Writing Sample: Here Goes Nothing!

Okay everybody. I'm risking something here. If you read further, you will be brought into the folds (the very small folds) of my beta readers for my fantasy novel loosely based on the Biblical stories of Esther, Daniel, and Joseph. Actually, you're probably more like pre-beta readers. But this is the first section of my current work in progress, with a title that's so tentative I'm not even going to share it yet. This is my first draft, and while I've fixed some typos and a sentence here and there, this is rough. Rough rough rough. There aren't even chapter breaks yet, just blank space where action changes but I'm not sure if it's suitable for a chapter break.

So I'd like to know what you think. Does this interest you? Are the names really stupid (they're all invented)? Do you want to read on? I have trouble starting in media res so I'm particularly curious if this is even an interesting beginning.

I honestly just want some feedback and even encouragement if you want to be so kind as to provide it. I'm so far having A LOT of fun with this story and can't wait to see where it goes.

         The last day of her punishment was almost over. As Azya filled buckets of murky water from the pump, she almost looked forward to the bowl of porridge she would have for supper. It would be her first in days. Gray, lumpy, nearly tasteless, and mildly nauseating, the porridge was a cheap staple of her family, and her stomach cramped with hunger at the thought of it. Even tree bark had started to look appetizing today. Yes—when one was poor, forced starvation was a motivating punishment. Azya had learned her lesson, though still she thought the revenge had been worth it. Relker deserved what he got.

            The sun was sinking below the clouded tops of the mountain range in the distance, and a chilly autumn wind blew through the village. Azya sighed, closing her eyes against the lightheadedness that suddenly overtook her, and heaved the buckets by their metal handles out of the dirt. She waddled to the barn, where the skinny cow looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and mooed softly. She dumped the water into her trough, gave the cow a consolatory pat on her bony hide, and dropped the empty bucket by her pen. The donkey, which was older than Azya, received the second bucket. He sniffed the water gingerly and snorted. The walls spun around her and she upturned the bucket and sank down onto it, holding her pounding head in her hands. “You’ve gotten to eat today, Moss,” she muttered to the animal. “No complaining.”

            “Azya!” Her mother’s shrill voice sounded from the house, piercing her aching head. “Supper! Come now or I feed yours to the pigs!”

            Azya teetered to her feet, steadying herself on the rail, and picked up the empty buckets. She dropped them by the pump on her way to the cabin. Inside it was dark and cold; there hadn’t been coin for firewood this week, so what they had was reserved for cooking. A single stubby candle stood in the middle of the kitchen table, casting its dim light. Her father and two older brothers, Kellen and Morda, already sat, digging ravenously into their porridge. Her place was vacant, but she had to wait until they finished. Women never ate with the men. She knew her porridge would be cold by the time they were finished. With a sinking heart, she noticed her bowl was only half full as well. She turned to her mother.

            “Why do I only get half a bowl?”

            Mother brought the pot from the fire and refilled the bowls of her father and brothers. Azya knew she did this to upset her. “I went to see Relker today. He’s still working to replace the wagon wheel you broke. When he’s done, you’ll get full portions again.”

            “Ma! You know what he did to Teldon!” Relker lived next door to her best friend, who was a wiry young man raising his seven-year-old sister on his own since their parents had died last winter during the blight. Relker had ignored property boundaries and plowed over Teldon’s carefully seeded garden, which would have supplied them with food for the next year. It had taken Teldon draining his savings of coin to replace what had been lost.

            “I do know. The village Elders would have taken care of it.”

            Azya sighed. The village Elders never did anything except flatter the tax collectors to avoid paying themselves and kept tabs on which villagers owed what, happily turning them in to the authorities. Mother knew that just as well as she did. But unlike Azya, she would never risk her critical words being overheard and reported back to the Elders.

            Azya felt dizzy again and leaned against the wall. She watched her family enviously. Azya closed her eyes to quell her anger and when she opened them, her father was looking darkly up at her. He shook his head and returned to his meal.

            Long minutes later, her brothers and father retired to the sitting room, huddling under blankets as they chugged their mead and stared into the empty fireplace. All three would likely be drunk by bedtime and would pass out where they now slept, only to wake the next morning with headaches, nausea, and bad tempers. It was the same thing every day.

            Her porridge was icy cold by the time she sat down with her mother at the table to eat it, but she ate gratefully and her stomach’s cramping eased. She scraped the bowl with her spoon, then her finger, until it was clean. She was still hungry, but it would be all she received. She wondered if her mother would feel charitable enough to give her breakfast in the morning. It would be little different from the fare tonight.

            “Dishes now,” her mother barked, then belched. “Afterwards, you’ll sit with the menfolk and make sure they don’t do anything stupid with the mead. I’m going to bed.”

            She groaned. “Ma, I’m exhausted. Please let me sleep.”

            “You’ll do as I say!” She leaned over the table and raised a hand as if to slap her, but her blotchy face relaxed before her hand met its target. “I’m warning you,” she hissed, her breath foul and spittle hitting Azya’s face. “I can add days to your punishment.”

            “I know.” Azya winced.

            “Do you? Do you know what danger you put us in with your antics? Relker probably reported us to the Elders for that.” Relker was one of the few villagers in the Elders’ good graces. He somehow managed to pay his taxes on time and his brother had been an Elder for a good decade. Everyone knew Relker was now was being groomed for an Elder position.

            “Yes. I understand, Ma.”

            Azya weakly rose, and took the dirty bowls outside to the pump where she rinsed them in the freezing water, her fingers stiffening from the cold. It might be the first freeze tonight. She brought them back inside the house, stuck them on their shelf, and joined her brothers and father.

            She noticed they were already far-gone. Fa hunched his shoulders and clenched his free palm on his holey trouser, glaring at nothing as if it had deeply offended him. Foam from the mead coated his graying beard and he sipped noisily. Kellen and Morda were arguing over a game of cards. Azya hid a smile behind her hand when she looked at what they had played on the table; they were so drunk they were forgetting the rules. She sighed, and Morda looked at her.

            “What’s she doin’ here?” he slurred. Fa shot her a dark glance.

            “Go to bed, girl.”

            “Ma told me to sit with you.”

            He stood angrily, knocking the crate over into the empty hearth. “And I’m telling you to go to bed!” He raised an arm and clumsily struck her on the side of the head. She cried out, more from surprise than pain. She had grown used to his beatings and sometimes they didn’t even hurt. Without waiting to argue, she ran out of the cabin into the night. It had grown even colder. She tugged her thin shawl around her shoulders and shivered.

            Azya couldn’t go back in; her brothers would join in the beating if she tried to sit with them again. If she climbed into the loft to sleep, she’d wake her mother who would know from the noise that her family had not yet passed out, and then who knows when she would eat next. Her stomach cramped again with hunger. She headed to the barn, resigning herself to another cold night outdoors. The animals, stupid as they were, seemed to be her only allies. The cow was docile and her warmth would help her survive the night. She entered her pen, buried down into the sparse hay, and tucked her hands in her apron pockets to warm them. She listened to the insects and night birds, shivering.

            “Hungry?” A tall shadow crossed her, and she looked up and smiled. Teldon stood over her, an apple in his hand. He stretched it towards her and she reached up and gnawed into it gratefully.

            “Thank you,” she said.

            “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. Been trying to keep my head down…you know.”

            She nodded.

            “Sleeping out here tonight?”

            Azya shrugged. “Can’t go back inside.”

            “Well, here.” Teldon took the blanket he was carrying from under his arm and handed it to her. It was threadbare and rough, but was better than nothing.

            “We might be in big trouble, Teldon.”

            He nodded solemnly in agreement. “Yeah. Went to market today. Overheard talk that your parents are next.”

            Azya couldn’t speak. She swallowed her most recent bite of apple with difficulty. “You could be wrong. People always talk.” And her family was a favorite topic of conversation.

            “Soldiers are due to come tomorrow. The Elders have your family marked. Think they can come up with the coin?”

            Azya sighed and Teldon snorted. Then he sighed too. “I could be wrong. You’re right. Sometimes it’s just talk.” He stuck his mittened hands deep in his pockets. “Good night, Azya.”

            “Teldon?” He turned to face her. “What if you’re right?”

            He shuffled his boot on the ground and hunched his shoulders. His hair fell across his eyes, making his expression unreadable. “I’ll be by tomorrow, Azya. Told your fa I’d speak to him about those seeds he wanted.” And he was gone. She settled deeper into the hay, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. Mere minutes later, she slept.