First 500: Son of Abel by Sapha Burnell
WELCOME TO THE FIRST 500: Son of Abel EDITION, WHERE WE AT VRAEYDA LITERARY SHARE THE FIRST 500 WORDS OF OUR PUBLISHED WORKS.
BELOW IS THE FIRST 500 WORDS OF Sapha Burnell’S Mythpunk + Godpunk NOVEL Son of Abel (Judge of Mystics Saga 2), CURRENTLY ON SALE AT THE VRAEYDA STORE AND WHEREVER NOVELS ARE SOLD.
A Good Loneliness
”A good loneliness, a good insecurity. Stone room, pines. His will, His mercy. An imperfection to say it and insist: lack of faith. Do not explain.”
Thomas Merton, March 3, 1961
I rub my thumb along the pads of my fingers, there used to be ridges on my skin. Used to slide my hands together in church during one of Dad's endless homilies. Parson's son couldn't fall asleep in the pew. World felt new in those decades, swathed in an elongated childhood. Back when the Hallowes had a roof, the one you remembered.
Dad never hid what we were from me, hard to, when pixies, elves and fae knocked on the lintel of our country parsonage's kitchen door, and I watched the village children grow up in waves. Time to learn, to play the games Faeries played with each other. Mystic games, disguising an education in those magics the Fae possess. Even then, scuffed knees and dirtied cotton shirts, one step out of my dutiful role and the play stopped. My petite Queen rushed off by her handmaids and my keepers, the Neutrality to maintain. Duty as law.
We met in thickets and meadows, the outskirts of villages safe in the Truce's Neutrality. Never entered each others' homes. The moment I forgot that fundamental rule, the colourful wagons of my father's acquaintances became a better education for the Truce's Peace Child.
For the Judge, who in his lack of belonging, was uniquely situated to dole justice upon Mystic Truce breakers.
Then I met you, Tuija. You were a perpetual figure in the background, this warrior woman beside Finnegan and Donovan. We danced around each other, you and I. Drinking buddies, sparring partners. Companions. We were two planets orbiting a bizarre solar body, which shifted its gravity enough for us to combine. The day we married was a strange synthesis of overwhelm and joy. A pause before the onslaught where Zeus must have moved the sky. I don't know, you were in my arms. Raphael took us to Finnegan's, everything else is resounding thunder. The beating of mighty wings.
Sixty years ago, I could still feel the skin of my fingers. I don't remember when it stopped. You told me to run, and my God, Tuija. If I don't find a way out of the Truce now, will I eventually feel nothing at all?
Caleb Mauthisen, Anno Paxus 163 (2017)
The Grout Turned Foul
"Yeah, another three to hit. The second Pentekostys is coordinating half of Africa, we should weed out these freaking misfits with time for a bbq and brewskies, eh!?" Enomotarch Leander Areides, known affectionately by his sibling Icarus and companions as Lou, kicked one combat boot up on the other as he leaned against a wall in Tel Aviv's Jaffa Flea Market. Machine gun slung around his shoulder, Lou enjoyed the bustle and the shade of the awning his size procured. Few sellers considered shoving a seven foot tall bruiser in Kopis Industries colours away from their stalls.
"Hey, Fowler! Areides called for a bbq back at base, you in!?"
"Dude, am I!? I'll bring the whiskey since you lightweights spend too much time sucking down beers and not enough doing cardio!"
"Cardio!?" Lou cackled, shooting a pair of finger guns in Fowler's direction by a fruit stand. "Why run on a treadmill when there are... finer ways of helping the ole heart muscle."
"Ooohhh Violet." Minitron clasped his hands together. "Bought this for ya, Violet... since... ya know you're new in Midgard and all."
LIKE WHAT YOU SEE? Does Lou find Caleb?
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