A to Z Blog Challenge - Z

*tooting little horn*  Welcome to Day 26 of the A to Z Blog Challenge. My third completed challenge--thanks to everyone who dropped by. Today:

Z

is for

Zealots

In the sequel to my dark fantasy novel, BOUND BY DRAGONSFYRE, releasing later this summer, the sect of monks who stamped out the use of magick are the zealots to whom I refer. 

In the world of Dragonsfyre, called the Eighth Dominion, dragons plague the people in bursts of destructive sightings, rather like the tornadoes of this world. Generations back, a sect of monks linked the dragon sightings to the use of magick, and since that time magick has been outlawed in the Eighth Dominion. Of course, the monks then replaced the seers as imperial consultants.

To wrap up this year's A to Z Blog Challenge, here is a sneak peek at Book 2 in my Dragonsfyre series:

Dragon signs were everywhere.

          Xaviero kept this to himself as he scanned the sky for confirmation that the inevitable drew nearer. No one must even suspect that he could foretell the future.

          Instead, he sat in the cadet’s hall staring down at his plate of food, listening past the low hum of the other boys’ conversations. 

Seers were blessed by the gods, it was said. Yet the monks who served these gods rejected visions as proof of magick.

Best to sit here ignoring the ominous sound of many little animals rushing away at once. It would take only a few moments more, and surely the cadets on watch would see the movement along the ground.

His pulse raced, though he sat as still as he could, his fork poised above the chunks of meat in thin gravy. How oblivious they were, the other boys and the older officers both. Eat quickly, he wanted to urge them.

Taking his own advice, he grabbed one last mouthful as the hall darkened, frantic flapping overhead announcing birds in mixed flocks in the air above their academy.

          Conversation ceased. Heads turned.

          A sharp bugle call warned of danger.

          Cadets and officers called orders as boys ran according to drill and shutters slammed. Xaviero blocked all of it out as he bolted for the middle of the yard, free to turn his head to the sky as the chaos provided cover at last.

          There it was, a large black form far off in the late afternoon sky, sunlight glinting off scales as the dragon approached with impossible speed. Xaviero’s thrill at finally seeing a dragon with his own eyes splintered into cold fear.

          The wings flapped once, twice, then held straight as it glided in eerie silence directly towards the academy. Xaviero made out spiky horns along its head and spine, its mouth opening to reveal teeth as big as swords.

          The dragon’s cry rent the air as Xaviero was lifted bodily, carried at a run by one of the commanding officers towards the barracks. Taking the few steps in one leap, the officer dove with Xaviero through the door, landing hard on the wooden slats just as the heat of the dragon’s fire burst in yellow and orange plumes to blot out the sky.

          A hot blast of wind slammed the door shut as the searing flames poured over and around the stone barracks. Xaviero and the officer hid their faces from the heat, but when they could no longer hold their breath, they lifted their heads to find smoke filling the barracks. The officer pulled Xaviero to his feet, already turning to head for the door.

          That’s when Xaviero was struck with a vision.

          The grip of the officer’s hand upon him as he made to leave was all it took. In that split second Xaviero knew he must not let the officer open that door.

          Dragging back upon the man’s arm with all his weight, Xaviero cried, “No, Sir! No!”

          The officer stopped and looked down at Xaviero, eyes filled with disbelief that fear had got the best of a top cadet. “We’re getting out of here,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

          Again, he made for the door. Yet Xaviero knew without a shred of doubt that it would be the last thing the officer would ever do.

          Grabbing the man’s arm and pulling so hard the fabric ripped, Xaviero said, “Sir!” with the authority of a commander. “You’ll be burnt up!”

          Stopping in his tracks, the officer turned to gaze at Xaviero with a hint of dread in his face. He stopped pulling against Xaviero and listened. The crackling sound of flames could now be heard just outside the door.

          With the heavy energy of the dragon’s flight still swirling in the air, the officer seemed to shake off the notion that Xaviero had divined the future in time to save his life. If that were the case, it would mean that a boy in their academy was an adept at magicke.

          It was easier just to leave the barracks by climbing through the window on the other side of the common room, easier never to mention an incident forbidden by imperial decree to his superiors once the reports were finally given.

          At least, Xaviero was never called to headquarters to explain himself, though the officer in question gave him wide berth from that day forth.

Copyright - Julia Phillips Smith - 2013

The Serialists - Scene 84

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

To recap this dark fantasy story so far:

As a small boy of seven, Scorpius was fetched from the nursery where he'd been raised to live among the nobility - fetched not by his family, but by a falconer to serve as his apprentice.

Scorpius soon learned that a close encounter with a dragon was preferable to the cruelties of the nobles he'd once hoped were family. His master did whatever he could to shield Scorpius from the world outside their cottage, but the falconer was merely a servant who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 84

Whipping around to keep his sights on the rest of the Sibiu, Scorpius prepared himself for a fight.

He found only men standing with bowed head, their lips moving in prayer.

Looking back to see the aide pulling his knife free of his kinsman’s back, Scorpius’ heart raced as he made ready to flee. But the Sibiu weren’t as distracted as he’d hoped.

Strong hands took hold of his bound arms and held him in place. He knew it was useless to struggle, but he couldn’t stop himself from wrestling against their grip.

The man who’d been stabbed started to sag slightly in the arms of the aide. Perhaps sensing the suffering of the one in their midst, the animals in the herd shifted and bleated uneasily.

Adding to the sense that the very ground beneath Scorpius’ feet had turned to sand, an eerie tune filtered skyward. Craning his neck to stare, Scorpius saw several of the Sibiu blowing into carved wooden pipe instruments. The hair on the back of his neck rose at the sound of the music, at the cries of the herd and the gasping of the stabbed man.

Dragging him so that Scorpius stumbled backward, the Sibiu forced him down onto his face, pressed close to the sheer rock of the mountain pass. Joining him as near as they could, the Sibiu who held him fast ducked their heads low and continued to pray.

At first it was so distant, he thought he imagined it.

But it was a thing to haunt one’s dreams, as it had done for most of his life. Ever since that horrifying day when he still lived at the nursery, the day his little friend had not rolled quickly enough under the hole in the fence. The smell of her burning flesh, her screech of agony, the sound of the leathery wings gliding overhead had never left him.

When Richolf had come for Scorpius, when he was still a young boy, it had flown overhead as he’d tried to make his way to the Pillar Rock. His former master had rolled him beneath a rock ledge just as these Sibiu were doing now.

Over the rising din of the animals, which scattered and ran in circles as they failed to find a route off the ridge, Scorpius heard it now. The Sibiu kept playing their pipes and praying, but the sickening sound of the enormous wings seized hold of him, leaving him frozen with dread.

Scorpius would have given anything—anything—to be spared the sight and sound and smell of this. Trembling with fear, he could only watch as the aide kissed the dying man’s forehead, then broke their embrace and ran as fast as anyone Scorpius had ever seen. The herd ran frantically with him, their eyes white with terror.

But the dragon swooped low, its size and speed too great for those on the ground. The running man dove to the edge of the ridge and disappeared from view just as the man he’d left behind finally sagged in a heap upon the smooth rock.

An intense blast of heat lit the mountain pass. Wind raced ahead of the dragon’s fire, whipping Scorpius’ hair into his eyes, stealing the breath from his lungs.

The piped music, the bleating, the praying, the scream of the stabbed Sibian all fell away under the deafening roar from that scaly throat.

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

Thursday Thirteen - 167 - 13 Things You'd Find in Scorpius' World

Here are thirteen visual inspirations for the serialized fiction I'm posting every Saturday for the Weekend Writer's Retreat.

My dark fantasy story follows a young boy named Scorpius, brought up with other children of the nobility at a foster nursery - but never claimed by his family. Eventually he's handed over to a falconer in need of an apprentice to help him when the lords come to hunt. But Scorpius soon discovers that his new world is filled with danger, a world where the brutality of the nobles surpasses even that of the dragons.


1 - Falconer's Cottage

















2 - Falcon Mews
















3 - Falconer's Gloves









4 - Falcon











Photo by Jim Weber



5 - Dog













6 - Stick for driving out the game hens
















7 - Pillar rock














8 - Dragon












9 - Noble's horse bridle













10 - Doublet
















11 - Sword



12 - Wine goblet















13 - Cabinet











Alice Audrey says Too cool. You really got me with the cabinet, knowing how it gets used in the serial.

Susan Helene Gottfried says The dragon is gorgeous! Nice picture. I dig the falconer's hut, too. It really evoked the fiction for me.

Janet says Just makes me want the next instalment more than ever, Julia! Great visuals.

Confessions of A Scorpio Dragon

I have a confession to make.

Before I tell you what it is, I'll let you in on what making a confession like this means to someone like me.

I'm a Scorpio Dragon. Here's a brief peek at the inner me:

"Scorpios are extremely ambitious, persistent and fierce competitors. They are excellent at restoring order to a chaotic situation. Scorpios have a fear of failure which they keep hidden extremely well. Should their confrontation not be successful, or their career fail, they will simply use their adaptive skill to quickly move and and leave the bad experience behind.

Do not ever expect them to fess up or share their tale with anyone however because this shows signs of weakness and Scorpio always wins." - Zodiac-Signs-Astrology.com

Scorpio art by Ozgur Ustundag


"Dragons are proud, direct, and loaded with high ideals which they always try to live up to. In spite of being overly emotional, Dragons will just take it for granted that everyone loves them.

Although they are stubborn and irrational, they are not petty or begrudging. It's hard for them to hide their feelings. They don't even try.

Dragons consider themselves very strong. They will often bite off more than they can chew. When this happens, they are too proud to ask for help and exhaust themselves." - Rainfall.com

So here we come to the confession.

There is no way under the sun that I will be able to complete NaNoWriMo. I have 9 days left, and my word count is a paltry 9614. I had the flu this month - NaNo month. I was totally wiped out for three weeks. I didn't mention it here on my blog - "don't ever expect Scorpios to fess up because this shows signs of weakness."

My mind was filled with the Thursday Thirteens I did about the two world wars. Every day I felt like death warmed over, I thought of the soldiers and said to myself, Well, at least no one's shooting at me. That would be worse. Which is something I always do when I think I can't make it. I think of feeling the way I feel, only worse. Like: at least I'm not chained to a galley ship hauling on an oar all day. That would definitely be worse.

So I pushed myself, as I always do. But I pushed myself into work, rather than pushing my NaNo writing. I may be a stubborn idjit, but I'm no dummy. I missed two days of work but managed the rest. Everyone in my office fell like flies, missing work, with me covering their positions, feeling like death.

I was pleased by how I managed all of that, but for some reason my step-back logical brain that "restores order to a chaotic situation" would not cry uncle when it came to NaNoWriMo.


Most people who know me in person know how hard it is for me to admit defeat. I refuse to give up. I seem to have the basic Dragon inability to stop when the going gets tough.

"Dragons attract others because they are generous, charismatic and so brave that standing beside them banishes fear. They generate excitement and can help others achieve their dreams. Others love to be around Dragons because they have a way of making people feel better." - Lovegevity

I even make myself feel better - I give myself the same pep talks for which other people come to me. But this time I have to look reality unflinchingly in the eye.

I cannot write 40,000 words in 9 days.

There it is. I've said it. My confession. And believe me - that was hard.