Hello HLPers!
Over the last year or so I've been toying with an idea for a novel, titled "Inimicai" (in-IM-ih-kie, rhymes with "tie"). I've been working to write it as a hobby of sorts, although it's unlikely to get published anytime real soon. Recently, after several attempts that wound up as rubbish, I succeeded in writing an opening chapter that I liked. Knowing that we have several talented writers on HLP, I'm looking for little feedback and criticism (Time for me to be on the receiving end, for those who like to read my reviews, of which there should be a new one soon. Hint: Ethereal)
The purpose of this opening is to set the tone, create the frame story, and introduce the narrator
along with questions regarding his/her/its reliability
Enjoy!
The room was dark. So dark, in fact, that it was hard to tell how big a room it was. What little of the walls could be seen were made of smooth, black metal, making the lighting seem even dimmer than it was. The ceiling might have been miles above, for all one could tell.
In the center stood a single desk, of sorts. A large, rectangular desk, made of the same black metal as the rest of the room, and likely fixed to the floor. The only source of light was a small desk lamp, with a thin, tight shade, which seemed to cast a garish light on the desk while leaving the rest of the room in darkness. In the dim light, two faces were barely visible.
One of the faces was pale and thin with a long, jutting chin. The owner of the face hadn't shaved in days. He wore a black, military beret which suggested that he wore some sort of uniform, although the darkness made it impossible to tell for sure. He was silent at the moment, staring intently at the other face.
On the other side of the desk, the second face could barely be identified as human. Its entire head was wrapped and sealed in a white, plastic bandage of some kind. Where the eyes should have been were two dark black lenses. In the mouth's place was a circular metal disc, possibly some sort of breath filter. The second creature hung its head silently.
One more object broke the monotony of darkness and black metal. A huge, leather-bound book sat on the desk. Its cover was brown, with no title or other marking.
The man in the uniform broke the silence first. His voice was low, calm, and threateningly grim. “So, is there anything you want to tell me now?”
The wrapped one remained silent and motionless. A sort of irritated smile crept onto the uniformed man's face for a moment before he returned to his questioning.
“Well then, I'll tell you what we already know. Information, classified at the highest level- information even I'm not cleared for- has been leaking repeatedly. We traced the flow of information to your...” He searched for a word. “...Rat's nest, and found that it had been occupied. But by the time we arrived, you were alone with this book.”
The wrapped being remained as still and silent as a statue. The man in uniform began again “So, is there anything you want to tell me now?” He paused. “The content of the book would be a good start.” He threw open the brown book. The page was covered in a bizarre parody of an alphabet, an insane screed of lines, curves, circles, polygons, and unintelligible markings. The scrawl was clearly written by hand, but with a wide variety of pencils and pens, some black, some blue, some red, and few in other colors. The handwriting varied equally. This one page alone began with an elegant, oriental variation on the strange code, written with a wide black pen, only to fade into a paragraph written awkwardly in pencil with many erase marks. There followed a long section in straight, practiced lines of blue ink, and then a passage of graceful handwriting in faded red.
“You know, we'll find out soon, whether you want us to or not”, spoke the uniformed interrogator. “It's what we're good at, after all. But I don't feel comfortable using such methods on someone in your... abject state of physical decay.” The elegant words were more barbed than any mere insult. “Why don't you save everyone the trouble and give me the key to what's in here. Your friends won't care- they've already abandoned you.”
The uniformed man opened his mouth to continue, then recoiled as the mummified being raised its head with a snap and spoke: “Not abandoned. Elected.”
The interrogator stared at the creature as if a corpse had just moved and spoken. The voice was slow, rasping, but clear. The uniformed man's shock turned to a slight smile, than reverted to its normal stoniness. “Ah. So you speak to us for the first time. I must be better at this than the last few you met with.”
The white-coated head remained raised, and the black eye-lenses seemed to stare across the table. In its new position, the creature again became silent and still.
“So I ask again: What is in this book? Is it the information you stole?”
After a moment of silence, the wrapped one answered. “Yes.”
“Ah. What else?”
No answer came.
“What IS this book? What is its purpose? Why did you write it?”
The creature paused for a moment, as if to consider. Then it announced, “It is an account.”
“Of what?”
“Of the War.”
The uniformed man was angry by now. “You mean you've stolen all this information to write a- a history textbook? What kind of racket is this?”
The was a long silence. Then the strange one spoke again. “Not a textbook.” The voice seemed less raspy now.
“Well? What is this then?”
“A saga.”
“Explain.”
The wrapped being remained silent for a long time. When it spoke, the voice was stronger, without the rasp. “You are ready. It is time.”
The interrogator merely stared for a moment before his counterpart began his longest speech yet. “We must tell the world. We must tell mankind what truly happened. Now, when there is a small hope...” He paused. “The world must know who gave us our hope.” For the first time, the uniformed man looked stunned.
The masked one continued. “We collected the stories... the heroes, the warriors, the leaders... so few of them. But enough. Enough that the truth is clear.”
The interrogator interrupted, attempting to sound scornful. “So this is... a collection of memoirs? Soldier's memories?”
“Yes, and no. More. It is a Saga. You will try to tell mankind What. We tell them Why, How, Who. The reasons they are still here. The truth.”
“What truth? You know something that we don't? What is it?”
“We know who saved us. The Heroes.”
“And what makes your account more accurate than what we already know? What is the purpose of this book?"
The wrapped one hesitated. “We cannot claim perfection in this account... so many things, things key to mankind, were so secret, violent, monstrous... no one could have seen and returned. Where we did not know, we thought. We gathered the fragments and guessed at the picture.”
“So this isn't even an accurate account? What is its worth? It's... nothing more than a folk tale, yet you committed treason for it? What sort of pay did you expect when there's not even...”
“Where we did not know, we thought. And it is true, we tended towards the sensational. Yet so did everything at that time.” The white-coated thing stood up to its full height. “But there is one thing we could not make greater. The Heroes. Their valor. The Ones who gave us hope. The blackness of their foes. The threat they faced. The sacrifice they made. No... hyperbole... can possibly add to what they did... and that is why we wrote. We took our stories. We gathered others. We filled the holes with our best... guesses. And we wrote a Saga. We will tell mankind why they are still here.”
“And what would that accomplish?”
“If we allow mankind to forget the truth... than despite everything for which they suffered, we will have succumbed to Pride.”
At that, the hair on the interrogator’s neck bristled, as if a fearful memory had showed itself.
Without warning, the masked one threw itself forward, panicking the questioner, who fumbled for his handgun. But the creature made no threatening move; it merely stared at its opponent behind the lenses that hid its eyes, resting its hands on the desk. Its hands and its whole body, now visible it the light of the lamp, were concealed by the same white wrapping. It spoke at last. “And you are ready. It is time.”
“So...” The uniformed man struggled briefly and regained his composure. “You will tell me the code.”
“You failed to break it on your own. I will not betray it. But...” The wrapped being hesitated one last time. “I will read it. I will read you the Saga.”
It sat down again and lifted the heavy book. The interrogator paused briefly, reached a decision, and flipped on a recording device on the underside of his desk. The creature opened the book and began.
“Do you know of the Torus?”
