This is an excerpt form a fantasy novel I’m writing. It is high fantasy (taking place in a fictional world) but not heroic fantasy as if focuses on the protagonist and her journey of healing.
Patricia Morningstar entered the Black Dog Inn, in the town of Rya near the Barrier Forest. She was five feet two inches in height, had red-brown hair, tan skin, brown eyes, with a fresh scare on her forehead. She wore a light brown knee length dress, with a brown coat with a bulge on the left, just below and slightly left of her breast. Her eyes were heavy, her legs hurt, and the pain in her abdomen was worse then usual.
Patricia entered the inn with a sense of relief, she sat at an empty table, resting her feet before asking for a room. The innkeeper, a handsome man with brown hair and brown eyes, wearing and off-white button down shirt and beige pants walked to the table. Patricia reached for a knife hidden in her coat.
“Welcome to the Black Dog, I am Francis, may I get you anything?” The innkeeper asked, with a smile.
“No, no,” pause, “no.” Another pause, she looked down took her hand away from her knife, looked back at Francis, “A room, tonight.”
Francis put his hands together, “Tonight, yes. Forty two Ꝑ.”
“Forty two? Um.” Patricia took copper coins from a purse hidden in her jacket, looked at them. She reached out, the coins in her hand. Francis put out his hand, palm up, Patricia jerked her hand back, reached to his hand, her hand shaking, and dropped four coins in his hand, a two Ꝑ, two ten Ꝑ’s and a twenty Ꝑ.
“Thank you,” he took the coins, noticing her shaking hands. “are you alright, ma’am?”
“Yes I’m,” pause, “just tired.”
“Alright, would you like anything else?”
“No. Yes, can I have a private room?”
“Not tonight. We do have another woman staying here, when her,” pause, “guests are done, you could share the room with her.”
“That will,” she looked down, “alright.”
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“Um, no, thank you.” Francis turned, Patricia looked at him, “wait, some food, and drink.” she requested.
He looked at her hands, then eyes. He frowned, “Yes ma’am, right away.”
Patricia put her hands on the table, she took a deep shaking breath.
Patricia screamed as fist came to her face. He grabbed her face forcing her to look at his. Round face, short brown curly hair, crows feet, green teeth. He laughed as he forced himself into-
“Ma’am?” a voice asked.
Patrica looked up, grabbed her knife, she let out a startled scream. A girl, no more than fourteen, a shocked and scared look on her face stood near the table with Patricia’s order. The others in the lobby were staring.
“Are you alright?” The girl asked nervously.
Patrica let go of her knife, the others went back to their business. “I- I y- yes, I’m alright.”
The girl placed a bowl of stew with bread, and a bottle of wine on the table. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you.” Patrica thanked the young waitress, the waitress left. Patrica soaked a peace of bread in the stew, ate it. It tasted of mutton. The wine was spiced with pepper and sage. It all tasted good as it went down. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
“I know a place,” a mans gravely voice said, “on the other side of the forest that can help you.”
Patrica looked at a table near hers, reaching for her knife. She saw an older, balding man with white medium length hair, and a bandage on his head covering his right eye. “I’m not going that way.” she lied, quickly.
The man lifted his banded with his left hand showing a scare over his right empty eye socket, he lifted his right hand, it was missing all but its pinkie. “I know where you’re going. There’s a valley on the other, side said to be where creation began. A priestess lives there, she helped me, she can help you.”
“She made you forget?” Patrica’s voice was a mix of hope and sadness.
“No. She helped me live with the memories, to thrive despite them.”
She looked down. “I don’t want ether. I can’t make myself do what I want to do.”
“Death is not the solution.”
“The dead don’t feel, don’t remember.” Patrica looked at her hands, she didn’t know if she believed it, she feared that it wasn’t true.
“Remember, Valley of Creation. She can help you.” He stood up, took his bottle and bowl to Francis, thanked Francis and left.
Patrica looked at her food, closed her eyes, took a deep shaky breath. She opened her eyes and began eating again.
Patrica entered the third room to the left of the stairs. She saw a woman with black short hair, light brown skin, and auburn eyes, and wearing a blue dress that ended just below her knees.
“Oh hi there, you my roommate tonight?” The woman asked.
“Um, yes,” pause. “I’m Patr- Amelia.” Patrica said.
“Well hi Patamilia.” The woman stepped to Patrica, offering her hand. “I’m Alya.”
Patrica shook Alya’s hand. “Just Amelia.” They let go of each others hand. “Do you live and-” pause, “work here?”
“I stay and work here. It’s safer than where I was.” Alyas face went blank for a moment. She inhaled, “Anyway, I have different sheets for sleeping and work. I was changing them when you came in”
Patrica looked at the bed, it did look to be in the middle of changing. Alya pulled the sheets off the bed onto the floor, she went around, pulled neatly folded sheets and blankets from under the bed, Patrica helped Alya make the bed, Alya pushed her work sheets under the bed. “There,” Alya said, after they finished.
Patrica looked at a small couch, “Maybe I should sleep on the couch.”
“They’re clean, and I will be soon.” Alya pointed at divider.
“No, it’s- I have trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares? I get those too.” Alya turned and walked to the divider, “I’m a deep sleeper anyway.” She went behind the divider. “I have an extra nightgown, you don’t want to sleep in a road dirt stained dress. It’s in the top drawer.”
Patrica heard watery sounds coming from behind the divider. She looked down at the blanket, it was a quilt, on one of the patches was an image of a young girl with the words “Little Alya” sewn onto it.
Alya came out wearing a night gown, Patrica sat on the bet in the other night gown, holding her purse, knife, and a cloth doll she had in her coat.
“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with dolls?” Alya asked jokingly.
“It was my little girls.” Patrica responded.
“Going to see her?”
“No.” An image of Serra on a stone floor, being whipped, crying for her mother as her back bleed from many wounds, forced its way into Patrica’s mind.
Seeing the pain of Patrica’s face, “I’m sorry.” Alya apologized, “at least she is in heaven.”
“Yes, heaven, where the angels come from.” Patrica laid down, holding the doll, trying not to think about Serra, Peter, her father, or anyone else, trying not to feel at all.
“Serra!” Patrica screamed as two Holy Confluence solders pulled her daughter from her. “Please,” she pleaded with the round faced inquisitor, “I’ll tell you anything you want just don’t hurt my baby.”
“Liar, heretic!” The Inquisitor accused.
“I don’t know anything! Please let my baby go!” Patrica continued to plead.
“Mommy!” Patrica heard Serra scream.
Patrica ran to Serra but never got any closer. The sound of the whip repeatedly hitting Serra’s back forced itself into Patrica’s ears. Patrica picked up Serra’s body, her back beaten to muscle and bone. Patrica whaled and sobbed as she cradles Serra’s broken body. She looked forward, seeing the broken body of Peter and the chard remains of her father. A sharp pain screamed from her abdomen as a demon moved inside her, she looked at her abdomen, saw the Inquisitors face on he belly. She struck herself in the abdomen over and over screaming “Get out of me!”.
Patrica woke, repeating “Get out of me!” She was breathing heavy, sweating despite the cold, and her face and pillow were wet from tears. She closed her eyes, sobbed silently.
Patrica woke, the late winter sun shining in the window, she was alone. Sitting up she heard the door open. Alya entered the room carrying a kettle.
“I was wandering when you’d wake up.” Alya said. She went to a washtub, poured the hot water from the kettle into it.
“Is it late?”
“Almost noon.”
“Why didn’t you wake me,?” Patrica demanded, “I was supposed to leave by now.”
“You had a bad night.” Alya said as she stired the laundry.
“I woke you up?”
“I figured out what your nightmare were about by what you were saying.” She pulled up the blue dress from the night before, scrubbing it against a washboard. “I though I had it bad.”
Patrica turned, holding onto the doll, put her feet on the floor., she winced from the pain in her abdomen. Looking at Alya she said: “Thank you for your bed.”
“Is Serra your little girl?”
“She was.” Patrica looked at the doll.
“I had a little boy,” Alya stopped washing. “he didn’t make it. My husband kicked my out after that.”
Patrica looked at “He kicked you out?”
“The only baby I gave him in five years.” Alya sighed, “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“I can’t have children ether, not anymore.” Patrica looked down. The memory of punching herself in the abdomen yelling “get out of me,” flashed in her mind.
“I’m better off without him. Aaran drank a lot, he was a violent drink and I was his favorite punching bag.” Alya went back to washing her dress.
Patrica went behind the divider, changed into her cloths. Coming out she asked: “Does it get better?”
“Depends on the day, depends on the man in my bed.” Alya looked at Patrica, it will get better.” she looked down. “Maybe I should run off too,” she lifted her dress, looked at the stain she was trying to scrub out. “Find a good man, one that will love me despite-” Alya silently looked at her dress.
Patrica felt her abdomen, “I just want to run from the pain, but it’s still with me.”
“You can’t run from that, hun’, but I’ve known some who lived with it, despite it. Frankey says: ‘every day I live is spit in the eye of that inquisitor.’”
The word ‘inquisitor’ brought the image of the round faces man into Patrica’s mind. She closed her eyes, a look a pain went across her face. She tried to push the image away, the thought of the inquisitor away.
Noticing Patrica’s expression, Alya stopped washing, “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
“It’s- it’s-” Patrica paused, wiped her eyes, “I’m fine.” She sighed, “I guess I need some lunch.” Pause, “Thank you for sharing your bed.”
“Your welcome.” Alya continued washing her dress. “It’s nice to share it with someone who doesn’t want to use me.”
The lobby was mostly empty, three men were sitting at a table playing a card game, the teenage waitress and a woman were sitting at a table, the woman write in a book then pointed at what she wrote, two men, looked to be carpenters, sat having an early lunch, and a two inhuman beings sat at a table talking and laughing.
Patricia sat at a table, Francis walked up. “I- I’m sorry about last night.” Patricia apologized, “I-” she paused.
“It’s alright, I’ve seen it before.” Francis told her.
“’It’?”
“When I was young my parents were attacked by a demon, they-” pause, “never really got over it, on bad days they had the same look in their eyes you had.”
“I’m sorry, -”
“It’s-” he interrupted, stopped, “Can I get you anything?”
Patricia inhaled, “Food, left over soup from last night if you still have it.”
“We do.” He said with a smile.
“I’ll pay today.”
“Two Ꝑ, four with wine, or three with coffee, I think I still have some left.”
Patricia gave him three coins.
“Thank you ma’am.” Francis left the table.
Patricia looked at the inhuman creatures, one wolf lie, one cat like, without looking. She heard stories of man eating beasts and savages living in and past the Barrier Forest. The people didn’t seem to mind the creatures and they didn’t seem ferocious, especially as they laughed.
Francis returned with a bowl of the soup, with bread, and a cup of coffee. The soup was more liquidy than the night before and the coffee tasted like the bottom of the pot but she enjoyed it after days of walking and scraps.
She thought of the stories she heard as she ate. It wasn’t death that concerned her, that’s why she went the direction she was going, it was more pain. “But I wouldn’t feel anymore,” she lowly though aloud, “Maybe, hopefully.”
She finished her meal, feeling batter than she had in a while. Francis came to collect the bowl and cup. “Will you be staying with us another night?” He asked. “I may be able to get you a private room.”
“No,” she answered, “I need to continue.”
“Are you traveling east through the forest?”
“Um.” she began to answer, slowly.
“I suggest you try Ferris’s carriage, he’s cheaper than paying the travel fees, and you won’t have to walk.”
“Travel fees?”
“The Nathembqa charge a fee to who travel through their territory. Ferris doesn’t charge as much.”
“Thank you, and thank you for your hospitality.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. And-” pause, “there is help over there, my parents didn’t take it and went too soon.”
“I-” pause, “Thank you.”
Francis smiled and left the table.
Before leaving the inn went to the bathroom. A tank was mounted to the wall six feet above the toilet, “Do not empty tank,” and “inform host when empty or near empty” notices were written on it. Patricia checked her purse, her coins were running low. She took several coins from a pocket on her underwear, on the inside of her left leg. Four copper ten Ꝑ, two silver twenty-five Ꝑ, and silver 30 Ꝑ.
Patricia apologized to the young waitress from the night before, before leaving.
Ferris wasn’t hard to find, he was standing next to his carriage in the town center. He was slightly tall, with light skin, brown hair, muttonchops, and a head that looked too small for his body. He wore blue overall and an off white shirt. “Ma’am. He greeted Patricia as she neared, “Lookin’ to get across the forest?”
“Yes, um-” pause, “how much is it for- uh- passage?” she asked.
“Ninety Ꝑ for one, sixty Ꝑ for each additional, twenty-five Ꝑ for children unless they make a bunch of noise then it’s thirty.” he joked.
Patricia lowly giggled. “She isn’t-” her expression turned to sadness, “she wasn’t-” Patrica closed her eyes, breathed deeply. “It’s just me.” she said in a sad voice.
Ferris frowned, “I tell you what, I’ll charge you seventy, I got two other fairs.”
“Seventy?” She took the two silver coins and two copper coins out of her purse, handed them to Ferris.
“Thank you.” he thanked her.
“When do we leave?”
“Just after noon.”
“Isn’t that late to leave?”
“I can only leave when I have fairs and they wanted to have lunch first.”
“Oh- um- thank you.”
As the sun started to dip the two inhuman creatures joined Patricia on the carriage, bringing a chest with them. Ferris hugged and kissed his wife and three kids then joined them. The carriage left town to the Barrier Forrest, the Nathaq.
C.L. Who Writes 
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