilian said. Razbon stepped forward and clapped his hands, “Very good. Such diplomacy. However, let us forgo formalities and admit we are hunting the Noapte. It sounds much more fun.” He smiled, “You will be delighted to know that we already found one.” Interesting, Aadrik thought. A Noapte leader? Had the tribes become sloppy? Surely not. The Domnitor had a defeated expression. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, exhaled, and slowly sat. Razbon constantly observes the reactions of those present, Aadrik noted. But, Aadrik was skilled in counterfeiting. What about the Taolee guard, Rashan? Does he still harbor sentiment for his Noapte patrimony? Aadrik wondered. Razbon’s smile bore a sprinkling of triumph, “I am quite pleased. To find an enigmatic Noapte clan, let alone capture their leader?” He said it with such flamboyance that his pale face took on youthful, mischievous energy, “Not just any leader, but their arch-leader, Tau Mandla, great-grandson of Tau Vejas, the legendary pennant rider. My dutiful Segaeta guard, Shrone, will arrive any moment with our prize. In fact,” Razbon paused with a hand to his ear, “I believe I hear them now.” He walked briskly toward the double doors, flung them wide, and stepped back. Aadrik noted the size of the massive Segaeta guard who entered. Favorite accessory of Razbon’s. Vile man. Shrone swaggered in with his black pressed trousers and a long cape fastened at his neck by a silver broach. A vein throbbed on his shiny forehead, and a muddle of dark oily hair surrounded a broad face, sinister bulging eyes, and a thick neck. His expression resembled a sly, oversized cat watching fledglings at play. He held one end of a long thin chain secured snuggly around his prisoner’s neck. A woman. Her head was shaved to the skin, as rich and dark as the black sands of the Desert Noapte. Blood from a head wound dripped from her forehead between intense ebony eyes and cunning features. She wore a beaded headband and heavy gold earrings and was draped in a speckled curried animal hide set over one shoulder. Her skin was decorated in meticulously placed, intricate scrollwork and several scored tattoos. Shrone jerked on the chain, causing her to stumble forward. She righted herself and stood tall and proud before Razbon, who gaped at her. The Paznic clapped his hands to his face. “My, my. I am absolutely awestruck. A woman. So sophisticated of the Noapte to choose a female leader.” He stopped disturbingly close to the woman and inhaled with his eyes closed. He removed a white glove, gently touched Tau Mandla’s head wound, then slid his forefinger from her shoulder down to her wrist, “Domnitor, may I introduce the valiant, Fight of the Lion, Tau Mandla. It is a rare pleasure to discover and observe the primitive desert dogs lurking in uncivilized ambiguity. But to unearth their queen –” The woman narrowed her eyes at Razbon, “The wolf’s track is narrow and straight,” She said in her rich accent, “But the serpent slithers and winds on his belly, leaving his designs in the sand.” Then, she spat on the ground and said, “Iubeste libertate.” Aadrik resisted an involuntary flinch. That phrase had been branded as a curse in the kingdoms. Uttered when one had relinquished mortal life and accepted the sacrifice required at the altar of their meaning. Aadrik could not help but proffer respect for her final tribute to freedom. “Ah. Thank you for that.” Razbon smiled, then said with mock compassion, “I will personally ensure that your body is returned to your three beautiful children.” Aadrik saw the tendons tense in Tau Mandla’s neck. “The time of the Pennant Riders is over. Your people will concede to change or accept the consequences of rebellion.” One stray moth landed gently on Tau Mandla’s arm, expanding its silvery wings. Razbon stepped forward and cradled his palm around its fragile body. “This is a wild Bombyx Mandarina,” He said, stroking the plush coat, “Related to the Mori, domesticated by the silk industries.” Feathery antennae stirred above round, black eyes. “To extract the silk,” Razbon said, “They boil the caterpillar in its cocoon until the cocoon unravels into a thin strand.” Razbon closed his fist, grinding his fingers into his palms. Then, he let the mess of shimmering moth remains drop from his hand. His face featured a depraved look of euphoria. He removed his gloves, slapped them against the table, then folded them into his vest pocket. “Now. Understand. I do everything for our collective future. I will take good care of your people while you are away.” Then, Razbon nodded to Shrone, who carried a heavy braided noose that he looped around Tau Mandla’s neck. Aadrik noted that the length of the cord would drop and hang a body no less than three stories. More than likely, resulting in a swift but defiled beheading. Shrone guided Tau Mandla through the double glass doors and onto the terrace, where he tied the other end of the rope to the stone balusters. For a brief second, Aadrik locked eyes with the sentenced Noapte queen. The face of a fighter. The look of the lion that Tau Mandla’s name espoused. Then, she exchanged an almost imperceptible glance with Rashan across the room but neither moved nor spoke. Shrone hefted the rope over the balcony and down the side of the tower. The rope snatched Tau’s head and body violently backward over the balusters, and she disappeared from the terrace. The flock of moths lifted off the balcony, whirling about, then trailed away in a stream of muted color. Shrone leaned over the balusters with a smirk of satisfaction, but his vulgar expression soon vanished. He braced his hands on the wall and searched back and forth, puzzled. He turned to Razbon, “She is gone.” He growled. Razbon hastened to the balcony and leaned over beside Shrone. Ban Kilian sat with impatient curiosity beside Aadrik, who only grinned and rocked slightly in his chair. Razbon straightened. He took a deep breath, ambled back through the glass doors, and stood before the table. Then, he took the glass carafe of water and hurled it toward a tall window, which shattered onto the room’s floor. Razbon stood silent for a moment, staring between the jagged shards of glass that now framed the window. He fidgeted with a button on his vesta – then burst into an unexpected fit of laughter. Curious reaction, Aadrik mused. Though not a surprise, considering. “This is all so very interesting,” Razbon chuckled. Ban Kilian stared, digesting the strange outburst. Razbon must have been aware of the energies and Traces used by the Noapte, Aadrik thought. Perhaps an exercise unearthing their capabilities – but Razbon obviously had not anticipated the outcome. Razbon veiled his exasperation with a patient sigh and breathy words. “People must be reminded of their blessings by having them threatened at times.” “Perhaps,” The Domnitor said, glaring toward Razbon, “We should not meddle when there is no threat.” “Thank you, Domnitor, for your wisdom. But even the seemingly peaceful desert can cloak dormant insurgencies. It is easier to stifle a spark than a roaring fire. We will send a departure party to each of our bordering neighbors. I want the Noapte clans and Corovnica to feel the heat of change.” Razbon’s voice shook, and he stepped toward the balcony doors and looked at a clear blue sky. “What an accomplished meeting. Everyone is dismissed – except,” He spun on his heel, “Aadrik. Stay behind a moment?” Razbon noticed Ban Kilian, standing with concern and diminishing dignity beside the table, “You may go too, Domnitor. I would like to speak to your grandson in private.” Ban Kilian hurriedly gathered his things and stalked from the room behind Shrone, then Rashan, who secured the doors. “Blast,” Razbon said, pulling aside his vest lapel. “Blood on my cămaşa. Mulberry silk is not very forgiving.” Razbon sat on the table’s edge and crossed one knee over the other. “Interesting choice of books in your grandfather’s library.” He smiled. “Aadrik, you are an intriguing and indiscernible conundrum. I cannot decide if I respect you or hate you. I suppose time shall tell. Something is troubling you, though. What is it?” Aadrik hid his triumph and prepared to swoon what was left of Razbon’s cratered sentiments. “The Domnitor was surprised by your plans for the Noapte.” Aadrik drowned his words with guileless cadences. “My Taolee spies would have heard of rebellion in surrounding regions.” “Yes. Yes, of course.” Razbon said, “But you know, there is no threat until we create it. The kingdoms in this realm require what we call Tautuhi Ano. An old expression meaning cultivation.” Blast, thought Aadrik, A boring dissertation on the sociology of civilizations. Aadrik could tutor even the Domnitor on political history. But, he thought, Razbon enjoys superiority far better than equality of minds, which I will use to my advantage. “Civilizations are cyclical,” Razbon said, “With a spike in productivity. Then, they become childlike – despondent and rebellious.” He circled the long table, hands clasped behind him, “So, we call upon disaster to regulate proliferation and thin the rebellious. With the Segaeta’s new regime, dangerous ideas will be discovered, uprooted, and traumatized.” Razbon paused, “I sense powerful preternatural abilities in you. We could be useful to each other, and I would very much appreciate your help with a sensitive task. It will help seal loyalty between us.” Aadrik met Razbon’s eyes, “I need to acquire someone. This should not be difficult since she is rather young and naïve. Take my best Segaeta assassin, Shrone, with you, and find the daughter of Soara Vilhelm. Bring her to me.”

MODULE 7: ASSIGNMENT 2: SCOREBOX: Criteria Ratings 1-5: MARKET VALUE: Originality, freshness, high concept: 4 Well, I sure hope it is original. As for high-concept, that is something on which I have tried to focus. I know what my kids read, and I have many kids who have many friends. The story is fun, adventurous, romantic, dangerous, and a little bloody. I have done lots of editing to make sure it is not too wordy, and I have tried to delete some parts that might be boring. Clear target readership: 3 I am a little worried about this one. I wrote this for YA, and my teenagers do like it a lot, but that is not saying much. That is only a few people. Sometimes I worry about too much description for teens that might get easily bored. I have tried not to have any dry or dull sentences, and I have tried to keep the plot moving forward at a good pace. Hook: 3.5 I had lots of help with my hook during the pitch conference. An area in which I am particularly concerned. Perhaps I am a boring person in general, and a lot can excite me, so I found my hook exciting (I happen to like the turtle story in The Grapes of Wrath), but I worry that others might not. I have also written and rewritten my first chapter to capture the audience. I sure hope it worked! From a professional standpoint, I would be interested in knowing if the first pages/chapters keep you reading. STRUCTURE: Act Zero backstory development: 4 I worked hard to develop the backstory since this will be one of three books, and I have to be thinking about book number three and number one simultaneously. I enjoyed creating the characters, learning about them, deciding which ones I loved and wanted to keep and which ones had to go or be re-vamped. I spent much time researching the world where my story takes place and incorporating fascinating history and sci-fi into the backstory. Concise, effective setup with inciting incident: 3.5 I have tried to make sure that the story is concise and flows and the plot makes sense to the reader. I took Michael's advice and planned every scene to weed out inconsistencies. Of course, the more eyes, the better when it comes to consistency. I felt that my inciting incident would be interesting enough to keep the reader wondering what would happen to the characters. I also hope the characters themselves are loved enough to make the reader want to follow them beyond the inciting incident. Plotline arc and subplots (if appropriate): 3.7 The Plotline is such a challenge but also fun. I had to re-work my entire plot to make it more high-concept. So instead of just an "escape from the homeland to save the people" adventure, I used a subplot and turned it into my main plot, "The Sifting." I think that this plotline arc made for much more exciting subplots. This was also a recommendation from Michael. Well designed reversals (major and minor): 4.2 Reversals may have been my favorite part of writing the plot. I love it when a character(s) has to experience a trial or setback. I love when something does not work out, and then it does. I appreciate ironies in life. I could use some of my own! I like to teach my characters lessons that I need to learn or have learned, and in the process, I learn more about those lessons. I think it was in one of the reading requirements; they talked about how boring it would be if we built up a scene and introduced characters, and everything worked out perfectly. No conflict. Pinch points (at least two): 3.5 There are at least four pinch points. The first pinch occurs in the second chapter, and the second is a discussion in chapter 4 between a protagonist and a ruler. Several dark topics are discussed to show the reader how evil this man can be and give them a little insight into what might happen to the protagonist and his friends. It causes the reader to question the loyalties of an important character, which is an issue for him throughout the story. Catalytic situation driven: 4 This confused me at first, but I think I understand the catalytic situation to mean something that drives the characters to do what they do. 1. Hild is forced to leave his homeland for his safety. 2. He realizes that he must leave to help save Razzia. 3. Razzia leaves unwillingly but finds herself homeless and hunted, and she has to trust Benca. 4. Razzia's catalyst soon becomes a combination of survival and her desire to help her friends and eventually her fellow countrymen. When Hild becomes deterred and decides not to move forward with plans, Razzia's kidnapping and possible murder at the Sifting is what drives him to take up arms and get back on track with the hunt for Razbon and the Segaeta assassins. Conflict, tension, rising action: 3.7 Like I said before, I love creating conflict and tension with characters. I hope I have enough to keep YA readers excited. They are so easily bored. Conflict includes escaping home, being hunted by Segaeta Assassins, desert ice flares, frightening GMO creatures battles - with oneself, and actual bloody fighting. Close encounters with nature and the evil Paznic Razbon and Lord Shrone, heartbreaking betrayal, jealousy, and family conflict are all winding up for a fun climax. Every scene relevant (i.e., to driving plot forward): 3 Another that concerns me. I love words, and having read this, I used it to evaluate each scene and deleted or rewrote dozens. I have tried to ensure that every scene and sentence has some purpose for the plot or character development, or even something I want to use in my second or third books. Effective, believable climax: 2.5 Everything builds up toward the day of the Sifting. The actual Sifting comprises one chapter, but the events after the Sifting are still fun, dramatic, and plot-driving, but are they still part of the climax? I worry about my finale not being quite CLIMACTIC enough, though the story stays on pretty high heat until the end. Resolution: 3.7 I tried hard to ensure that I tied up every loose end, leaving only a few non-obvious loose ends for my second and third books. The great betrayal in the middle of the book, which leaves all the protagonists completely shattered and shocked, has an exciting and lovely resolution that teaches many lessons to my characters. CHARACTERS: Antagonistic force: 4.5 I found my antagonists fascinating to develop. Each of my protagonists has a specific antagonist (perhaps not apparent at first) carefully created for their needs and growth. Paznic Razbon is the arch-antagonist of the novel, and his ways become more and more complex and pronounced as the story evolves and history and "his story" are revealed. However, Lord Shrone is the antagonist specifically assigned to Razzia. Aadrik is a complicated character who goes back and forth between an antagonist and a protagonist. He causes plenty of conflict between himself, Hild, and Razzia. Crawl is another antagonist for Razzia and Aadrik. Emperor Ban Killian is not as involved as the other antagonists but poses a complication for Corovnica, Boain, and Tylay. Consistent opposition: 4 Again, I love opposition. Maybe because I experienced so much in my life and love every experience for what it has taught me. I created characters with specific weaknesses, and I use the opposition to mold and shape the characters into their best selves by digging and prodding with trial after trial, chipping away at their weakness until they become strengths. Protagonist goals: 4 What is life if not one big goal made up of a thousand tiny plans? Hand-in-hand with conflict, the characters have to hurdle the opposition to reach their goals. I enjoyed studying personality types using Myer's Brigg's test to identify which goals would match each type and which type matched each character - this was so fun that in the process, I created twelve extra characters that I did not end up using. Razzia is the INFJ personality. Each character has specific strengths, weaknesses, and pursuits. Her goal is to find comfort, meaning, and a greater purpose in life. She wants to be a heroine and conquer herself and her mind. Aadrik (INTJ) thinks his goal is to fulfill his mission, but he also needs to feel loved, live his life more fully, and not be quite duty-bound. He wants to win the battle, destroy the Segaeta, finish his father's work, but he also needs strong family and friend ties, though he pushes them away. Hild (ENFP) wants adventure, and he gets it. He comes full circle and realizes that he is happiest in his homeland. He also learns a lot about himself. He is talented and courageous but clumsy at times and lacks a level of humility and wisdom that could help him. Hild has not proven himself yet, and he becomes more than he imagined he could be by the end of the story. Sympathetic protagonist I would consider Nicolette and Benca to be sympathetic protagonists. Nicolette is adventurous and principled and immediately immerses herself in the cause and wants nothing more than to assist her friends in achieving whatever is necessary for bringing down the Segaeta and Razbon. Benca perhaps understands Razzia, Hild, and Aadrik better than anyone. She is a compassionate and robust mother figure for all three. Supporting characters Nicolette is introduced later in the story, but she and her family are pivotal. Nicolette becomes friends with Razzia and is later kidnapped by Aadrik along with Razzia. They learn to use their various talents to escape. After entering the novel, Nicolette stays by Razzia's side. Benca raised Razzia, and in some ways, she is an antagonist for her at the beginning. Benca is strong, skilled, and determined. She is compassionate too, but no-nonsense. Benca is sympathetic to the over-arching cause but equally concerned about Razzia's well-being. Boain is the novel father figure who takes the younger generations under his wing. He is the voice of wisdom, patience, and strength. Rous is a father figure to Hild. He is concerned with Hild's becoming a responsible, respectable man. Kasyl, though he disappears at the beginning of the novel, frequently appears in dreams, visions, and flashbacks. Kasyl IS the over-arching cause. He is the father of the cause, the leader of the cause, and the one everyone looked to for wisdom, courage, and the revolutionary spirit. NARRATIVE DEVELOPMENT: Scene length and structure: 3 This was a concern to me. I would love some input. Most of my chapters range from 6-12 pages. Averaging 10 pages each for a total of 27 chapters. Effective transitions: 4 I think that I did appropriate transitions. I placed each scene or chapter accordingly to help the novel flow. While I was bouncing back and forth between characters, I made sure that I did not leave one alone or stay with another for too long. I also left cliffhangers to help the reader want to keep reading. Clarity of spatial set: 3.7 I hope that my setting/scenes/characters are all spatially correct. I made a detailed map of the region with lots of research, including miles and how long it would take on horseback/foot/or on a larger creature. I evaluated the seasons for the flow of the novel based on where the characters were and made sure that everyone was working simultaneously. Comprehensible prose narrative: 3.7 I spent hours researching areas of the world that I wanted to incorporate into my story, and I enjoyed every second of describing them. I do not enjoy when an author spends pages on a description, so I tried to reign it in, but I also made sure that the reader felt immersed in the story and the scenery. I remember reading an exciting adventure novel with great characters right off, but I had no idea where I was. I could not picture the character, clothes, buildings, or seasons. It bothered me that my mind was trying so hard to enjoy the adventure and place it in a set that I had to make up on my own. Later in the novel (a few chapters in), the author described the setting, and I was frustrated that it was nothing like I imagined that I put the book down. This example has helped me ensure that my readers and my characters are in the same story, moving through each scene together. Tension on the page: 3.7 Creating tension through dialogue and setting was most enjoyable. I love incorporating the elements into a scene. I used the elements and natural surroundings to expose thoughts in each character's part of the scene. An assignment in one of the required readings asked the writer to describe a recently widowed woman looking at a barn. They said to describe the barn without the reader knowing that the woman had hated her husband. I found this helpful in remembering to connect the setting and characters. Dialogue mastery: 3.5 I may have had to delete much dialogue. I can talk amongst my characters and forget that the reader is tired of sitting in front of a fire. I did try to make sure that each sentence in quotations moved the story along and served a purpose, or I deleted it. I also tried to ensure that the tone of the dialogue did not stay the same for too long. I included comic relief, tension, softness, excitement, and danger whenever necessary. Exposition delivery: 3.7 To help with exposition delivery, I have written and rewritten my first chapter to include information about the antagonist and set the stage for the main characters. I also include plenty of hints and information throughout each chapter to help the reader understand the backstory and how it affects each character and the plot. Narrative composition (quality of set, tension, cinema, character interactions): 3.7 Quality of Set: The set is post-modern Europe in a futuristic, dystopian era. The feel is 1800’s Romania and Hungary and extends all the way to Greece. There are scenes set in a desert and in the famous forests in Eastern Europe. The cultures pull a lot from modern and ancient eras in Europe, but a lot has changed – Not everyone enjoys luxuries and modern technologies the way we do now. Tension: I try to keep the tension in each chapter, with some comic relief mixed in, but for the most part, the tension is consistent enough to keep the plot moving smoothly. Cinema: I’m not sure I understand this the way I would like to, but I do remember in the Pitch Conference and in the reading assignments discussing the importance of each scene moving along appropriately, in novel fashion but with cinematic potential. Character Interactions: My favorite part of writing. I love studying relationships and psychology, and the most enjoyable part of writing for me is not the plot or the action but the relationship arcs. I probably spend more on that development than on the setting and environment. However, that is not saying that it cannot be improved. Cinematic imagery (static and dynamic): I am not entirely sure I understand this, but I could not help envisioning every scene as a movie scene, and I tried to make each one have plenty of imagery, excitement, tension, and flow. Proper point-of-view: 3 I am aware of the importance of staying close to the character, but it does concern me that I can get a little too omnipotent during some scenes, and I have to remind myself to head back into the mind and perspective of the character. Being aware of that tendency, I have tried to eliminate scenes like that. Wise use of craft technique: 3.5 Craft and technique were a significant part of the reading assignments, and I enjoyed reading about the difference between them and the importance of understanding each to create a breakout novel. I have worked hard to incorporate craft and technique into my work, but that can be improved. Interior Monologue and rumination: 4 I do love spending time in my characters' minds. I think that it’s a meaningful way to show their personal arch and their personality type. I would like to add more ruminating, but I need to be careful not to spend too long in there and bore a reader interested in the sensory vs. the intuitive.

Revised Chapter One - Introduces the Sifting Ceremony and two main protagonists, Hild and Razzia. CHAPTER 1 Hild looked down the shaft of his arrow through a small gap in the foliage, then readjusted his hand on the grip. He felt his heart beating in his fingers as they held the nock of the arrow just behind the blue and gold fletching. He crouched, ready, waiting, and fearful, for today, the Sifting Ceremony began. Hild watched in mute horror as the dark-armored guards appeared, dragging a young girl from a nearby tent. They shoved her toward the center of the large, circular courtyard and dropped her at the base of a polished stone altar shaped like a bellflower with its petals open like a wide mouth around the marble platform. Hild recognized the girl. Razzia! His heart sank, and an overwhelming feeling of guilt and crushing agony descended upon him. She looked fragile, diminished when she had once been vibrant and full of life. Many of the gathered spectators decried the scene while dozens of armed guards pushed against the riotous throng gathered in the square. A group of angry citizens took up stones and hurled them at the guards while shouting obscenities. Surrounding onlookers made a wide birth as three guards hurdled the wall, flanked the rebellious men, and then began to beat them until they dropped in forced submission beneath blows from sword hilts and armored fists. The soldiers dragged the rebel’s limp bodies in a trailing cloud of dust through the courtyard and strung them up against a stone wall with the other Sifting candidates who waited in trepidation for the extraction process. Hild’s eyes locked onto the High Shaw, who walked with imperious detachment toward Razzia. The Shaw gestured to the guards, who lifted her wilted body onto the granite altar and chained her wrists above her head. Hundreds of rebel defectors waited behind Hild in the undergrowth, watching the proceedings, impatient for the unseen boundary to open and the sign to be given. After the sign, they would storm the camp and raid the courtyard, but this would not happen until blood had been spilled—Razzia’s blood. *** Hild sat up from the dream, startled, panting for breath, and bathed in sweat. He felt the solid earth beneath his hands. He looked around him and exhaled. “What the devil was that?” He muttered, getting to his feet. He shook his head again and blinked at the sunlight. Hild had experienced vivid dreams before, but none had ever felt so real and intense. Stranger more, the terrifying dream sounded much like one that continued to torment Razzia. Dreams frequently plagued her with restless nights, but this particular dream seemed to have a more alarming effect, and now its corporality induced a strange and unsettling mood in Hild. He had not seen Razzia in days and had hoped she would meet him in the orchards. He began to wonder where she was, but harvest time kept all the servants busy. Hild determined to follow the orchard path to Tuz Vira and look in on Razzia before returning home. After giving himself a moment to readjust to the burning sunlight that had stained his cheeks and neck pink, Hild swung the leather satchel of plums over his shoulder and glanced up at the heavy branches of a damson plum tree. Green leaves curled like wreaths around blue and purple clusters of dark fruits. The ominous dream continued to loom over his consciousness, making it difficult for Hild to discern reality from fantasy. Perhaps he still dreamt. He reached up and plucked a plum from the tree. It felt tangible enough in his fingers, but then so had the bow grip and feathered fletching. So had the searing feelings Hild experienced while watching Razzia chained to a stone altar by Segaeta guards. Hild watched orange sunrays peak through thin mid-morning clouds that swept across thriving green orchards and hayfields beneath a boundless blue sky. His eyes followed the desert path toward the tiny village of Mijloc-Teren. Though he had never been that far outside the boundaries of his homeland, he somehow knew that his mind had been there moments before, in the Segaeta camp, witnessing the nightmarish ritual. Hild decided to dismiss his dream, blaming it both on the result of Razzia’s constant prattling about her dream and the disturbing talk he had heard in the village. Nonetheless, he would stop at Tuz Vira on his way home, just to settle his state of mind. Hild began to wonder how the normalcy of harvest could continue despite rumors of unusual and unprecedented occurrences this close to home. He wondered if there would be a harvest next fall, and even more, he worried about the news he had heard in the piaţă that day. That morning, the market had brimmed with the usual commotion of bodies, circulating money, goods, and information. Hild had always found it irresistible to hear the market gossip and debate with the old men who gathered in the squares. But something about the dream, the Sifting, and the recent occupation of the Segaeta faction in Buclaminta had made rumors in the market more menacing. Tineri, Hild’s favorite horse, pressed her velvety nose through stray patches of alfalfa. Hild stroked her mane, patted her strong neck, and breathed in the therapeutic earthy scent of horse coat and ripe plum orchards. These smells brought a sense of grounding and comfort. Then Hild heard a familiar voice, like notes of a bell, “Daydreaming again?” She asked. Hild turned with a half-grin at her wide smile. Only Razzia could sneak up and surprise him that way. “Oh no. You look annoyed. Did you sleep in the stables again last night?” She asked. “I did, but that is not the trouble.” “Then what is?” “I had a strange dream. In fact, much like yours, but from a different perspective. I am worried now,” Hild frowned. Razzia’s expression dropped, and a concerned furrow shadowed her usually radiant eyes – one green and one golden-brown. “Aha? You afraid it will come true, then.” “No.” Hild replied, “I am afraid of turning into a little theatrical demon-host with bad dreams every night. Like you?” He gave her a sporting smile. Razzia tightened her lips, “I do hate you, Hild. I do not host demons, and you deserve bad dreams, so you will stop pestering me about mine.” “I will stop pestering you if you stop talking about them. You are infecting me with your dream disorder.” Razzia rolled her eyes and then reached up and plucked a dark fruit from its stem. Hild could tell from her wind-blown hair that she had run through the fields from her estate that day. Like the mane of a Danube horse, her unrivaled dark hair flowed out from beneath a flowered garland with ribbons. Though unmarried, she had come of age and insisted on wearing a blue wool, colorfully embroidered, ponyova skirt to accentuate her maturity in contradiction of her youthful ways. “Let me guess your bad dream.” Razzia took a bite of the plump little plum and then put a finger to her chin, “You lost a fight with Reinick. Or were you bedeviled by adventures out of your grasp? Pirate ships riding the Mavi Sea on the coast of Zbura? Or surviving the haunted Bântuit forest?” Hild swung himself onto the dapple-gray mare. “Do you need a ride home, little demon?” Razzia looked hurt. “I just got here?” She pointed behind her, “I ran all the way from Tuz Vira.” Hild grinned and shrugged, “The bucatar sent me to the piaţă for fowl meat. I had better not be late, or Antal will lose his temper. Then I need to help harvest, and I have two colts right now.” Hild murmured, “Reinick fed the new arrivals twice yesterday instead of letting them graze. Next time, I am trotting the blasted horses to his hallowed bed chambers, and he can babysit while they colic.” He raised an eyebrow at Razzia, “So, as you can see, I have a lot on my plate.” Razzia folded her arms in disappointment and made a pout with her lips, which warmed Hild. He sighed. “I suppose we could take a short ride before harvesting. Want to help in the orchards today? Or will Benca beat a stipe on your back?” “I do not care if she does.” Razzia could not hide her excitement behind a curtain of expression if she tried. She hurried over to Tineri, and Hild pulled her up behind him. Tineri read Hild’s 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. “Do not go very fast, or let me fall off, Hild.” She said nervously. He glanced behind him, “You could branch out of your boringness and learn to stay on by yourself. I could teach you. Tineri might appreciate it. Since you are so enormous, you know.” “No thanks. I am quite happy with my enormous boringness. Any news from the posts in the piaţă?” She asked, “But please, nothing horrible about the Segaeta or Katona guards.” “Oh, I see. Only the good news. We would not want to spoil your imaginings with any reality.” Razzia wrapped her arms around Hild’s chest, “Absolutely not. My imagines can be terrible enough on their own, like my dreams. There is still some good news, is there not?” Hild did not answer. Somehow, life always went on, no matter the news, but Hild felt a distinct change in the air, though he hoped he was wrong. Sour cherries and fresh fowl meat from the local piaţă jostled in the leather dublari at Tineri’s haunches. 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 and black sea in the distance. He recalled stories of desert tribes and unmarked paths across dangerous territories, but only warriors left Buclaminta, and only the best returned. “I should have led out with the warriors years ago,” Hild said sullenly. “Blasted ear.” “You should thank your deaf ear. Plums and horses are important to you know.” Razzia replied. “Plums and horses,” Hild grumbled. “We are not going far, are we?” Razzia asked, glancing back toward Tuz Vira. “Kasyl does not like me to go far.” “Razzia, if a hunting trail frightens you, we need to get you out of the kitchens more often.” “I do not think you understand. Kasyl strictly forbade me to go beyond where I could see the estate. I disobey him enough on your account. Now turn us about, and let us go on that lovely veiled pathway we always take.” Hild turned his head all the way around to look at Razzia, “You are not in earnest, are you? Do you think because you dreamed that leaving Tuz Vira would cause it to set fire, that it actually will?” Razzia huffed, “I do not see any reason to be very far from home, that is all. Kasyl forbids it. And I do not like dark, frightening forests.” She stared at the black web of trees ahead. “This is not the Bântuit, Razzia. It is just a hunting trail. The most terrifying creatures you will find are a red stag and the odd rabbit or fox.” And with that, Hild prompted Tineri toward the tunneled path. “There it goes. It is gone.” Razzia said with irritation. “Poof. We have left the fields and orchards behind, and you are now breaking every rule of Kasyl’s. I shall never ride with you again.” “It is just trees! You are such a stick in the mud about the rules. And no rule exists saying that you must be in view of your home at all times and never go in trees.” Tineri pricked her ears but stayed steady as they curled along the path, darker and deeper into the forest that coiled into a tangled arch overhead. The pathway turned this way and that with a slight bump up and then a dip down and on until the opening from behind no longer offered its meager light. Unrestrained winds that had coiled across the orchards and fields now channeled into the wagon route and sang an eerie tune. “I like rules,” Razzia meekly said as she glanced around her. “You like to make them up,” Hild mumbled.

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

Hi Shola, Ok, there were kids around when I read this, so I hope I don't look foolish, but I really, very much enjoyed reading it. I almost had to skip the "burning alive" scene, my worst fear. But I pushed through it. It was so intense. Also, I am not as book or word smart as you, but I do love to get into character's heads and I love descriptions. I felt immediately that Hugues was not really one of them. You did a good job of making him subtly stand out from the rest of the characters in chapter 1. I thought your character development was great. I immediately hated the Pope (reminded me of Longshanks) and you made him and all of his minions really good bad guys. I am anxious to hear what comes their way! And after all the evil, condescending / encouragement from the Pope to out information from the captives, and then murder them anyway, not to mention the criminal activity they are involved in, I felt that it fittingly tied in with the foreshadowing sentence of the 2nd chapter, "They are just people." I'm guessing they'll find them to be much the opposite. I did feel that there were a lot of characters in the first chapter. I think I forget when I'm writing, that people don't remember names or descriptions right away. It always takes several reminders before I get a full view of who a person is, what they are like, their motives, appearance etc. I have the same problem in my writing. I know that only certain characters from chapter 1 are going to continue throughout the rest of the book, so obviously you don't need to do too much of describing the guards for example. You did do a fair amount of description on the scenes, I was able to materialize a lot of the scenery from my own imagination and from what you described. But I really like hearing more details about clothing (the gauntlet description was excellent! Even the gross lip part ) and the surroundings. Not because readers can't imagine it up themselves, but I honestly want to see more of what is in your head, because it's probably much more clever and creative than what is in mine. It was interesting jumping scenes from chapter one to chapter two. I didn't want anyone to have to go back to the setting in chapter one. Such a scary, depressing, hopeless time and place. The Yahwudin boat scene was a relief after the upper charring tower in France. and I can't wait to hear what goes on between the nations. Also, I would like to know more about the situation of the technologically advanced society. I'm sure this comes later, but is it quiet luxurious? Is it more rugged? How aware are they of the goings on in the less advanced nations? I'm guessing not very? Mostly because of the last sentence in chapter 2. And at the risk of sounding more ridiculous...I know little about boats from any time period. Did you make up this technology? Is the Fire Sand similar to a real life prototype. How did they "stumble" across the technology? I'm sure that comes later, and that is ok with me, because that keeps me reading. I just want to have a clearer picture in my head of the discrepancies between the societies. Very interesting and fun to read. I love the idea, love the descriptions. Excellent prose. I also had to create some science / technology from another time in my story. Love science/nerd brains!

Hi Minglu, I love that your story started off with something action-filled and thrilling. That is my favorite way to get into a story. I got the feel for the drama of the situation right off. I also think you did a great job at describing the action scenes and making them move forward dramatically. I was instantly worried about the woman they were going to torture. I also wanted to know more about the Theikos and who they were, which made me want to keep reading. I also kept reading to find out the relationship between the two protagonists. I would have liked to see the city, clothing and the two-room house location and description in a little bit more detail. I liked the description of the amulet tugging at Lydia's heart when she set a curse. I like to know how it feels to be a sorcerous and how the casting of a curse would feel. I also liked that you used some Roman words I wasn't familiar with but they fit into the descriptions well enough for me to decipher what they meant. Maybe a little more cohesiveness with the discussion between Lydia and (the Theikos?) when they enter the house. Was Brisies a sorceress too, but not as good as Lydia? Also is Marcus a sorcerer, or a Roman friend who is sympathetic to the Theikos? I'm sure that all gets answered later, and you did touch on it. I like the curse she thinks of at the end. It made me want to know what Lydia ends up doing to Rome. Just curious, is there a romantic relationship between the protagonists in their future? I am a sucker for a little romance in any genre! And I like strong women as much as anyone, but I do love a good old fashioned rescue scene on occasion. I think even someone as powerful and talented as Lydia would agree. Good job! Laura

CHAPTER ONE (REVISED) CHAPTER 1 Hild looked down the shaft of his arrow through a small gap in the foliage, then readjusted his hand on the grip. He felt his heart beating in his fingers as they held the nock of the arrow just behind the blue and gold fletching. He crouched, ready, waiting, and fearful, for today, the Sifting Ceremony began. Hild watched in mute horror as the dark-armored guards appeared, dragging a young girl from a nearby tent. They shoved her toward the center of the large, circular courtyard and dropped her at the base of a polished stone altar shaped like a bellflower with its petals, like a mouth, cradling the marble platform. Hild recognized the girl. Razzia! His heart sank, and an overwhelming feeling of guilt and crushing agony descended upon him. She looked fragile, diminished when she had once been vibrant and full of life. Many of the gathered spectators decried the scene while dozens of armed guards pushed against the riotous throng gathered in the square. A group of angry citizens took up stones and hurled them at the guards while shouting obscenities. Surrounding onlookers made a wide birth as three guards leaped over the wall, flanked the rebellious men, and then began to beat them until they dropped in forced submission beneath blows from sword hilts and armored fists. The soldiers dragged the rebel's limp bodies in a trailing cloud of dust through the courtyard and strung them up against a stone wall with the other Sifting candidates who waited in trepidation for the extraction process. Hild's eyes locked onto the High Shaw, who walked with imperious detachment toward Razzia. The Shaw gestured to the guards, who lifted her wilted body onto the granite altar and chained her wrists above her head. Hundreds of rebel defectors waited behind Hild in the undergrowth, watching the proceedings, impatient for the unseen boundary to open and the sign to be given. After the sign, they would storm the camp and raid the courtyard, but this would not happen until blood had been spilled—Razzia's blood. *** Hild sat up from the dream, startled, panting for breath, and bathed in sweat. He felt the solid earth beneath his hands. He looked around him and exhaled. “What the devil was that?” He muttered, getting to his feet. He shook his head again and blinked at the sunlight. Hild had experienced vivid dreams before, but none had ever felt so real and intense. Stranger more, the terrifying dream sounded much like one that continued to torment Razzia. Dreams frequently plagued her with restless nights, but this particular dream seemed to have a more alarming effect, and now its corporality induced a strange and unsettling mood in Hild. He had not seen Razzia in days and had hoped she would meet him in the orchards. He began to wonder where she was, but harvest time kept all the servants busy. Hild determined to follow the orchard path to Tuz Vira and look in on Razzia before returning home. After giving himself a moment to readjust to the burning sunlight that had stained his cheeks and neck pink, Hild swung the leather satchel of plums over his shoulder and glanced up at the heavy branches of a damson plum tree. Green leaves curled like wreaths around blue and purple clusters of dark fruits. The ominous dream continued to loom over his consciousness, making it difficult for Hild to discern reality from fantasy. Perhaps he still dreamt. He reached up and plucked a plum from the tree. It felt tangible enough in his fingers, but then so had the bow grip and feathered fletching. So had the searing feelings Hild experienced while watching Razzia chained to a stone altar by Segaeta guards. Hild watched orange sunrays peak through thin mid-morning clouds that swept across thriving green orchards and hayfields beneath a boundless blue sky. His eyes followed the desert path toward the tiny village of Mijloc-Teren. Though he had never been that far outside the boundaries of his homeland, he somehow knew that his mind had been there moments before, in the Segaeta camp, witnessing the nightmarish ritual. Hild decided to dismiss his dream, blaming it both on the result of Razzia’s constant prattling about her dream and the disturbing talk he had heard in the village. Nonetheless, he would stop at Tuz Vira on his way home, just to settle his state of mind. Hild began to wonder how the normalcy of harvest could continue despite rumors of unusual and unprecedented occurrences this close to home. He wondered if there would be a harvest next fall, and even more, he worried about the news he had heard in the piaţă that day. That morning, the market had brimmed with the usual commotion of bodies, circulating money, goods, and information. Hild had always found it irresistible to hear the market gossip and debate with the old men who gathered in the squares. But something about the dream, the Sifting, and the recent occupation of the Segaeta faction in Buclaminta had made rumors in the market more menacing. Tineri, Hild’s favorite horse, pressed her velvety nose through stray patches of alfalfa. Hild stroked her mane, patted her strong neck, and breathed in the therapeutic earthy scent of horse coat and ripe plum orchards. These smells brought a sense of grounding and comfort. Then Hild heard a familiar voice, like notes of a bell, “Daydreaming again?” She asked. Hild turned with a half-grin at her wide smile. Only Razzia could sneak up and surprise him that way. “Oh no. You look annoyed. Did you sleep in the stables again last night?” She asked. “I did, but that is not the trouble.” “Then what is?” “I had a strange dream. In fact, much like yours, but from a different perspective. I am worried now,” Hild frowned. Razzia’s expression dropped, and a concerned furrow shadowed her usually radiant eyes – one green and one golden-brown. “Aha? You afraid it will come true, then.” “No.” Hild replied, “I am afraid of turning into a little theatrical demon-host with bad dreams every night. Like you?” He gave her a sporting smile. Razzia tightened her lips, “I do hate you, Hild. I do not host demons, and you deserve bad dreams, so you will stop pestering me about mine.” “I will stop pestering you if you stop talking about them. You are infecting me with your dream disorder.” Razzia rolled her eyes and then reached up and plucked a dark fruit from its stem. Hild could tell from her wind-blown hair that she had run through the fields from her estate that day. Like the mane of a Danube horse, her unrivaled dark hair flowed out from beneath a flowered garland with ribbons. Though unmarried, she had come of age and insisted on wearing a blue wool, colorfully embroidered, ponyova skirt to accentuate her maturity in contradiction of her youthful ways. “Let me guess your bad dream.” Razzia took a bite of the plump little plum and then put a finger to her chin, “You lost a fight with Reinick. Or were you bedeviled by adventures out of your grasp? Pirate ships riding the Mavi Sea on the coast of Zbura? Or surviving the haunted Bântuit forest?” Hild swung himself onto the dapple-gray mare. “Do you need a ride home, little demon?” Razzia looked hurt. “I just got here?” She pointed behind her, “I ran all the way from Tuz Vira.” Hild grinned and shrugged, “The bucatar sent me to the piaţă for fowl meat. I had better not be late, or Antal will lose his temper. Then I need to help harvest, and I have two colts right now.” Hild murmured, “Reinick fed the new arrivals twice yesterday instead of letting them graze. Next time, I am trotting the blasted horses to his hallowed bed chambers, and he can babysit while they colic.” He raised an eyebrow at Razzia, “So, as you can see, I have a lot on my plate.” Razzia folded her arms in disappointment and made a pout with her lips, which warmed Hild. He sighed. “I suppose we could take a short ride before harvesting. Want to help in the orchards today? Or will Benca beat a stipe on your back?” “I do not care if she does.” Razzia could not hide her excitement behind a curtain of expression if she tried. She hurried over to Tineri, and Hild pulled her up behind him. Tineri read Hild’s 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. “Do not go very fast, or let me fall off, Hild.” She said nervously. He glanced behind him, “You could branch out of your boringness and learn to stay on by yourself. I could teach you. Tineri might appreciate it. Since you are so enormous, you know.” “No thanks. I am quite happy with my enormous boringness. Any news from the posts in the piaţă?” She asked, “But please, nothing horrible about the Segaeta or Katona guards.” “Oh, I see. Only the good news. We would not want to spoil your imaginings with any reality.” Razzia wrapped her arms around Hild’s chest, “Absolutely not. My imagines can be terrible enough on their own, like my dreams. There is still some good news, is there not?” Hild did not answer. Somehow, life always went on, no matter the news, but Hild felt a distinct change in the air, though he hoped he was wrong. Sour cherries and fresh fowl meat from the local piaţă jostled in the leather dublari at Tineri’s haunches. 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 and black sea in the distance. He recalled stories of desert tribes and unmarked paths across dangerous territories, but only warriors left Buclaminta, and only the best returned. “I should have led out with the warriors years ago,” Hild said sullenly. “Blasted ear.” “You should thank your deaf ear. Plums and horses are important to you know.” Razzia replied. “Plums and horses,” Hild grumbled. “We are not going far, are we?” Razzia asked, glancing back toward Tuz Vira. “Kasyl does not like me to go far.” “Razzia, if a hunting trail frightens you, we need to get you out of the kitchens more often.” “I do not think you understand. Kasyl strictly forbade me to go beyond where I could see the estate. I disobey him enough on your account. Now turn us about, and let us go on that lovely veiled pathway we always take.” Hild turned his head all the way around to look at Razzia, “You are not in earnest, are you? Do you think because you dreamed that leaving Tuz Vira would cause it to set fire, that it actually will?” Razzia huffed, “I do not see any reason to be very far from home, that is all. Kasyl forbids it. And I do not like dark, frightening forests.” She stared at the black web of trees ahead. “This is not the Bântuit, Razzia. It is just a hunting trail. The most terrifying creatures you will find are a red stag and the odd rabbit or fox.” And with that, Hild prompted Tineri toward the tunneled path. “There it goes. It is gone.” Razzia said with irritation. “Poof. We have left the fields and orchards behind, and you are now breaking every rule of Kasyl’s. I shall never ride with you again.” “It is just trees! You are such a stick in the mud about the rules. And no rule exists saying that you must be in view of your home at all times and never go in trees.” Tineri pricked her ears but stayed steady as they curled along the path, darker and deeper into the forest that coiled into a tangled arch overhead. The pathway turned this way and that with a slight bump up and then a dip down and on until the opening from behind no longer offered its meager light. Unrestrained winds that had coiled across the orchards and fields now channeled into the wagon route and sang an eerie tune. “I like rules,” Razzia meekly said as she glanced around her. “You like to make them up,” Hild mumbled.