William Wilde and the Magi’s Blade

Here is the rough draft beginning to my next series. It’s a story I’ve written four times before, and each draft was a complete rewrite and a complete failure. This time I have a stronger sense of what works and doesn’t and a much more interesting supporting cast and setting.

Winter 1986

Manifold Fulsom tasted the air for blood. It’s cleft nose lifted, and its wet nostrils made sucking noises as they flared in and out like filters. But it wasn’t just any blood Manifold sought. It was the flavor of magic.

Near the creature, an overturned car rested upon its roof. Oil, gas, and other liquids leaked onto the road, and a large dent, one shaped like Manifold, marred a door panel. Within the car were two dead humans, a man and a woman, and clinging to life was a third, a youth. This one a boy.

Manifold hissed annoyance.

Had the adults still lived, they could have served as a flesh depot for the Necrosed’s decaying form—it could have used a new heart. Of course, even the boy could have served in that role, but it had been his potential for lorethasra that had drawn Manifold’s attention. That potential still coursed through the youth’s veins, but without priming, it would forever remain dormant. Forever untapped. Forever useless to Manifold’s needs.

Once again, the Necrosed hissed in annoyance as it surveyed the wreckage before him.

Movement along the road though, brought a grim smile to its nightmare face. There had been one other survivor of Manifold’s recent attack. Another boy, likely a brother to the other. This one also had the potential for lorethasra, but it was weak, worthless, an insult. For such a sin, Manifold had marked the boy with its blood, shriven him with its corruption.

That older boy, even now stumbling off with no clear direction of where he was going, would take years to die. Years of pain, loneliness, and toil with no memories of his life to bring him relief from his wretched state.