Would You Continue Reading, Honestly?
Question by ***I’m Halle Berry’s Boyfriend***: Would you continue reading, honestly?
Hi, Y!A users.
This is the first chapter of my fantasy novel. Be brutally honest, and answer the following questions when you’re done reading:
1.Does it flow well?
2.Would you continue reading?
3.Comments/likes/dislikes?
Chapter 1
I was a half-breed, born to serve and protect villagers from the demons that threatened to rase humanity—not to give palliative care to a man dying as a result of trouble of his own making.
The lantern bathed the hut in golden light and allowed me to see Lukas with clarity. His leathery skin hung in folds, pallor and dappled with blood-red spots. I dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead, a smile on my face to veil the resentment I knew my eyes would otherwise reflect. Lungrot, the Sisters claimed. A disease so grave not even the most gifted of witch doctors could turn back. The ancestors only cursed those who meddled in sorcery, demon magic, with such an affliction.
“Derek,” Lukas croaked, his breathing laboured. “You never look me . . . in the eye anymore.”
Besides that his eyes were sunken, discoloured and bloodshot, I was certain if I met his gaze I would become powerless against the urge to demand that he confess his sin. I often wondered if whatever he did was worth abandoning me for an eternity in hell.
I widened my smile. “You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe.”
I remained silent, for all the responses I thought of would have betrayed my true emotions. I dunked the cloth I held into the pail of water beside me, wrung it out, and wiped his shoulder to his hand. He hissed each time the cloth came in contact with his skin; impressions on the underside of his arm of the straw mat beneath him had begun deepening into sores.
“The Consecration is only a week away. . . . Are you ready?” he asked as I cleaned between his fingers.
No. That would have been the honest response. My sister, Aaricia, also had the gift of priestcraft within her, and she was more adept at working the weather and summoning the spirits of the dead than I was. Unlike her, I needed to be ordained the village’s priest at The Consecration. In fact, my existence depended upon it. Aloud I said, “I can’t wait.”
Lukas’s chapped lips parted in what must have been an attempt to smile, revealing yellowed and blackened teeth. “I’m sure you’ll make a great priest.”
At that instant a deep, guttural voice blared in my head: I’ll make sure that never happens.
I flinched, my thoughts became scrambled and darkness overwhelmed my vision. The voice was one I kept a secret and struggled to dispel whenever it surfaced. Priestess Ava would hang me at the gallows herself if she found out.
“Derek, what’s wrong?”
I blinked. Slivers of light from the lantern lanced through the darkness. The cracked mud walls of the hut reformed, the tattered blankets under which Lukas lay reappeared, and the contours of worry on his face became clear.
“Nothing is wrong.” I spoke in an even voice, reworking a smile into my features as I continued to clean his other arm. “What would you like for supper?”
He looked at me suspiciously, his lips parted as though he intended to protest then thought better of it. “A bowl of porridge . . . will do,” he said finally. “Do you think you can . . . get me more herbs?”
My smile faltered. “Aaricia brought you a vial only yesterday.”
Lukas grabbed my forearm, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I really need them.”
I wrenched myself free of his surprisingly strong grip and scowled. “Do I own a money mine? You better start taking those herbs as the witch doctor prescribed, or find work to pay for your addiction.”
“I’m not addicted to them—”
“And I’m not a fool,” I snapped. “I think it’s time for you to sleep.” I threw the cloth into the pail. “Aaricia will bring you your supper.”
Wind whistled through rifts in the thatch, and he pulled his blankets up to his neck. “Derek—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, I rose to my feet and stomped to the door.
“You’re my son, Derek. I love you. Never forget that.”
He had only ever proclaimed his love for me once before, when he and his wife, Amara, explained how they found me in the forest hours after my birth crying upon my dead mother’s bosom. Assuring me of his love was a way for him to protect himself from the thought of disappointing me, I decided.
I stood in the doorway and looked at him, frail and gaunt beneath his blankets. He had once been a high-ranking warrior whose name was spoken in awe, my role model. “I’ll never forget that,” I said, “but I don’t believe it. You’re not my father.”
Best answer:
Answer by zoe o
Good start. Keep going.
Answer by Izzy C.
Cool! Sounds great! 🙂
Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!
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