Tournament Journal Round 2

So after having my story chosen as canon from the first round, I felt confident going into round two, because I got to continue with the storyline I'd already started! Again, if you'd like to read the other contestant's submissions, and see who made it and who didn't, the Tournament of Secrets has a blog!

Round 2 Prompt:
 
Lucy Finch vs. Rebecca Hoth vs. Wyndi Lin Su

A body--a dead body, not yet cold—is lying on its stomach in front of you. Though you can't see the face, you recognize the form. On its back is an envelope.

You reach out and pick it up. The outside of the envelope simply reads: Added Incentive.

You open the envelope and pull out a note, on which is printed in green ink the following:

[Insert your name here]

The person on the ground? Yes, it is someone you know quite well. And yes they are very much dead. A part of me is sorry that it had to be done this way, but it is what daddy would have wanted. He always found that people work best when properly motivated.
Your exploits have been brought to my attention. The research done by you and your associates has been passed on to my experts, and it has been put to good use. Without going into too great of detail, know that my experts were able to utilize all that you and your associates discovered to develop a unique product. However, my experts inform me that they are missing a key ingredient: the golden tresses of Sif.

I am not talking a single lock of hair. I require all of it, by any means necessary. Bring the hair back to this very spot within a week. A member of my staff will be here waiting for your return. At that time, he will finish the concoction, and you may administer it to the ‘incentive’ that I have left for you.

Do not bother moving the body. Doing so will result in immediate retribution. Know that it will be well looked after.

I assure you, there are no other methods of reviving the individual. Only the combination of the ingredients that I have acquired will do the job. If you wish this person to live again, your only hope is to follow my instructions.

There are two others who are in the same situation as you. Know also that this deal is only offered to the first one to achieve my wishes. The other ‘incentives’ will not be as lucky. If all of you refuse my offer, I guarantee that millions will perish.

Will you make a deal with your associates? Stab them in the back? Beat them to the goal? I look forward to the answer. Your choice may mean that we could be allies or enemies. Remember, your efforts are being monitored.

Round 2 Submission (4000 words)

 

Brown, vacant eyes stared into Lucy’s, shimmering dully like polished stone in the flickering fluorescent overhead. Daddy. Mouth gaping. Face bloodless. Just lying on the cement ground like a wax statue that could not be real. It can’t be real. It can’t. It can’t. Golden hair snaked around his face, crossing over and over, biting into his lifeless skin, making it bulge and pucker.

                Lucy sat up in the darkness with a gasp. The hotel blankets fell from her shoulders to her waist as her chest heaved in and out. Her skin prickled as cold air hit the sheen of sweat over her exposed skin. Attempting to calm her racing heart and bring her mind back to the present, Lucy turned to look around the shadowy hotel room. Her companions, alert as ever, had woken as well, and sat ramrod straight, staring at her. Rebecca shared a bed with her, and Wyndi had insisted on her own. They stared at her, silent and wary.

                “Sorry,” Lucy muttered, wiping sweat away from her temple with the back of her wrist. “Sorry.”

               Wyndi  sighed, stowed her knife back under her pillow, and flopped back down onto the mattress. Rebecca blinked, her mussed hair standing at crazy angles. “You disturb my sleep.”

                “I know, I’m sorry.”

                “You aren’t the only one who lost someone.” This was said in a pained whisper.

                Lucy swallowed, nodding. They were all in the same boat. Loved ones dead. Owners of matching envelopes with matching letters saying the same thing: Find the hair of Sif, and their loved ones would be returned to life.

                Lucy looked at the digital clock on the bedside. 6:00. In a few hours they would go to the Callanish Stones on Wyndi’s hunch. She should try to sleep. Lucy tossed for a short time, and then finally from beside her Rebecca launched herself out of bed, walking to the bathroom. “I am awake now,” she muttered bitterly.

                Wyndi sighed loudly from the other bed. “Let’s just go.”

                Lucy grimaced guiltily. “I’m really sorry guys.”

                “Forget it,” Wyndi said, rising and braiding her long, ink-black hair. This woman was fascinating to Lucy. She looked Asian, but when they had first met, she informed Lucy that she was, in fact, an elf, and that she had powers Lucy couldn’t even dream of. And she talked to animals, which freaked Lucy out in a huge way. But she had already seen magic apples; she wasn’t entirely surprised.

                While Rebecca used the bathroom first, Lucy sat on the edge of her bed, watching Wyndi pack her backpack in the semi-darkness. “You said there are things in this world I don’t know about. How do you know them?”

                “I grew up knowing them,” She said, unzipping a pocket and stuffing weapons into it. “I live in a different world than you do.”

                Lucy chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking down at her plaid pajama pants. “So these Callanish Stones have a face on them, and you think the face is Thor’s talking head Mimir.”

                “No, I know it is. Why?” She stopped staring at Lucy with raised brows. “Do you think I would lie?”

                “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

                “Improbable?” The young woman cast her eyes at the ceiling, somewhat amused. “Trust me. Mimir was renowned for his knowledge in helping Thor. After being beheaded, Thor preserved him here. He will know where Sif’s hair is.”

                “Does he know…everything?”

                “He knows everything to do with Thor and his history. Sif had a daughter with Thor—he was angry when Loki took her hair.” Wyndi zipped up the backpack and threw it onto the bed. “If anyone knows what Loki did with the hair, it would be Mimir.”

               Rebecca emerged from the bathroom, her face clean and clothes changed into cargo pants and, for once, sneakers. She put a hoodie over her navy blue tank top. She pulled a knife out from the compartment the hotel stored a tissue box in.

                Rolling her eyes again, Wyndi headed for the bathroom. “Let’s be quick.”

                Lucy had insisted on a shower, which annoyed Rebecca, but even if she had become a puppet to a band of psychopaths, she still need to smell decent. End of discussion. They grabbed breakfast in the lobby of the small, quaint hotel, and piled into the black, rented SUV. Wyndi drove, and Lucy rode in the front, with Rebecca silent as usual, staring at the window as they headed out of the small town of Callanish, which was on the Isle of Lewis. They drove into the Outer Hebrides, the landscape green and lush, and the air soft with the magic of the island.

                “When we get there, I will cast a spell to keep outsiders from visiting,” Wyndi said. The morning sun bronzed her high cheekbones and she stared at the road. “But we will only have a few minutes before it wears off.”

                Lucy swallowed hard, tugging the sleeves of her brown jacket down and fisting the material in her palms. She was way out of her league here. Why did these people even need her?

                When they reached the site, they parked the car on the road that ran parallel to the grouping of ancient stones. Because it was early, there didn’t seem to be any tourists yet, but the first thing Wyndi did when exiting the car was to crouch down to the ground, and placed the fingertips of her right hand in the grass. Closing her eyes, she furrowed her brow and seemed to concentrate. She stayed that way for maybe thirty seconds, and then rose. “Okay, I’ve bought us time if anyone else comes to visit.”

                Lucy’s boots whispered through the lush grass as they reverently threaded through the garden of stones. They were all different heights, but all about the thickness of tree trunks, and placed randomly like haphazard tombstones. Around them, the Scottish countryside spread out in a glorious array of glittering ponds, swaying grass, and charming cottages that seemed like another time entirely.

                Lucy examined one of the rocks and Wyndi headed for her target. The rocks really did look like trees, with swirling patterns unlike anything she had seen before. Reluctantly, she left the tallest stone and caught up to Wyndi. The elf now stood in front of one of the more medium sized stones, which still stretched up probably twenty feet. Wyndi looked at the base of the stone. “He’s here.”

                Lucy cocked her head, peering at it. “Where?”

                Wyndi motioned to the rock, “You don’t see it? There’s a face right there.”

                Lucy leaned forward, straining her eyes to see it. It was like trying to find an image in an inkblot test. And then she saw it. It was subtle, but surely there. The curves and angles at the base of the stone did, indeed, form the oblong profile of a man. “I see him now.”

                Wyndi had her hands in her jacket pockets. “Mimir,” she said. “Come forth.”

                Lucy took an involuntary step back as the stone crackled and shifted. Dust puffed out from the face as it rumbled to life, jaw flexing and gaping wide, but eyes frozen forward. “Elf,” he grated. His voice was toneless, and jarred her ears like it had been made by stones rubbed together.

                “Where did Loki put Sif’s hair?”

                “Sif,” the stone face intoned. “Sif.”

                “It has been a long while, but I know you remember,” Wyndi said, her delicate features impassive. “Tell me where he hid her hair.”

                “Do you think,” Mimir said, “you are the first to ask?”

                “Likely not. But I need to know—tell me how to earn your trust.”

                “Trust is earned in seeking, not asking.” Mimir said in his toneless voice. “You may try.”

                “Where, then?” Wyndi prompted.

                “When Loki took the locks of Sif, he flew them from the highest cliff. But chaos followed Loki’s glee, and so they cast them in the sea.”

                Lucy rubbed her forehead. “A riddle, really?”

                “Thank you, Mimir.”

                “Beware the seeking,” he grated. And then his face settled, once more the ambiguous carving of angles in stone.

                Rebecca, crouched some feet behind them, plucked at a blade of grass. “There is a lot of sea.”

                Wyndi nodded, turning to face her companions. “I’m sure there is a way to find out where. Let’s go back and do some research. My usual source is…unavailable.”

                Lucy turned over the words of the riddle in her mind. It was only two lines, and it seemed straightforward. Loki brandished the hair from a cliff to mock Sif and Thor. But the hair wasn’t on the cliff anymore. It was cast into the sea. But where? Near the cliff?

                As they drove back, Lucy went over all the words. Highest cliff—literal or not? Like Kilimanjaro? Chaos. She chewed on that one. Chaos followed the locks. There were lots of chaotic places—Pompeii with the volcanic eruption, Japan with its earthquakes and tsunamis, tropical islands with hurricanes. But those came and went. If chaos followed the locks, and the locks were in the sea, then it had to be stagnant. Constant. Constant chaos.

                “Whoa.” Lucy sat forward in her seat, swiveling to stare at Wyndi. “Seriously, I have it.”

                Wyndi spared her a sidewise glance. “What do you have?”

                “I know where it is. Loki was the mischievous God, right? What kind of constant chaos would survive for this long without being overly obvious?”

                Rebecca and Wyndi stared, silent. Okay, I guess they aren’t into guessing games, Lucy thought wryly. Best to get right to it. “The Bermuda Triangle.”

                Wyndi didn’t answer right away, and Rebecca brought her knees up, staring sideways in thought. Finally, Wyndi said, “That actually does make sense.”

                “I know, right?” Lucy grinned. “It’s the only place that has been weird and crazy like that since the beginning of history.”

                Wyndi nodded. “I agree. I’ll book our tickets.”

               

                They didn’t waste any time. From Edinburgh they booked tickets to New York, and then to Miami, Florida. The universal credit card of dubious nature could only go so far—they had to find someone willing to take them into the center of the triangle with no apparent cause. Not surprisingly, there weren’t any takers. Finally they got a hold of a small fishing excursion service who said they might be willing to negotiate.

                When they rolled up to the place, they found a small, shack-like building with a painted sign that read “Greg’s Fishing” on it. Behind the small, two-room construction, a decently-sized boat clunked and splooshed against a pier. It looked like an older boat, and Lucy eyed it suspiciously.

                They walked up the steps and through the creaky screen door, the afternoon air muggy and hot although it was still spring. The man, who on the phone said he was Fred, not Greg, stood behind a wooden counter, hands braced on the surface. He was a middle-aged man with a dark tan, blond hair, and a beer belly that curved out from his white, cotton button-down shirt. He nodded as they shuffled into the small space. “You the ones with the coordinate request?”

                “Yeah, I spoke with you on the phone.” Lucy said.

                Fred tapped his fingers, studying them. Lucy looked down at the fingers, and then jumped when she saw a gun at his right. Fred’s eyes slid to the gun. When they returned to her, he raised his brows, “What?”

                Lucy shook her head, feigning ignorance.

                Wyndi lifted her chin in Fred’s direction. “What will you charge to charter your boat?”

                “You ladies aren’t fishing,” Fred said, his bushy, bleached eyebrows twitching up. “Right?”

                Rebecca’s eyes hadn’t stopped traveling around the office, but the finally rested on Fred. “We have money.”

                “Yeah, that’s what worries me. Why do you need to go out there?”

                Lucy rubbed the back of her neck.

                Wyndi shrugged, “Nothing illegal. What do you care? Do you need the money or not?”

                He sighed loudly, “I don’t know. You girls are freaking me out.”

                “We’re in the government,” Lucy blurted out.

                Everyone turned to stare at her. Wyndi’s eyes promised vengeance.

                “I’m serious. We can’t tell you why, but we need to get out there. Immediately.” Lucy straightened, trying to look more important than her five feet of petit blond cuteness.

                Fred snorted. “Government. Do you have a gun?”

                “No…”

                “You looked at mine like it was a rattlesnake.” Fred gestured to the door. “Find another boat.”

                “I am,” Lucy insisted. “I…we’re under cover so I don’t have my badge. I can prove it, though.”

                Fred blinked, clearly bored. “Out.”

                Lucy swiveled around, alighting on an idea. The shack was backed up against the ocean, but on the other side a few clusters of mossy trees swayed in the breeze. A birdhouse, 200 yards away, rocked to and fro from a branch. Lucy pointed it to it, “I’ll hit that.”

                Fred squinted his eyes at her finger, “What?”

                Lucy crossed the room, opened the door, and pointed across the stretch of meadow. “That birdhouse out there. I will hit it. With a gun.”

                Fred guffawed, rolling his eyes. “You want me to give you a gun?”

                “And if I hit it, you take us out. We’ll still compensate you.”

                “There’s no way you hit that.”

                Lucy shrugged, “Then what do you lose?”

                The man shook his head, seeming to be equal parts amused and annoyed.

                “It’s a nearly impossible shot,” Wyndi said. “Only someone very well-trained could hit that. Let us prove it to you.”

                Fred blew air out from his lips, buzzing them together. “What the heck. Go for it.”

                Lucy went to the counter and took the gun in her hand. It felt heavy and unfamiliar. She had no idea how guns worked, but she had to fake it. She had watched enough movies, right? The safety said off. Pointing the muzzle down, she took hold of the barrel and cocked it. It was hard, but it clicked satisfyingly. Point and shoot, right?

                Lucy went to the doorway, and everyone shuffled behind her to watch. She held the gun up, bracing it with both hands, and took aim. She prayed her target-hitting skills extended to guns. It had to, right?

                Bang.

                The kickback was more violent than she expected, and her right arm popped back in its socket, but the gun fired. The birdhouse spun crazily from across the yard.

                “No way,” Fred pushed past her and ran out across the grass. Lucy rubbed her shoulder as she watched him advance to the birdhouse.

Lucy held out the gun between two fingers, muzzle down. Wyndi took it and replaced it on the counter.

When Fred returned, he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. Dumbfounded he nodded, “You hit it.”

“I know,” Lucy smiled. “Now about that boat.”

With favorable weather, Fred said they would reach their destination in four or five days. The boat was small, but although cramped, they had cots below deck, and during the day spent time on deck as Fred navigated them through the Atlantic. Lucy tried to keep her thoughts away from her family. From her dad. The nightmares wouldn’t stop, and the images of her cold father, of his lifeless, staring eyes haunted her day and night. She had brought a few books, but they held little interest to her.

                On the fifth day, Lucy dressed in black leggings, black shorts, and a fitted black top and went to the deck to join her Wyndi and Rebecca. They were already standing side-by-side, quietly watching the endless expanse of gray-blue streak by as the boat churned through relatively calm waters. With the cabin at the bow, and Fred inside it, Lucy joined the other two near the stern at the handrail.

                Standing between them, Lucy looked from Wyndi to Rebecca. They were both dressed in black, and stared stolidly out ahead of them. Lucy chuckled suddenly. “We’re like Charlie’s Angels.”

                Rebecca gave her a confused stare. Wyndi looked equally baffled. “Who?”

                “You know, like you’re Alex Munday, I’m the blonde so I’d be…” Lucy trailed off at Wyndi continued to stare in confusion. “Nevermind,” Lucy muttered. “Sorry.”

                Wyndi sighed. “It’s fine. I’m just tense.”

                “I know.” Truthfully, Lucy never instigated conversation, but even for her, she found her companions to be a little…ponderous. As long as they found the hair, she didn’t care. She didn’t actually think these people could make something that would bring back the dead, but she couldn’t risk anyone else—

                Lucy shook her head.  Don’t think about it. Put it away. Face it later.

                “Storm ahead!” Fred shouted from the cabin. Lucy looked up at the sky, and sure enough, the clouds swirled around them ominously. They had encountered one before, and Lucy knew it was better to just read below deck rather than bit her nails watching the weather all day.

                She sat on the L-shaped, vinyl sofa that doubled as a table nook, switched on a table lamp in the darkness, and opened her Dean Koontz thriller. With the rocking of the boat increasing as they entered choppier waters, Lucy’s head nodded forward, and she drifted off to sleep.

                “Lucy!”

                Lucy bolted upright, blinking away the heaviness of sleep. Someone had called her name, hadn’t they? For once she had been enjoying a dreamless sleep.

                “Lucy!” The voice called out again, above deck. Rebecca.

                Lucy jumped from her seat, and pounding up the stairs tumbled onto the deck. “What? What is it?”

                Rebecca and Wyndi stood in the center of the deck, necks craned back and gaping at the sky. Lucy came to stand next to them. Slowly, she tilted her head back to look up. Her breath caught in her throat.

                The clouds circled around slowly, a vortex of angry black all swirling around one tiny patch of blue sky. Lucy had heard about the eye of a storm, but this was so surreal. Almost impossible. The circle of blue was right above them. She looked at the sea, and this time gasped audibly. Probably a mile out, the waters chugged and sloshed, roiling with giant waves that would have toppled their boat easily. Turning in a circle, Lucy realized that the waters all around them, in the one mile radius, bubbled in an angry boil. But their little circle, in the eye of the storm, remained calm.

                Running to the handrail, Lucy looked over the side of the boat. The water underneath them was eerily calm. Instead of floating in the ocean, it was like they sat in the middle of a stagnant pond. No wind. No waves. No sound. “What the,” Lucy swallowed convulsively.

                Wyndi looked around, calculating. “This is supernatural. We should prepare ourselves.”

                Lucy nervously flipped a knife from her belt. “Prepare for what?”

                Fred pounded down the stairs from the cabin. “Radio is out,” he said nervously.

                “Stay below deck,” Wyndi said, eyes still on the sea. Fred looked like he might argue, but she pierced him with a glare. “Just do it.”

                He knew something was off. Without another word, the captain went below.

                Rebecca inhaled deeply through her nose, long lashes kissing her cheeks as she closed her eyes. “Something is here.”

                Wyndi nodded, “I sense a presence, too.”

                Lucy flipped her knife in and out, in and out, nervously pacing the deck. What could she do, but wait?

                Suddenly a wave rocked the boat. Lucy stumbled as it rolled under them, and she took hold of the handrail. Another one, bigger, splashed up against the side of the boat. And then another. Finally, the wave splashed over the deck, and water bubbled and hissed over the floor.

                Lucy watched in disbelief as the water frothed, spreading out across the stern in a line, and then grew into three separate shapes. When the water fell away, three humanoid beings stood before them. They looked like men, bare to their waists. From hip to foot, their legs were covered in shimmering scales, glinting a rainbow of blues, purples, greens, and yellows. They looked identical, each of them hairless with scales that crept up their necks and over their heads. Slanted, large yellow eyes blinked at them. With arms folded, the sea creatures watched the girls.

                Lucy held her knife out before her, tensed. The creatures stood with arms folded, silently watching as the unnatural calm weighed down on them like an increase in gravity. Then they moved. Lucy almost missed it as one of the creatures came at her in a flash. She didn’t even see his legs move. Not thinking, just reacting, she threw her dagger, aiming for the heart. It hit true, lodging in the man’s chest, halting him just a foot from her. He bent forward with a grunt, and she got a view of the scales that trailed from his head down his back. Then he dissipated into frothy sea foam. But her moment of relief was short-lived.

                The foam congealed, and then suddenly smacked into her, enveloping her in a gooey wrap and slamming her against the side of the boat, pinning her in place. She struggled against the white substance, but she was stuck fast with the stuff clinging to her neck all the way to her hips.

               She looked up, and only just caught Wyndi using a spell, something that looked like an attempt to trap the creature. The man melted just as Lucy’s attacker had, and in an instant had Wyndi pinned to the deck floor, face-down.

                “Wyndi!” Lucy cried out. She struggled, searching for Rebecca. When she found the girl, she stilled, eyes wide.

                Rebecca stood nose-to-nose with the sea-man. They just stood there, staring at each other. Rebecca was tall and lithe, tense, but calm with blinking eyes staring into the enormous yellow orbs of the remaining attacker. Swallowing visibly, Rebecca kept her hands at her sides. “I greet you honestly.”

                The sea creature blinked for the first time, his lids languidly closing over his yellow eyes. Rebecca seemed to hold her breath. With a nod, the man dissolved into the frothy water, and just as quickly as the beings had appeared, the water slithered off the deck, splashing off the side and into the ocean.

                Lucy’s restraint melted into water, soaking her through, but suddenly harmless. Lucy stood gingerly, wringing out her shirt. Going to Rebecca she made a silent gesture of awe and confusion. Rebecca smiled, impish features relieved. “My instincts told me to be open and friendly.”

                Wyndi wiped water from her eyes. “The storm is dying.”

                Lucy looked around, and sure enough the waters around the eye of the storm began to calm. The clouds lightened. A splash behind them made all three girls run to the handrail, and a wooden chest floated innocently in the water several yards from their boat. Rebecca exhaled slowly. “Mimir said the trial was in the seeking. I think we passed the test.”

                They grabbed a fishing net, and together were able to cast it out and catch the chest, dragging over the side of the boat and to the deck, where it clunked heavily to the floor. It was a flat rectangle box, dotted with a hard, white coral, but somehow entirely intact even despite the many eons that had passed since its creation.

                Wyndi placed her hand over the lock, closing her eyes and muttering as she cast a spell. The chest popped open with a click.

                Lucy got an eyeful of shimmering, golden hair, unbraided and spilling over the interior of the chest before a loud click sounded behind her. Lucy spun around, and found Fred with a gun leveled in their direction. He gave a mirthless smirk. “Just like they said you would.”

                Lucy’s mouth popped open. “What…what?”

              Behind her, Rebecca and Wyndi stood slowly, eyes captivated on Fred. He motioned to the box. “Assignment over.”

                Bang.

Results: Passed round 2! And my story was canon once again.  

Tournament Journal Round 1

Happy St. Patricks Day to anyone who celebrates it/teaches children and feels obligated to fill their day with green and rainbow-themed activities!

I probably should have been doing this all along, but I'm going to start posting the writing tournament pieces I have done. First, I'll start with the prompt. Then I'll add the actual writing piece so you can read it. At the bottom of the page, I'll post whether I won the round (my story became canon), passed the round, or lost the round. In each round I competed with two or three people, writing the same prompt to see who could do it better. In addition to that, we all made character sheets, and whoever we were paired up with in a given round, we had to add their character into our stories as well. For round 1, for example, my character Lucy Finch was paired up with the character Rebecca Hoth. Also, fair warning, these submissions are only minutely edited. I usually didn't have time to scour them for mistakes, but I'm keeping my edit-happy self away from them so you can read them the way I actually submitted them!

If you want to see other contestant's submissions, feel free to check out The Tournament of Secrets and read them.

Round 1 Prompt

You are walking down a crowded street when you notice an almost imperceptible bump different from the typical bustle of the crowd. Suspecting a pickpocket, your hand flashes to your side to discover what was taken. To your surprise, you find nothing missing but rather a cream colored business card.

You look around, but realize that there’s no telling who put it there.

You flip the card over in your fingers. On what you assume is the front is printed the letters DLG in shiny green, printed ink and a graphic of a Celtic trefoil knot. On the backside, also printed in the same green shade is the following:

Have you read the Prose Edda, specifically the Skáldskaparmál section? Find any possible real-world candidates for Idunn’s unique produce. I would like the name of the fruits, where they typically grow, and any potential uses. Your efforts are being monitored. Failure to comply with my wishes would be…unhealthy.

Round 1 Submission--3000 word limit.

Lucy kicked a booted toe against the stone steps of Skoger Church. Nothing. The oldest building in Drammen, Norway had no clues, and she was starting to lose hope. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ancient, white-washed walls of the small, steepled church. In the afternoon sun, it burned her eyes with a glare like a field of freshly fallen snow.

            With a growl of frustration, Lucy turned on her heel and returned to her moped, shoving the white helmet onto her head and kicking the bike to life with a little more force than was necessary. Four days, she thought bitterly. I've been stranded here for four days, seen every old building in the city, and still nothing.

            As she bounced down the dirt road leading away from the secluded, medieval church and back to the quaint city of Drammen, Lucy rubbed an absent hand over the fading bruise on her upper arm. “Stupid,” she muttered. “So flippin stupid.” To think that she thought someone honestly wanted to pay her money to be a body guard. Her, Lucy Finch with the body of a 12-year-old boy and all the experience of one too. No, come to think of it, 12-year-old boys were probably boy scouts or something. She was a Dollar Tree cashier.

            But she had gotten in that car anyway, and as soon as the doors closed, someone had shoved a needle in her arm. In retrospect, if she hadn't fought them, digging the needle around in her flesh, she would at least have woken up without a giant bruise to show for her efforts.

            She returned to her Clarion Hotel room, slamming the door shut with the heel of her foot and striding to the table littered with printed papers from the lobby computer. Propped up against the lamp, the white business card with acid green writing served as a bleak reminder of her position. Lucy picked it up, angling it so the light shimmered across the glimmering ink. “Have you read the Prose Edda, specifically the Skáldskaparmál section? Find any possible real-world candidates for Idunn’s unique produce. I would like the name of the fruits, where they typically grow, and any potential uses. Your efforts are being monitored. Failure to comply with my wishes would be…unhealthy.”

            Along with the card, Lucy had woken in the hotel room and found surveillance photos of her family in her pocket. Nothing outwardly menacing, but she caught the threat nonetheless. Lucy threw down the card. “Nothing to lose, I said,” she muttered. “Such an idiot.”

            The card fluttered on top of the papers of research she had done on the Skáldskaparmál. It didn't make any sense. The fruit the card referred to was just a legend; a Norwegian myth about a goddess, Idunn, who possessed eleven golden apples that had something to do with eternal life. At first she thought it might have been a code, but if they wanted her to be that clever, they should have chosen someone who had graduated with a GPA a littler higher than 3.1. So she had taken it literally, starting with the markets of Drammen. After countless confused looks and head shakes, she moved on to a more symbolic approach, looking through the oldest buildings in the city for some kind of painting or sculpture—anything to do with fruit.

            And now, nothing. They had dropped her in Drammen, Norway for a reason. It had to be here. With a sigh, Lucy gathered a few papers, checked to make sure the credit card they had left her with was still in her purse, and decided to do some more research at the lobby computer.

            As she crossed the plush carpet of the lobby, made to look like a giant living room with brown suede chairs and sofas, and gleaming glass tables, Lucy chewed on the inside of her cheek. Maybe the apples were something more modern, like a wrinkle cream...

            Suddenly she felt a tug, and in a flash someone had jerked her purse off her shoulder and darted to the entrance. Lucy gaped for just a moment before her brain caught up and called for action. The thief was fast, already halfway to the lobby door as she just stood there staring. Lucy took out her pocket knife, and keeping the blade safely sheathed, she took aim at the back of the thief's neck. Without hesitation or even a moment to take aim, Lucy launched the hunk of metal at the person who was nearly at the door with her purse.

            The folded knife found its mark, as it always would, smacking hard into the girl's neck and catapulting her forward. Lucy sprinted to catch up, and as the lithe, tall girl stood from the ground, rubbing her neck, Lucy snatched her purse back.

            The girl, just a kid really, winced as she rubbed the back of her neck. She straightened, and ran assessing eyes over Lucy. Her short, choppy brown hair stuck out at wild angles, and she was covered from head to bare toes in dirt smudges.

            “Jeez,” Lucy muttered, glaring at the girl. “You've got some nerve, doing that in a hotel lobby.”

            The receptionist had grabbed the phone, and spoke quickly into the receiver in nervous-sounding Norwegian.

            The girl handed the pocket knife back to Lucy. “Good shot.” Her accent was like a charming mix between British and something else European...German maybe.

            Lucy snatched it out of the girl's grubby hand.

            Golden brown eyes stared at her hard, narrowed slightly under the girl's frowning brows. “Did you get a card?”

            Lucy straightened, surprised. “What was that?”

            “A card.” She produced a cream-colored card with green writing across it. “Like this.”

            Her mouth fell open as she stared at the paper between the wild child's two fingers.

            “How did you know about-?”

            “I thought so. You must come with me now.” Her hand shot out suddenly, grabbing Lucy's wrist and hauling her with surprising strength out of the sliding doors of the hotel and to the busy street outside.

            “Wait, wait, hold on a second.” Lucy wrenched her wrist from the girl's fingers. “Who are you?”

            “Rebecca,” she girl said, as if it were obvious. “You must come with me.”

            “Why would I do that? You just tried to rob me.”

            Rebecca scowled at her like she was a few gadgets short of a Swiss Army Knife. “You have the card, yes? The apples are in my forest.”

            Lucy's blue eyes bulged. “Are you for real?”

            Rebecca looked confused. “Of course I am real.”

            Lucy rolled her eyes. “I mean how did you find them? Who are you? And how did you find me?”

            “You talk too much.” Rebecca started walking down the street.

            At a loss, Lucy adjusted the shoulder strap of her brown leather purse and followed the girl down the sidewalk of the charming street lined with old stone buildings nestled between newer construction, like the apex of old and new world. “Yo, what do you mean you know where the apples are?”

          “What else could I mean?” She asked over her shoulder. “They are in my forest. It will take time to get there.”

            “How did you find me?”

            “I stole purses from tourists.”

            Lucy gave her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

            “I waited for the one who could stop me. That was you. It worked, yes?”

            Lucy shook her head. “Yikes.”

            “Stop for supplies,” the girl suggested. “You will hike.”

            Hike wasn't really the word for it. Backpacking? But the term didn't quite cover the blisters, the unreasonable pace, the inhumane nights with a companion about as charismatic as the stones wedged in her shoes. Rebecca meant it when she said they would be walking to their destination. She agreed to take the moped to the edge of Rollagsfjell forest, but after that it was entirely on foot. They covered several miles a day, weaving through the serene temple of preserved nature that was Norway's most ancient forest. Rebecca seemed to know exactly where she was going.

            Lucy couldn't get much out of her, but from what she understood, something odd was going on in this girl's forest. And she kept calling it her forest, like it belonged to her. It didn't completely shock her—the kid looked like the lost boys' older sister. She was taller than Lucy, definitely a teenager, and definitely used to being on her own in these woods. She went to town occasionally for necessities, and divulged the information that someone had slipped her that card as she walked down the street—a card identical to Lucy's.

            “I know what they want,” she explained. “But I need help to get it. So I looked for you.”

            “Why do you need my help?” Lucy huffed as they clambered up a steep hill.

            “You will see.”

            So they walked for three days. The longest three days of Lucy's life, although she did have to admit, there was something incredibly calming about the secluded forest. As they weaved through the tangle of tall, thin trees, all of them blanketed with patches of moss at their base like Christmas tree skirts, Lucy tried to keep her eye on the darting figure of Rebecca several yards ahead of her. She was like a forest sprite, hopping nimbly from rock to rock.

            The spring air felt cool and thin, but beads of sweat trickled down Lucy's back as she forced her sore legs onward. Every step was like walking on hot coals, her blisters burned so much. But if this girl was for real—and she certainly didn't seem capable of deceiving anyone older than three—Lucy could be done with this mad scheme she had fallen into.

            Rebecca suddenly made a hard right, and Lucy scrambled to catch up with her. She skidded down a short hill, scattering pebbles and sticks in her wake, and then came around a large boulder. She stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Before her stretched a glorious expanse of vivid green. Soft grass padded the forest floor, and forming a natural tunnel of sorts, lush evergreens bowed and arced over the grass to a glen just barely visible beyond.

            Rebecca had started to walk through the opening, her steps suddenly slow and reverent. She turned, eyes alight with something Lucy had never seen. An adoration maybe, or deep respect for something Lucy might never understand. “It is through here. Leave your bag.”

            Lucy obeyed, sliding her black backpack off her shoulders, and followed her with eyes wandering around the organic cathedral. Even the animal and insect chatter around her died, as if they really had entered some kind of sacred temple. When they emerged from the green tunnel, Lucy realized that the glen ended abruptly only a few steps from them. They had reached the edge of a canyon, too wide to jump, but narrow enough that she could easily see the other side. Directly across from them, a boulder jutted out at the precipice of the opposite cliff.

            “It is the hand of Idunn,” Rebecca said as Lucy came to stand next to her near the edge of the cliff.

            Lucy looked down first, seeing a thin river gushing below them. Looking up once more, she realized that the boulder really did look like a closed fist, with thumb and swirl of closed fingers facing them.

            Rebecca turned to face Lucy, her wide, brown eyes earnest. “The apples are here.”

            Lucy glanced at the stone fist. “You're going to have to elaborate on that.”

            The pixie girl pointed to the fist. “Where the first finger curls around, do you see the opening?”

            Lucy squinted at it. “Kind of. Like if she were holding a string, that spot?”

            “Yes. There is a small notch there. Just big enough for the head of an arrow to fit in.”

            Realization dawned. “You need me to sink an arrow into that tiny hole I can barely see.”

            Rebecca nodded. “I am a very good shot. But not that good.”

            “And then what?”

            Rebecca shrugged. “I only know that is the hand of Idunn. That there is something there mere mortals cannot have.”

            “Hence the impossible task.”

            Another nod.

            Lucy turned to her suddenly, frowning. “How did you get involved in all this anyway?”

            Her gaze fell, and she sniffed. “Sharp.”

            “What's that?”

            “They took a friend.” She rubbed her chapped, bottom lip. “They found him.”

            Lucy suddenly felt a wrench in her heart for this girl. She was in the same situation as Lucy, and probably unwillingly dragged into the machinations of a society she had long since left behind.

            Hardening her face suddenly, the girl turned, went to a fallen log, and dragged out a bow and quiver of arrows. As she strung the hand-made bow, Lucy shook her head. She really was like a Lost Girl in her own magical Neverland. Rebecca handed her the bow, expression devoid of emotion.

            Lucy took the bow, tested the string, and grabbed a smooth arrow. Notching it in the string, she brought the bow up experimentally. It was a solid weapon, and surprisingly well-made. Well, maybe not that surprising, she smiled to herself. This kid has the whole survival thing pegged. She blew out a stabilizing breath, inhaled, and brought the bow up to take aim. Eyes on the miniscule target, and heart praying she could hit something she couldn't even accurately see, she loosed the arrow.

            It whistled through the air, and Lucy held her breath as she watched for the microsecond it sailed toward its target.

            Thunk.

            The arrow sank neatly into the stone, shaft quivering from the impact.

            Rebecca unsheathed a knife. “Get ready.”

            Lucy turned to her, expression panicked. “For what?”

            “Not sure yet.”

            The ground rumbled beneath their feet, and Lucy shuffled her feet nervously. What the heck? Suddenly the dirt shifted, and like a landslide, the ground began to crumble away. Lucy backed up a step, but the cliff broke off suddenly, and before she could escape, she found herself sliding uncontrollably down an avalanche of dirt and rocks. She lost her balance, and tumbled and bounced, losing her sense of up and down.

            When she splashed into the water, she only just kept herself from inhaling in surprise. And the ride wasn't over. As soon as she was fully submerged, a strong current sucked her down, and once more completely at the mercy of nature, she was dragged through the water.

            She surfaced suddenly, coughing and spluttering in darkness. She heard splashing to her left, and hoped it was Rebecca coming up for air as well. Lucy swished her hands around in the water around her, treading with her head just above the waterline. “Rebecca?”

            “Here,” the girl panted.

            Lucy wiped water from her eyes, squinting. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and she noticed a faint light glowing not far from them. “Do you see that?”

            “I see it,” Rebecca said. “Come on.”

            They swam forward, and suddenly Lucy came up against a rock ledge. She hoisted herself out, and with trembling limbs already fatigued from the journey, she staggered into a standing position. The light was coming from something just ahead of them.

            She could make out Rebecca standing, wet, but otherwise apparently unaffected by their rude transportation. “This is it,” she said.

            As they neared, Lucy saw eleven small golden balls lined up on a low stone pedestal. They each glowed with a dull golden light, and gleamed like they were actually made of the precious metal. They were each no bigger than a ping pong ball. Lucy crouched down to get a closer look at the balls. They looked innocuous enough. Reaching out a finger, she lightly tapped one of them.

            It rose off the pedestal, making her jump. Levitating only a few inches from the stone, the light increased, and rotating slowly, the ball suddenly expanded. Swirling golden strands, like the helix of DNA, stretched outward until the ball was the size of an apple. Lucy leaned down to peer at it in awe. It turned innocently in the air, dozens of strands criss-crossed and interwoven in a distinctly biological pattern, although Lucy wasn't sure why or what they meant.

            When she touched it again, it shrunk, returning to it's place on the stone. Lucy turned to look at Rebecca. “Holy crap.”

            Rebecca tilted her head. “There is strong power here.”

            “Uh, you think? Are we okay with just...giving these to the crooks who are holding our loved ones hostage?”

            Rebecca didn't answer, scowling at the balls.

            Lucy rubbed her forehead. Whatever this was, it wasn't just a fruit. It was something important.

            “We have little choice,” Rebeccas said finally. “I will take six. You take five.”

            Lucy wrapped her arms around her knees as she crouched down before the mythical apples. “I don't know Rebecca. This seems wrong.”

            “It's not a debate.” The girl suddenly scooped up six of the objects, all of them inflating into their helix apple shapes before quickly solidifying back into their solid forms as she shoved them into the large pockets of her cargo pants.

            “H-hey wait!” Lucy quickly unbuttoned her plaid shirt so she was down to the white tank underneath, and scooped the heavy orbs into her shirt. She ran after Rebecca as she tied the balls into the shirt safely.

            When they surfaced outside of the cave, they drifted down the river until they could finally take hold of the shore. Lucy dragged herself onto dry land, panting and sapped of energy. Rebecca paid her no mind as she skipped lithely out of the water and down the bank.

            “Rebecca wait!” Lucy called. But before she could scramble after the Lost Girl, she felt a sudden prick in her neck. Her vision swam, and with a heavy blink of her eyes, she felt herself fall into darkness.

Round 1 Story is Canon. I moved on to round 2! I'll post that one tomorrow. 

Geeky Monday Moment With a Tournament

Bibliophiles! Good morning to you!

I have been a little bit busy the last month or so. I'd like to say I'm busily writing chapter after chapter every day, but the truth is I'm editing one novel, homeschooling my kids, and watching Korean Dramas. I feel a Korean Drama post coming on, actually...

Also, I'm in a writing tournament. In case you haven't heard of these--and I hadn't until someone sent me the link to it--these are set up tournament style where you are paired with one or more people, and you compete to make a story based on an ongoing prompt/plot. You have to write in your fellow writer's character (based on their character sheet they fill out beforehand), and the winning writer's story becomes cannon, and they then advance to the next round.

So far I've done two round and won both. My third round is due today, and I had one of those moments where I realized a little late that it was due. I thought that had ended after I graduated college! Guess not.

Should I share my tournament entries? I've been considering it. Maybe I'll start sharing them one by one every week until I'm either eliminated or, preferably, I win!

Have you ever done a writing tournament? I have to admit, it's really a lot of fun!

The Perfect Female Protagonist

The perfect heroine. What is she like? Has she been created yet?

Female protagonists are less common than their male hero counterparts, but as time goes on, it seems that girls are taking over genres too, kicking butt, rescuing dudes in distress, and saving the world. So how are we authors pulling it off so far? Have we discovered some kind of recipe for the perfect heroine, or has someone yet to really hit the mark with a good female protagonist?

I ask because I'm having a hard time coming up with a female protagonist I really, truly liked. There are protagonists I respected, and protagonists I related with. There were even protagonists I rooted for, but loved? A girl I thought, "I want to be just like her!" I couldn't come up with one, even after going through the many books I have read.

As an example, Hermione is a pretty fierce female. She's smart, tenacious, and brave. If she had actually been the protagonist, I might actually have had a winner. But she was technically a supporting role, and Harry was the protagonist in those books. We didn't get into Hermoine's head much.

Katniss was emotionally devoid, and that pissed me off.

Bella was the quintessential doe-eyed damsel who was pulled to and fro by the manly heroes, but I find her character intriguing, and I'll delve into that later.

Anne from Anne of Green Gables comes really close for me. If she were the perfect heroine, I'd be most likely to choose her.

Okay, so what makes these heroines my favorites or least favorites? Let's go into it.

First of all, I need to establish the obvious difference between heroes and heroines. I know feminism has its place in our society, but I think sometimes we (collective societal we) can forget how very different men and women are inherently. It's not to say that women can't be or do whatever a man is capable of, but as a species we differ between the sexes. It's just the way it is. Males and females are equal in creation, but different in make.

That said, I think I've come up with a decent list of the traits heroines have that make them likeable. As writers we can't use them all, and that stems from this inescapable reality: Female protagonists are human, and no humans are perfect. You won't like every aspect of a character.

Keeping that in mind, let's use my above examples to hit on desirable traits.

Tough, brave, and competent
Here we have Katniss, Tris, Alanna (Song of the Lioness books), and any other kick-butt female protagonist that might come to mind. These girls don't mess around, and they won't be buffeted about like a damsel in distress. They are often emotionally scarred or devoid in some way, have a hard time opening up, and struggle with empathy. Their competence is what makes them awesome, and for me, I often respect them a great deal. However, their big flaw is usually in their inability to emotionally connect. These are not usually my favorite characters. It's personal preference, but I don't like it when a girl is unable to return affection. Irks me.

Smart, spunky, and loyal
In this category we have the protagonists like Hermione, Anne, Eiolonwy, Elizabeth Bennet, The March Sisters, Nancy Drew, and many others. I personally think this is the most common "category" we writers like to use for our female characters. They are usually just feminine enough to be sweet and endearing, but they're smart and spunky, and they bravely do what must be done to save the day, or get the guy, or whatever it is they need to do. Their downfall is that they are so familiar now, we might mistake them for having a boring personality. Also, sometimes their spunkiness might get on our nerves a little bit, and we as readers might be strangling our books until we can get the heroine to just shut up and let the guy kiss her, or to stop being so tenacious and roll with the punches. I personally like this protagonist base, and have never had a problem reading these kinds of characters. My "perfect" choices have fallen into this type.

Innocent, pretty, and in distress
Welcome to the Bella characters! Usually if vampires are involved, these characters are around, which I find funny. Elena from Vampire Diaries, all Disney Princesses before 1998, and quite a few romance novel leads fall into this category, too. It's a dying breed, I think, and a pretty big no-no if the protagonist is in a fantasy or sci-fi based world. But these girls have their place in the literary world, and while many scoff, allow me to point something out here. Most of us are this category. We might not like to think we are, but the reality is that we don't know judo, we don't have magical powers, and we haven't attended an academy that taught us how to do flying kicks. Most of us are Bella. And this is why I find Bella's character so interesting. She's a normal girl with a healthy dose of pride (not too much like the above category), and got swept up in a supernatural plot with inhumanly awesome characters. She acted exactly the way a normal teenage girl would have.

So many scoff at this trope, but putting our honesty hats on, most of us women really might fall into this one if we really were protagonists. I like to think I'm spunky and smart and loyal, but more likely I'd be just as doe-eyed as Bella was...and I'd probably have slit my wrists too. The Bella character is still useful, and I hope we don't drop her because popular opinion is swaying to the Katniss characters. The reason Bella characters are still good is because they're a canvas for the reader--when I read as Bella, I can easily put myself in her shoes, relate to her, and feel what it might actually be like to be in those circumstances. The Bella characters allow us to kind of put ourselves in their place, and that's actually pretty cool.

Now, I know this is only 3 of the many tropes out there, but these are the common ones I have seen in modern literature. And most female protagonists have a variety of these traits mashed together, but I thought for the sake of discussion, it might be best just to pick three and talk about those.

So what traits make the most desirable female protagonist? In the end, it's going to be personal preference, and it will differ from reader to reader. Personally, I find that I like the female protagonists, who are a little spunky, but still girly enough to swoon a little if a handsome hero comes along. I like a smart protagonist who can use her brains, and not be too horribly gullible.

If there is one major flaw in a female character I can't stand, it's emotional blankness. I avoid that whenever possible when writing my own characters.

Okay, so now it's your turn to talk. As a writer or reader, what do you think about the female protagonist formula? Likes and dislikes? Give me your thoughts, and if you've written a female protagonist, I want to hear how you wrote her and why you made her that way!

Also, don't forget that this is giveaway week. So Inito is free, and you can enter a Goodreads giveaway to win a paperback version, too! 

 

Geeky Monday Morning With Freebies and Stuff

Hi there readers! It's been a while!

My apologies for the absence my writer and reader friends. I've had a slew of bad luck from my laptop going out (and still not fixed), to my back crapping out and preventing me from using a desktop. But hey, even bloggers need a little vacation, right?

It's still Monday, though.

That being said, I've got a lineup for you for this week! Some fun stuff planned!

First of all, starting tomorrow, it's giveaway week! That means I'm having a Goodreads giveaway, and I'll be giving away Inito, the sequel to Lunula for FREE for one week! Because this is America...the land of the free.

I also have a post about heroines coming up. I know that doesn't sound terribly interesting, but I'm lining it up for ya so we can have a nice long discussion about it. I realized after talking to a friend how difficult and dynamic heroines are, and since that is the perspective I always write from, I wanted to give my take on what I've learned about the elusive perfect female character.

So have a fantastic week, and thanks for stopping by!

Geeky Monday Moment With A Winner

It's Monday again!

I hope you had a fabulous Superbowl Sunday yesterday. Although we're all writers and, in general, nerds, so I can't vouch for how many of us were really into the game. But it's always good to have an excuse to get together.







More importantly, the winner of the Call Me Ishmael contest has been chosen!! Give me a drumroll please...

Stewart Kirby!

Book Title: THE MESMERIZER

First line: Would you be disturbed to learn that the pages you now read were penned by the moldering hand of a buried man from within his own grave?

This first line seriously grabbed my attention! I wanted to know--how is that possible? Why? It pulled me in, and only that first line was necessary to do so! Great first line, Kirby.

And thank you to everyone who stopped by and entered the contest! Have a prodigiously spectacular week!