Well, yeah.... on with the story!The Search for Jenevive
The rain runs down my cheeks, blending in with the tears from my aqua blue eyes. My long, golden hair was tangled and soaked with rain water.
“Let me out!” I scream hoarsely, banging at the wooden door with all my strength. I had been in here for what, maybe two, three days? My once-delicate hands were now rough, torn, bloody messes, and my face, arms, and legs were dirty with soot.
“Shut up, kid!” yells a rough voice; the guard stationed at my door.
I curl up into a miserable ball in a thankfully dry corner of my feebly lit and mostly damp cell. What did I do to deserve this? What did I do? I close my eyes, flashing back to the day when all the trouble started.
“Jenevive, wake up!” My eyes flickered open, and Milo, the young sorcerer of the castle, was in my face. His forehead was wrinkled in worry, and his eyes showed just how horrified he was. “We must leave immediately, Princess.” he whispered urgently.
I scrambled out of bed, still in my nightgown, and thundered down the dark, stony, oddly sticky stairs with Milo. We turned the corner, and I screamed. Charging at us, fully armed and yelling, were two fat knights. What worried me the most was the fact that neither was a part of the league that protected us, the royal family. Milo pushed me behind him, and mumbled something, waving his hands mysteriously. In a matter of seconds, a majestic, fiery griffin appeared.
I was horror-stricken, but Milo whispered, “This is just an illusion; don’t worry, it can’t and won’t hurt you.”
The two knights screamed, and ran away. But another knight pushed them back. “It’s an illusion, you fools.” he sneered.
I could only see his eyes, but they were cold, icy, heartless blue eyes. He calmly walked towards Milo, and unsheathed his sword. The zing as he pulled it out promised certain death for one, perhaps both, of us. In one quick movement, he kneeled, and thrust his sword into Milo’s stomach as if he was nothing at all; what I saw was the red point of the weapon come through his back. The knight coolly slid his sword out, and walked away. Milo grunted, his hands at his stomach. He fell to his knees, bleeding horribly, then to his back, and soon his chest rised no more.
I backed away, too traumatized to speak. Two rough and sweaty hands clamped mine behind my back, and I felt a sharp metallic object caress the back of my neck, sending a chill throughout my spine. Someone tied a strip of cloth around my mouth, so my screams were muffled. As I looked around fearfully, I saw everyone that I knew who were included in this small ambush were dead. I suddenly felt a terrible pain on the back of my head, and I saw… Red. Blinding white. Black.
And now here I am, with no one for company. Oh Jesus Christ, what have I done to deserve this? Please, answer my plea. Guide me towards the light. Since I have done all I can for now, I will rest my tired body. But my soul might never be at peace. I lie down/curl up, and fall asleep, now used to the rough, cold ground and the squeaks and scratches of sly, cunning rats, eager for my flesh and blood, running around in the shadows.
The Next Day
They give me no record of what day it is, nor the time. I hear a struggle outside. I curl up in the corner, hoping it is someone who wants to help me escape. I hear grunts, shouts, and the sound of metal against metal. I feel sticky wetness near my feet, and in horror, I discover it is blood!
Suddenly, the sounds stop, all but heavy breathing and the sound of swords being sheathed. I curl up tighter as I hear keys jingle and the lock clicking as someone opens the heavy oak door.
“Princess?” calls a gentle voice, and I dare to look up. Three young men are in the door way, their bodies blocking the light. One takes a step towards me, and I flinch.
“I have a book, I know how to use it, and I’m not afraid to use it,” I say in a shaky voice, holding up the one and only weapon I’d foolishly grabbed in my haste to follow Milo, thinking I could do damage with a mere pile of binding glue and paper.
The one nearest towards me holds up a lantern, and I see a smile on his face. He bites his lip as to keep himself from laughing, and holds out a gloved hand. “Your Highness, we are not here to hurt you. We are here to help you,” he says, his calm voice soothing.
I raise an eyebrow. “Then identify yourselves, Sirs,” I say cheekily, holding my hands back.
He holds the lantern higher, so I can see his face. He has soft and gentle brown eyes, round baby cheeks, and light brown hair.
“Sir Perceval?” I breathe. The young squire I had played with, and used to kinda have a crush on, as a child. I think I still do like him as more than a friend… How could’ve I forgotten him?
His delicate lips turn up into a smile. “Aye, Your Highness. Now will you take my hand so we can leave?”
I smile softly, and take his hand, letting myself be gently pulled up. “Who else is here?” I ask curiously.
He walks me out of the cell, and I see a tall, muscular young man with shoulder-length raven-black hair, a stern but gentle look on his face, black eyes, and a welcoming smile; Lancelot, another old friend. The other was… well, someone who’d tried to court me as a young girl. He was pudgy and short, with dark brown eyes and light brown wavy ear-length hair; Gawain.
“Sir Lancelot!” I say in surprise. I have the urge to hug him, but as a princess, that is sadly prohibited, so I walk up to him, and hold my hand out to shake. As he does, I whisper so only he could hear, “If I could, I would hug you.”
He laughs, and says in a jolly voice, “It’s so good to see you again!”
I also laugh, and then turn to Gawain. I clear my throat, and curtsy. “Hello, Sir Gawain.” I say politely.
He hides a frown of disappointment, and bows at the waist. “Hello, Your Highness,” he replies in the same tone, a hint of coldness in his voice.
Perceval clears his throat uncomfortably, eager to keep the peace. “Well, we should get going,” he says, and gestures to four horses and a grey donkey, the latter loaded with supplies.
I nod, and mount a bay stallion, riding side saddle. I pretend to be interested in the horse’s legs. Sir Perceval rides up next to me, and I raise my head to smile a small smile. He cocks his head in question, but says nothing, and falls back to talk with the other knights. Soon we come upon a tavern, and a stable-boy bows at the waist as he sees me.
I smile, and dismount, handing the bridle to him. “Thank you. May I ask what your name is?” I say in a friendly voice.
June 29
I finally know what day it is today. I wake up to the sound of metal against metal; the knights were practicing. I decide to show them a few of my moves. So I quickly eat my breakfast, change into a normal white dress, and noisily clamber downstairs.
“Good morning, sirs.” I said as I walked out. My hair shone in the sunlight, and I took a deep breath of the fresh air. A light breeze stirred my hair up slightly.
“Good morning, Princess,” say the three in unison, and they sheath their swords and bow.
I smile. “May I join you?”
Sir Gawain laughs. “Dear Princess, you would be better off deciding what to wear.”
Sir Lancelot and Sir Perceval glare at him. “If the Princess would like to, then by God I say let her.” says Sir Lancelot. Perceval nods in agreement.
I grin, and pick up a short sword, good for one or two hands, the handle crested with rubies… my birthstone. I swing it through the air a couple of times.
Gawain chuckles. “Careful, Princess. You might break a nail.”
My cheeks flush with anger. “I’m a different kind of princess, Sir.” I say, and take a step forward, kick his head with my foot, and he hits the ground. I put the tip of the sword lightly against his chest,. “Careful, Sir. You might break your neck,” I say, imitating his tone of voice.
Gawain’s mouth dropped open in pure shock and amazement. Lancelot and Perceval did the same.
Alright, I admit, the ending is a little unrealistic, and I feel noobish and amateurish reading it again. Plus, I know that I suddenly ended at the part when she dismounted. I just kind of got stumped there. Well, thanks for reading this horrible preview of the book (honestly, I doubt I'll ever get it published. I read authors take years just to finish one book. They begin it, then stop, then years later they find it in the back of a closet or in an old folder and end up finishing it). So, yeah... bye.
