photo by robert young
The following is an excerpt from an early draft of Daughters of Oyr, my fantasy novel-in-progress.
The world around him moved at a crawling pace. The crowd of people were nearly still, save for a slight sway, like blades of grass pushed by the slightest breeze. One serving woman eased through the crowd, tray raised high. With each step the wine swished within glasses upon her serving tray, her curled bangs bounced. A patron lifted his arms, adjusting the straps of his devil mask. A disguised thief reached out and casually plucked the coin-purse from the patron’s exposed belt. In that long intake of breath Prince Weathermark was able to perceive all these things and more at once. But he pushed it all aside as this woman approached, the groping hands of patrons brushing upon her. He focused intensely upon the breeze of her passing. She smelled mostly of fine conifer rosin, of tarragon and other herbs, and vaguely of a dark, feminine musk. When he released his grip upon the Rhythm, much time passed instantly. Many of the patrons who had been standing around him were no longer there. The woman cleared the twenty some feet between her and the stage in an instant, and was being hefted onto stage by a man wearing a jackal mask. Prince Weathermark heard nothing but an intense ringing for a few moments as his ears adjusted to the passage of time.
As always, all original fiction is copyright Keith Potempa 2009. If you enjoyed this passage, check out more here.
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