Another week begins and I'm very excited to welcome Adele Abbot to One Thousand Worlds. Adele has written The Pope's Magician and here's her first one thousand words.
The Pope's Magician-
Rome – around 1300 AD
The Amaranthine – families of immortals
scattered across the known world – live unnoticed amongst us, the Ephemerals.
They are happy with the world as it is: somewhat chaotic, governed covertly by
themselves or by kings and princes with only limited powers.
This world is under threat once more.
An arrogant Pope has found a man with a
talent for sympathetic magic and uses his talent to prosecute a
generations-long feud between two families – the Caetani and the Colonna. Max
of Schonau, an Amaranthine, finds himself unwittingly drawn into this struggle
when the Pope’s Magician – an Amaranthine himself, uses his capabilities on the
Pope’s behalf in such an ostentatious manner that the immortals’ veiled existence
is threatened and the balance of Ephemeral power put at risk.
About this author-
I’m Adele Abbot, one of the team at
Archimedes Presse UK – three writers who help each other and collaborate. I
guess I’m the fantasist, my previous novel: “Postponing Armageddon” was shortlisted
in the 2011 “Anywhere but Here/Anywhen but Now” competition sponsored by Sir
Terry Pratchett and Transworld publishers and gained third place in the final
vote. It was published by Barking Rain Press in the US (you can get 35% off the
paperback at –http://www.barkingrainpress.org/dd-product/postponing-armageddon/)
and it’s also available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.
INTRODUCTION
Collina Della Vedova was not as refined or
as elegant as it might sound. It wound its way down the hillside, full of
vicious steps and sharp corners. In the heat of the early afternoon sun, the
stink from the runnel of viscous slime down the center was overpowering.
Widow’s Hill had probably been a torrent of
fresh cold water carving out its course in bygone days, before the Palatine had
been somewhat leveled and built upon. Now the ancient streambed was as dry as
old bones and made treacherous by the passage of a million feet.
****
Widows’ Hill ran a crooked path behind the
church of San Marino. It climbed from the corner of the piazza to the cemetery
beyond the tavern they called the Widow’s
Cup.
Below the inn there was a baker and
opposite the baker’s, a butcher’s and just below that, tucked into one of the
many tight little corners, an old woman sold fruit – cheap because it was the
last and most bruised from the market. All three of them sell their wares to
the residents and businesses in the bent and twisted little street. Other small
enterprises included the armorer whose stock was two and three generations old,
the tailor at the bottom only three doorways away from the sharp turn into Via Piccola
Santa Croce, the potter and the coppersmith and the laundry…
It jigged from side to side and I had to
step across that drain at each bend to stay in the shadows. And around one of
the bends, I came across the effigy. It was rudely fashioned from a tree limb, perhaps a
yard long and a span in width, it was crudely painted to depict a pair of arms
down the sides, two black daubed eyes and a mouth as red as fresh blood; a groove
did duty as a neck twixt head and torso. It seemed to stare malevolently.
I snorted with amusement at this parody of
a child’s toy and stepped across the drain. There was a brief sound of movement
behind me and I half turned for I had not been aware of anyone following me. As
I turned, I was assaulted; so cruelly that I was pitched into a nearby door
with a thud and clatter and I fell to the ground. A second blow was delivered,
bruising, if not breaking some ribs and twisting around I managed to deflect
the bludgeon that was already plunging down again.
“Hey now, what’s…”The attack ended as
someone came to see what the commotion was about and hands tried to lift me to
my feet. I was fast losing consciousness as I was dragged through the doorway;
in my hands, I grasped that crude doll that had been used to do me harm. Then
the sunlight dimmed and awareness fled.
`When I became aware once more, I was on a
couch. There were small sounds – steps, a far off murmured conversation, even a
muted chuckle. But I could not see. There was a bandage around my head though
not across my face and rub my eyes as I might, there was not the slightest
glimmer of light to be seen.
I was blind!
I am not a man given to despair, life
throws a good many troubles and seemingly insoluble problems at a man but at
that moment, I reached my lowest ebb. I think I would rather have died than
wake to a life of blindness. I think I may have sobbed in my despair.
CHAPTER
ONE
I must
have lost consciousness again, in fact, several times I think. While I was
insensible, my ribs had been strapped tightly with what seemed to be linen
bandages and I remember turning laboriously and painfully onto my back and
forgetting for the moment that my sight was gone.
When I
remembered, I wept like a small child. I was bereft of all reason and could
think of nothing but my loss.
Something
touched my forehead, a hand; small, cool, slim fingers on my skin.
“What
hurts, Signore?” It was a youngster’s voice. “Tell me so I can help.”
“The
hurts don’t matter. I’m blind, my sight has gone.”
“I will
get the infirmarian.”
Another
came and I felt more hands – older, experienced – touching my head. Suddenly I
felt a cool air on my forehead and eyes but my eyelids remained immovably
closed. “Now, the cloth.” Said an older voice.
There was
a sound of water then the touch of a warm, damp cloth. My eyes were sponged and
gradually, I felt my eyelids begin to move.
“It is
the middle of the night Signore,” said the young voice.
“Yes,
don’t expect to see much.”
But I did
see much. I stared upward and wondered if, in fact, I had died.
Directly
above me was a swirl of stars and luminous clouds so wonderful that I had never
seen their like before. Gradually, I realized that I was no longer blind, that
I had never been blind and that what had been the matter was dried blood or
scabs or something simply sticking my eyelids together. Now the night sky was
brilliant with stars and shone through two tremendous windows in a roof that
seemed far, far above me.
“Thank
you,” I said with great feeling. “I was close to despair.”
“It is an
hour yet to Lauds, do you want some water.”
“That
would be good.”
“The boy
will bring you a cup then you must try to sleep.”
The boy
went away; I could hear bare feet on a stone floor.
I drank,
said thank you and when everything
was quiet again, I lay there and enjoyed the miracle of returned sight and
waited for the hammering in my chest to subside. When had I last seen so
wonderful a night sky as this? I could not remember. Was it… or… Nothing came
to mind, nothing; there was nothing there to remember. My name, my family, my
business, nothing; my past was just a yawning blank.
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