Inheriting a Legacy #FridayFlash

Just a little something I came up with today. Please let me know what you think, and as always, feel free to be extra stabby with your critiques. It's the only way to help both of us grow.

The library annex in her mother’s home was as organized as a regiment in the heat of battle: The book shelves had the correct labels, and some of the books were properly shelved, but the majority were scattered about the room. The tables were full of pots and bowls with sticky residuals from when her mother cast her last batch of spells. And wax from candles, long since burned down, dotted the carpeting.

The one thing always in the same place, a beacon of order in the chaos of the library, was her mother’s prized spellbook. The large, black, leather-bound tome rested on the marble book holder, closed with the lock holding it tightly shut. Zelda ran her hand over the cover and tapped the golden lock. She took one of her mother’s ornate daggers and pierced the tip of her finger, letting a drop of her blood fall onto the ancient metal, still polished and shiny.

The lock unlatched and the book opened itself. A faint green glow emanated from the pages accompanied with a tingling feeling running up Zelda’s spine. The magic from the book sparkled throughout her whole body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The door to the library crashed open with her sister Victoria standing on the threshold.

“I’m going to become a witch, continuing our mother’s legacy.”

“I can’t let you do that.” She said, stepping into the library.

“Victoria, it’s what mother would have wanted.”

“Our mother was a bad person. I can’t let you descend into that world as well. Let me get rid of that book for you.”

Zelda wrapped her fingers around the edge of the book’s while marble stand. “She wasn’t a bad person, and I too will stay good. The world needs people like her, whether you agree with our methods or not.”

Victoria rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. “Then you leave me no choice.” She conjured up a small cyclone in the middle library. “Give me that book.”

The wind sucked up the contents of one of the tables and swirled towards Zelda. She ran to corner of the room and hid behind a chair. Peeking her head out, a small block of wax hit her in the head. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled and she fell back down. As the cyclone came closer, she tried to get up once more, this time stumbling out towards her sister.

Victoria pulled her hands down, extinguishing the cyclone. She wrestled with Zelda and tried to pin her to the ground, but she broke free. “Zelda, I know it’s hard to resist. It’s in our blood to become witches, but I can’t let you. Sometimes we have to let our heritage die.”

Zelda backed away towards the spellbook, running her hands once more over the open pages. Victoria, bringing her hands back into the air, restarted the cyclone. But before it could get started, Zelda hovered her hands over the ancient pages and chanted one of the incantations.

Around her, the wind stilled, even as the room turned into a massive torrent of circling matter, banging up against the walls and shattering the windows on the far side. Once the spell was finished, a green column of light shot forth from the book and into the ceiling, dispersing the cyclone entirely. On the opposite side of the room, Victoria’s eyes turned red and a small ball of fire grew in the palm of her hand. “You have no idea what a book like that is worth do you? It is the key to unlimited wealth, and I’m not going to let you waste it like mother did.”

The ball of fire shot forth from Victoria’s hands, smashing into Zelda’s chest. She grabbed onto the book, but the impact knocked her back against the wall; a single page torn from the book remained in her hands. She noticed the smell of burning flesh even before the pain registered in her mind, collapsing her to the floor.

Victoria strolled towards the book and ran her finger around the edges, but it slammed shut with the lock clicking back into place. “Looks like I’m going to need you alive after all, sister.” She said, looking out the broken window. “At least until I can permanently unlock this damn book.”

Zelda rolled onto her side and scanned the torn page still in her hand. Despite the pain, a slight smile crept across her lips. She whispered the first part of the incantation, shouting the final word as loud as she could. Victoria spun around but it was too late. Blue light with crackling silver sparks swirled around her as she shrunk down, hands turning into sticky, webbed feet and a tail growing behind her.

Zelda staggered to her feet and dabbed some blood from her forehead onto the lock, opening the book. A small brown newt crawled up along the pages as Zelda searched for spell to heal magical burns. “I might as well keep you around too, Victoria. You might be useful as a pet.”

Anachronistic Dialogue in Fantasy

This Friday I wrote a short piece of fantasy flash fiction where a number of commenters raised an interesting issue. They noted that my dialogue pulled them out of the story because it was too modern. But, at the same time we can't be using period authentic dialogue and still get our point across. Now, with fantasy you have a little more leeway because the period the story is based off is a little more ambiguous, but even writers of historical fiction can't be 100% true to the language.


Imagine a historical fiction about the signing of the Magna Carta (assuming they talk in English vs. Latin.) Now you can argue that even the Old English that they would use is a completely different language, but in the end, our modern English is evolved from that, just so that our modern 21st century English is evolved from 17th century English. Not only are the definitions of the words different, but the metaphors will make absolutely no sense to the modern reader. This is probably why even the Canterbury tales (late 1300's and technically Middle English) is published often with the original text and a modern translation along with it.


So, unless you are one of those stubborn purists, I've probably convinced you that dialogue for fantasy and even historical fiction needs to be modernized. But that does not give writers a licence (if they want people to read what they write) to have the dialogue of their fantasy roughly based on the middle ages to include, "Dude, I'm trying to celebrate and chill, but you're harshing my buzz. What's going on?" This is where we now get to the interesting point of this article. We can't take modern dialogue and stick it in the story, but you also can't be authentic. What are you to do?


First, that example ("Dude, I'm trying to celebrate and chill, but you're harshing my buzz. What's going on?") is my rough, modern translation of this line from Chaucer, "What fold been ye, that at myn hom-comynge perturben so my feste with criynge?" Neither works, but we can do better, right?


The first problem with my version (if this was going into a fantasy of historical fiction piece) is obviously the slang. "Dude, chill, and harshing my buzz." We need to take that out and replace it with something perhaps a little more appropriate. How about:


"Sir, I'm trying to celebrate and relax, but your spirit is without cheer. What's going on?"


Now there's an interesting thing here as well. I've got some contractions in there. I'm sure people back in the day used them just as we do today, but there seems to be a prejudice in our media (movies, plays, books, etc.) about the people back in the day speaking in nice, crisp, proper English...without contractions. And especially somebody would would bother addressing anybody as 'sir.' So, taking those out, we have:


"Sir, I am trying to celebrate and relax, but your spirit is without cheer. What is going on?"


I'm still not happy with "What is going on?" and I think there needs to be a better way. It still sounds too modern (even though, as we saw from Chaucer, everything about my sentence is 'modern.'). So what I'm going to do is just take a phrase that, again, would make no sense in the 14th century, and see what happens:


"Sir, I am trying to celebrate and relax, but your spirit is without cheer. Please, tell me what is the matter?"


All I did was take a phrase that is not used all that often and put it in there instead. This and the other things I put in there alert the reader to know that this is definitely not taking place right this day, because just about nobody they encounter on a daily basis talks like that. From there you are free to use the setting to give your reader a more accurate sense of time.


You don't really want to create authentic period dialogue, but instead what you want is transparent dialogue that gets the character voice across and keeps the plot moving forward. Don't use it for creating setting, let your descriptions do that.


So in summary, what I would recommend at this moment would be the following:


1) Get rid of all slang (contemporary or otherwise unless it is native to the period you are working with)


2) Understand that formality and manners can be useful for some characters to highlight that we are not in our modern time period


3) Use uncommon phrases that seemingly transcend time to allow your setting to pin point the time period.


4) Don't use the 'thee, thou, thine' stuff unless you know what you are doing and the rest of your dialogue is going to be very close to authentic. And even the, I feel it takes away from the clarity and becomes less than transparent.


Hopefully my little rant was helpful, and props go to those who pointed out this issue of anachronistic dialogue in my flash. Without you, I never would have sat down to think about this. Thanks.


What do you think? How should dialogue be handled in Fantasy (and Historical Fiction.)

The Gray Knight

*My first real attempt at a fantasy sword fight :) If you comment on this piece, please be honest. If you didn’t like it, just say so. You don’t have to try and find the one redeeming factor in this piece to make a comment. Tell me it sucks and I should hang myself, it’s the greatest story every, or anything in-between. Just be honest if you comment.


The knight in gray armor stumbled backwards into a small patch of purple flowers, crushing them. May the great spirits forgive me. He bowed his head, briefly, before raising his sword once again. The man standing in front of him did the same.

Steadying his position, the knight advanced forward, and within moments they were engaged in combat.

The knight took long swings, and when the man blocked, the powerful blows shook his balance. But the quickness of the man countered those attacks, and the knight soon found himself stumbling backwards again, this time missing the flowers.

Standing apart, the man and the knight took a moment to rest and catch their breath. As the man’s
breathing slowed, he looked back up at the knight with red eyes aglow, causing the knight to step backwards. The man raised his arms into the air and dark clouds began to circle above him with blue spirits descending from the sky, sending bolts of lightning up and down his sword.

The knight lifted up his visor then knelt down next to the flowers. “This is what you want?” the knight said with his deep, confident voice.

The man stepped back with his right foot and put both hands on the hilt of his sword.

“Alright. If this is what you really want.” The knight rose up, gesturing towards the heavens. Then, out of the ground came a small army of red spirits, and his sword started glowing with flames occasionally leaping out from the tip.

Both holding their swords, they launched themselves at each other once more. Once their swords clashed, a loud boom shook the meadow, ripping the color right out of the grass and flowers. They now fought on a rocky outcropping with no other life around.

The knight swung his sword, but he did not use the strength in his arms; it was the strength in his spirit that did the work. His teeth smashed together, grinding away the surface as he dug deep within, pulling out each last bit of his will power. Each swing he took, left him breathless, but he kept finding the will to continue.

The man’s eyes showed a similar strain, and the bright red that glowed so fierce was now nothing more than a optical whimper. He’s tiring. If only I can keep this up. The knight swung once more, striking the man’s sword. The man stumbled backwards, and the knight could see the man loosen his grip on the sword. He had nothing left.

The knight, feeling victory, tapped the last corpuscle of power left within him and raised his sword up high. He stood there, watching his foe for a moment, then brought the sword down towards the man’s neck.

But before it could strike its target, the man raised his sword up and deflected the blow.

No. It couldn’t be! How could he still have any strength left? The knight dropped his sword and both he and the man fell to their knees, unable to stand.